Free Threads of Silk by Roberta Grieve Page A

in the conversation she tried to protest.
    ‘But, Mr Green….’
    ‘Call me Tommy, please.’
    She couldn’t, she just couldn’t. ‘Mr Green, I don’t think I’m the type of person you’re looking for, really I don’t.’
    The big man’s eyes narrowed. ‘And why’s that then?’
    ‘Well, working in a club – I’m not like Sheila, you see.’
    To her surprise he burst out laughing. ‘I should say you’re not. But that’s why I want yer. This new place I’m openin’ is nothin’ like the Riverside. It’s gonna be real posh, up West. I want someone who looks the part, someone who talks nice, not too plummy but proper English – like you do.’
    ‘But what would I have to do?’ Ellie still wasn’t convinced.
    ‘I told yer – call me Tommy.’ He waved his cigar. ‘It’s simple – just answer the phone, take bookings for tables. Be there ter greet the guests.’
    ‘Is that all?’ Ellie smiled. He hadn’t said anything about having to ‘be nice’ to the guests. Her relief was short-lived.
    ‘’Course, you’d have to look right – dress up a bit, get yer’air done, make-up an’ all. Gotta impress the punters. But don’t worry – we’ll get yer rigged out before yer start.’
    ‘Mum doesn’t like me wearing make-up,’ she said tentatively.
    Bert spoke up. ‘I’ll speak to yer mother.’
    Tommy nodded. ‘She must realize yer growin’ up now – into a very attractive young lady if I might say so.’
    Ellie squirmed as he went on, ‘I know you’re only sixteen but, with the right clothes, you’ll pass for eighteen.’ He paused, then continued, ‘Oh, I don’t mean I want yer all dolled up like a tart. I want a bit of class – you’ll fit in a treat.’ He smiled again and wagged his finger at her. ‘Who knows, if yer play yer cards right, yer could end up married ter some posh geezer with loadsa dough – maybe even a title.’
    Bert nodded. ‘That’s what I’ve bin tellin’ her. It’s waste a time all this talk of paintin’ and drawin’. With her looks and brains, she’s got it made already.’
    Tommy stared hard at Bert and gave a short laugh. ‘Don’t know where she gets it from – must be ’er mother.’
    A flicker of anger crossed Bert’s face, quickly followed by a forced laugh. ‘Well, you know my Mary,’ he said, leaning forward to grind the cigar out in the crystal ashtray.
    ‘Well, that’s all settled then. The decorators and fitters ’ave nearly finished and we’re just waitin’ on the delivery of the furniture. We should be ready by the twentieth – that’s a Saturday night – for the grand opening. Better come along early afternoon and I can go through things with yer.’
    He stood up and handed an envelope to Bert. ‘I think you’ll find there’s enough there to cover getting her all rigged out – and a bit over fer your expenses.’
    Bert put the envelope inside his jacket. ‘Come on then. We’ve taken up enough of Tommy’s time,’ he said.

     
    On the bus back to Kendall Street, Bert was in an expansive mood but Ellie hardly said a word. If only Mum had stuck up for her just this once. But Mary, once she’d been assured that there wouldn’t be any ‘funny business’, had seemed to accept the situation. Until Bert took the envelope out of his pocket and she saw how much money there was.
    ‘What’s that for?’ she asked, her lips coming together in that familiar thin line.
    ‘Clothes and things for our Ellie. Tommy wants her to look good when she starts work.’
    ‘We don’t need his money,’ Mary said. ‘Does he think we can’t take care of our own? I’ve got money put by.’
    Bert laughed. ‘You’re too proud, you are. We’re doin’ him a favour, letting our Ellie work fer him. There’s not many girls round ’ere with her education who look the part. Tommy’s goin’ upmarket. He wants to be respected, not just an ex-boxer who’s made a bit of money wheeling and dealing.’
    Mary didn’t reply. She picked up