by Leah Fleming
‘Hold on, love…Mr Byrne! There’s a lass here on the floor. She looks done in. Come on, love, inside. Can you lean on me? I’ll fetch your case…Mr Byrne!’ Her voice was shaking. ‘Now, you hold on to me.’
Gloria found herself in the foyer of smart brick building with big glass windows. She was led to a chair by a large desk. Suddenly a dark shadow towered over her.
‘Gloria? Whatever is the matter? What are you doing here?’ Her knight in white armour was here at last.
‘Oh, thank goodness I’ve found you.’
‘It’s OK, Hilary, I’ll see to this. I know the lady.’ Greg kneeled down, patting her hand. ‘Whatever’s up?’
‘I’m in trouble, Greg. I am so glad to see you,’ she gabbled breathlessly.
‘I had to come here, there’s no one else. It’s that school I’m working at. I had to leave. The Rug was there and she picked on me. She remembered me as a vaccy and I couldn’t take any more, so I left, and now I’ve got no job, no work. I just couldn’t bear it another day. I’m so sorry to burden you with all of this. I did write to you,’ Gloria burst into floods of tears, believing her own version of events–well, almost.
‘Yes, I know you did, love, but I lost the letter and address. I’m sorry. Hilary! A cup of tea with lots of sugar in it, there’s a good lass. You’ve had a bad shock.’
Gloria melted into those blue eyes and smiled wanly. ‘I don’t want to burden you but if you could see your way…There must be places in Harrogate that need chambermaids, waitresses. I’ll do anything but don’t send me back. Please don’t make me go back!’
‘Don’t worry,’ whispered Greg. ‘You won’t have to go back to that old cow. Happen you should have stayed with Mrs Plum. Have you heard from her?’
‘Not really, Greg, not since Maddy left…I do think she was awful to you and I couldn’t stand by and stomach how cruel she was. I just felt it was the right time to leave.’
‘You did right then,’ he added. ‘We’ll think of something. Your clothes are soaking and you look so peaky–but I like your hair cut all short.’ He grinned, turning her insides out. Gloria made sure to remove her coat so he could see her pretty blouse and prim skirt and the knitted cardigan she’d made in the winter. She wanted to look plain and neat and sensible, old-fashioned enough for Greg to want to protect.
She sat sipping tea in the office until it was dinnertime and Greg took her to a nice corner café with chequered cloths for a fish-and-chip dinner.
‘I’ve been thinking, Gloria. You remember Charlie, Charlie Afton? His mother might be able to give you a room. She’s a kind soul and if she couldn’t help, she’d know someone who could.’
‘But I’ve no references,’ she simpered.
‘Don’t you worry. I’m well in with Beattie Afton. She’ll take you on my word.’
‘Oh, Greg, how can I thank you?’ Gloria gave him one of her winning smiles. ‘We always looked up to you in the hostel. You’ve done so well for yourself…Got yourself hitched up yet?’ she asked, winking, her heart in her mouth in case he was spoken for.
‘Nah! No time for wedding bells, me…not after…well, you know. There’s a business to run and rallies to drive. I’m not ready to get kicked in the teeth again!’
‘You do right,’ said Gloria, looking concerned. ‘She didn’t deserve you.’
‘What about you and the photographer…in Bradford, was it?’ he said, changing the subject.
‘I sent him packing. We were never suited, him and me,’ she replied.
‘You and me both. There’s lots of time yet before settling down to pipe and slippers,’ he laughed, but his eyes looked sad.
‘No strings then,’ she smiled, her heart jumping with glee. Round one to her.
The Afton parents were Methodists, teetotal and strict, but they welcomed her warmly. They lived in a great stone villa between Leeds and Harrogate. Beattie Afton sat on so many committees and on the board of the Temperance Hotel that served teetotal commercial travellers, preachers and ramblers. They were always looking for domestic help, and on Mrs Afton’s recommendation Gloria was soon taken on as a chambermaid-cum-waitress-cum-dogsbody. The manager and his wife were a stern couple called the Huntleys.
