April, come she will,
May she will sing all day,
June she will change her tune,
July she will fly,
August go she must.
Lily sat up, clasping her knees, to listen.
“Sing it again!” she commanded.
This time she joined in with him, her clear steady voice hesitating around the tune and stumbling on the words.
“Again,” she said when they had finished. “Please, Stephen. It’s so pretty.”
He sang it again with her, watching her mouth shaping the words and the unwavering concentration on her face. She was very young still. He thought of Marjorie and Sarah at his mother’s tea party with their affectations and tricks. Lily was like a child beside them. Like a child or like a woman of extraordinary purity. As if she lived in a different country altogether from post-war England with its greed and compromise. She was like the other girl, when he first saw her in Belgium, a simple girl who worked on the land and knew only the seasons and crops. A girl who trotted her donkey cart past a line of silent marching men and looked at them with pity in her eyes.
“I’ve got it,” Lily said. She gestured him to be quiet and then sang the song through to him. “Is that right?” she asked.
Stephen felt his heart move inside him as if it had been frozen and dead for years.
“Oh, Lily, I do love you so,” he said.
And Lily, with the sun on her back, too content to demur, reached forward and put her hand to his cheek in a gesture that silenced and caressed him, at once.
• • •
On the drive home Stephen hesitated about asking permission to visit Lily in Southampton or elsewhere on tour. But Lily’s smiling contentment throughout the long sunny day had made him more confident.
“I should like to visit Lily next week, while she is in Southampton,” he said, speaking across her to Mrs. Pears. “I have to go to Southampton for business on Wednesday. If you would give your permission I should like to take Lily out to dinner and take her back to her lodgings later.”
He watched for the slight movement which was Lily’s nudge and her nod. Mrs. Pears hesitated. “Lily’s still very young, Captain Winters,” she said. “I don’t want her talked about. Girls gossip and there’s more gossip talked in the theatre than you would imagine. I think it’s perhaps better for Lily if she goes home with the other girls after the show.”
“Oh, Ma!” Lily remonstrated.
Helen Pears shook her head, addressed herself to Stephen. “I don’t want to make one rule for you and a different one for everyone else,” she said frankly. “Lily’s bound to get asked. The answer should always be the same. She doesn’t go out to dinner without me. If I can’t be there, then she can’t go.”
Lily hunched her shoulders but she did not appeal against her mother’s decision.
“What about taking her out for tea, between the shows? As I have done in Portsmouth?” Stephen asked. He could feel his anger rising that Helen Pears should stand between him and Lily. Like all women, he thought, very quick to sacrifice someone else for their own ends.
Helen nodded. “If it is not inconvenient for you when you are working,” she said. “Lily may certainly go out to tea with you in Southampton.”
Lily peeped a smile at him from under her hat. “On Wednesday?” she asked.
“Wednesday,” he said.
• • •
“You keep Captain Winters at arm’s length,” Helen observed to Lily as she watched the Argyll drive off from the upstairs sitting room window. “He’s very much in love with you. And if he asks you out to dinner again, you remember I said no.”
“He’s nice though,” Lily said. “He’s nice to take us out like that. I haven’t had such a lovely day ever, I don’t think. And did you see the china? And the teapot? It was solid silver, wasn’t it?”
Helen nodded. She had felt the weight of the pot as she had repacked the hamper.
“Plenty of money there,” she observed. “But not for you. You don’t have to marry, you don’t have to make a choice for years. You can be free, Lily, with your talent. You’ve got your career ahead of you and all sorts of opportunities.”
Lily came away from the window, immediately diverted. “I wonder what Charlie has in mind for a new act,” she said. “Has he told you?”
Helen shook her head. “No,” she said. “But you can do what he says. He’s got a wonderful eye. He’ll go far. I heard some gossip when I was waiting for you the other day that he’s applied for the post of musical director at the Kings Theatre, Southsea. A proper theatre—not just music hall. That’d be a big step for him! I wouldn’t be surprised if he got it either.”
