Rags to Riches

by Nancy Carson

  ‘One of them. My friend, Pansy is the other. She plays clarinet and saxophone.’

  ‘So you’re not the only girl in the band? That’s good…It really is a smashing name for a band. Who thought of it?’

  ‘Brent and me.’

  ‘He’s a big influence on you, is he?’

  ‘I wouldn’t have said so, Howard, but we are friends. We have to be.’

  ‘Of course…I, er…I came to a couple of the CBO’s concerts at the Town Hall, you know…after we met.’

  ‘Really?’ She sounded and looked surprised. ‘How long ago?’

  ‘Oh, two or three weeks after we met. I hoped I might see you afterwards, but it wasn’t to be.’

  ‘You should have sought me out, Howard…If I’d known you were there I’d have loved to have seen you. What a shame you didn’t.’

  ‘Well, I had no idea whether you would have wanted to see me. I tend not to push myself, Maxine. Anyway, I wanted to hear you play. I wanted to see you in the orchestra. You don’t mind, do you?’

  ‘Mind? No, I’m flattered. But look at you…I can’t believe you’re a clergyman. It’s the last thing I would have expected you to be.’

  ‘I know…Sorry. Am I a great disappointment to you? Hell, I must be —’

  ‘Of course you’re not a disappointment, Howard. Not at all. But it is a surprise, yes…We have to turn left here.’

  He slowed and changed down a gear. ‘It really is brilliant to see you again, Maxine. I often think about you, you know. Wonder what you’re doing. Somehow I imagined you’d fall victim to Brent Shackleton.’

  ‘Victim? To Brent? Good gracious, no. As I said, we’re friends. Anyway, he’s married.’

  ‘Ah, so you found out? I remember you asked me if I knew whether he was married.’

  Maxine put her hands to her face in horror as she recalled it. ‘Gosh, so I did. I really do apologise for that.’

  ‘Apology accepted. Deflated me completely, you know.’ He laughed generously. ‘I swore I’d never forgive you. But I have – seeing you again. You were having boyfriend trouble, too. I’ve forgotten his name, though. I swapped a ring onto your wrong hand so nobody would be confused…’

  ‘Oh, that was Stephen. He’s gone,’ she added dismissively. ‘I’m not seeing anybody nowadays.’ She held out both hands to show they were free of encumbrance.

  ‘Well, Maxine, I can’t say I’m sorry. But I expect you have enough to occupy you anyway with the band and the CBO, without having the distraction of a boyfriend.’

  ‘I keep busy, Howard, but I could still find time for somebody I really wanted to be with…’ She hoped she did not seem forward.

  He asked her about Stephen and she told him at length what had happened and how she felt about it. Before they knew it they had arrived at the new house in Oakham Road in Dudley.

  ‘Look, here we are. That house there, where the maroon car is parked.’

  ‘Didn’t take too long, did it?’

  Not long enough, she thought. ‘Well now you’ll have the chance to meet my mother properly.’

  ‘Willowcroft’, as Will had decided to call their new home, stood in its own mature grounds in Oakham Road, a desirable area of Dudley in which to live. You could easily be fooled into thinking you were in the countryside, since the factories’ red brick chimney stacks were out of sight and the clang of metals was out of earshot. Compared to the modest end terrace they occupied in Daisy Road in Ladywood the house was salubrious with its four ample bedrooms.

  The first time Maxine stepped inside it her voice echoed in the emptiness, she recalled. Despite the warmth of the summer weather it seemed cool in this house. Its residual aroma filled her nostrils, and it was strange. It smelled of the previous occupants; their lives, their loves, their fears, their happiness, their sadness, and not least, their cooking. It had a garage that used to be a stable, and a tiled bathroom with a separate toilet. For this was not a newly built house, but late Victorian. The previous owners had emigrated to America, seduced by the promise of greater wealth from relocating the manufacture of their precision pressings there, to serve a bigger, rapidly expanding market.

  This bright evening, on this day of Aldo’s christening, Maxine led Howard through the hall and into the sitting room overlooking the rear garden. Some of her family were already ensconced enjoying their usual banter. She introduced Howard to them all in turn and he stood chatting for a while with Lizzie and Jesse while Maxine went to help Henzey in the kitchen, doling out sandwiches, slices of cake and cups of tea. When Howard rejoined her in the kitchen the others tactfully left them to be alone.

