Young May Moon

by Sheila Newberry

  ‘We open our presents round the tree in the drawing room after a light lunch – there should be a good fire going by then. Then it’s all hands in the kitchen!’ Mrs Wright informed May and Pomona.

  May thought it would have been perfect if Bea were here, too. However, Bea and Danny were spending Christmas with his family. ‘Wish me luck,’ Bea said when they spoke on the telephone.

  ‘You’ll love Danny’s family,’ May promised, ‘and they’ll love you!’

  Tired after the journey and busy evening, both May and Pomona slept through the family’s preparations for the morning service. Henry woke them with tea and biscuits and a cheerful, ‘Merry Christmas.’

  ‘Pass me my stocking please’, Pom yawned, sitting up in bed. She nudged her sister. ‘Don’t you want to look at yours, too, May? Thanks, Henry, I presume this was your idea? Sit down next to me,’ she invited, patting the side of the bed.

  He unhooked the long woollen socks from the bedpost. ‘I planned to wear these in bed,’ he joked. ‘It’s so much colder here. I’m glad you appreciate the sacrifice. I knew you were used to opening your gifts in the morning, but we always save ours for after lunch.’

  ‘I must drink my tea first,’ May sipped the hot liquid, warming both hands round the cup. ‘Then I might be able to open my eyes properly and see what’s what.’

  ‘Oh!’ Pomona squealed. ‘A pencil with a rubber on the end. Very useful – but the Fry’s chocolate cream goes better with the tea!’

  Henry smiled at them. No seductive nightdresses, he thought, with tantalizing glimpses of bare flesh. Both girls were clad in flannel pyjamas, wisely provided by his mother, for this was a large, draughty house. He’d hoped for a closer relationship with May after the occasion when he’d revealed his true feelings. He wouldn’t have needed much encouragement to take things further, but it hadn’t been forthcoming.

  May observed how relaxed he was in Pomona’s company. She realized, with a start, that Pom was flirting with him. Actually, she thought, they have more in common than he and I do, being clever old sticks.

  ‘I presume,’ Pom was saying, ‘you didn’t win the pig in the Co-op draw? May told me about the piglet in the straw in the pen outside the shop. He would hardly have made much of a Christmas dinner.’

  ‘I thought you were the animal lover,’ May put in. ‘If I’d won with my sixpenny ticket I’d have kept him as a pet.’

  ‘Would you indeed!’ Henry grinned. ‘I’d have raffled him again for the church organ fund.’

  ‘You wouldn’t!’ May cried.

  ‘No, of course not. I don’t think he was the actual prize, I guess that was a joint from the butcher’s.’

  ‘Oh, I have got a pig! Look, May, a sugar one with silver-ball eyes and a curly string tail. I shan’t eat him either,’ Pomona said. ‘I shall keep him for luck. Thanks, Henry. Let me give you a kiss for Christmas!’

  ‘No need for that … I enjoyed finding the little novelties.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Well, I must join the others in church. Selina is responsible for breakfast this morning. I’ll see you later.’

  When he had gone, Pomona asked May: ‘Did I make you feel jealous?’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘Yes, you do. But I think you need reminding now and again that you can’t do much better than old Henry.’

  ‘Sometimes you are really annoying, Pom. I am aware that he’s a thoroughly decent chap, but …’

  ‘I know. I’m sorry I teased you. Does this mean you wouldn’t mind if I…?’

  ‘Of course not, but I would hate to see him hurt. Henry has been a wonderful friend to me.’

  ‘And now me,’ Pomona stated firmly. ‘Terence is a callow youth, in comparison. Anyway, he couldn’t stop talking last night about that girl he works with. The only thing we had in common, now I think about it, is the pair of tights we wore, in turn, in Cinderella.’

  ‘They didn’t find a place in my memory box.’

  ‘Unlike the flamenco dress. Did you bring it, to wear today?’

  ‘Certainly not. As Henry said, it’s very chilly here. I feel like staying in pyjamas and dressing gown all day, and hugging the fire!’

  ‘Boiled eggs,’ Selina said, tapping the tops of the eggs with the spoon, after placing them in the pink china eggcups. ‘Toast – or bread and butter? Excuse me if I sit down, my back plays up if I’m on my feet too long.’

