a heartwarming WW1 saga about love and friendship (The West End Girls Book 1)

by Elaine Roberts

  Matthew’s eyes sparkled as his gaze roamed over her body but he was quick to bring it back to her face. ‘How grateful are you?’

  ‘What… what do you mean?’

  Matthew grinned. ‘Don’t look so worried, I just thought it might be nice to have dinner together one night after the show and we could talk about your future.’

  Annie smiled. ‘It’s very kind of you to ask, Mr Harris—’

  ‘Please call me Matthew, especially when we’re on our own.’ His gaze stayed focused on her. ‘I’m not being kind, I like the company of a pretty girl, that’s all.’

  Annie immediately flushed with colour. ‘The thing is I normally walk home with Rose, my friend. She’s a seamstress here.’

  Matthew threw his head back and roared with laughter. ‘Does that mean you can’t ever go out after the show or do I have to get her the sack?’

  Annie’s colour deepened. ‘Oh no, please don’t do that, Rose loves her work here.’ Her eyes pleaded with him as her words tumbled out after each other. ‘Of course I can go out after the show but I’m usually quite tired by then.’

  ‘Well, then maybe we could have breakfast. Yes, that could prove to be interesting.’

  Heat flooded Annie’s body; she kept her gaze pinned to the wooden floorboards of the stage. She wiped her damp palms down the sides of her skirt.

  Matthew chuckled as he eyed her discomfort. ‘All right then, maybe dinner on Sunday, when we aren’t doing a show?’ He paused and his eyes crinkled in the corners as his smile took hold. ‘But I prefer the idea of breakfast one morning.’

  Unease took hold as Annie froze, unsure how to deal with this good-looking man. She wished Rose was here with her. ‘I’m… I’m not sure breakfast would be a good idea.’

  ‘I’m not going to eat you.’ Matthew chuckled. ‘At least, not yet anyway.’

  Annie fidgeted from one foot to the other, realising she probably wasn’t coming across as a woman of the world. A voice screamed in her head, “But that’s because you’re not.” She glanced down at her hands and took a deep breath. ‘Dinner would be good though.’

  Matthew reached over and clasped her hand in his. ‘There, that wasn’t so hard, was it?’ His thumb made gentle circular movements on her hand.

  Annie wanted to pull her hand away but she was mesmerised by him and the butterflies fluttering in her stomach. ‘Shall… shall I sing the chorus then?’

  ‘Matthew darling, what do we have here then?’

  Annie jumped at Kitty’s voice coming from the side of the stage.

  Matthew dropped Annie’s hand like a hot potato. ‘Morning, Kitty, you’re early. You look like you’ve managed to miss the rain, it was pelting down when I came in this morning.’

  ‘Apparently so. It’s decidedly warm now, but then lately you’ve become an early bird for some unknown reason.’

  Annie immediately tensed, as though she was waiting to see the head teacher at school. She licked her dry lips and cleared her throat. ‘Good morning, Miss Smythe.’

  ‘Morning, Annie.’ Kitty smiled sweetly. ‘I think you know me well enough now to call me Kitty.’ She glanced over at Matthew before looking back at her dresser. ‘Is Matthew working his magic on you?’

  ‘Mr Harris is kindly giving me singing lessons.’

  Kitty scowled at Matthew. ‘Is that what he’s calling it these days?’

  Matthew stood up and walked over to Kitty and kissed her on both cheeks. ‘I am indeed, because that’s exactly what it is. Annie has a lovely voice, it just needs a little training to get the best out of it.’

  ‘I expect it does, Matthew, you do like to get what you can out of all of us.’ Kitty gave a humourless laugh. ‘Is he weaving his magic spell on you? Is he telling you he can get you on the stage?’

  Matthew frowned, but only for a moment. ‘I believe we should all take the opportunities that are offered to us and grab them with both hands.’

  Kitty peered at Annie, there was something in her eyes that Annie couldn’t fathom, was it sadness?

  ‘But, my darling, what about the opportunities that haven’t been offered?’ Kitty paused for what felt like an age. ‘Do you think you should make them happen by forcing situations?’

