Riches of the Heart by June Tate Page B

cursed Manny Cohen every time a strange man’s hands moved over her body, touching her.
    She tried to be careful in her choice of client, because here in the dock area there were many undesirable and dangerous people. But she’d learned the hard way that the decent-looking men were sometimes the worst. Sometimes she smiled wryly when Amy’s words came true – when her time with a punter was thankfully over quickly.
    She saw Jim from time to time. It was a welcome respite for her. Despite the fact that he paid her for sex, he took her out for a meal, brought her gifts from America, treated her with respect and never questioned her about herself.
    But tonight she felt ill. The rent was paid, but she hadn’t been able to face the street and all its horrors for days. She was weak with hunger, shrammed to the bone, and tonight had been forced to leave the safety of her room and try her luck.
    Fred Bates was strolling along the street, happy to be out of prison at last and looking forward to his first pint in several long weeks. Having been released earlier that day, he had been home to dump his small parcel of possessions and was now ready to slake his thirst. He had stopped to light a cigarette, when a girl stepped out of the darkness and spoke to him.
    ‘Hello, dearie. You look lonely. Could you do with some company?’
    In the low light from the street-lamp, he looked at her with interest. She’d pulled the collar of her coat up around her face to keep out the cold; all he could see was a pair of wide, deep-blue eyes, fringed with long silky eyelashes. The voice lacked the harsh tones that most of the toms possessed, through years of degradation. He was curious.
    ‘If I knew who I was talking to, I might be interested.’ He leaned forward and opened up the collar, and was surprised at the youthful appearance of the girl. Despite the dark hollows beneath her eyes, she was a pretty little thing.
    ‘How old are you?’ he asked.
    She gave him a cheeky grin, tucked her arm in his and said, ‘Old enough.’
    He caught hold of her hand, which was like ice. She staggered against him, and he clutched at her, to stop her falling. She was shivering.
    ‘You shouldn’t be out on the streets like this. Come on. I’ll take you into the pub and give you a pie and a drop of whisky, or I can see I’ll have a body on my hands.’
    He ushered her into The Dog and Duck, sat her down and went to the bar.
    ‘Hello, Fred,’ the barman greeted him. ‘Just got out?’
    ‘Yeah, this morning. And I’m never bloody going back.’
    The man laughed. ‘That’s what you said last time.’
    ‘Yeah, but this time I mean it. Give us a pint of bitter and a Scotch. Got any hot meat pies?’
    ‘Yes. I’ll get the wife to fetch one for you.’
    Lily sat huddled in a corner, blowing her breath into her hands, trying to warm them and observing the stranger at the bar. He must be in his thirties, she guessed. His build was wiry and his thin face was kind. He glanced back at her with a worried frown and gave her an encouraging grin. She smiled wanly back at him.
    He walked over to her, handed her a glass and said, ‘Sip this, love. Slowly, mind. Don’t want you choking on me.’
    The fiery liquid slid down her throat, burning as it made its slow passage, warming her. Then she tucked into the pie, brought over by the landlady. It tasted so good, she relished every mouthful.
    Fred didn’t speak but watched her with fascination. What was she doing on the street? This was no usual tom. There was a vulnerability about her, almost an air of innocence, which he found very strange when she was out there selling her body. ‘Feel better?’ he asked as she swallowed the last crumb.
    ‘Mm,’ she answered with a sigh of satisfaction. ‘That was very kind of you. Thanks. Now where do you want to go?’
    ‘What do you mean?’
    ‘Well, you bought me a drink, gave me something to eat. Do we go back to your place or mine?’
    Her words shocked him –