Chapter 1

The day had been tiring and my mind was pleasantly contemplating a cup of tea, a shower and an evening meal as I drove the last few miles to the hotel. My usual hotel could not accommodate me on this trip so perforce I had to book another, slightly more expensive hotel. I drove a lot in my work, covering some thirty-five to forty thousand miles a year; and had done so for the last fifteen years without accident. Therefore, without boasting too much I considered myself a reasonably good driver. It was either that or my being very lucky. My eyes were never fixed solely ahead, but flicked in a routine from ahead to side mirrors and then to the rear view mirror regularly. However as I arrived at the hotel I must have relaxed just a little too much.

I slowed and indicated my left turn and had started the turn when a limousine coming the other way turned right without indicating, across my bows into the hotel entrance. My right foot hit the brake, narrowly avoiding a collision. With muttered imprecations aimed at the driver of the limousine, I followed and parked. The Mercedes 'S' class limousine had swept imperiously up to the front door and stopped. The driver got out and ran round to open the rear door. The woman who glided out of the limousine reminded me of someone, but for the life of me, I could not place her. I got out of my car and she briefly looked my way. It was not someone I knew personally, but someone of whom I had seen pictures or perhaps on television. Whoever she was, she vanished into the hotel and the porter came out and retrieved her baggage from the boot. The limousine driver looked towards me as I stood by my car and raised his hand in a gesture of apology. He obviously considered that sufficient as he got into the limousine and drove away.

I pulled my case from the boot and went in to register. There was no sign of the woman; presumably, she had been fast-tracked through reception. All the while I went through the procedures of registering and in the lift up to my top-floor room; I searched my memory to put a name to the face. It is aggravating when you try to drag something from your memory and get zilch; yet when you turn your mind off it suddenly comes to you. I was in the shower when her name came to me. Kat Lacey! Then I understood why I had recognized her but couldn't put a name to the face. It was the hair. Kat Lacey had long, straight very dark brown hair that hung to her waist. The newspapers called her the British answer to Crystal Gayle; which in my humble opinion was absolute rubbish. Why would we need an answer? The same papers twenty years before had labelled Kathy Kirby as Britain's answer to Marilyn Monroe as if we were so insecure that we needed to match them. Crystal and Marilyn were unique as were Kat and Kathy. The comparison was odious in any case. Marilyn was an actress who sang a little. Kathy was pure songbird and as far as I knew had never acted in her life. I had long been of the opinion that all papers have a tendency to print inanities designed to foster controversy; that headlines were more important than actual news. In this case they suggested a rivalry that didn't exist. The woman who got out of that car did not have the long tresses that I remembered, the hair was quite short and medium brown with blonde highlights, but it was Kat Lacey, I had no doubt.

The hotel I usually stayed at would not turn a hair at guests taking dinner wearing jeans and a sweatshirt. However, this hotel with an extra star may have frowned, so I dressed in slacks and a long sleeve shirt. I usually took a drink and read the paper before going into the dining room so I found my way to the bar taking a brief look at the restaurant as I passed. Neither was busy, which to me is not a good sign. If the bar isn't busy by half past seven in the evening then there is something wrong. I ordered my usual early evening tipple, a Kronenbourg, sat down and opened my paper. I had barely tasted my lager and read just a few headlines when I felt a presence. Looking up I saw Kat Lacey. "I must apologise for my driver cutting you up like that. We were not quite sure where this hotel was and he only saw the sign at the last minute. I am sorry."

I stood. "Please don't worry about it, Miss Lacey. I am neither bruised nor injured and I vented my anger in the car with a few choice words."

"I'll bet." She grinned. "You recognise me?" She sounded quite surprised.

"Well not at first, although felt sure I knew you from somewhere. It was the hair, or rather lack of hair that fooled me."

"Wow. If you remember that you must be very old."

"You shouldn't say that, Miss Lacey. After all the papers were full of you at one time and I know when you were born. Actually we are the same age." I remembered my manners. "Would you like to sit down and can I get you a drink?"

"Thank you. Could I have a Vodka and tonic?"

She sat as I took the few steps to the bar. The barman who was not busy had overheard our conversation and was already holding the glass to the optic. I returned with her drink. I knew when she was born and where, as I was born just a few miles away. "I'm Jack Weston by the way. How's Sarfend, these days?" I used the dialect called Estuary English; sometimes incomprehensible to any who didn't grow up either side of the Thames estuary.

She giggled. "God! I haven't heard it called that for many a year. Moreover, you said it as if you were born to it. Are you from the area?"

"Yes. I was born in Upminster. I grew up speaking Estuary English. I knew Southend quite well. I had many a day trip there."

"I haven't been back to Sarfend for years." She used the local dialect. "The last time was when I played the Cliffs Pavilion at Westcliff." She lifted her glass to me. "Cheers." I did the same. "You obviously remember the long hair. I had it cut years ago. It took hours to keep it in good condition. So when I perform now, it is a wig." She laughed. "Please keep that secret." I crossed my heart but didn't hope to die. "What do you remember about Southend?"