Lily nodded. “He can play anything,” she said proudly. “If you just sing it to him once he can play it straight away. I’m going to sing him the cuckoo song. I think it’s really pretty.”
“Cuckoo song!” Helen said indulgently. “You’d better get yourself packed for tomorrow. I’ll make us some supper. I’ve got some nice ham in the shop which won’t last another day. I’ve got some biscuits and tea for you to take with you. Don’t forget to eat properly, Lil. And your washing is on the landing, all ironed.”
Lily moved to the door and stopped to put her arms around her mother. “Will you be all right without me?” she asked. “You’ve never had to manage without me before.”
Helen patted her on the back. “I’ll be fine,” she said. “It’s a big start for you. I’d rather see you do it than anything else in the world. I wouldn’t stand in your way, Lil. You go off and I’ll be proud of you.” She hugged her daughter tight for a moment, and quickly blinked the tears from her eyes before she let her go so Lily would not see what it was costing her. Lily was her creation, made of finer stuff than the other children of their street. Every spare penny had been poured into Lily’s singing, into Lily’s dancing, into her elocution. It was only sense, now that the girl had her chance, for her mother to send her out to the wider world, and be proud. But it was only natural that she should feel deeply bereft, as if Lily were still her baby taken from her too early.
She gave Lily a little push. But the girl hesitated at the door. “D’you think Charlie Smith likes me? I mean as a girl, not just as a singer?”
Helen looked at her daughter. “It doesn’t matter, does it? He’s really old, according to you. As old as Captain Winters. And injured in the war too.”
Lily nodded, unconvinced.
“You can go out to dinner with him, if he asks you, while you’re on tour,” Helen said. “You’d be perfectly safe with him, Lily.”
“Because he’s not in love with me and Stephen is?”
“Something like that,” Helen said. “And he knows the line.”
“I like him awfully,” Lily confided.
Helen smiled. “I know,” she said. “He’s a good friend to you, Lily, you wouldn’t have got this far without his help. You keep him as a friend and bide your time. You’ve got years ahead of you for love.”
8
HELEN DID NOT GO WITH LILY TO THE STATION. She ordered a cab for her and waved her off from the shop doorway. There were customers in the shop and they had no time for any farewell more than a hurried peck on the cheek.
“Write to me if you need me,” Lily said hastily as her mother thrust her into the cab. “You know I’ll come home if you need me.”
“Stuff and nonsense,” Helen said brusquely. “You go and have a lovely time, Lily. Be sure you eat properly and get enough sleep.” She slammed the car door. “And remember what I said—no dinners out.”
Lily nodded and waved, turning around to watch her mother’s indomitable figure recede as the car drove away. Helen stood in the road, her arm raised, waving and waving until the cab was out of sight. Then she wiped her face roughly on her white apron and strode back into the shop. “Who’s next?” she said crossly. “And there’s no credit, so don’t ask for it.”
Lily, gripping her handbag tightly on her lap, wi
th her vanity bag on the seat beside her, rode on her own to the station, tipped the driver and called the porter for her suitcase all by herself, and then merged joyously with the company waiting on platform two for the Southampton train.
Charlie was there, supervising the trunks going into the luggage wagon. Sylvia de Charmante was being driven to Southampton by a gentleman friend and would meet them at the theatre.
“I’d have thought you’d have got Captain Winters to drive you,” Madge said. “Is he back on the scene for keeps?”
Lily smirked. “He took me and Ma out for the day yesterday. In the Argyll. We had a picnic. He has a real silver teapot. And really good china. Just for a picnic!”
The train drew in, snorting smoke and hissing steam. The stoker leaned out over the curved panel of the cab and winked at the girls, his face shiny with sweat and streaked with coal dust. Porters opened the doors and the company piled into adjoining carriages. Charlie found himself seated beside Lily.
“So, are you planning your wedding, then, Lily?” he asked with a smile under cover of the noise of the girls getting settled and piling their hatboxes into the overhead shelves.
