They left about eleven and Martha went into the drawing room to clear away. Thomas was leaning back in his chair, legs crossed, glass in one hand, cigar in the other. The cut glass decanter on the table next to him had about an inch of whiskey left in the bottom.
‘Martha, that was a very important meeting here tonight.’ He gave her a hard look and weighed his words. ‘You know the warning posters, “Careless Talk Costs Lives”?’ He waited. She nodded.
‘You know what that means?’
‘Of course I do, I’m not stupid.’
‘No, no. I didn’t mean that.’ He tried another tack. ‘You recognised someone here tonight, didn’t you?’
She knew he wasn’t talking about William Kennedy. ‘You mean, Lord Craigavon.’
‘Yes. Now look here, Martha, you must not tell anyone he’s been here. Do you understand?’
‘Of course.’
He paused, considering the need to explain further and went on. ‘Sometimes, I deliver messages on his behalf when I travel to England.’
Martha nodded. ‘Was that why you booked on the mail boat as Mr and Mrs Goulding?’
He looked at her sharply. ‘So you know about that, do you?’
‘I saw the passenger list. That’s how I found you at the docks.’
‘Well I’m trusting you, Martha. You know what I’m saying? These are troubled times.’
*
On Esther’s first morning in the shop, Peggy showed her how to remove each section of records and dust down the shelves. Then on to the rest of the stock; Peggy would say the English word and Esther would repeat it.
‘Wire-less.’
‘Wire-less.’
‘Gram-o-phone.’
‘Gram-o-phone.’
Then on to the instruments.
‘Trumpet … saxophone … cello …’
Esther pointed. ‘Violin.’
‘You know that word?’
Esther nodded enthusiastically and took the violin and bow from the display stand. She positioned it under her chin, placed the bow on the strings, closed her eyes and began to play. The shop was filled with the sound of Vivaldi. She looked like a child, so small and thin in her pinafore dress, ankle socks and buckled shoes. Peggy had the strangest urge to hug her. Esther seemed to sense Peggy looking at her, stopped playing and opened her eyes.
‘You know what, Esther, now you’re working in the shop, I think your uncle should treat you to some suitable stylish clothes. We’ll ask him when he comes back.’
*
The ladies’ department at Robb’s was an elegant place; carpeted in soft grey Axminster, with mahogany counters and shelving. Peggy had never had the money to shop there and might have felt intimidated, were it not for the fact that one of the sales assistants was Grace McCracken, sister to John and Aggie. Grace, a reed of a woman with strong features like John’s, was behind a counter folding silk scarves when Peggy and Esther got out of the lift.
‘Hello, Peggy, I haven’t seen you in months. You’re looking very well.’
‘Hello, Grace, how are you doing?’
‘Well, I’m a martyr to the rheumatism in this damp weather but, apart from that, I’m grand.’
‘This is Esther, Grace. Did Mammy tell you about her?’
‘Oh, the wee girl from Poland, indeed she did.’ She shook Esther’s hand. ‘Thanks be to God that he kept you safe.’
Peggy explained their mission.
‘Should we start with some measurements?’ suggested Grace, removing the tape measure from around her neck.
‘Now, these black skirts are what we wear in Robb’s. They’re very good quality and hard wearing. Never show a mark. You’ll also be wanting a couple of white blouses,’ and from one of the drawers behind the counter she took a plain blouse with a revere collar.
Esther pulled at Peggy’s sleeve and pointed to a mannequin torso dressed in a fuchsia pink blouse, yoked at the shoulders.
‘So, Miss Poland, you have a sense of style, have you?’
Esther went into the changing room a skinny school girl and emerged, a few minutes later, a slim and stylish young woman.
Grace turned to Peggy and smiled. ‘Well, I think that’s the work clothes sorted.’
‘Not quite,’ said Peggy, pointing at Esther’s ankle socks.
‘Oh, dear,’ said Grace, ‘Stockings certainly and, I presume, under garments?’
‘Yes,’ Peggy laughed, ‘the lot!’
Finally, they bought two dresses in a soft woollen material one in a lovat green colour, the other blue as cornflowers. Grace wrapped everything separately tying each parcel with string that ran from a spool in the ceiling to the counter and as each item was wrapped Peggy named it:
‘Skirt’
‘Blouse.’
‘Dress.’
And Esther repeated each word.
At lunchtime Peggy and Esther ate their sandwiches together in the back office and as soon as they had finished Peggy got her comb out of her bag.
‘Esther, would you like me to do your hair?’ She mimed combing and shaping.
Esther’s hair was thick and dark, not unlike Peggy’s. She wore it parted in the middle and pulled back into a bun. When she undid it, Peggy saw the potential for a very modern style. She plaited it to both sides and brought each plait up to meet on top of her head. The effect was startling, drawing attention to Esther’s heart-shaped face and large brown eyes.