As in all jobs, there were the usual humdrum duties, like changing linen, cleaning and making herself useful. Mostly the clients were respectable, sober and kept their hands to themselves but she had to watch out for Mr Huntley when he cornered her.
Sometimes there were singsongs on Sunday nights, and Gloria sat down to join them with her loud clear voice, making her a popular addition to their makeshift choir. But the biggest joy of the job was that it wasn’t far from Greg’s office and he took to popping in as a friend of the family with Charlie and the Aftons. Once when she was coerced into singing a solo she saw him eyeing her up with interest.
The rallying took up most of Greg’s spare time. He and Charlie were car mad. She made an effort to go and watch them if there were stages nearby. It was hard to look keen, standing in the cold wet mud in old boots and macs, cheering them on as they splashed past. Soaked and encrusted with mud wasn’t the greatest way to spend a Saturday afternoon but later, when she finished serving teas, they called for her and took her with them back to a public house, miles from the town, where the rally drivers let off steam with a group of girls who eyed them as their own property.
One afternoon they were all dancing around but Gloria felt out of it as she wearing her work clothes. The smart girlfriends wore slacks and short fur coats, pretty bootees and silk headscarves, but in the evenings they often arrived in tight-fitting dresses with full skirts and high-heeled court shoes, hanging around the drivers, eyeing up the talent, ignoring her. She was definitely not one of them.
As she sat watching the others dancing until it was her turn, Greg came across. ‘Fancy a spin around the floor?’ he said, pulling her into the crowd.
‘I wish I looked like them over there,’ she sighed, nodding in the direction of the pretty girls in wide skirts. ‘I don’t have much in the fancy line.’
To her astonishment Greg pulled out his wallet. ‘Go and buy something to cheer yourself up, then. You’ve worked hard: time for a little reward. You deserve a treat.’
Gloria tried not to whip away the notes but hesitated until he shoved them in her hand. ‘Thanks, you really are a gentleman.’
There was just time to flee and catch the dress shops before they closed. She found a lacy blouse and a pretty dirndl skirt. This was progress. She smiled a foxy smile. No longer was Greg thinking about her as Maddy’s side kick but as poor Gloria who needed taking in hand.
Greg was weakening and she must make sure she pulled out all the stops to make him sweeten to her even more. It was like they were playing parts in a play. He was the rescuing Prince to her Cinderella, and she must make sure the slippers fitted when the time came.
For the first time in her life, Gloria felt safe, clean, cocooned by the kindness of strangers who accepted her as this sweet undemanding unfortunate who’d been a childhood friend of Greg’s and needed some Christian charity. She was repaying them with hard work and loyalty, but she’d no interest in the churchy side of things, nor had Greg any connections there except as Charlie’s friend.
By the looks of things, making money was his first and only love for the moment. It soothed his broken pride but Maddy’s reign was in the past and soon it would be time for Gloria to make her own move.
Three months later, Greg was late for the rally time trial in the forest. They’d had one of those weeks at work when nothing had gone quite right: late deliveries, a builder going bust owing them hundreds of pounds, and Greg’s best chippy poached by a rival firm. Now it was pouring down on top of slushy ice and he was late. He’d souped up the engine but they were still trying to get to grips with it. This was another Saturday afternoon trial, where they had to plot and battle with map references and driving tests on public roads.
There was a race to the forest but there were
roads closed off and no proper signs, just chalk marks on trees. Then came a reversing test that had to be done at speed. Everything had to be timed to the second but Greg’s mind was not on the job for once. To win they must combine being fast on the road and faster and accurate on the driving tests.
His forte was to lean out of the side of the car and reverse accurately with some hard braking. ‘Back! Back!’ yelled Charlie, but this time he made a right Horlicks of it and holed the petrol tank, spilling fluid everywhere.
‘Damn and blast it!’ Greg exploded with frustration. Charlie wasn’t being much help.
‘Greg, calm down. It’s only a car; you didn’t roll! We can soon fix it later. Your mind’s just not on the job, is it?’