Lily giggled. “No, I told him not, and he’s not going to ask me again. Ma won’t let him take me out to dinner on my own but I can have tea with him. He’s coming to Southampton on Wednesday.”
“Well, watch your step,” Charlie advised. “If your ma is happy with it then I suppose it’s all right. But watch your step with him, Lily.”
Lily turned her candid blue gaze on him. “What d’you mean?”
Charlie flushed a little and shifted in his seat. “Oh dammit, Lil, you know what I mean!”
“D’you mean he might want to kiss me and spoon even though I told him we wouldn’t get married?”
Charlie nodded.
“He won’t do that!” Lily said decidedly. “He’s a gentleman after all.”
The engine hissed a cloud of white steam and the doors slammed down the length of the train.
“Shut the window! Shut the window! We’ll all get covered in smuts!” the girls cried.
They pulled the window up, and fastened it with the big leather strap on the brass hook. The station master blew a loud blast on his whistle, raised the green flag and dropped it. The engine started forward and there was the exciting thump as the carriages moved too, and then with a rattle the whole train eased forward and wheels rolled into their regular clatter.
“Well, that’s all right, then,” said Charlie ironically. “A gentleman!”
• • •
Lily had thought the show would be different in another theatre, but it was reassuringly the same. There was less of a panic in the quick costume changes because the girls’ dressing room was nearer the stage. It was a bigger room and Lily had a proper place at the mirror, and her own peg for her costume. Charlie Smith complained about a draught in the orchestra pit and wore a vest and then a ludicrous pair of combinations under his immaculate white shirt and black bow tie. One of the scene changes was too much for the Southampton crew, and after they had fluffed it for two successive nights it was dropped entirely. But apart from small alterations, the show was up and running, and Lily found the familiar songs and scene changes and the acts made the theatre feel like home in a strange city.
The lodgings were fun. They were all living together in the same house and Lily loved supper after the last show, when Charlie Smith sat at the head of the table and Mike the SM sat at the foot, and the girls gossiped and told jokes and stories of theatre life. Lily felt the proud glow of being one of the elite. There were other lodgings in Southampton, there were other dinner tables. But this was the table for the cast at the Palais. They were all noisy and exhibitionist even when the curtains had closed and they were home for the night.
Sylvia de Charmante’s gentleman friend took her out to dinner at night and she rarely spent time with the rest of them. The other acts ate with the chorus girls, or picnicked in their rooms. There was always someone going shopping who wanted company, or someone who had to stay home and sew her stockings who wanted Lily to sit with her.
There was a piano at the digs and Charlie would play every morning and sometimes call Lily into the room to sing with him. She would sing for as much as a couple of hours at a time until she was tired. “Slower,” Charlie would say. “More oomph, Lily. A little more slur there and raise your eyes and smile, really slowly. Attagirl! That’s it!”
And Lily would lean, as he commanded, against the piano and sing leisurely, as if the audience would wait all night for the next note.
“Keep ’em guessing!” Charlie said. “You’re a queen and they’re your subjects. Don’t ever let them think they know what it’s all about. You’ve got to be the boss.”
Lily’s teacher at home had been a singer trained in the classical tradition. She had taught Lily to sing standing upright with her eyes fixed on a distant horizon. Charlie taught her to drape herself over a piano and introduced her to ragtime.
Not that ragtime was particularly easy. “Count, for God’s sake, Lily!” he said impatiently. “Don’t guess it!”
“I did count!” Lily protested. “I came in on the third beat!”
“You rushed it. It’s syncopated. You sing it like a march. Leave it slow, Lil. Do it one-two-and-three this time.”
Lily sang it again and was rewarded by one of Charlie’s dark-eyed beams. “Angel,” he said. “Do it again, and really hit it this time.”
• • •
On Wednesday Stephen came as he had promised. The Argyll was waiting outside the Southampton Palais stage door. Charlie chanced to be going out as Lily met Stephen on the doorstep.
“Hello, Captain Winters,” Charlie said easily. “Taking Lily out to tea?”
Stephen nodded, his eyes never leaving Lily’s face, pink under Madge’s cream cloche hat.
