Riches of the Heart Read online

  Riches of the Heart

  June Tate

  Headline Publishing Group Ltd (2012)

  Tags: Historical Fiction

  * * *

  Synopsis

  1920s Southampton docklands

  Lily Pickford is just sixteen when her violent father throws her out of the house. Her first few nights are spent sleeping rough in Southampton's sleazy docklands, but her luck turns when stallholder Rachel Cohen gives her work and a place to stay where she regularly encounters Vittorio Teglia, a local villain who desires her. Her happiness is complete when she meets Tom McCann, a wild Irishman who only has eyes for Lily. When Lily is tragically forced to walk away from her new life, she is driven to the streets and prostitution, dreading the day that Tom discovers what she's become. A day that dawns all too soon...

  Riches of the

  Heart

  June Tate

  Copyright © 1998 June Tate

  The right of June Tate to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publishers or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.

  First published as an Ebook by Headline Publishing Group in 2011

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Cataloguing in Publication Data is available from the British Library

  eISBN : 9780755389391

  HEADLINE PUBLISHING GROUP

  An Hachette UK Company

  338 Euston Road

  London NW1 3BH

  www.headline.co.uk

  www.hachette.co.uk

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  About the Author

  Also by June Tate

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  To my two wonderful daughters: Beverley, who has the soul of a writer, and Maxine, whose spirit of adventure is awesome; and to my dear husband Alan for his patience and understanding.

  By June Tate

  Riches of the Heart

  No One Promised Me Tomorrow

  For the Love of a Soldier

  Better Days

  Nothing Is Forever

  For Love or Money

  Every Time You Say Goodbye

  To Be a Lady

  When Somebody Loves You

  The Talk of the Town

  A Family Affair

  June Tate was born in Southampton. After leaving school she became a hairdresser and spent several years working on cruise ships, first on the Queen Mary and then on the Mauritania, meeting many Hollywood film stars and VIPs on her travels. After her marriage to an airline pilot, she lived in Sussex and Hampshire before moving to Estoril in Portugal. June, who has two adult daughters, now lives in Sussex.

  Acknowledgements

  To my friends, Florence Evens, Carey Cleaver, Pauline Bentley and Jan Henley, who between them taught me so much. To Anita, who always found a solution when I was faced with a problem. And to my lovely agent, Judith Murdoch, who had faith in my abilities as a writer.

  Chapter One

  Southampton, 1920

  The door opened slowly – as she knew it would.

  ‘Lily, where are you, my little darling?’

  The words were slurred, and rancid fumes of stale alcohol wafted across the small bedroom, no bigger than a box.

  Through the grimy windows the moon shed its diffused light. Lily watched his silhouette as he stumbled towards the bed. She pressed herself against the wall behind the door, holding her breath. Fear made her body tremble.

  He searched for her on the bed, cursing when he found it empty. ‘Where are you hiding this time? Come on out, you little bitch.’ His cruel laughter echoed.

  Clutching her clothes and shoes to her chest, Lily fled through the open doorway, the roar of anger from behind filling her with terror. She raced down the stairs and stumbled into the little living room, where her mother, Mavis Johnson, a pale scrawny creature with dull eyes, sat doing a pile of mending by the fire.

  Lily appealed to her. ‘You’re supposed to look after me!’ Her voice broke with anguish. ‘What sort of a woman are you? Why do you let him do this to me? My own father!’

  The thin lips narrowed. ‘It keeps him out of my bed, that’s why.’ Fear was suddenly reflected in her eyes, as her husband appeared at the top of the stairs.

  Looking up at the swaying figure, his beer belly hanging over his trousers, face bloated from too much alcohol, Lily knew there was no one to defend her. Any spirit her mother might have had had been beaten out of her years ago.

  Her courage fired by desperation, Lily faced her father as he descended the stairs. ‘I’ll kill you before I let you touch me again.’

  Jack Johnson, puce with anger and alcohol, grabbed her arm. ‘You’ll do as I say.’ He pushed her towards the stairs. ‘Get back to your room.’

  She hung on grimly to the bannister, knowing what would happen to her if she did as she was bid.

  He raised his hand to her and she lunged at him with all her might. Unsteady with the drink, he went sprawling. Seizing this chance, she made for the front door, her fingers shaking so much she could barely grip the knob. At last the door opened and she ran out into the night, tripping over the pavement in her haste and landing, winded, in the gutter.

  Jack swayed in the doorway. ‘You little slut,’ he spat. ‘Clear off. I don’t want you in this house again.’

  Flushed with relief at her escape, Lily shook her fist at him. ‘That suits me fine!’ she yelled.

  The upstairs window of their neighbour’s house opened and Mrs Ryan peered out, a chamber pot clutched in her hand. ‘What the bloody ’ell’s going on?’ She looked at the crumpled heap and asked, ‘Is that you, Lily, love?’

