CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Halloween was a great success. Trade was brisk. Comments from punters were mostly favourable on just about everything from décor to the choice of food and drinks available. Music provided by an up-and-coming local group comprising three guys and a female vocalist, calling themselves Streetwise, was also a big hit.
Bo and Gabby Devine came to wish us luck before we threw open the doors although Bo brushed aside my expressions of genuine delight at seeing them. “Never be complacent. Always be on the lookout for new ideas, dear heart!” Later, he assured me with telling warmth that I had a huge success on my hands. I could feel my face glowing with pleasure.
“It’s Clive’s baby,” I felt bound to say, “I’m just the midwife.”
“Ah, but delivery is everything, dear heart, as wily bird Clive knows only too well!” Bo beamed and gave me a paternal hug. “I have every faith in you, young Rob, every faith!” Suddenly, I felt shy and awkward. Shaun could not have chosen a more opportune moment to appear with a bottle of champagne.
Amongst all the fizz and excitement, I my only regret was that Matthew was not there to share it with me. He had muttered something unconvincing about having to work late. “You can be such a damp squib sometimes!” I accused him, but managed to keep my tone light, hugging my huge disappointment to myself.
As the evening progressed, I could not help noticing that Clive was dancing with and practically monopolizing Maggie who looked ravishing in turquoise but was, after all, supposed to be on duty. (But wasn’t I?) At one time, after Bo had gone walkabout, Gabby and I watched them from a corner table. “Watch out for that one darling,” she murmured while munching on a stick of celery, “She’s gorgeous, of course, and doesn’t she know it! Women like that love nothing better than to turn lives upside down. Just be sure it isn’t yours, darling!”
“She should stay behind the bar where she belongs,” I growled.
Gabby burst out laughing. “Belongs? Darling, you’re sounding just like some punctilious prick of a manager already for heaven’s sake. But Clive…Well, Clive’s the boss. Dear Clive, he does so like to think he’s master of his own fate and can pull rank whenever he likes.” She continued to munch on the celery with relish. “He’s quite impossible, of course. As for pulling rank, well…Led by the nose, would be a better description, invariably by a woman years younger than him.” She saw my puzzled expression and laughed again. “Don’t be in awe of Clive, darling. Make that mistake, and you’ll fall flat on your face I promise you. Oh, he has an eye for a good horse, I grant you that. He picked you, after all…” She took a sip of champagne. “But it’s the horses that bring in the money, darling, not any hidden talent of his own. Oh, he has his little triumphs, but precious few when it comes to women. He treats them like whores all the while he can get his cock up, and then dumps them when he feels the urge to take a long rest and whine about how they were only after his wallet!” She took another sip of champagne and the lovely eyes twinkled over the rim of her glass. “Do I shock you?”
“I just never…” I stammered.
“Saw your boss in quite that light? Men never do, darling. It takes a woman to see what’s what in this life. Men only see what they want to see. Now, take Mt Clive Rider. You see a successful businessman who has charm, in spite of a middle age paunch and bald patch. Oh, and such a way with the ladies, not to mention a useful meal ticket! Myself, I only see a fat, ugly toad that turns my stomach.”
For an instant, her pupils rounded with pure malice and I felt my blood run cold. She hates him, I thought, and wondered why? Did she and Clive have a history, surely not?
“Mark my words, your friend Maggie…” Gabby persisted, munching away again, “will tuck into Clive and thoroughly enjoy the meal, only to spit him out when she’s good and ready. By that time, he’ll be well and truly hooked if he’s not careful.” I suddenly realised that what I had mistaken for contempt for Maggie in her voice was in fact admiration. “Not that…” She rose and grabbed my hand, “...there was ever a man born who had a clue how to take care of a woman. Fortunately, we are more than capable of taking care of ourselves.” She proceeded to drag me, protesting, to the dance floor, pressing her lithe, sensual body against me while the band played one of their more subdued numbers. For the first time in ages, I found myself thinking about Nancy Devlin.