  ‘Not surprising, with all that extra weight,’ Pomona grinned. ‘Are you sure it’s only one baby?’

  Selina wasn’t offended. ‘My dear little brother remarked on my girth, too.’ She appeared to have shed her shyness with her pregnancy, and patted her enlarged front complacently. ‘But I’m very grateful for my dad’s old nightshirts! Mum never throws anything away, fortunately.’

  ‘Where is Terence?’ Pom enquired, dipping her spoon into the egg. ‘Just right, Selina, thanks … I do like a runny yolk.’

  ‘Oh, he was actually up early and went to church with the others.’

  ‘When is the baby due?’ May asked.

  ‘I’ve a few weeks to go yet,’ Selina said cheerfully. ‘There are compensations: I’ve been told I can take the rest of the day off and put my feet up, while the rest of you peel buckets of potatoes and do endless sprouts. I just have to ensure the pudding is simmering for hours and hours.’

  ‘Pudding patrol!’ Pomona said, tongue in cheek.

  Bea had spent the night in a single bed alongside little Cluny’s. Brigid was aware that Danny and Bea were a couple, but, as she said to Pomona, when she ushered her into the small bedroom, ‘Cluny is full of questions – she’s not old enough yet to hear all the answers.’

  However, at the crack of dawn, the child scrambled out of her bed, dragging her heavy pillowcase along the floor to the door.

  ‘Where are you off to?’ Bea asked sleepily, but of course she guessed. She clicked on the lamp on the table between the beds. ‘Now you can see where you’re going.’ What a beautiful child, she thought, with dark hair like her father: a cherub in a plain white cotton nightshirt.

  ‘To wake Nanna and Grandad, and they’ll knock on the wall to Daddy – then I’ll get in the middle of the bed and Daddy will get in at the bottom of the bed and Grandad will say, ‘Why have you got such big feet?’ Daddy, not me, of course. Then I’ll show them all my presents.’

  ‘Sounds fun! I’ll see you later, then,’ Bea turned, plumped up her pillow. ‘Happy Christmas,’ she said belatedly, but Cluny was already out of the door.

  Five minutes later a whisper in her ear startled her. ‘Make room for me.’

  ‘Danny?’

  ‘Now, who else would it be. I missed you last night.’

  ‘I missed you, too.’

  ‘Will you marry me, Bea?’

  ‘You know I will, but not yet. You’re too young to be tied down Danny, you might change your mind.’

  ‘I won’t. I’m not Paddy. He should have married his first love.’

  ‘Am I your first love?’

  ‘Almost,’ he admitted. ‘But the only one I’ve slept with. How about you?’

  ‘You know the answer to that – and I’m glad you were the first for me. Shall we open our presents now, or seize the moment?’

  Danny reached out and switched off the bedside lamp.

  ‘Did anyone see you come in here?’ she asked anxiously.

  ‘Only Paddy, and he won’t say anything.’ He drew her close. ‘Come on, Bea, relax – even if we’re caught out, it’ll be worth it, I promise.’

  Later in the day, with the good cooking smells wafting from the kitchen, the vegetable brigade put down their peelers, and peeped in the dining room en route to the drawing room. Selina had laid the table with the best silver and there were folded hand-embroidered napkins by each setting. But it was time to gather round the tree, dug up each year from the garden. This year it was a rather weedy specimen garlanded with old and much-loved decorations. Henry set a big log to burn and remarked: ‘Worth all t
he blisters on my hands, sawing the wood, while my little brother was busy cracking walnuts.’

  ‘You’d better watch what you say to me – I’m bigger than you now,’ Terence said cheerfully.

  ‘I hope you haven’t eaten all the nuts, that’s all.’

  Osmund took the first present from the pile round the tree. ‘For you, Henry – stop the banter, you two.’

  There was a general burst of laughter when the wrappings were removed. ‘Nutcrackers – with Mr Punch’s head,’ Henry said ruefully. ‘Thanks, May!’

  The mystery parcel, well-wrapped, was for Emma and Osmund Wright. A beautiful, shining bowl in blue and silver was revealed. ‘Oh, did your Tatiana make this? Thank you so much.’ May received a hug and a kiss.

