Ever persistent, he was still waiting when cold, miserable and nursing a wrenched shoulder, Pat returned. ‘Well, that’s the last time I’ll risk my neck for that experience.’ Her words were angry, but her tone was one of pride that she’d done something a little reckless, but never intended to do again.
‘Some experience isn’t it?’ Jimmy was beside her, a Thermos flask in his hand. ‘Would you like some tea?’
She looked at his earnest face, ruddy with the cold, and the cup of steaming tea he held out to her and felt a little embarrassed by the way she’d rushed off. ‘Thanks, Jimmy.’ She took the cup in both hands and sipped the hot sweet tea. ‘You came well prepared for the cold.’
They stood side by side gazing out over the city towards the docks where dozens of giant cranes scraped the low grey sky.
‘Do ye see that crane, fourth one in from the left?’ Jimmy pointed. Pat nodded. ‘That’s on the opposite bank to where I work. It unloads sugar from the boats for the Tate and Lyle factory. Mind you, there’s not been many of those since the war started.’
‘Aye, there hasn’t been sugar in the shops for a few weeks now.’
‘We probably won’t see it again ‘til the war’s over.’
The silence stretched between them, neither was much practised in small talk. Eventually Pat took a deep breath:
‘Look, Jimmy—’
‘Pat, I’m sorry we got off on the wrong foot.’
‘No, no I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been so angry with you.’
‘Can we be friends then?’
‘I suppose so.’ She smiled and handed back his cup.
He screwed it back on the flask, and packed it away in his haversack, chattering nervously. ‘Would you like a ride down on the back of my sledge? I’m on the run over there. You can see it’s not as steep.’
‘No thanks, I’ll just get back to my sisters.’ She turned to walk away, but he fell into step beside her.
‘Pat, do ye think we could start again, you and me?’
She stopped and faced him. ‘Jimmy, there is no you and me. There won’t ever be a you and me.’
‘Why not?’ His tone changed. ‘Am I not good enough for you?’
‘Don’t be silly. I don’t want to fall out with you. You’re a very kind person, but there’s nothing between us.’
‘It’s because there’s someone else, isn’t it!’
‘Look, Jimmy there isn’t anyone else. And even if there was, it would be none of your business.’
‘It’s him you sing with, isn’t it?’ His voice began to rise.
‘What?’
‘I saw the two of you together on stage, you looking into his eyes, the way he kissed your hand at the end!’ Some of those standing on the hill were turning to stare. Pat lowered her voice.
‘Jimmy, you don’t understand, that’s a performance, an act. There is nothing between me and William Kennedy.’
‘Oh yes, I know that’s his name, saw it in the programme, and that’s not all I know about him.’
‘What do you mean? What is there for you to know about him?’
‘I know he has a wife and child!’
Pat took a step backwards, and for a moment looked like she was going to argue, but instead she turned and walked quickly down the lane.
Sheila saw her go and ran after her. ‘Wait Pat, wait for me!’
Pat’s hands were deep in her pockets, her mind deep in thought. Sheila caught hold of her arm.
‘Leave me alone. I’m going home!’
‘It’s Jimmy isn’t it? He’s upset you again. Look, just tell him you don’t want to go out with him and he’ll have to leave you alone.’
Pat turned to face her sister, she was catching her breath in gasps and when she spoke the words escaped one at a time.
‘You … don’t … know … what … it’s about. It’s … not that … simple.’ Pat breathed deeply and tried to calm herself. ‘He says … he’s married!’
Sheila was confused. ‘Jimmy’s married?’
Having to explain seemed to calm Pat a little. ‘Not Jimmy … William.’ She began to sob and Sheila took off her mittens and wiped her sister’s face.
‘William? What’s this got to do with him?’ But even before she’d finished the sentence, Sheila understood. She guessed, too, that the reason for Pat’s distress was not her dislike of Jimmy, but her growing love for William Kennedy.
‘Ach, how would he know anything about William? Sure he’s just made that up to upset you. Can’t you see that?’
‘No, it’s true, I’m sure of it. Why else does he keep his life a secret? I don’t know anything about him. Where he lives … who he lives with … nothing and now I know the reason why!’
‘Well, I wouldn’t believe Jimmy if I were you. You know what I’d do?’ Sheila didn’t wait for an answer. ‘I’d just ask William straight out! You can do it on Friday night at the rehearsal.’
‘I can’t just walk up to him and ask him is he married! What would he think of me?’ And she began to cry.
From the hill above them floated the excited sounds of the sledgers who hadn’t a care in the world beyond staying upright on their sledge. Down on the lane, Sheila hugged her sister and some of Pat’s despair transferred itself through the layers of warm coats, scarves and mittens to Sheila’s warm heart. Bit by bit Pat’s sobbing subsided and her shoulders relaxed a little. Then Sheila took her hand. ‘Come on, let’s go home and if we slip on the way down the lane at least we can catch each other.’
