The Galaxy Club in Berwick Street is to close for major refurbishment. Owner and Soho entrepreneur Frank Parr is pictured with staff members, Kenny Gabriel and April Thomson. The new-look Galaxy will be a focal point for the best in modern cabaret and sophisticated dining. It is set to reopen in May with a charity gala starring Frankie Vaughan. Membership is still available but strictly limited.
During the weeks that followed, I met up with April most days. We’d have lunch and then visit a museum or a gallery. Failing that, we’d hang out in Regent’s Park. I would outline the blockbuster I intended to write and April would relate stories about her hometown. She made the place sound like something out of Whisky Galore, full of charming Scottish chancers who were never happier than when taking the piss out of Sassenachs or dancing the Highland Fling.
I’d occasionally try to get her to turn an afternoon into an evening, in the hope that it would morph into a morning. Each time she claimed she had something on, or had to go home to write up the day’s events in her diary. When I accused her of having a secret boyfriend, she’d laugh and ask me who’d be interested in her. It was two days before the Galaxy reopened that I discovered the truth.
One of my mates was having a stag do and we were in Sackville Street looking for a decent club, when I saw Frank and April sitting at a table in a restaurant window.
Frank was saying something, and April was laughing. Not like she did when I told her a joke, but in a way that left no doubt as to what they meant to each other. Frank’s wife was pregnant with Roger at the time, although it wasn’t his cheating that bothered me. Nor was it envy. There seemed something innately wrong with the pair of them being together, as though they were each members of a different species.
If one of the guys hadn’t doubled back to get me then God knows how long I’d have stood on the pavement staring at them.
The reopening do was a lavish affair. Among those attending were three MPs, two England international footballers, Peter Cook and several members of Her Majesty’s Constabulary. Frank needed to stay on the right side of the cops. That wasn’t as tough as it used to be as the Met were beginning to come down hard on corruption. A lot of bent officers took early retirement and fucked off to Spain. Those too young to go down that route were either weeded out or cleaned their act up and crossed their fingers. The exception was DI Dennis Cartwright.
The Galaxy had its fair share of loudmouths who groped the girls or tried to pick fights in the bar. A word from Farrelly generally did the trick. If it didn’t then he gave the member a VIP tour of the kitchen, where he would demonstrate just how effective the chef’s knives were at paring flesh from bone.
The kind of trouble Cartwright brought wasn’t so easily sorted.
Thursday was his usual night, and he always arrived alone. If Frank wasn’t around to schmooze him personally, I’d have to look after Cartwright and say how delightful it was to see him. He’d insist on having his favourite table and order the most expensive items on the menu. He signed the bill when it arrived but to my knowledge was never asked to settle up at the end of the month.
At the start of the evening, Cartwright was reasonably well behaved. As the drinks went down he became increasingly lippy. Mostly it would be cruel observations about the acts, although occasionally he’d pass a loud comment about a member’s wife or the cut of his suit. He’d be careful not to pick on anyone well known or likely to strike back. Despite this there was the occasional skirmish. Farrelly or one of his doormen would move in and the guy who’d thrown the punch was ushered off the premises.
What made it worse, for the female staff at least, was that Cartwright disliked dining alone. He’d always ask if I could find him ‘a little bit of company’, which meant having to detail one of the waitresses to join him. As this involved having Cartwright stare down their tops while having to laugh at his hilarious observations, there were never any volunteers. I operated an unofficial roster, which meant that none of the girls had to endure Cartwright twice in a row. The only woman I left off the list was April. Until one night he asked for her specifically.
Frank was in the club that night and had ushered Cartwright to his table. A bottle of Mo?t arrived seconds later and the menu was delivered into his pallid hands. As usual he went with the priciest entry and then whispered something into Frank’s ear and pointed at April. It seemed that Frank was trying to steer him in a different direction. If that was the case then Cartwright wasn’t having it.
Twice he shook his head and said something to Frank that looked like more of an order than a request. Even favoured guests didn’t tell Frank Parr what to do in his own club and I half expected him to whip the champagne bottle out of the ice bucket and bust Cartwright over the head with it. Instead he walked over to the bar and told April that the Detective Inspector had requested the pleasure of her company.
They’d been sat together for about an hour when it happened. Although Cartwright was tucking into the booze with even more enthusiasm than usual, his public observations were few and far between. Instead he focused on April. This was peculiar, bearing in mind his predilection for women with big hair and bigger tits.
What the conversation was about I’ve no idea, but suddenly she stood up and slapped him hard across the face. This wasn’t a unique event in the Galaxy, but there was a harshness about the contact that marked it out as something special. Everyone in the room turned to see what was happening on table twelve.
For a moment I thought that Cartwright was going to return the slap with interest. Instead a grin came over his face that was one part leer and two parts smirk. Whatever reaction he’d been hoping for, this wasn’t it, but it seemed to have come in a close second. Had April followed up with another shot to the head then a round of spontaneous applause might have broken out. Instead she walked out of the club before anyone had a chance to stop her.
Cartwright’s eyes followed her every step of the way.
When April came in the following night, no one enquired what Cartwright had said to her. We asked if she was okay and let it go at that. Frank’s reaction surprised me most. In fact, I was surprised he suffered Cartwright’s behaviour in general. Having the DI provoke a member of staff without doing anything about it was even more stunning, particularly when it was someone Frank was having an affair with.