Kitty tapped her fingers across her pursed lips. ‘Maybe trumpet sleeves with a tight bodice and a lace overlay on the skirt and some shiny beads or something on the bodice. What do you think?’
Rose looked thoughtful. ‘What if I draw another picture for you to look at and then we can see what you think?’
‘That sounds like a good idea. You need to let me know how much money you need for it all because I don’t expect you to pay for the materials.’
The door burst open and Annie came rushing in. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, did you think I wasn’t coming back? I don’t know what’s going on but I had to go to several shops just to get some milk.’
Rose looked up at Annie. ‘I’ll leave you two to get on.’
Kitty reached out and placed her hand on Rose’s arm to stay. ‘We were just discussing my wedding dress.’
Annie beamed. ‘How exciting. Have you decided on one then?’
Kitty giggled. ‘Rose has a fantastic eye for design; I had no idea. She’s certainly been hiding her talent away from us all.’
Annie smiled; she hadn’t heard Kitty sound so young and girly before. ‘Really, Rose, you have been a dark horse for all these years.’ She looked down at the book Kitty was holding, recognising it as the one she had assumed was a diary Rose wrote in every day. ‘All the times I saw you with that pad I never realised you were sketching in it. Why did you never share it with us?’
Rose shrugged. ‘I suppose I just thought nothing would ever come of it and felt silly thinking it might.’
Annie frowned. ‘And yet you let me go on and on about wanting to be on the stage without saying anything about your own dreams, even when I asked you.’
Rose shook her head. ‘I’ve told you before the Spencers don’t have dreams; they just get on with the things they have to do.’
Kitty’s gaze flitted between the two girls. ‘Well, I can tell you, Rose, you have a real talent and it shouldn’t be kept hidden. I definitely want you to make my wedding dress and, looking at these sketches, I’d say some other dresses as well.’
Fear suddenly appeared on Rose’s face. ‘I may be good at designing but it doesn’t mean I’m good at making.’
Kitty shook head. ‘I’m not listening to that. You’re a good seamstress and you proved that the very first day I met you. I have faith that you will do a good job.’
Annie nodded. ‘You are a good seamstress, Rose, and I’ll not hear anything bad said about you or your work.’
The room fell silent.
Annie cleared her throat. ‘Anyway, there seems to be a shortage of food. I was talking to a lady who was queuing at the butcher’s and she was wearing her larder key around her neck to stop the children from helping themselves to the food.’
Kitty’s eyes widened. ‘Really, I’ve not noticed that before. Is that just today?’
Annie shook her head. ‘I don’t think so. From what I can gather some shops are running short of just about everything. We might have to allow for queuing time from now on or go without.’
*
Joyce ran downstairs, each step creaking in her wake. She had tucked Philip up in bed, and read him a few pages of The Wind in the Willows, as she did every night. He laughed at the funny voices she put on for Mole, Ratty, Badger, and the petulant Toad. It was firmly becoming one of his favourites to read every night, and she would never admit it, but she was having fun reading it to him.
There was a clang of crockery coming from the dining room as Annie stirred the tea in the pot. ‘Ah, Joyce, just in time for tea.’ She placed the teaspoon onto the saucer and the tea strainer over the first cup. ‘I brought up some of those biscuits you made for us to try. I hope you don’t mind.’
Joyce smiled. ‘Of course I don’t. That’s why I made them. You’re all going to be my guinea pigs for these new dishes I’m trying to make for the café.’
Arthur chuckled. ‘That’s fine by me. I’m quite happy to be your guinea pig anytime. I don’t think I’ve ever tasted anything you’ve cooked that I haven’t enjoyed.’
Rose laughed. ‘I couldn’t agree more.’
Annie poured the hot tea into the teacups and placed them on matching saucers. She put a teaspoon on each one before handing them out. ‘You can all add your own sugar. I’ve added a splash of milk but if you want any more you can do it yourself.’
‘A splash is normally fine for me, thank you very much.’ Arthur took the cup and saucer offered to him. ‘I’m glad Philip’s home safe and in bed. He doesn’t seem any worse for wear for his little adventure.’