‘Is it that obvious? I’m sorry, so much trouble at t’mill to mull over. Sorry…’
‘I think that little Miss Conley is distracting you. I saw you both at the dance the other night. She’s a little pocket Venus, is that one. You could do far worse…She’s hard-working, respectable, not one of those awful tarts you’ve been chasing down the pub, all lipstick and heaving bosoms.’ Charlie laughed, seeing Greg flush.
But she is not Madeleine, Greg sighed to himself, bending down to examine the damage. It was Maddy’s face that haunted his dreams, Maddy’s long legs and slender shape that entranced him. Gloria was pretty enough, simple to please, she busied herself helping Mrs Afton after Sunday teas. Nothing was too much trouble for her to do, and the Aftons were pleased with her. He knew she fancied him but she was waiting for him to make the first move and he liked that.
Yet Gloria was like him, a reject, a misfit in a strange town, but in need of protection. She made him laugh when they danced, and teased him. She was like a pretty doll dressed up, and fun to have on his arm. He was treating her like bone china, but Greg guessed she was more pot mug than porcelain, tough and serviceable for everyday use.
Maddy was bone china, and you only brought that out for Sunday best; decorative, delicate, but kept for show in a glass cabinet. Maddy had made her choice and turned him down. So be it. Perhaps Charlie was right. If he settled down with anyone, he could do far worse. With Gloria he’d be sure of an honest, no-nonsense bargain. She would work hard in the home, bring up his kids and see to his every need. In turn, he would be generous and they’d make a fine family home together. If she was a bit rough round the edges, they could keep her family background under wraps. She was no worse than he was; a workhouse boy. He’d no room to be snobby.
They were cart horses, the both of them, not fancy thoroughbreds, but cart horses got there in the end, steady away, strong, and they lasted longer.
The rally that afternoon might have been a disaster, but tonight he was taking Gloria to see the new film at the Regal. He thought about the box still sitting in his tallboy drawer with the Fattorini label. Gloria would jump at such a label. She’d open her arms to him and he’d enjoy teaching her the joys of sex.
No, he might not be love struck or head over heels this time round, but he knew a good bargain when he saw it. He could do far worse than propose to Gloria Conley.
He was lonely and a man needed regular sex. He was ready to make a go of things and she had nothing better on the horizon. He could give it a try, nothing lost there. Together they’d make a good team and show the world that vaccies were as good as anyone else in making their dreams come true.
19
1951
Plum sat facing forward in the compartment on the early morning train from Scarperton Junction. She was on her way to meet Maddy at King’s Cross and was dressed in her best linen summer suit and straw hat–nothing but the best for this visit. She was going to see the Festival of Britain, which King George VI had opened in May.
It had taken so much planning just to get a few days off. Grace Battersby was doing the evening meal for the half-boarders, and Stephen Armitage had promised to give the dogs a good run round Sowerthwaite, and Sally from the vicarage would be exercising the horses.
She smiled, thinking about how her life had changed since she’d scratched her cornea and met Dr Armitage. He’d been most attentive, and they’d started to meet to play bridge at one of Dilly Baslow’s bridge suppers. He’d walked her back home and they’d met for longer walks. Suddenly Sowerthwaite had taken on a whole new brightness. The two of them met in church and sat on the Roof Repair Committee. He’d even got tickets for a concert in Leeds Town Hall where they met up with Totty and her husband, and had heard the Liverpool Philharmonic playing Beethoven’s Violin Concerto. It was a long drive home and they chatted fifteen to the dozen all the way back, like school kids on the bus.
The summer seemed brighter, the sky bluer, trees greener now.
There was hope and tenderness in his kiss and his concern. Plum finally felt womanly and wanted, after years of despair in the chilly frost of divorce. Plum knew Maddy would understand and be happy for her, but she wanted to spend a little time with her niece, just to see how she was getting on in London. Her letters were still brief and snappy, telling Plum nothing much that she didn’t already know.
Maddy was still living with Charmaine and her sister–still hard up, still at the House of Raoul Henry, with ‘Haughty Henry’, as she called her boss. A day out together would do them both good. She wanted to tell Maddy all about Stephen in person, her glad tidings of joy that she’d found a loving man at long last.