  ‘I can scarcely believe that Lizzie is your mother, you know, Maxine,’ Howard said. ‘She must have been very young when she had you.’

  Through the brightly curtained window she looked between the houses in the near distance and caught a glimpse of the pleasant, undulating landscape falling away into a valley before rising again at the Clent Hills on the horizon.

  ‘She was always a bit of a bobbydazzler, by all accounts,’ Maxine replied. ‘Men falling at her feet.’ She chuckled, like all young people making light of their parents once being young, beautiful and eminently wooable, as if such things were highly unlikely.

  ‘Well, I can see where you get your good looks from – all of you.’

  Maxine smiled demurely. ‘Thank you, Howard. So you approve of my mother?’

  ‘A lovely lady.’

  ‘I think she approves of you, as well.’

  They chatted for ages alone in that kitchen, easily, never stuck for something to say. There was a visible incongruity between them, however; he in his white dog collar, she the young, raven-haired beauty with alluring brown eyes. But any incongruity was merely in the eye of the beholder. As far as Maxine and Howard were concerned, no paradox existed.

  Eventually, he looked at his watch. ‘I hate to say this, but I really should be going. It’s past eleven already and I have a very early start tomorrow.’

  ‘Would you like another drink before you go?’ Maxine asked, trying to detain him a few minutes longer.

  ‘Thanks, but I’d best not.’ He looked at her appealingly. ‘I really do have to be up early.’

  ‘Well, I hope you’ve enjoyed yourself tonight.’

  ‘I really have. More than you know. I wouldn’t have missed it. It was so unexpected and everybody has been so kind – so hospitable.’ When he smiled she detected a look of sadness in his eyes. ‘I suppose I’d better say my goodbyes.’

  ‘I think they’re all leaving, look. Well, I expect they all have to get up for work in the morning as well – the men at any rate. Jesse has to be up at about four o’ clock. Why don’t you wait till they’ve gone?’

  They moved out of the kitchen into the hall where the families were reassembling. Lizzie opened the front door, stepped outside and stood waiting for Jesse to join her. On the doorstep a brief conference decided there was no need for Charles and Alice to give Lizzie and Jesse and Richard a lift as they were happy to walk back home with May and Joe as companions. Howard also offered to transport them but they declined and Maxine was not sorry. At least she would have him to herself for a moment or two longer.

  ‘Go inside, Henzey, why don’t you,’ Maxine bid her sister, ‘while I just say goodnight to Howard.’

  ‘All right, I’ll leave the catch off for you,’ Henzey said compliantly. ‘Goodnight, Howard, and thanks again for everything.’

  ‘You’re more than welcome, Mrs Parish, and thank you.’ Henzey closed the door and he turned to Maxine. ‘Are you too cold to walk with me to my car?’

  ‘No, course not. It’s a lovely night…Just look at the stars. They’re beautiful.’

  ‘Well, they look beautiful enough from here. Inhospitable places to be though, I imagine. Either millions of degrees hot, or so cold they’d freeze you solid in a flash.’

  ‘Not like the heaven that you preach about then?’ she commented wryly.

  He chuckled at that. �
��Hardly like heaven, even if they might occupy some of its space…’ He took her hand, which surprised her, and she allowed herself to be led to his car, parked in the road. He said, almost in a whisper: ‘Maxine, I realise you’re a busy girl, but are you too busy to let me take you out one night? I’d love to see you again.’

  ‘I’d love to,’ she breathed, delight in her eyes. ‘When?’

  ‘When are you free?’

  ‘Oh…Wednesday night?’

  ‘Perfect. Shall I collect you from here?’

  ‘Or I can meet you.’

  ‘No, I’ll pick you up here. Is eight o’ clock all right?’

  She smiled happily. ‘Perfect.’

  Chapter 10

  The photographs for the Evening Mail were shot, appropriately, in and around the circular bandstand at Birmingham’s Botanical Gardens. Birds sang from the trees with summer abandon, intoxicated by the warm, fresh smell of new-mown grass and flowers in full bloom. For the photographs the men wore their black tuxedos, white shirts and red bow ties and the girls their slinky, clingy, shiny red dresses that panchromatic film and newsprint would render a dismal grey. The photographer said with a wink that for a small consideration he would be happy to take some extra pictures on the side, for publicity purposes, to which they all agreed. So, when the photo session was done and everybody had changed back into normal day clothes, Brent and Maxine, with Pansy and Toots, decided to take a leisurely lunch together at the cafeteria. The others would return grudgingly to their jobs; except Kenny, who said he had a house call to make.