  Matthew turned away from Kitty and went back to his piano. ‘This conversation is a little deep for me this morning. After all we’ve all got where we are because we’ve grabbed at things when they have presented themselves.’

  Annie looked from one to the other not sure what was going on, but she had an overwhelming desire to leave them to it. ‘Miss Smythe, would you like a coffee?’

  Kitty smiled at the young girl. ‘That would be wonderful, darling, and please call me Kitty.’

  Annie nodded and began to stride across the stage. She peered over her shoulder. ‘Thank you for today’s lesson, Mr Harris.’ She turned away, not waiting for a response.

  ‘Annie, don’t bring my coffee out. I’ll come to my dressing room once I’ve finished with Matthew.’

  ‘Very well, Miss Smythe, err Kitty.’ Annie ran behind the stage where she could hear Kitty’s voice. It was low and the words were unclear but the tone sounded threatening. The last thing she wanted to do was upset her, she loved being in the theatre and Kitty appeared to like her.

  Scowling, Kitty followed Annie into the room a few minutes later and slammed the door shut behind her. She marched over to her dressing table and perched on the edge of the chair.

  Annie watched her through her lashes and thought about asking if she was all right but decided against it. ‘Your coffee will be ready soon, I didn’t make it straight away because of it getting cold.’

  ‘Good, thank you, I can’t start the day without it.’ Kitty looked round at Annie. ‘Stan was telling me you didn’t want to accept his offer of being my dresser because you came to London to be on the stage?’

  Annie beamed at the actress. ‘That’s true but I love working with you. My time will come, and until then I’m learning such a lot just from watching from the wings every night.’

  Kitty raised her eyebrows and forced a smile. ‘Be careful what you wish for, things are not always as exciting as they seem.’

  Annie’s lips tightened. ‘It’s not something anyone has ever encouraged me to do. Actually, I’ve been more of a subject of fun for everyone to poke at.’

  ‘It’s not nice but it’s a tough business, so you need to develop a thick skin and not allow others to get in your way.’ Kitty’s face softened as she studied the young girl’s crestfallen face as she waited for the kettle to boil. ‘You’re quite naive but wait until you’ve had a few rejections or people have promised things and then let you down, you’ll soon toughen up and realise you have to take what’s offered regardless of the cost.’

  The kettle started whistling behind Annie. Startled, she spun round to switch off the flame that was underneath it. ‘If you don’t mind me asking, if it’s that bad why are you doing it?’

  Annie peered over her shoulder to see Kitty frowning at herself in the mirror. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.’

  ‘No, it’s fine. My mother was on the stage but she died when I was quite young––’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.’

  Kitty glanced at her through the mirror. ‘It was a long time ago. If I’m honest, I barely remember her. Anyway, I didn’t know anything else, it’s where I grew up and learnt to sing. I was lucky everyone took me under their wing, well nearly everyone, that is until I came of age.’

  Annie poured the hot water into the cup and stirred vigorously, ignoring the whirlpool she was creating and the teaspoon clinking against the side of the cup.

  ‘I suspect that coffee is well and truly stirred by now.’

  Annie’s head jerked up. ‘I’m sorry, I was in a world of my own.’

  Kitty eyed Annie as she took her drink from her. ‘So, what was this wonderful show you went to see with your mother?’

  Annie grinned, and her whole face lit
up. ‘It was at the theatre in Worcester, remember?’

  Kitty laughed. ‘Oh yes, Major Barbara.’

  Annie rested her hand on her chest. ‘I’ve never forgotten your kind words.’

  Kitty paled and fidgeted in her chair. ‘Well you should, some things are best left in the past.’ She sipped her coffee. ‘Anyway, we had better make sure everything is in order for this evening’s performance.’

  Kitty’s tone told Annie the conversation was over.

  Annie left the room and wandered down the corridor to where Rose would be sitting repairing the costumes ready for that evening. She quietly pushed against the door and slid through the tiny gap. ‘Hello, Rose.’

  Rose jerked around.

  ‘Is everything all right?’ Annie laughed. ‘You’re not reading when you should be working, are you?’

  Rose stared at her before snapping, ‘Of course not. What are you doing here, shouldn’t you be looking after the star, having your singing lessons or something?’