The following morning when Peggy arrived at work, Esther was already there in her fuchsia blouse, black skirt with her hair plaited on top of her head.
Peggy clapped her hands. ‘You look wonderful!’
‘Wonderful … you,’ said Esther.
‘Just one more thing.’ Peggy delved into her handbag and produced a lipstick. ‘Stretch your lips.’ She demonstrated, Esther copied and Peggy applied a thin layer of pink lipstick. ‘Perfect!’
‘Perfect,’ came the echo.
Between them Peggy and Esther could complete all the routine chores by mid-morning. It was quiet then until lunchtime when workers from the offices and businesses in the city would call in to browse and listen to some music. During the lull Peggy would be the customer and Esther the shop assistant. They started with simple phrases: ‘Good morning’ ‘Good afternoon’ ‘Thank you’ ‘Goodbye’. Over the next few weeks they progressed to ‘May I help you?’ ‘Would you like to hear the record?’ As soon as Esther learned to count in English they moved on to the prices. As with everything Esther was quick and eager to learn and soon she could name everything in the shop and its price in English. Sometimes they even persuaded Goldstein himself to join in. He would try to catch Esther out by asking for some obscure item, but so thorough had been Peggy’s teaching that Esther would smile and say, ‘Yes sir, we have that in stock,’ and she would fetch it and tell him the price.
After one of these sessions he announced, ‘Now that both you girls are running the shop so efficiently, I can begin to relax a little. I might even devote more time to the Barnstormers. It’s time we had another concert organised, don’t you think, Peggy?’
‘That’d be great and maybe Esther could play the violin. You always say we need more culture.’
‘Indeed we do and now more than ever. I have received a letter from our tenor, William Kennedy, expressing regret that he can no longer continue as a member of Barnstormers as a result of work commitments.’
‘You mean he’s not going to perform again?’ Peggy was shocked, ‘How can work stop him? We practise at weekends and perform at night?’
‘It would seem his profession demands more from him.’
‘Why? What does he do?’ asked Peggy.
‘Don’t know …’ Goldstein reflected. ‘I got the impression he was a civil servant.’
‘What about his duets with Pat?’
‘I am not sure that would have lasted anyway. There was that little matter of him leaving before the end of the last concert, if you remember.’
‘I don’t think
that was Pat’s fault.’
‘Maybe not …’ He paused. ‘I wonder does she know he has left the company.’
‘I’m sure she doesn’t,’ said Peggy.
‘Then you must tell her before she finds out from anyone else.’ He checked his watch. ‘Now, girls, get on with making me a rich man! I am sure you will shortly sell one of those new radiograms and, when you do, there may be a small bonus in your pay packets.’
*
Harry watched Goldstein leave for his lunch then waited for Peggy to finish serving a customer before he crossed the road to the music shop.
‘And how are my two favourite shop assistants today?’ He flashed his best smile.
‘I bet you say that every time you go in a shop.’
‘Of course, it goes down very well at Burtons!’
‘Were you interested in some sheet music?’
‘No,’ he said bluntly. ‘Are you interested in a trip over the border?’
‘What?’
‘Sunday, I’ve a bit of a job to do for Rodney. You know, from the restaurant?’
‘And you want me to go with you?’
‘Well, you did say you never go far. Now here’s a chance to widen your horizons.’
‘But it’ll take hours and how’ll we get there? Have you a car?’
‘Questions, questions! Of course I’ve a car, Rodney’s Ford Prefect. It’ll take about three hours to Dundalk, so I’ll pick you up at seven o’clock.’
‘Seven o’clock on a Sunday morning! Are you joking me?’
‘Chance of a life time, Peggy.’
‘What, a jaunt to the Free State?’
He leaned over the counter and kissed her. ‘No, to spend all day with me!’
Chapter 17
Peggy stood in the sitting room watching smudges of grey fade in the early morning sky. A wood pigeon called to its mate. Then from somewhere round the corner and down the road came the soft noise of an engine. She stood on tiptoe to watch the black car pull up on the other side of the privet hedge. She left by the front door and banged it shut behind her as if to shout. ‘See, I’m going!’ She hoped it had woken Pat, serve her right for trying to tell her she couldn’t go over the border with Harry. She threw the chrysanthemum scarf she’d sneaked out of Pat’s drawer around her shoulders and smiled.
‘Good morning!’ Harry leaned across and kissed her on the cheek, ‘You’re a sight for tired eyes this time of day.’
They were soon on the Dublin Road heading south.
‘Let’s have a bit of your blather then, Peggy. What do you know, that’s worth knowing?’
‘Had a bit of a row with Pat last night.’
‘Oh, aye?’
‘You know that William Kennedy, who sings with Pat at the concerts?’
‘Aye, looks a bit of a Mammy’s boy if you ask me.’