  ‘You mean you’re seeing a woman?’ Charlie Holt suggested.

  Kenny grinned waggishly.

  ‘I thought I saw you chatting to somebody on Saturday night. Little blonde piece,’ Toots said. ‘That the one?’

  ‘Married,’ he replied in a whisper – for effect. ‘Husband’s a matelot. He’s in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean at the moment. You have to make the most of these opportunities…See you tomorrow night, eh?’

  That July day was hot with the sort of lazy, hazy sunshine that accompanies an atmosphere so humid that your clothes seem to stick to you. Maxine had changed into a light, loose fitting summer dress that rendered her youthful loveliness ever more bewitching. Together, they sat out on the terrace soaking up the summer warmth and the sunshine, breathing in the scents of brilliant exotic flowers that wafted over from the hot houses.

  ‘What would you like to drink?’ Brent asked the others, detaching his eyes from Maxine.

  ‘Something cold,’ Pansy replied emphatically.

  ‘A Vimto or something, please,’ Maxine suggested.

  ‘I’ll get ’em, Brent,’ Toots said. ‘Anybody want sandwiches as well?’

  ‘Oh, ham or cheese,’ Pansy answered with enthusiasm. ‘And a nice jam doughnut if they’ve got any. D’you fancy a jam doughnut, Maxine?’

  ‘Ooh, yes please. I’ll settle up with you afterwards, Toots.’ Toots was always so obliging.

  ‘I’ll come and give you a hand,’ Brent proclaimed.

  When the men were out of earshot, Pansy shuffled up to Maxine and said, in little more than a whisper: ‘Listen, I’ve been dying to tell you, Maxine – Eleanor Shackleton is working for our Stephen. I don’t suppose Brent has mentioned anything?’

  Maxine gasped. ‘Eleanor? Working for Stephen? Never!’

  ‘Has been for a couple of weeks now. She’s going round all the jewellery firms canvassing for work for him.’

  ‘Does Brent know?’

  Pansy shrugged, her green eyes wide. ‘I imagine he must.’

  ‘He can’t not know, can he?’ Maxine reasoned. ‘He hasn’t said anything, though…Hey, I wonder if him going off early the other night when we were at the Tower had anything to do with it? You remember? He said he had something at home to sort out.’

  Pansy gave Maxine a look that told of her growing suspicion. ‘Do you think there’s anything going on, Maxine?’

  ‘Crikey, how should I know? But, hey, I wouldn’t be surprised. Look how he dropped me all of a sudden. Will reckoned he must have had somebody else already to have done that.’

  Momentarily, they paused their gossip, allowing this snippet to sink in. A bee, drawn by Pansy’s perfume, hovered conscientiously over a bright printed flower on her cotton dress; then, discerning no profit, hummed discontentedly away, to her relief.

  ‘Oh, Maxine, isn’t Stephen a complete twit if he’s having an affair with Eleanor? God, that’s all we need. Mind you, heaven knows what she sees in him if it’s true. I wouldn’t fancy him.’

  ‘Well, Stephen is your brother, Pansy. Whoever fancies their own brother? I certainly don’t fancy mine – even if he weren’t, I wouldn’t.’

  Pansy chuckled impishly. ‘Oh, your Herbert’s nice, Maxine. I quite fancy him anyway.’

  ‘And you’re welcome as far as I’m concerned. I’d fix you up, except that I wouldn’t wish him on anybody.’

  Pansy giggled at Maxine’s flippancy. ‘Oh, Toots is as much as I can handle.’

  ‘Hey, I’ve got a date tonight, Pansy…with somebody I really fancy.’

  Pansy’s green eyes widened with curiosity. ‘You dark horse! Why didn’t you tell me sooner? Is it anybody I know?’

  Maxine shook her head and smiled mysteriously. ‘No, it’s somebody I met a while ago – before I joined the band. I saw him again the other day.’

  ‘Well, aren’t you going to tell me who he is?’

  ‘Tomorrow,’ she grinned. ‘I’ll tell you tomorrow…Look, the lads are back. Don’t mention it to them. I don’t want anybody else to know yet – especially Brent.’

  Brent and Toots appeared, each carrying a tray laden with sandwiches, doughnuts and drink.