Stephen made her realise how cold and wooden was her first marriage to Gerald. How sad that she’d wasted all those years pretending that he’d loved her. It had been a useful marriage of convenience for him. There’d been little tenderness in his lovemaking, little attention to those details that Stephen just took for granted, like ringing home to see if she was busy. Once he’d even cooked her a meal, very basic but tasty, just to prove that he wasn’t hopeless in the kitchen.
Love is in the details, she smiled to herself. When she returned he’d be at the station to greet her with the dogs. He would ring to see if she’d arrived safely. For the first time in decades she felt cherished, and she hugged the word around her like a soft woolly blanket. Just when she was feeling redundant, no evacuees, no Maddy to care for, Stephen had bounced into her life. What had she done to deserve such good fortune?
She read a magazine and a newspaper from cover to cover, dozed and gazed out of the window. Soon the green fields turned into houses and back gardens, and then to tall buildings, and the train came to a halt in the city.
There was Maddy, waiting at the barrier, looking so pale and wan in her elegant two-piece, a lilac suit with a black trim and hat made out of straw. She always looked good in mourning colours, Plum thought.
‘Maddy, darling, at long last! You look très chic. Haughty Henry must be doing very well.’
‘If only,’ laughed Maddy, taking her arm. ‘You’re on time and I’ve got so much planned. I hope your feet are up to it.’ She examined Plum’s sensible brogue lace-ups with a smile.
‘Better than yours will be, young lady. At my age, comfort comes first. I can walk for miles in these old coal barges but look at your court shoes, such high-heels!’
‘Don’t worry, I’ve got sandals in my bag. It’s going to be hot…Oh, Plum, I’m so glad you’re here. Let’s get the tube to the Tate. You must see the Henry Moore exhibition and then we’ll stop for coffee and buy a souvenir programme and choose what bits we see first tomorrow. We’re going to have such a wonderful time!’
Gloria awoke, seeing Greg silhouetted naked by the window of the hotel behind Park Lane. He was long, lean, his buttocks rounded, his shoulders broad. She smiled to herself and sighed. Now he’s all mine, mine, mine. She couldn’t believe how quickly it had all happened. One minute she was little Miss Nobody, skivvying at the Temperance Hotel and now she was Mrs Gregory Byrne, on the up.
He’d proposed out of the blue one night, after a dance. They’d not so much as kissed before they’d rushed to the registry office, dragging in Charlie and Hilary as witnesses. It was all done and dusted in a
flash with no fuss, no expense, no flashy wedding. She’d been too shocked to kick up a fuss about a white church wedding–better to strike while the iron was hot.
But who cared when this ruby flashed in the sunlight on her ring finger? Now they were on honeymoon in London for a whole week of dinners and shows. They’d walked the soles off their shoes on the hot pavements. Everything she’d wished for was coming true. This was the life!
Gregory was attentive, protective, initiating her into foreplay and sex as if she was a virgin, and she played the innocent, revving him up with a few little tricks of her own, as if she’d discovered them all by herself.
‘Is this nice?’ she whispered, and he groaned with pleasure.
‘Do it to me, then,’ she commanded, and he obliged, and she cried out with shouts that pleasured him even more.
Every night they raced back after work just to lie together and share this bliss.
‘You’re a wild one,’ Greg said. ‘A natural…It must be all that red hair.’
‘Do it again, then,’ she challenged him, and he did.
How different he was from Ken, with his devious tactics and dirty tricks. Greg was her slave and she adored his handsome body, the way his hair flopped over his brow when it wasn’t Brylcreemed. At last she was safe, secure. Nothing could touch her now that she was married. Ken would never find her. Maddy’s days were long gone. Everything was perfect.
‘What shall we do today?’ Greg asked.
‘Stay in bed,’ Gloria grinned.
‘It’s too bright a day to waste. Let’s do what we intended and go to the Festival of Britain.’
‘It’ll be boring, all that queuing…come back to bed. It’s so soft.’
‘We have to see the Festival. I’ve been reading all about it. It’ll be good for business. I want to see the new building materials. Then we can go on the funfair at Battersea. I’ll treat you to a special lunch. There’ll be something for both of us. We can’t miss the Great Exhibition; there’s a transport show.’