  There were more kisses under the mistletoe that Terence had fixed over the door to surprise the girls in turn, when they joined the family in the warmest room in the house. Henry ignored such frivolity, but wore his paper crown from a cracker; Pomona caught him out eventually with a cry of, ‘Got you!’ May, like Henry, tried to steer clear of the sticky white berries.

  She unwrapped his gift, relieved to find a warm, fluffy scarf and not something more personal. ‘Just what I need in London, to keep out the fog.’

  ‘I thought of buying you a necklace, but I know you are not one for jewellery, apart from the amber pendant you always wear. That is obviously very special, eh?’

  May said, before Pomona could reveal her secret, ‘Yes, it is.’

  Emma nudged her husband, ‘Next present please – you’re neglecting your duties!’

  The room was awash with discarded bright wrapping paper by the time it was time to adjourn to the dining room for the splendid Christmas dinner.

  Twenty-Six

  January, 1936.

  KING GEORGE AND Queen Mary also spent Christmas in East Anglia, at Sandringham, in Norfolk. From there the King made what was to be his final broadcast to the nation. In the middle of January, the newspapers reported that his Majesty was suffering from a feverish cold, which did not cause undue concern. However, his condition rapidly worsened, and a few days later a bulletin revealed that ‘The King shows diminishing strength.’ The silent vigils began; crowds gathered outside Buckingham Palace. At 9.25 p.m. the news came: ‘The King’s life is moving peacefully towards its close.’ Just after midnight, a lone figure crossed the courtyard and replaced the notice on the railings….

  London was now a city of mourning. Great Tom, the bell in St Pauls, boomed solemnly. City workers flocked to a memorial service at midday in the cathedral. In the Tower of London and in Hyde Park there were gun salutes, marking the seventy years of the sovereign’s life. Flags were at half-mast, but were soon to be raised when heralds proclaimed the accession of King Edward the Eighth.

  ‘They say the new King ordered the clocks to be put back at dawn,’ May told Tatiana, as they sat at the long table in the studio, working together on the catalogue for the New Year exhibition, which had been postponed because of the royal funeral.

  ‘Sandringham time, isn’t that what they called it? That was the decree of his grandfather, I’m told.’

  ‘The new King is very different from his father,’ May observed.

  ‘He is a man of the times, as King Edward was before him. George the Fifth returned to Victorian values. Royalty here is still revered, unlike in my native country. Well, we appear to have accomplished our list. Will you dispatch this, with the photographs, to the printer please?’ Tatiana paused: ‘Have you a suitable outfit to wear for our big occasion? Please do not be offended, but I will be happy to supply one for you, if you wish.’

  ‘And I am happy to accept your kind offer!’ May replied.

  ‘Have you decided when to take your holiday?’

  ‘It really depends on my sister – at the end of this term, I hope. Pomona wants us to visit my mother in Spain. I’m not sure …’ May hesitated.

  ‘You are not sure if you can afford this trip? Look, you could, if I give you a business commission, eh? I have a contact there, as you know. Another designer has asked if I would like to display some of her new designs with mine, in the studio, to our mutual benefit. You have a good eye, I would trust you to choose these and arrange their transport. Would that help?’

  ‘Oh, Tatiana, of course it would! Thank you.’ Before the holiday, she thought, there is someone else I want so much to see….

  ‘Would you like to invite a friend to come to the preview?’ Tatiana asked. ‘Perhaps the kind Henry?’ They had met, and he had her approval.

  ‘Henry – I’m sure he would be delighted. Tatiana, I should perhaps make it clear; we live together, yes, but he is just a friend.’

  ‘He would, I suspect, like to be more than that?’

  ‘Yes. Perhaps, one day, I will have to settle for affection, rather than romance.’

  ‘I was influenced by my godmother, Olga. She never cared to marry, but she was successful and happy with her single state. But, you, my dear May, I think would like to have a husband and children? This never appealed to me! Have you met the right man yet?’

  ‘I met him years ago, when we were both too young.’

  ‘Is it too late now?’

  ‘It could be, but I am trying to get up the courage to find out.’