Rose frowned as she accepted her cup and saucer. She glanced over at Joyce. ‘It was lucky Frank found him the way he did because anything could have happened to him.’
Joyce shuddered. ‘It doesn’t bear thinking about, does it. I’ve definitely got more attached to him than I realised.’
Annie sat down in the nearest chair. ‘It’s not surprising. He’s a sweet little lad, and I don’t suppose he’s had a very easy life.’
Rose looked down at her tea before looking up again at Joyce. ‘I’m sorry, Joyce, but I can’t not say anything because it’s playing on my mind.’
‘What is?’
‘I’m more than a little concerned that Frank might know where you live now. Doesn’t it bother you?’
Annie’s eyes widened. ‘Maybe he’s been following her because he fancies her.’ She giggled but Rose remained straight-faced. ‘It’s unusual for you to be concerned, Rose. You normally take everything in your stride so why are you worried about that?’
‘I don’t know. It’s just a feeling I have and he wears an expensive-looking suit.’ Rose scowled.
Annie chuckled again. ‘Is that a crime?’
Rose shook her head. ‘I know it probably doesn’t make sense but you don’t see many men wearing expensive suits like he does.’ She looked pensive. ‘I don’t think it helps he told Philip to stop being a baby and grow up. Is that really something you would say to a five-year-old?’
Arthur and Annie spoke as one. ‘What?’
Rose frowned. ‘Especially to a child who is lost.’
Joyce tightened her lips. ‘I know. It concerns me too; after all, why would someone who writes for a living talk to a child like that? It doesn’t make much sense does it?’
Arthur frowned as he studied the girls. ‘He’s been hanging around a lot. If it wasn’t for that article he’s writing I would think he probably was attracted to you, but that remark changes everything.’
Joyce fidgeted in her seat ‘I know it does, but I don’t know what to do about it. After all, if he’s dangerous I don’t want to upset him.’
Arthur scowled. ‘Do you know his full name?’
‘Do you know I’m not sure if he’s ever told me. If he did I don’t remember. I need to think.’ Joyce placed her fingers on her lips, tapping them gently as she tried to remember if he’d ever told her. ‘He came to see me because I won that cake baking competition, and he wanted to write an article on me for the newspapers, but actually he never mentions it now and I know it was never finished. I could ask him when I see him.’
Arthur frowned. His thoughts immediately turned to Ted. Was this something to do with him? ‘No, I don’t want you saying or doing anything that might raise an alarm with him, especially if he’s dangerous. We need to find out first.’
Joyce’s eyes narrowed as she stared Arthur. ‘But why would he be hanging around me if that was the case? Oh, do you think he’s something to do with the landlord? He’s been trying to get me to pay more rent and I’ve refused. Do you think he’s here to put the frighteners on me or something?’
The girls gasped.
Rose almost spat her tea out. She coughed to clear her throat. ‘I’m sorry, but are you saying you could be in danger?’
Joyce shrugged. ‘I don’t know, I only know the landlord wasn’t very happy with me for standing up to him.’
Arthur shook his head. ‘Leave it with me. I don’t like the sound of it but we c
an’t let our imaginations run riot. There’s probably a simple explanation. Let me try to make some enquiries.’
Joyce nodded. ‘If you don’t get anywhere then I’ll just ask him outright. You know, now I think about it he always seems to turn up when I need help.’
Rose studied her friend. ‘Do you like him?’
Joyce shrugged. ‘I don’t dislike him and he’s always nice to me. He offers to help quite a lot.’
Annie frowned. ‘How did he end up coming to Hyde Park with us? Did you ask him? I mean have you given him the wrong idea about your feelings for him?’
Joyce’s mouth dropped open for a second before she shut it again. ‘Oh, gosh, I hope not. Philip wanted Frank to come with us. I didn’t object because at least I wouldn’t be playing a gooseberry with you lovey-dovey people. It was as innocent as that.’
Arthur nodded as he finished chewing his biscuit; he licked his lips before brushing the crumbs off his shirt. ‘Don’t worry, I’ve still got contacts and something tells me I know exactly where to start.’ He paused, his lips tightening. ‘I’ll find out who he is.’