Gabby and I soon found ourselves alongside my mother and Peter Short. I sensed rather than caught my mother’s critical appraisal of Bo’s wife, and struggled to appear relaxed while I made the introductions.
“Oh, but you never let that on your mother is here,” Gabby scolded me. To my mother she said, “You’ve not done a bad job on our Rob, not bad at all. He has potential. Oh, yes, very much so, even if he is a little rough around the edges still,” she added mischievously. Her teasing smile made me profoundly grateful for a smoky haze given off by the pumpkin lanterns.
“You and me both,” my mother laughingly agreed.
When the music stopped, Gabby insisted the pair join us. By this time, Bo had returned to our table and seemed genuinely pleased to meet my mother and Short. Rather to my surprise, Mum appeared to be enjoying herself. She and Bo got along famously. If either were slightly embarrassed by Gabby’s flirty manner with Short, they not only took it in their stride but also treated it as a huge private joke. When the red-faced librarian finally fled to the loo, Bo insisted my mother take to the dance floor again where he proceeded to engage her, with as much hilarity as dexterity, in a rock ‘n’ roll throwback from the 1960s.
“I adore your mother!” Gabby exclaimed. “Now I see where you get your brass cheek from. Look how she has my Bo just where she wants him!”
“It looks to me like it’s the other way around,” I protested mildly.
“Then you need glasses darling!” She picked up another stick of celery, nibbled thoughtfully and then, “I shouldn’t think she minds in the least that you’re gay, does she? Well, the teeniest bit maybe….”
I was furious. “She doesn’t know,” I said sharply, “and I’ll thank you not to mention it either.”
Gabby treated me to the full blast of a radiant smile. “You’re a fool, Rob,” she said with quiet deliberation, “Women like Patricia are one in a million. She’ll be your Rock of Gibraltar and don’t tell me you don’t need one because I know better. Let her find out some other way and…Who knows? Gibraltar may crumble.”
“Prettily put,” I seethed.
“I thought so too,” she agreed placidly, her tense expression vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. Without relinquishing the celery, she steered me to the dance floor yet again. “We can’t let Bo and Patricia hog the limelight, now, can we?” she giggled. “I say, Peter is taking an awfully long time in the loo isn’t he? I do hope he hasn’t got lost. You have to admit this place is a bit of a maze. Bars here, bars there, restaurant with dance floor and a cosy café with help-yourself buffet... I’m impressed.”
“The café closes at six,” I replied tartly and we only plan to open all the bars at weekends.
“Even so, you’ll have your hands full. Staff, darling, they’ll grind you down if you let them. As Bo always says, good staff may well be the life blood of any business, but one bad egg can land you in the shit.”
I thought I detected a lecturing tone and resented it. I knew my job. (Well, didn’t I?). We danced but this time my body, especially my feet, refused to be led by the dictates of either music or Gabby Devine’s perfect rhythm. She finally lost patience although not her temper. A despairing shrug said it all. She made her way leisurely back to the table, leaving me to follow somewhat sheepishly in her wake. But I started to get angry and made off in another direction. How dare the woman presume to tell me how to manage my private life?
A welcome diversion presented itself when one of the wine waiters came and whispered in my ear that there was some kind of plumbing emergency in the Ladies loo. I arrived on the scene to find Ed Mack completing adequate if stopgap repairs to a leaking cistern. “My, aren’t we a jack of all trades?” I sneered and despised myself for taking out the ever-increasing resentment I was feeling towards Gabby Devine on poor Ed. But the devil had my tongue. “You’re wasted as a bouncer,” I added for good measure, “Talking of which, shouldn’t you be on the door?”
He threw me a hurt look that infuriated me even further. “Anything you say boss,” was all he said before thrusting a wrench in my hand and making an abrupt exit.
“Honestly, Rob!” Liz Daniels appeared from nowhere, “You nearly had a flood on your hands. But for Ed we’d all have bloody drowned!” She was dressed as a witch and kept poking a finger at me as if casting a spell.