  Visitors to the West End Gallery were greeted by a young woman wearing a simple silk shift in brilliant peacock blue, sleeveless, but fastened at the shoulders with sparkling diamante clasps. She had been attracted by the vibrant colour; it reminded of her flamenco dress, although the material of that had faded to a softer blue. Her shining dark hair hung long and loose around her shoulders. There was a soft bloom to her complexion, although the only make-up she wore was lip gloss. Earlier, when she regarded herself earnestly in the cheval mirror, in Tatiana’s house, she had been startled at the resemblance to her mother, Carmen. I can’t deny my heritage, she thought, and now I don’t mind looking more Spanish than English.

  ‘You are the most beautiful object here,’ a voice said in her ear.

  ‘Henry! You look very smart, too. Have a programme.’

  ‘I can’t afford to buy anything, but it is a dazzling display. You will be away for the weekend; I shall miss you. You and Tatiana will have a lot to discuss, after all the excitement is over.’

  He is assuming I’ll be with Tatiana for the next two days, she thought. ‘Enjoy the exhibition,’ she said. ‘I’ll be with you later.’ She turned to a group who had just entered the gallery. ‘Tatiana is expecting you, please join her and enjoy a glass of wine….’

  Tatiana, a diminutive figure in gold lamé, with her hair in a top-knot to add an illusion of height, was at the centre of an admiring circle and her voice could be heard, loud and clear. She gestured with expressive hands, the rings on her fingers flashing under the bright lights. The lustre jugs, plates and bowls were displayed on tall, white-painted stands all around the gallery.

  May was learning to distinguish between the serious buyers, mostly older men, who examined the items for sale intently, and made notes in small books with silver-encased fountain pens, before moving on, and the press, in more casual attire with rakishly Windsor-knotted ties, who commented cheerfully and scribbled shorthand symbols in larger lined pads. There were society ladies, even a well-known film actor with an immaculate sweep of blue-rinsed white hair, which May suspected was an expensive wig. She smiled to herself, thinking how Pomona would have enjoyed meeting him!

  She whirled round when someone unexpectedly touched her bare upper arm.

  ‘May – I didn’t mean to startle you. I knew it must be you.’

  He was not instantly as recognizable as Danny had been, with his red hair. Danny was still boyish; this was a man who was inches taller than she recalled him, with broad shoulders and close-cropped black hair, but the blue eyes were unmistakable. His suit was well-worn but he obviously cared about his appearance, with his clean white shirt and polished shoes. The hand which shook hers was calloused as a result of hi
s work.

  ‘Paddy! I know I told you in my letter that I would be working in the gallery this evening, but I didn’t expect you to come here!’

  ‘I couldn’t wait any longer,’ he said simply. ‘I rang your employer before you left – she told me she would speak to the doorman and I would be allowed in without a ticket.’

  ‘She didn’t say!’ She recalled Tatiana going to answer the phone, while she was occupied with changing into her new outfit.

  ‘I asked her to let it be a surprise. I borrowed Dad’s old car.’

  ‘Where are you staying tonight? I was catching the train first thing tomorrow and expected you to meet me then.’

  ‘I hope you’ll agree to me driving you to my home later tonight.’

  ‘But Tatiana…?’

  ‘She said it would be your decision; she didn’t mind at all.’

  A polite cough alerted May to the fact that there were guests awaiting her attention. She also became aware that Henry was standing near by. Had he heard their conversation? She beckoned him over.

  ‘Henry, this is an old friend of mine, Paddy. He … he is Danny’s brother. Paddy, meet Henry. Please excuse me, while I talk to these gentlemen.’ Bring your bag with you, Tatiana had said casually before the taxi arrived to transport them to the gallery. Now May understood why.

  By 9 p.m. the guests had departed. The gallery staff in their white coats and gloves were carefully packing the exhibits into crates. These would be delivered to the studio the following morning. Wine glasses were rinsed, dried, and replaced in cupboards. The cleaners were waiting with their brooms.

  ‘I would help, but it seems there is nothing for me to do.’ Henry thanked Tatiana for a lovely evening, shook Paddy’s hand and said it had been good to have his company. Then May walked with him to the door. Outside, it was moonlight, and the night air was chilly. She shivered. ‘You need a wrap,’ Henry said, concerned.