“The Raleigh Tea Rooms are very nice,” Charlie observed.
“We’re going to the Grand,” Stephen said. “There’s a band there, and dancing. I thought you might like it, Lily.”
“Divine!” Lily said.
“Back at six,” Charlie said impartially. He glanced at Coventry, holding the passenger door open for Lily. He smiled at him. Coventry looked at him and slowly put a finger to his cap.
“See you at six,” Charlie said again and sauntered down the street.
Lily enjoyed the tea dance. Stephen was relaxed and more amusing when they were alone. He could dance well and Lily liked being held by him. His arm was warm and firm around her waist and she felt that her hand in his was held as if it were precious. She enjoyed the feeling of being dainty, special. She liked how Stephen rested his cheek softly against her hat. He was close without being oppressive. His touch on her was light, a caress, not an embrace.
The Grand was expensive. Lily was the youngest woman there, and certainly the only girl in a borrowed hat and without a little fur stole. She liked the waiters’ deference to Stephen, and the shining service for the tea. She liked the little cakes and the good china.
“I wish Ma could be here. She’d love it.”
“Shall I take her a message from you? Would you like me to go and see her?”
“That’d be nice of you,” Lily said. “I write to her every couple of days. She’s only got a delivery lad to help in the shop and it’s a lot of work for one. Especially on Thursdays when the wholesalers’ lorries deliver.”
“I could go and see her on Thursday evenings and telephone you,” Stephen said. “I could keep an eye on her for you.”
Lily giggled. “I don’t think she’d like that! But you could pretend you were passing. You could go in and buy some cigarettes or something, couldn’t you?”
“And then I’ll phone you,” Stephen said. “If you give me the number of all of the places on your tour I could call you every Thursday to tell you that she’s all right.”
The dance ended and Lily beamed up at him and clapped the band. “You’re lovely. Thank you. I’d lik
e that.”
• • •
Stephen returned Lily to the stage door at six o’clock on the dot. Charlie Smith was leaning against the door smoking a cigarette and watching girls walk past.
“Hello again, you’re very prompt.”
“Army training,” Stephen said with a grimace. “Were you over there?”
“Briefly,” Charlie said. “I took a piece of shell at Arras and ended up training conscripts in Wales for the rest of the war.”
“One of the lucky ones.” There was an edge to Stephen’s voice.
“I know it.”
“I was there till the bitter end.”
Lily put out her gloved hand to Stephen. “Thank you for a lovely tea,” she said formally. “I will write to you with the telephone numbers.”
Stephen took her hand and held it. He glanced over her head. Charlie smiled blandly at him from the doorway.
“Goodbye, Lily.” Stephen yielded to yet another chaperone. “Have a lovely time and come home to us soon.”
Lily patted his cheek and then vanished inside the stage door.
“Bye,” Charlie said.
Stephen got into the passenger seat beside the driver and the big Argyll eased away.
“Bye,” Charlie said again to the empty street.
• • •
In the following weeks Stephen missed Lily more every day. In her absence he could forget the way her speech sometimes grated on him and the occasional cheerful twang of her Portsmouth accent. He forgot Lily’s vanity and her ambition to succeed in a vulgar profession in a vulgar age. He forgot how much he disliked the determined gentility of Mrs. Pears, and the way she looked at him as if he were not to be trusted. He forgot his dislike of Charlie Smith, who had seemed to linger at the stage doorway to see Lily safely in. He forgot his jealousy of Lily’s bright promiscuous smile. All he remembered was the light in Lily’s face, the exact shade of blue of her eyes, her silky cap of fair hair. He remembered her at the picnic sprawled out on the rug, at once wanton and demure with her little white-stockinged feet in the white sandals crossed at the ankles. He adored her hats—frivolous little pots which fitted her head like a bluebell on the head of an elf in a children’s picture. And he felt that enjoyable half-painful ache of desire when he thought of her against the red curtain in her blue choir boy’s gown with her pale face upraised and her voice as clear and pure as a ringing bell from heaven.
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