“So?” I snapped.
But Liz was not easily intimidated. “So you may be his boss, but you sure as hell ain’t mine. If you were, I’d tell you to get stuffed, you ungrateful pig. As it is, I’ll settle for telling you what a pompous, insufferable arsehole you’re turning into, Rob Young! Now, if you don’t mind, this is a Ladies loo so get your skates on before I lose my temper.”
It was my turn to exit abruptly. In my haste, I literally bumped into Bo who was sharing a hearty guffaw with the mayor of all people and exchanging fishing anecdotes. “I didn’t know you fished,” I remarked as the mayoral chain rattled on its way.
“Oh, yes, but all the time, dear heart, all the time. I always have and always will. That is, when I can find the damn the time. You can’t beat it for keeping the old blood pressure down, talking of which yours looks well and truly on the up. Do I smell a crisis?”
“Nearly,” I had to confess.
“Oh, nearly doesn’t count!” He waved a hand airily.
“Staff problems,” I mumbled.
“Ah! Then a crisis you well may have, young Rob, if you don’t get your finger out and sort things pronto,” wagging a warning finger at me much as Liz Daniels had done only minutes earlier. “Look after your staff, and the punters will look after themselves,” is what I always say,” repeating the maxim I must have heard a good dozen times a day in the course of my training at The Pav. Now, as then, I had to concede the point. Bo swept an arm vaguely in all directions. “I have to say, dear heart, everyone seems to be doing you proud tonight,” and then, “Don’t go and spoil things.” A familiar grimace gave him the appearance of a friendly gargoyle.
“I suppose you’re right,” I mumbled, already regretting the way I had spoken to Ed.
“Of course I’m right, I’m always right!” Bo slapped me jocularly on the back. “And there’s no such word as ‘suppose’. Not in a good manager’s vocabulary there isn’t…” He gave a long sigh and the backslapping evaporated into a hug. “Put yourself in the wrong, did you?” I nodded miserably. “I thought so. You have that cringing look about you, dear heart, like a pup expecting to be walloped for doing what comes naturally!” I couldn’t help but laugh at the preposterous if apt description. “Now, that’s much better. Never waste time sulking, dear heart, when a smile will do the business in a jiffy.”
Someone called his name. Bo glanced into the milling crowd and then back at me. “Run along now and make good whatever damage it is you’ve done. Oh, and keep smiling. Never but never, dear heart, be caught out whingeing. By all means, show the peasants you’re in charge and that you have their measure, but always keep them on your side.”
Bo tossed me a broad wink and began to walk away only to pause after just a few steps, swing round and fix me with a wicked grin. “That Ma of yours, dear heart, she’s a sweetie, an absolute sweetie!” Then he was gone. I watched his bobbing head for a moment until that, too, had vanished.
I sighed, not wanting to think about my mother just then, Gabby’s words still making my head spin. I should have been glad she’d made such a big hit with everyone. Instead, I was jealous although I hadn’t quite worked that one out yet.
I went to find Ed. He was in the process of ejecting a couple of drunks with a mixture of brute force and candid humour. The hapless pair were suitably despatched, with handshakes all round and much carousing. Ed turned, saw me and frowned. Checking up on me?” he asked conversationally.
“I came to apologize.” It seemed the better part of valour to come right out with it, and the look of frank surprise on Ed’s face encouraged me to press on. “I was well out of order back there. I’m sorry. Thanks for helping out. I…” But my voice trailed off as he suddenly dived into a crowd milling around by the door and hauled out a skinny, ferret-faced character clutching a handsome wallet that, almost immediately, someone else darted forward to claim as his own.
“Mine, I believe!” exclaimed Clive Rider.
“What shall I do with him Mr Rider?” demanded Ed, still holding the squirming ferret by the collar of his coat. The menace in his voice left the audience that has quickly gathered in no doubt as to what course of action he would have dearly liked to take.