  Getting swiftly to her feet, the girl darted off without replying. She found shelter in the doorway of the corner shop and, with trembling fingers, dressed herself. Her skirt, with its worn material, and the threadbare jumper were not warm enough to keep out the chill of the hour. She put on one shoe, but a frantic search failed to find its mate. Crouching on her haunches, Lily began to shake, the trauma of the night belatedly taking its toll of the young, defenceless girl. What was she to do now? What if her father came looking for her? Terror made her feel queasy. The best thing to do was to get away.

  Rising to her feet, Lily limped along the road with an uneven gait, but this soon became so uncomfortable that she cast the remaining shoe aside. Crossing her arms over her chest, she hugged herself for added warmth.

  Turning the corner, she collided with a lascar dressed neatly in his seaman’s uniform of dark-blue trousers and matching j
acket. As he clasped her by the arms, her legs seemed to turn to jelly and her heart pounded. In the low light from the street-lamp, she saw his white teeth strangely bright against his dark skin. His hair was plastered down with Macassar oil.

  ‘Hello, missy. You want jiggy-jig?’

  Overcome with rage she pushed him away. ‘You filthy pig! You’re just like my father.’

  He stepped forward, catching her again by the arm.

  ‘Take your hands off me!’ she cried. Swiftly bringing up her knee, she caught him in the groin. He cursed in a foreign tongue as he doubled over with pain.

  Free from his clutches, Lily ran down the road, laughing hysterically. Her laughter, born of fear, soon died in her throat and eventually, gasping for breath, she stopped and hung on to a street-lamp for support. There was a pain in her side from running. She held it whilst she recovered. ‘No more bloody jiggy-jig for me,’ she vowed. ‘Not ever.’ When at last she could breathe freely she wondered, What am I to do now? Where shall I go? I won’t go back. I can’t go back … I hate them. Both of them!

  The street in this rundown area of the docklands was silent and empty except for a solitary cat walking across the road, its tail held high, its green eyes shining. Lily watched the animal’s elegant passage, wishing she could change places with it.

  The night chill seeped through her bones and made her shiver. Best to keep on the move, she thought. I must find somewhere to sleep.

  There was an empty feeling in the pit of her stomach as hunger gnawed away at her. There had only been bread and scrape for supper these past few nights, her father having spent the last of the money in the pub.

  The enormity of Lily’s situation began to dawn on her. There wouldn’t even be bread and scrape now. She had no home, no money. But at least there wouldn’t be any more beatings and no further invasion of her body, which filled her more with shame than anger. It made her feel dirty. No man would ever make her feel that way again. She’d get by, somehow. Nothing would induce her to return home. I’m never, never going back, she vowed. And yet, even as she swore to survive, she was filled with apprehension. The docks were a dangerous place for anyone, but more so for a fifteen-year-old girl, all alone and in the dead of night. She shivered as the sudden shrill whistle of a goods train made her jump.

  Queens Park looked ominous in the dark. During the day the area was a buzz of activity, but now it was eerie. Huge cranes loomed, dark, menacing silhouettes against the skyline. There were no deep throaty roars from the funnels of an ocean liner, no crowds, only an occasional drunken figure, staggering back, hopeful of finding the dock gates and a warm bunk aboard their vessels, docked silently in one of the berths. A sound of voices raised in anger, a policeman’s whistle, carried in the air. Shrubs and trees loomed out at Lily, casting strange shapes and shadows. Branches swayed in the night breeze. Lily tiptoed along the path, glancing all around her, terrified of seeing anyone, and of being seen.

  She was making her way towards a wooden bench when she saw, by a shaft of moonlight that suddenly appeared from behind a cloud, the shape of a sleeping figure. She paused beside it. A hand shot out and grabbed at her skirt. Lily screamed. The figure sat up. The smell of filth and decay from the woman made Lily retch. It was Mad Maria, a well-known character around the docks. The old hag pushed her face towards Lily.

  ‘What ya want?’

  ‘I’m looking for a place to sleep,’ was the defiant answer.

  ‘This is my pitch. Now bugger off!’

  Lily moved quickly away from her as soon as Maria let go, only to almost stumble over a man, snoring, curled up fast asleep beneath a tree. He was wearing a steward’s jacket, stained with vomit. Beside him she saw something glitter in the moonlight. Bending down she picked up a sixpence and put it in her pocket.

  Two men began to fight outside the closed doors of a pub and she was scared they would come into the park and find her. Across the way, she saw that dimmed lights were still on in the reception area of The South Western Hotel.

  Crossing the road, she crept up to the door and pressed her nose against the pane of glass. Inside she could see the night porter asleep in a comfortable armchair. A large potted palm spread above his head like a canopy. His cap was low over his nose, covering his eyes. Lily watched the steady rise and fall of his chest as he slept, envious of his comfort.

  There was a wide porchway over the entrance, affording some relief from the night air. She leaned against the stone wall and began to shake. Her teeth were chattering with nerves.