  Hurt flitted across Annie’s face. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt, I just wanted to say hello.’ She shook her head. ‘Everyone seems to be in a strange mood today.’

  Rose reached out and grabbed Annie’s hand and gave it a little shake. ‘No, it’s me that should be sorry.’

  Annie wondered why Rose was so jumpy. What had happened? Did she have a secret, and if so, why wasn’t she sharing it with her? She remembered the book Rose had snapped shut. Maybe she was just keeping a diary, in which case it was nothing to do with her. Rose was her friend so she decided she would tell her when she was ready.

  *

  ‘Are you going up to Whitehall?’ Joyce asked the girls as they sipped their hot tea, while tucking into their soft-boiled eggs and lightly buttered bread soldiers at the dining table.

  Arthur Bradshaw shook the newspaper straight as he held it up in front of him. It rustled loudly as he turned the page over and smoothed it down the centre crease. The girls stared at the headline on page three, ‘British Troops Press The Germans Back On Their Flank’ screamed out in bold print along the top of the page. They all sat in silence for a moment.

  Arthur peered over the top of his newspaper. ‘What’s the matter?’

  Joyce shook her head. ‘Nothing, Uncle.’

  Arthur let his gaze wander over the three of them in turn. ‘Then why has your endless chatter stopped?’

  Joyce’s hands clasped together on her lap, the folds of her black skirt held firm beneath them. ‘No reason, we were just talking about going to Whitehall later.’

  Annie giggled. ‘I don’t even know where Whitehall is or why I should be going there.’

  Joyce looked solemn as she stirred her tea. ‘It’s not far from Westminster Bridge, where you were waving at the men on the boats.’ She chuckled at the memory. ‘It’s also near St James’s Park.’

  ‘Oh, not that far then.’ Annie put down her cup. ‘What’s happening there?’

  ‘I heard someone say yesterday that, apparently, soldiers will be marching there, and I wondered if we should go and support them. You know, cheer them on.’

  Rose’s lips tightened. ‘I don’t know, mainly because I don’t understand why we have to get involved at all. Why should our men risk their lives?’

  Annie nodded. ‘I don’t disagree, but whatever we think the men are going so it would be nice for them to see they had the support of the country behind them. What do you think about it, Mr Bradshaw?’

  ‘We’re just sending children to their death, that’s what I think.’ His chair scratched along the wooden floor as he pushed back his chair. ‘I’m going in the other room to get some peace and quiet.’ He folded his paper and marched out of the room, leaving his chair away from the table.

  Rose watched him leave. ‘Joyce, did you know he felt that strongly about it?’

  Joyce shook her head. ‘Why would I know? He never talks to me about anything except food.’

  Annie and Rose smiled.

  ‘Apparently, according to Simon and the newspapers, thousands and thousands of men have enlisted since war was declared. He said the papers say that they expect it to be over by Christmas so hopefully the men that are going will all be back soon.’ Joyce raised her eyebrows. ‘At least most of them should.’

  ‘I suppose Christmas is only two to three months away so that’s not too bad, and those headlines sound promising.’ Rose let her teaspoon fall onto her plate. ‘That egg was lovely.’ She licked her lips. ‘Simon seems to chat to you a lot about what’s going on, especially with the war.’

  ‘He doesn’t talk down to me if that’s what you mean. He treats me more like an equal.’ Joyce smiled. ‘Shall we go then?’

  Annie nodded. ‘My guess is it would be wrong not to. Are Simon and Peter going?’

  Joyce shook her head. ‘Simon definitely isn’t because he has to open up as usual this morning and I expect the same will apply to Peter. I suspect all the Kitchener war posters popping up everywhere probably makes them feel guilty for not enlisting as well, but it’s about them holding on to their businesses.’

  Annie nodded. ‘It’s difficult isn’t it, but how many soldiers do they need, especially if it’s going to be over by Christmas?’ Her thoughts were immediately with her brother. None of her mother’s letters had mentioned the war. Maybe she’d ask next time if any of the boys in the village had joined up. ‘Before we go, I just need to collect a letter from my bedroom to post home.’

