She watched the instinctive swing of Kerry’s body. Unlike herself, Kerry was buxom and small-waisted. Her breasts looked too big for the fragile ribcage. She was also tall, her height giving her the grace to carry off the figure God had given her. Her short black hair, freshly bobbed, framed her face to perfection. Briony looked at her younger sister with a mixture of admiration and pride. Pride because it was she, Briony, who had made her sister’s career possible. And it was she, Briony, who had looked after Kerry until now when she was making a name for herself with this new music called jazz. Unlike the majority of white women singers, Kerry could sing the blues, and everyone who heard her was spellbound. Briony knew that she was going to be big, much bigger than anyone had thought possible, and the knowledge was like balm to Briony.

Kerry’s voice when she began to sing was as clear and haunting as the words of the song she sang:

The deep soulfulness of the voice carried across the room. Briony watched as the pianist shook his head in wonderment and delight and knew then that tonight her sister’s career would be made. Her success was assured, and along with it the success of the club. Kerry would be their draw.

Ginelle Carson walked as if she owned the world. In fact, she felt as if she owned a small part of it. Ginelle was now a main attraction at Briony’s top house. She had appeared in a couple of Briony’s films and now her notoriety added to her value as a good-time girl. She was dressed in a long brocade evening coat and silver high-heeled shoes. She pulled her shoulders back as she stepped off the kerb and tottered slightly. A large arm came out and steadied her. Ginelle turned to face the man and smiled at him professionally. Her lips were a deep orange crescent and her eyes heavily made up, her youth hidden beneath a veneer of sophistication. She automatically put a hand up to her short cropped hair and patted it unnecessarily back into place.

‘Thank you.’ Her voice still held its East End sharpness, but she was working on it. The man gave her a smile that quickly faded.

‘We’re going for a little walk, love.’

Ginelle stopped dead and looked at him closely. Something in his voice made her heart beat faster. She tried to pull her arm from his but it was held in a vice-like grip.

‘Here, leave go! Give over!’ Her voice was rising and there was no trace of her refined tones now.

The man frog-marched her across the busy road and towards a waiting car. He bundled her inside without ceremony and the car pulled away from the kerb.

Ginelle had regained her composure by now.

‘What the bleeding hell’s going on here? Stop this car and let me out now!’