  Lily dragged the coconut matting with the name of the hotel emblazoned on it over to the wall in the corner and, using it as a mattress, lay down, curled up in a ball. But she was too frightened to sleep. She could be murdered, kidnapped, taken away on a ship – sold into slavery. Her imagination ran riot. From her foetal position, her eyes watched every movement.

  She must have dozed off, but noises in the background disturbed her. A heavy mist had drifted in and the sound of a fog horn made its mournful cry. Cats fought over food they’d scavenged. Five drunken crewmen loomed out of the mist and staggered past after a late-night party, heading for their ship’s berth. Lily cowered in the corner, praying they wouldn’t see her. Mercifully, they passed by. Still and alert, she listened to the sound of footsteps in the distance, heading in her direction. They sounded just like her father’s. She sat up, ready to take flight, her breath caught in her throat and perspiration beading her forehead. The footsteps paused in front of the hotel. Lily froze. A match illuminated the face of a stranger. She felt faint with relief as the man walked on, puffing contentedly on his cigarette. Eventually her eyelids closed without her permission and she fell into a fitful sleep.

  Next morning, she wakened confused as to her whereabouts. It soon became abundantly clear when the porter appeared, enraged that his precious mat had been used as a bed.

  Kicking out at the curled-up bundle, he was surprised to hear the cry of pain came from a young female. As blue eyes the colour of cornflowers looked up at him accusingly, he was momentarily thrown. ‘What the ’ell’s your game, my girl?’

  Getting stiffly to her feet, Lily grinned at him in relief that she’d survived her first night. ‘I’ve always wanted to stay in a posh hotel.’

  ‘Less of your cheek, missy. You’ll lose me my job if my boss sees you. ’Ere … why ain’t you at ’ome?’

  ‘’Cos I’ve left.’

  ‘Well, you can’t stay ’ere, so be on your way. If I catch you in my porch again I’ll call the police. Understand?’

  She nodded.

  He turned away muttering to himself and went back inside.

  Looking at the sixpence she had picked up the previous night, Lily decided that when the workman’s cafe along the road opened, she’d buy a cup of tea and a slice of bread. But to do so, she’d have to look a bit more respectable. Brushing the loose matting from her skirt, she ran her fingers through her dark wavy hair, shaking it in an effort to look decent. She walked along Western Esplanade to the drinking fountain, quenching her thirst before washing her face and hands then bathing her dirty feet, trusting no one in the cafe would notice she was shoeless. She hoped it wouldn’t be too long before she could get off the street, with its damp March air, into somewhere warmer.

  Sitting on one of the cannons beside the fountain, she waited. How am I going to manage? she asked herself. All she had between her and starvation was sixpence. She couldn’t get a job. Who would employ her, looking such a mess? She stuck her legs out and stared at her bare feet. The first thing she had to do was get a pair of shoes. No. The first thing she had to do was have a hot cup of tea and something to eat. She felt sick with hunger.

  Bitterness welled up inside her as she thought of her mother. How she despised Mavis for letting her daughter be degraded without putting a stop to the brutality. Yet deep down she felt pity for the woman, married to such a monster. Her skin went cold as she thought of her father and of the buckle of his belt biting into her skin. Sh
e could still feel the pain, and his filthy, stubby hands touching her. ‘I won’t think about him,’ she said, pushing the ugly images to the back of her mind. ‘I won’t think about either of them ever.’ From now on she had no parents. If anyone asked, she’d say she was an orphan. She grinned impishly, deciding to change her name. She’d keep Lily because she liked it, but she’d have to give some thought to a new surname. Something posh. Yes – something with a bit of class.

  Putting her hand in the pocket of her skirt, she clasped hold of the small coin. Thank God it was still there. Looking out past the Royal Pier at Southampton Water, she wished she could sail away to another land like the big liners. Start another life. Well, she had started another life, and today was her sixteenth birthday.

  Hidden behind a tree, Lily watched anxiously for the opening of the cafe. Patting her hair, she slipped quickly across the road, opened the door and stood in front of the counter before the owner could see her bare feet.

  When he looked round in surprise, she grinned at him. ‘Morning,’ she said.

  ‘Where the ’ell did you spring from?’

  ‘I was just passing and thought I’d have a cup of tea and a slice of bread. I didn’t have time for breakfast this morning, before I left home.’

  He eyed the shabby youngster suspiciously. ‘Oh yeah? Well, I’m going to be real busy soon, so you be on your way.’

  Lily’s heart sank, but she was determined not to leave until she’d had some breakfast. Placing her sixpence upon the counter, she glared at the man. ‘What’s up then?’ she said, all hoity-toity. ‘My money’s as good as anyone else’s, ain’t it? I’m not asking you for any favours, am I? Now come on, mate, I’m desperate for a cuppa – and I’ve heard yours is the best around here.’

  Bert, the owner, looked at the sixpence, then at her. She was a nice-looking kid, her face shiny clean as were her hands, and he thought she deserved something for her cheek. ‘All right, madam. Cuppa and a slice coming up.’