“Let me go. You can’t prove a thing,” the culprit snarled. He had clearly been drinking heavily and was protesting with all the loud bravado of someone well over the limit. Something about him struck me as vaguely familiar. But, try as I might, I could not place the miserable little pickpocket. I groaned. The last thing I needed on Opening Night was a bad press.
Clive fixed a beady gaze briefly on the dishevelled crook then barked at Ed, Search him for any other little souvenirs then let him go. To the pickpocket, pinched face sweating buckets in Ed’s arm lock, “You would so well to pray we never meet again, you nasty, smelly creature. Or I shall personally see to it that you take a well-deserved break at Her Majesty’s pleasure. Did I say break? Silly me, I meant convalescence. Do you understand?” The belligerent thief threw back his head and opened his mouth as if to hurl a torrent of abuse. But all that emerged was a squeal, prompted perhaps by a sharp twist given to his arm by Ed.
“Okay,” he nodded, more squeals uttering from protruding nicotine-stained gap teeth. Ed slackened his hold.
It was at this juncture that Maggie arrived on the scene. Clive promptly bundled her clear before she could even begin to appreciate what was taking place. I heard her voice, demanding this and protesting at that, over and above a cacophony of music and general hubbub. Clive did not falter, but proceeded to steer her through the crowd, a protective arm around her waist. I watched them go, saw his hand stray to Maggie’s buttocks. A glance at Ed warned me that he, too, had witnessed the gesture. A scowl crossed the saturnine face.
Several of the pumpkin lanterns decorating the path leading to the main entrance went out.
“You heard the man. Search him,” Ed growled at me, “and be thorough. This little prick is full of surprises. Isn’t that so Vince?”
“Me?” I started.
“I’d see to it myself, only I sort of have my hands full in case you haven’t noticed,” he growled again, “So what are you waiting for, Christmas? I know this little creep,” he added, “A nasty piece of work if ever there was, eh, Vince?”
Recognition finally dawned. “Vince Crolley, Nick’s brother!”
“Pleased to meet you, I’m sure,” muttered the pickpocket as I searched every inch of his clothing, anxious to be done as soon as possible.
Vince, I could only assume, must be on parole. Like Ed, I had to remind myself with a nasty jolt since I hadn’t given that fact much thought in ages. He was older than Nick by a good five years, maybe more. There was, I saw it more clearly now, a family resemblance, not least in the way his eyes slanted either side of a Roman nose and thin lips curled contemptuously. I wondered if Clive Rider had made the same connection. It would explain his manoeuvring Maggie away from the scene with such urgency. She was, after all, no stranger to a spot of bother. Moreover, as far as I knew, she was still sharing a bed with Nick Crolley. In that case, I pondered wryly, Clive won’t be too happy about Vince making connections of his own.
My search yielded nothing apart from everyday effects. These included a grubby handkerchief, a comb thick with hairs and some loose change. I winced at having to handle these. Crolley noticed and giggled. The dribbling mouth twisted into a sick grin. Simultaneously, he jerked his head forward and spat in my face. Ed wasted no time exerting maximum leverage on the arm caught in his grip.
Vince howled in agony.
Without waiting for me to complete my search, Ed heaved the kicking, screaming figure practically off its feet, bringing the full weight of his body to bear in propelling it through the crowd. Vince landed ignominiously in a patch of dog mess plainly illuminated by a swinging pumpkin. Everyone roared with laughter. A stream of obscenities and wild threats rolled with scarcely a pause for breath off his tongue.
“Apology accepted,” Ed yelled
I wiped the spittle from my face with a handkerchief, Crolley’s shrieks of abuse ringing in my ears.
“I’ll get you. You’ll see. I’ll get the lot of you, just you see if I don’t!” Vince screamed.
Shaun arrived, took in the situation at a glance and motioned to Ed that he would take over on the door for a while. Ed gave a curt but appreciative nod and was soon ushering me inside. Angry and upset, I was content to let him steer me towards the nearest bar.
Try as I might, I couldn’t shake off a gut feeling that I hadn’t heard the last of Vince Crolley, not by a long chalk.
.