Annie looked frightened as she stared at Arthur. ‘In the meantime what should Joyce do? I don’t like the idea of her being in danger every day.’
Joyce chuckled. ‘I expect we’re just letting our imaginations run away with us. I’ll be fine.’
Arthur nodded. ‘Joyce is probably right, but I do think you need to be careful and just treat him as you have been. If he’s hiding something we don’t want him to know you’re on to him.’ He picked up a biscuit crumb and placed it on the saucer. ‘I’ll tell you one thing you haven’t got to worry about—’
‘What?’ the girls all chorused together.
‘Those biscuits are lovely. I’ve made a bit of a mess, as the crumbs will testify, but they are very tasty.’ Arthur leant forward in his seat. ‘In fact I may well have another one.’
15
Mavis stared at each brushstroke of her son’s paintings; she stood in front of the London skyline that filled the canvas in front of her. The strong smell of paint had gradually faded from the room. The globules on the floor along with the canvases propped up against the wall were the only evidence of Simon’s daily time with his paintbrushes. She sighed, wondering if Simon would ever be able to sit and paint again. The dark circles under her eyes were evidence that she wasn’t sleeping. She hated keeping Simon’s secret and worried how much his medical treatment was going to tally up to, not that she cared; he was home and that was all that mattered.
‘Why do you keep staring at Simon’s paintings? You’ve been stood there since I came down for breakfast half an hour ago,’ Barbara asked as she pulled her soft dark hair back into its usual bun.
Mavis jerked round and cleared her throat. ‘Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in.’ Her hand rested at the base of her neck as she turned back to the painting.
Barbara studied her mother. ‘Are you all right? You look tired and seem a little jumpy. I know you’re worried about Simon but you can’t spend your day and night fretting. Try and keep busy.’
Mavis pulled herself upright and straightened her shoulders. ‘Simon is a real artist.’ She paused. ‘I miss watching him lose himself in his painting.’ She blinked rapidly to stop the tears from falling. ‘I hope he’s going to be all right.’ She felt her throat tighten; taking a deep breath she turned round to stare at her daughter. ‘Don’t you miss him?’
Barbara nodded. ‘It’s strange him not being here, and the café isn’t the same without him there. After all he is Meet and Feast and all that it represents. He’s carrying Pa’s idea forward.’
Mavis tightened her lips. ‘I almost wish he wasn’t because he’s missed out on his own life by trying to fulfil your father’s ambition.’ She turned and looked back at the paintings. ‘He has such a talent and it’s wasted because no one’s getting to see these.’
Barbara smiled. ‘You would think that, Ma. You’re his mother, but I’m not sure everybody else would agree, including Simon.’
Mavis sighed; walking into the hall she grabbed her lightweight coat. ‘How are you getting on with Joyce?’
‘I don’t know, Ma, there’s something about her I just don’t trust, but I can’t tell you what it is.’
Mavis chuckled. ‘I can tell you something: the cakes she bakes are to die for. I tried one before Simon left.’ She giggled like a naughty schoolgirl. ‘Since then I’ve sneaked a small slice when no one’s looking.’
‘I agree. I’m not faulting her cooking.’ Barbara paused and raised her eyebrows. ‘Although, I have to say she stood up to Mr Harris when he came in for extra rent money. She wasn’t paying it, and to her credit she stood her ground so there’s obviously something about her.’
Mavis nodded. ‘She must have something about her for Simon to think so highly of her.’
Barbara shook her head. ‘I don’t know. I wonder if she’s just playing him to get the business while he’s away.’ She paused. ‘And then there’s this Frank. He seems to turn up with great regularity.’
Mavis swung round. ‘I don’t know anything about a Frank. Simon never mentioned him. I shouldn’t think she’s up to no good. She’s worked at the café for a long time and he’s never had a bad word to say about her.’
Barbara pulled her hair from the tight bun she had just twirled at the nape of her neck. She ran her fingers through it. ‘Perhaps you should keep an eye on things and not be so trusting, then you’ll be able to judge for yourself.’ She pursed her lips. ‘She keeps bringing in the young lad, and I’m not sure he isn’t her son. Mind you I think he’s too old to be hers.’