‘Well he told Goldstein that he was leaving the Barnstormers. Couldn’t fit it all in with his busy job, he said.’
‘Why, what’s he do?’
‘Don’t know. Goldstein thinks he might be a civil servant.’
‘Right enough he looks like one, doesn’t he?’
‘I don’t know, never met one. Anyway, Goldstein asked me to tell Pat about him leaving, so I did.’
‘She was a bit sweet on him from what I could see when they were singing.’
‘Of course she was. That’s why I said, “You’ll miss him won’t you, Pat.” Well, she rounded on me, started shouting. “William Kennedy means nothing to me. I don’t care if I never see him again!” Then she starts bossing us all about, complaining the house was a mess and she was going give us all jobs to do today to get it looking decent before Mammy comes home. So I said, for one I wasn’t having her telling me what to do, she wasn’t in charge, and for two, I wouldn’t be in to do the jobs because I was going out for the day with you. She was raging. Wanted to know where I was going. That’s when she started: I shouldn’t be going over the border, it was too far, it wasn’t safe, Mammy would never allow it. So, I told her Mammy wasn’t here to say I couldn’t go and she had no right to stop me. She’ll tell her when she comes back, I know, but it’ll be a bit late then. Anyway, Mammy’s quite taken with you, isn’t she?’
Harry grinned. ‘And why wouldn’t she be? Sure isn’t cake the way to a woman’s heart?’
By nine they were through Newry and in sight of the Mournes.
‘I’ve never seen real mountains before. What’s that on the top?’
‘Snow, of course. There’s a lay-by just along here. We’ll stop and have a good look.’
Laid out before them was a patchwork quilt of green fields and, rising above them in stark contrast, dramatic peaks; in the distance the sea glistened in the March sunlight.
Softly Harry sang, ‘But for all that I found there I might as well be, where the Mountains of Mourne sweep down to the sea.’
‘And there they are, just like the song,’ laughed Peggy, turning to look at Harry. His face was serious.
‘What is it? What’s the matter?’
‘Peggy, in this place, in this moment, I love you more than anything.’
She opened her mouth to speak and hesitated; she had no idea what to say, how to analyse her feelings and give words to them. Harry put his finger to her lips.
‘Don’t say a thing. The words will come when you’re ready.’ And he brushed his finger over her lips and replaced it with his mouth.
The border post was insignificant. A few road signs warned it lay ahead and Harry slowed the car. A Northern Ireland customs official stood outside a wooden building and as the car approached he waved them through.
‘Is that it?’ asked Peggy.
‘Is anyone likely to be smuggling anything into the Free State?’ Harry replied. ‘Now we’re in no man’s land, neither one country nor the other.’ He reached across to the glove compartment, removed a brown paper package and passed it to Peggy, ‘Just keep that in your bag for me would you?’
‘What is it?’
He laughed. ‘Ask no questions, you’ll be told no lies!’
The Irish border crossing a few hundred yards down the road was much the same as the one they’d just come through, except the signs were on a green background and written in Irish as well as English. Once again the guard waved them through.
‘It’s Sunday,’ explained Harry. ‘A lot of people from the North take a wee trip over because the bars are open here all day.’
Dundalk was a short drive from the border. They parked the car on the main street and walked its length. There were plenty of people about in their Sunday clothes on their way to and from chapel.
‘They look just like us,’ said Peggy.
Harry looked at her in surprise. ‘And why wouldn’t they?’
‘I don’t know. I just thought …’
‘They’re Irish, we’re Irish. Drawing a line on a map in London doesn’t change that.’
‘The town looks a bit old fashioned though.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Like when I was a girl. The shops are a bit pokey and the houses look old.’
‘That’s a city girl talking, all right. Have you ever been to Ballymena, or any other country town in the north for that matter? They’re just the same as this.’
Harry stopped outside a bar. ‘Come on, we’ll go in here. The first thing you have to do when you cross the border is have a Guinness and a Sweet Afton.’
Later they ate lunch in the only decent hotel in town: damask linen, primroses in a china jug, silver service, Irish beef, tender and juicy with colcannon and carrots.
‘Peggy, I need to do a bit of business now, can I have the package from your bag?’
She handed it over and stood to go.
‘No, you stay here, Pet. I’ll ask the waitress to bring you some ice cream, it said on the menu it was homemade, then some coffee and before you know it I’ll be back.’
Peggy looked uncertainly around the room. She was the only person on her own. Th
e waitress brought the ice cream, the best she’d ever tasted with fine shards of ice in it that crunched on her tongue, but she felt self-conscious eating it. Why couldn’t she have gone with him? The waitress brought a dainty coffee cup and filled it from a silver pot. The sugar was cubed and brown, the coffee bitter. What if he didn’t come back?
Martha's Girls Page 27