  Ten minutes later the girls were striding towards Whitehall, their heads down as the cold breeze spiked at their faces.

  Annie squinted as she looked up. ‘This feels more like winter than autumn. I miss the colours of the leaves as they drop off the trees, the reds and golds that you get back home.’

  Rose peered under her eyelashes. ‘You’re not homesick, are you?’

  Annie’s lips tightened. ‘I suppose I am a little.’ She shrugged. ‘But it’s all about the dream.’ Annie sighed. ‘Joyce, I’ve been thinking Simon’s café is a lovely little place, and that meat and potato pie we had was lovely, but I wondered if he would allow you to put some of your baking skills to use there.’

  Rose beamed across at Joyce. ‘What a wonderful idea, what do you think Joyce?’

  Joyce sucked in her breath. ‘I could never ask. It’s Simon’s business and he’s doing what his father was trying to achieve before he died.’

  ‘I can see that.’ Annie reached out and rested her hand on Joyce’s sleeve; the wool’s coarseness was like pins pricking at her hand. ‘But I assume from the name of the place, Meet and Feast, he would want customers to be able to just pop in for a coffee or tea and a slice of cake rather than a full meal all the time.’

  Rose ran in front of Joyce and stopped her in her tracks. ‘I think it’s a great idea and Simon has nothing to lose in giving it a try. You could just start with one of two popular cakes, like a Victoria sponge and say a chocolate cake. They are different enough to give the customers a choice.’

  Joyce stood silently in front of her friend.

  Rose raised her eyebrows. ‘You have nothing to lose by asking. The worst that can happen he will say no.’

  Annie squeezed Joyce’s arm. ‘I hate to admit it, but Rose is right and it could be the first step to chasing your own dream.’

  Joyce shook her head. ‘I’ll give it some thought. Simon is a good friend and boss so I don’t want to upset him.’

  Rose raised her hands in disbelief. ‘Why would it upset him? You could be helping to make his business a success.’

  Joyce smiled. ‘All right, all right I’ll ask him when the time is right.’

  The girls smiled at each other and Rose stepped out the way so they could continue moving forward.

  It wasn’t long before they were entering Whitehall. They were stunned at the amount of people that were already lining the street. They looked around for a suitable space in the six deep crowds that were waiting to cheer the hundreds of men as they marched by in Whiteh
all. Autumn had brought a wintry wind, which cut through the air. People had gathered in their droves, patiently waiting and listening, most wrapped in winter coats as well as hats and scarves. The familiar skyline of the Houses of Parliament, Big Ben and Westminster Abbey were visible in the distance.

  Rose pulled the rough collar of her coat up as she turned to Annie and Joyce. ‘I can’t see anything, can you?’

  Annie shook her head. ‘Winter’s on its way though.’

  A woman further along shouted to everyone, ‘I think I can hear cheering.’

  With that the crowd surged forward stretching their necks to look for signs that the soldiers were on their way. People pressed closer to the one in front of them, their body odour overpowering any soap or cologne that may have been used earlier that day.

  Joyce nudged the girls. ‘Let’s move further down there, it doesn’t seem so busy.’

  The girls shuffled along, weaving between the women and children until they were almost level with the statue of Prince George, Duke of Cambridge.

  ‘Do you think Charles will be one of them?’

  Joyce looked around her to try to see the woman who had spoken.

  She watched a young woman run her hand over her face, before turning to look at the older woman beside her. ‘I don’t know, it could be hard to tell.’ She paused, looking through the crowd again. ‘They all look the same in their uniforms.’ She gave the woman’s arm a squeeze. ‘He’ll be all right; he’s too bright a star to be dulled by all this.’

  The older woman gave a weak smile. ‘I hope you are right; he is so young.’

  Joyce could feel the tears pricking at her eyes. This was the reality of war, women saying goodbye to their menfolk and wondering if they’ll ever see them again. Her throat tightened.

  A woman’s voice rang out. ‘They’re coming, I can see them.’ She cheered and pointed further along the road.

  An old man put his two fingers from both hands in his mouth and blew a loud whistle. ‘They’re here. Come on everyone, cheer as loud as you can, let the lads know we’re behind them all the way.’