*
Goldstein was already seated in a booth in the Ulster Milk Bar when Martha arrived. ‘Mrs Goulding, thank you for coming to meet me. I have already ordered for us both. Do you know this is the only place in Belfast where they make a good pot of fresh coffee?’
Martha didn’t know that, nor did she know why Goldstein had sent Peggy home with a handwritten note asking for a meeting. The coffee when she tasted it was a surprise, so too were Goldstein’s words.
‘You know that Esther and I had to report to the police immediately after Christmas to register her as an alien. How I hate that word! Well, they have allowed her to stay in my care, provided I take full responsibility for her.’
‘Yes, Peggy told me she could stay.’
‘You may not know that she worked in our family music shop in Warsaw and she was looking forward to working here. But, try as I might, I have been unable to acquire for her a work permit. Unfortunately, I have … what is that saying again?’ His eyes moved from side to side as if searching for it in Martha’s face. ‘Ah, I have come to the brick wall.’
Martha smiled in spite of his serious expression.
Goldstein smiled back. ‘Then it came to me! I could ask you to help.’
‘Me?’
‘We need someone with considerable standing in this city, to speak for Esther.’
‘But no one would listen to me.’
‘Maybe not,’ Goldstein leaned across the table, ‘but what about your brother-in-law?’
‘Thomas Wilson?’
‘Yes, I remember him saying he was on the Board of Guardians.’
‘Aah, I see.’ Martha nodded. ‘What do you want me to do?’
*
It was growing dark when Martha crunched up the gravel drive that swept in a semi-circle in front of the large grey Edwardian villa. The last time she had been here was when she had been paid to clean the house in preparation for a large dinner party.
Anna raised an eyebrow at the sight of Martha on the marble steps. ‘Heaven’s above, Martha, to what do we owe this pleasure and at this hour of the day?’ She ushered her into the wide entrance hall just as a grandfather clock began to strike and Martha waited until the sixth stroke had died away before replying.
‘I’ve come to see Thomas, if that’s possible?’
‘Come through, come through.’ Anna didn’t suggest Martha remove her coat and Martha didn’t expect her to. Nor did she expect to be shown into the drawing room. Instead, An
na led her towards the rear of the house to the morning room, chatting as she went. ‘How are you, Martha? What about the girls? How’s Irene’s new job?’
Martha waited nervously while Anna went to fetch Thomas going over in her head the words she’d rehearsed.
‘Hello Martha. You’re a stranger in these parts.’ He took a puff of his cigar and eased himself into an armchair. Martha realised that was the extent of the formalities and took a deep breath, praying her tactics would be the right ones.
‘There’s a young woman,’ she began, ‘a friend of Peggy’s. She’s from Poland. After Hitler invaded she managed to escape the country and travelled across Europe alone. She’s now with relatives in Belfast.’
‘And what does she need that brings you to my door on a dark winter’s evening?’
‘She needs to be able to work, Thomas, and that means a work permit. Could you … would you … use your influence to get her one?’
He brought the cigar to his lips again, rolled it between finger and thumb as he thought. ‘What’s the girl’s name?’
‘Esther Silverman.’
He nodded. ‘Tell her to go to the issuing office the day after tomorrow. If my influence is worth anything the permit will be waiting for her.’
‘Thank you, Thomas.’ Martha stood up.
‘Sit down, Martha, there is something you can do for me, for us, in return.’ She lowered herself back into the chair.
‘I’m travelling to England on a business trip early next month and Anna would like to come with me. We need you to stay here for a week to look after Alice and Evelyn. That wouldn’t be a problem would it?’
*
‘Myrtle! Myrtle, wait’ll you see what I’ve got!’ Irene was waving a blue airmail envelope. ‘It was there for me when I got home from work.’
‘Is it a letter from Sandy?’
‘It’s better than that. It’s a letter and a photograph!’
Myrtle shrieked with delight. ‘I can’t wait to see what he looks like!’
‘It was taken at Christmas. He’s having his Christmas dinner in a place called Ambala.’ She looked at the photograph again quickly as she took it from the envelope and handed it to Myrtle. ‘Guess which one’s him?’ The photo had been taken from the end of a long table. Those nearest the camera leaning back while those furthest away leaned inwards, like some exercise in perspective.
‘How will I be able te guess?’ laughed Myrtle. ‘Sure didn’t you forget what he looked like and you spent a whole afternoon with him.’
‘He’s on the right.’
‘Well, that narrows it down a bit and they’re all good looking down that side.’
‘He’s there, third one along, smiling.’
‘They’re all smiling, Irene. It’s a photograph.’
‘There, there!’ She leaned over and jabbed the photo.