I thought for a moment. "Lots of things really. The pier of course." Southend boasted that its pier was the longest in the world, or was it just the longest in Britain. I can never remember. "And that vast expanse of sticky grey mud when the tide went out. I always thought that calling it Southend on Sea was a little bit of adventurous advertising. It's really the Thames estuary. Everyone remembers the Kursall and that big Dipper. What did they call it?" Miss Lacey was just about to remind me when it came to me. We said together. "The Scenic Railway." She laughed and I grinned and then went on. "I particularly remember that racing track just to the east of the pier. The cars never went faster than fifteen miles an hour, but to an eight year old that was fast. I loved them. I always thought I was so good that I could easily be a racing driver. Huh! The dreams of childhood. What else do I remember? Oh yes. My first kiss with a girl was at the halfway shelter on the pier. It should be emblazoned on my memory, but I can't even remember her name now.

Miss Lacey laughed delightedly. "Snap! So was my first kiss with a boy. In the halfway shelter and I can't remember his name either. Wouldn't it be funny if it was us and neither of us can remember?" She examined my face closely. "Nope. I don't think it was you."

"If it was I am sure I would have remembered. Miss Lacey, I am going to eat in the restaurant, would you care to join me?"

She took a moment to think about it. "Yes. I think I would like that, so long as you call me Kat."

"Ok. Kat. Shall we go now?"

The headwaiter seemed to have little to do. There were only a dozen or so diners, in a restaurant that could easily accommodate more than six times that number. He led us to a table in the window looking over the gardens. Her first question after we sat down was understandable. "Are you a married man, Jack?"

"I was. I am divorced."

"Were you naughty?"

"No. She walked out one day and never came back. Her parents knew where she was, but would not reveal her location. I suspected at the time she was living with another man. Sometime later a friend confirmed my suspicion. The divorce after two years was quite simple. The papers had been sent to her parent's house, and three days later they were back with my solicitor signed without comment. We had a daughter and she stayed with her mother. My work, being frequently away from home does not lend itself to being a good parent."

"In that case you had it easy. Not like mine." I knew about Kat's divorce, after all as a celebrity it was front-page news for a while. "What with that and my so-called manager, I think I shall have to work until I'm ninety if I live that long." Again, her bust up with her manager had been front-page news. He had been helping himself to large amounts of her earnings. Evidently, he had managed to conceal from her the true value of her contracts.

"Yes. I read about that."

"I can imagine." She said sardonically. "The red tops had a field day with that. Then the Inland Revenue who had been paid based upon my supposed earnings didn't want to give me a rebate until I could prove that I hadn't got the money. Do you know how difficult it is to prove that you don't have money?"

"You don't mind talking about it?"

"Why not Jack? It was all in the papers anyway."

"I would hate that." I remarked. "Everything you do, everyone you see is there for the world to see and comment upon."

"It's life." She replied sadly. "Become a celebrity and you become public property. I didn't want to be a celebrity. I just wanted to sing and make people happy."

"Well you did that. I can remember 'I Follow'. So full of love and hope for the future."

"I would bet that you can't remember all the others, Jack." She remarked. "Many of them were very forgettable."

"Sorry. I of course knew about you and did hear some of your recordings, but your music, wasn't my cup of tea."

"You didn't like Rock?" She smiled and pretended shock. "What do you like?"

"Swing. The big bands of the forties, music you could dance to and lyrics you could actually understand."

Kat was laughing as I told her. "Did you say you were born in the same year as me? I reckon you were fibbing, probably twenty years before if you ask me."

The waiter had brought the menus as we were talking. Neither of us had picked them up, as our conversation was for that moment more important. There were quite a variety of dishes on offer, but my frequent stays in hotels had taught me that choosing the more exotic dishes would result in a long wait for your meal and disappointment when it finally arrived. I would ignore the a la Carte menu and stick with the Table d'hôte. I opted for safe and simple, the baked cod with sauté potatoes and salad. Kat chose a four-ounce sirloin steak, rare to medium with salad. She was surprised at my choice. "I would have thought you would choose a big steak. Wouldn't most men choose that?"

"Possibly, but I am not most men."

"I can see that." She grinned. "Doesn't like Rock, listens to music from the Ark, doesn't go for steak. Boy! You are unusual."

"You are being too harsh in your judgement. It's not that I don't like Rock; I prefer other music, good music that happens to be from a time not too distant relatively. I do like steak. I also like fish. Should you eat the same dish for every meal, it would soon become boring and then dislike would set in. In terms of being unusual I would prefer to call myself independent."

"I was teasing you, Jack. However, I agree about independent. I wish I could have been, and then I wouldn't be singing in the same style and the same songs all the time. You know 'I Follow' was the only time I recorded a ballad. I would have liked to do more, but my manager reckoned that Rock was better for me."