  ‘How much do I owe you, Toots?’ Maxine queried as he laid the tray on the table and begun handing out their lunches.

  ‘Nothing,’ Brent replied. ‘I’m paying for yours.’

  ‘No, you’re not, Brent. You’re always buying me drinks. It’s time I paid.’ She turned to Toots again. ‘I’m paying for Brent’s as well, Toots. Tell me how much I owe you?’

  Toots shrugged. ‘Call it two bob.’

  Maxine picked up the handbag that was lying at her feet and retrieved her purse. She took out a florin and handed it to Toots.

  ‘Thanks, sweetheart,’ Brent said. ‘But you don’t have to.’

  ‘Yes I do. I like to pay my whack. I don’t expect you to pay for drinks for me all the time. Especially not sandwiches. I mean, it’s not as if we’re…’

  ‘Not as if we’re what, Maxine?’ He looked her straight in the eye.

  Maxine thought she detected a shadow of dejection in Brent’s eyes and, because of what she had just learnt, she felt a strong compassion for him. She wanted to take his hand and console him. She wanted to say how sorry she was that maybe all was not well where he and Eleanor were concerned. But she could not. Of course she could not. So she bestowed on him an expression that conveyed all the sympathy she felt and said, ‘I mean, it’s not as if we’re going out with each other.’

  ‘Well, that sort of luck is reserved for the Stephen Hemmings of this world, wouldn’t you say?’

  At once Maxine and Pansy flashed apprehensive glances at each other.

  ‘I don’t know what you mean by that,’ Maxine said, a mite embarrassed. She avoided his eyes, not really knowing what to say for the best. ‘Stephen and I haven’t been seeing each other for ages now.’

  ‘So I believe…Even so, Maxine, you seem a million miles from me.’ He took a bite out of his sandwich.

  ‘You’re married,’ she reminded him crisply.

  He shrugged. ‘Either way…Married or not.’

  ‘Is something the matter, Brent?’ Maxine enquired plainly. ‘You seem depressed. Is there something you want to get off your chest?’

  He shrugged again, clearly feeling sorry for himself. ‘Why should there be? Just because you’re so bloody lovely – in or out of that frock – that’s no reason for any
thing to be the matter, is it? But why should I be any different, just for fancying you? A thousand men must fancy you. Those chaps that come and watch the band every week must all fancy you…I just joined the queue.’

  Maxine raised her glass to take a drink and glanced again at Pansy over the rim. ‘I don’t know whether I’m being flattered or blamed,’ she said, feeling helpless. ‘Should I feel flattered or blamed, Brent? Tell me, please.’

  ‘Flattered,’ he said and his smile was warm as the day again. ‘You’re young and fresh and desirable. Of course I fancy you. What man alive wouldn’t?’

  ‘I expect it’s the heat,’ Pansy commented flippantly.

  ‘For goodness sake, can we change the subject?’ Maxine asked.

  It was twenty-five minutes past three when Brent dropped Maxine outside Willowcroft.

  ‘Do you want to come in for a cup of tea or something?’ she asked, opening the door, glad to get out of the stifling heat within the car to the less stifling heat outside.

  ‘It’s okay, Maxine. I’ll see if Eleanor’s back yet. See you tomorrow morning.’

  She watched him turn around and drive off, glad, as ever, of the lift home. But her overriding concern was his evident anxiety over Eleanor and his life at home. Brent had not mentioned her on the journey back, but if Stephen was having an affair with her, no wonder he was so unsettled.

  Maxine was surprised that his interest in herself seemed to be escalating and she wondered how much the one situation was influencing the other. Brent’s increasing regard and attention was having a disturbing influence upon her; an influence that she truly did not desire now, because of Howard.

  ‘Yoo-hoo! I’m back,’ Maxine called as she entered the house that seemed so invitingly cool inside. She headed for the kitchen with the intention of having a long, cold drink. From the new refrigerator she took out a bottle of home-made ginger beer and poured herself a glass. Then, in a swirl of cotton frock, she swept out of the kitchen into the hall and ran upstairs. It was time for some cello practice; there would be no opportunity tonight since she was seeing Howard. And she wanted to visit her mother later that afternoon.

  ‘How come you’m ’ere, our Maxine?’ Alice, her older sister, said. Alice had recently returned home from work. Edward, her young son, was on her lap eating a jam sandwich. ‘I never expected to see you.’