Mavis’s eyes widened. ‘Simon would have said if she had a little boy.’
‘Maybe Simon didn’t know about him, and she could be older than she lets on.’ Barbara paused. ‘If Simon is in love he probably wouldn’t care.’
Mavis’s jaw slackened. ‘Have you asked her?’
Barbara shook her head. ‘There’s something about him, but I can’t quite put my finger on that either.’
An hour later in the café, with the smell of frying bacon hanging in the air to whet everyone’s appetite, Mavis was up to her elbows in soapsuds. She glanced over at Joyce who was buttering some bread. She had a strong urge to talk to her about Simon being in hospital, but she had promised him, and she could never break a promise. Mavis shook her head; she had to put him out of her mind for now. ‘It gets so warm in this kitchen; it’s a shame we can’t have a door open.’
Joyce peered over at her. ‘It does get warm but Simon always said we couldn’t have the back door open because of flies. We’ll be glad of the heat from the range when the winter comes again.’ She went back to buttering her bread before looking up again. ‘Is it getting too much for you? Working here I mean?’
Mavis ran her forearm across her brow. ‘No, definitely not. I’m pleased to be of use. I’m just not sleeping very well.’
Joyce wanted to ask about Simon but decided she didn’t have that right as she’d turned down his proposal. She had fought the urge to write to him, spelling out her regret, because he hadn’t waited to say goodbye. Joyce assumed he was embarrassed and regretted his proposal and that’s why he wasn’t writing to her, but that was her cross to bear and no one else’s. She prayed every night for his safe return. ‘Why don’t you stop and make yourself a cup of tea, maybe cut off a slice of cake or have a sandwich? In fact, I should be giving Philip something to eat.’
Mavis reached for the tea towel and dried her hands with it. ‘Have you sorted out a school for him yet?’
‘Yes, he starts when the schools go back after the summer. It will be good for him to be occupied and to make new friends. I can’t manage to school him, play with him and work at the same time.’
Mavis watched Joyce scraping the butter across the bread before making the sandwiches. She turned to look around the kitchen. ‘Wonder if we should look at the main dishes here because you seem to work so hard with very little resu
lt, and it just doesn’t seem fair on you.’
Joyce stood upright; she stretched her back and tipped her head back before taking a deep breath. ‘This is the menu that Simon’s father set many years ago and Simon always wanted to follow it. I don’t know if I’d be so bold as to change it. I’m not sure he would want me to.’
Mavis held the kettle under the cold tap and turned it on. The rattle of water spraying the inside of the kettle prevented any further talking for a moment. Mavis turned the tap off and put it on the range before turning back to Joyce. She dried her hands on her apron. ‘I understand that. You’re in a difficult position but you and Simon worked so hard and I think this place could be so much more. I’ve tried many slices of your cake and you’re clearly a good cook so I think we just need to think about it.’
Joyce nodded. ‘Well, thank you, Mavis, that’s very kind of you to say so but as I said it’s not my café.’
Mavis nodded. ‘No, I suppose it’s mine, although I’ve never looked at it like that. Simon always wanted to continue with his father’s work but I do think Simon’s lost himself in trying to do that.’
Joyce put down the knife. ‘In what way do you mean?’
Mavis poured milk into two cups, before spooning tea leaves into a pot. ‘I don’t really know what I mean, but I was looking at his paintings today and he has a real talent and it’s all wasted because no one ever sees them.’
Joyce wiped her hands down her apron. ‘Yes, I only found out recently he painted and asked if I could see them but it wasn’t something we got round to sharing before he left.’
Mavis poured the boiling water into the pot before turning round to face Joyce. ‘Maybe it’s time we looked at everything; maybe you could cook us something that we could try and then if we’re happy we could sell it here.’
Joyce frowned. ‘Are you sure that’s what Simon would want?’
‘Simon isn’t here, and I think it’s time that his dreams were realised. I know he’s not here to enjoy that moment, but hopefully he’ll be pleased with the changes when he gets to come back to the café.’
Big Dreams for the West End Girls Page 22