‘Oh that one,’ said Myrtle bringing the photo closer to scrutinise it. ‘Did I say they were all good looking? I meant, all except that ugly one third down on the right!’
Irene laughed and punched her in the back. ‘I’m glad he’s not your type. You’d only be after him too.’
Myrtle waved the photograph towards the rest of the Templemore Tappers. ‘Hey, do youse want te see Irene’s RAF fella?’
Martha had watched Irene’s excitement with some apprehension. The correspondence between her and this young serviceman had been limited, but the arrival of the photograph today seemed to ignite a spark in Irene as though seeing his face had put the relationship on a new footing. There was even talk of her having a photograph of herself taken to send to him. Not for the first time, Martha felt guilty for the sense of relief in knowing that he was thousands of miles away.
Just then Goldstein arrived and behind him, still looking frail, but smiling shyly, was Esther. They came straight to her.
‘Esther has something she would like to say to you, Mrs Goulding.’ In halting, but understandable, English Esther said, ‘Thank you very much for my work permit.’
Martha was delighted. ‘You got it?’
‘Yes,’ said Goldstein. ‘We called at the office this morning and it was there waiting. We can’t thank you enough.’
‘Don’t mention it. I’m just glad I could help. So now, Esther, you’ll be working in the music shop?’
Goldstein translated and Esther smiled, adding some words in Polish.
‘She says yes, but her uncle won’t let her serve customers until she can speak better English!’
At the other side of the rehearsal hall, Sheila was talking earnestly to Pat. ‘Now you know what you’re going to say to him?’
‘Yes, I’m going to say “Good Evening, William. Are you ready for a run through of the songs?”’
‘No! We’ve been through this and we agreed it was best to come straight out and ask him.’
‘I didn’t agree to anything. It’s you who’s been rehearsing this pantomime.’
‘You can’t not ask him!’
‘The relationship between William Kennedy and me has always been professional. It is not personal. So, the man is married. What concern is that of mine? Is it going to affect our performance? I don’t think so.’
Horowitz stood centre stage and called the company to order. ‘Right everyone. Thanks for coming. First the details of the next Barnstormers’ show: we’re booked to play a benefit concert in a little under two weeks to raise funds for the Mater Hospital. The concert will take place in the main hall at the Belfast Institute. Before the rehearsal begins Mr Goldstein would like to say a few words.’
Goldstein stood centre stage, put his thumbs in his waistcoat pockets and addressed his company. ‘It is my belief that each show is a dress rehearsal for the next and there are several things from our last performance that we need to improve.’
‘But Mr Goldstein, the audience loved it. They were on their feet at the end,’ shouted Sammy from the back of the room.
‘The standard will not be judged by the audience, but by me and I want improvements.’ His eyes swept the room daring anyone else to challenge him. ‘Entrances and exits are still poor. Get on and off the stage quickly. No hanging around enjoying the applause! No changes to the programme and no ad libbing unless agreed by me.’
There was some noise and a suppressed laugh in the vicinity of Sammy, who could never resist an ad lib. Goldstein ignored it and went on.
‘Templemore Tappers, still under rehearsed. Some of you are finishing a good five seconds after the rest. Now the ‘Indian Love Call’, there was a bit of confusion last time when Sammy and not Pat ended up singing a love duet with William.’ Raucous laughter all round. Goldstein waited for quiet. ‘So, Sammy, you have got the part of the lovesick squaw and you and William will work on it to make it even funnier.’
‘Finally, the finale needs to be the moment you send the audience away thinking they have seen an amazing show. It needs a lot of work. We begin in fifteen minutes.’
*
‘Go on, Pat, he’s on his own.’ Sheila pointed at William sitting on the stage steps. ‘Speak to him now.’
‘For the last time, I’m telling you I’m not going to ask him.’
‘Well, if you won’t, I will!’
But Sammy in the Indian head-dress got there first. ‘Okay, Mr Mountie, time for us to work on our routine.’
Never mind I’ll see him later, thought Sheila. In the meantime she had business of her own to discuss with Mr Horowitz. She found him chatting to the man in charge of lighting.
‘Could I have a word with you when you have time, Mr Horowitz?’
‘Yes, of course. I’ve just finished here.’ They walked out into the entrance hall.
‘Do you remember at the last concert,’ Sheila began, ‘all the delay selling the tickets and refreshments?’
‘I certainly do. You helped out, didn’t you?’
‘Yes and I’ve been thinking about how to organise things at the Belfast Institute concert.’
Horowitz looked close
ly at the girl in front of him. Noticed her unusual appearance; hair cut close to her head; huge eyes that barely blinked as she explained her ideas. ‘You’re one of the Golden Sisters aren’t you?’
‘I’m one of the Goulding sisters.’ She corrected him. ‘I’m Sheila.’
‘So, Sheila, how would you like to do Front of House?’
‘What does that mean?’
Martha's Girls Page 23