The Glowing Hours

by Marina Oliver

  'No. Mrs Bliss says I've got to do it.'

  'You? But Nell, are you sure you can? You haven't done it before.'

  'I know, and I don't want to do it in the least, but Mrs Bliss insists. She says it's one of the things that makes the troupe different, and there's been publicity in the papers about us. It will be bad for us all if I don't. I've been rehearsing with her.'

  'It'll be worse if you make a mess of it.'

  She didn't however. Nell received genuinely warm applause for her solo performance, and she and Kitty drove home in jubilant mood, full of relief that the performance had gone well.

  *

  'Nell was wonderful!' Gwyneth enthused the following Sunday morning. Andrew had arrived late the previous night, and was having breakfast with the girls. 'I was still feeling quite feeble, and she did the solos all week. She had a special mention in the Post!'

  'I wish I'd seen it. Perhaps we can include it in our act. Now, I've been making more enquiries, and the north is a good place to start. If you think we're ready we can get a few bookings next month, in Blackpool and Manchester.'

  'So soon?' Nell gasped.

  'We have to start some time.' Nell had heard those words before. Edwina Bliss had given her the confidence to do the solos, and that had been all right after her first moments of panic. This would be too.

  'How long are you in Birmingham?' Andrew went on.

  'Another two weeks, at different theatres,' Gwyneth told him.

  'Then let's set aside the following week for rehearsals, and I'll get the fellow I've asked to be our agent to look for a booking the week afterwards. Can you let Mr Bliss know you'll be leaving the troupe?'

  *

  Kitty and Gwyneth had gone shopping for materials. They'd already designed some costumes for the new act, but decided they needed more, and were looking for something spectacular for their final number, something in silver or gold which would be a contrast to the dark suits of the men. Nell was in Kitty's sitting room stitching ribbons onto the half-finished costumes when Paul walked in unannounced.

  'Kitty said I'd find you here.'

  'Paul! Sit down. Would you like some tea? It's almost time and I can ask Meggy to bring another cup.'

  'Not for me, thanks. Nell, you're not appearing this week, for once, so I want to take you out to dinner one evening. How about tonight?'

  She looked astonished, then couldn't prevent a smile of delight. 'I'd love that. Tonight's fine. Thank you.'

  'Good. I'll book a table at Endersby's. I'll call for you at seven.'

  Gwyneth pleaded exhaustion and retired to bed, and Kitty left some time earlier on one of her mysterious excursions. Nell was waiting alone when Paul arrived, and Meggy, with a grim smile, showed him into the sitting room.

  'You look lovely, as always. White suits you,' Paul said as he came towards her.

  He looked splendid himself, tall and distinguished in a beautifully tailored dinner jacket, sporting a white gardenia buttonhole. Nell wanted to return the compliment, but knew it wasn't done. Besides, she felt unusually shy, and when he came to pin the spray of delicately hued orchids on the shoulder of her dress she trembled slightly.

  'You are rather like an orchid, rare and shy and lovely,' he said, holding her chin so that she was forced to look up at him. She blushed faintly, and her lips trembled. If only he meant those words. Paul dropped his hand and turned away. 'Come, we mustn't be late.'

  It was only a short drive to the hotel, and they didn't speak again until they were seated in the restaurant. Mrs Endersby was on duty tonight, and smiled brightly at them as they went in. Then Paul chatted easily, asking about the new act, the places they were going to, and the success Nell had had with her first solo performance. By the end of the meal, which was delicious, she was laughing easily as he described some of the foibles of his patients.

  'Let's have coffee in the lounge.'

  They were shown to chairs set in a corner of the lounge, partly screened from the rest of the room by a huge bank of flowers and greenery. When they'd finished Paul took Nell's cup out of her hands and put it down.

  'Nell, I know how much the dancing matters to you, and I have no wish to drag you away from it yet, but you must know how I feel about you. Darling Nell, I love you, I have from the moment I saw you, I think, and I do so want to marry you.'

  Nell gaped at him. Never in her wildest imaginings had she ever expected one of Kitty's wealthy friends, who lived in a huge house and was a respected professional man, to want to marry her. They might have made other propositions, but none had, and somehow she had never expected Paul to offer a casual affair. Even less had she imagined he would stoop to offering marriage to someone like her. He must have gone mad.

  Paul laughed at her bemused expression. 'Nell, my dear, you must have had some idea how I felt!'

  She shook her head. 'You can't!' was all she could say.

  'What makes it so impossible to believe? I know I'm ten years or so older than you, and you are still very young, only just seventeen, and perhaps you haven't thought about marriage yet. I'm willing to wait for you, Nell. Not happy to, no man could contemplate being apart from you if you loved him, but I know how much your dancing means to you. If you can promise one day to marry me I'll try to be patient.'

  Nell had recovered her breath. 'I've never even thought about it. But it just isn't suitable,' she added in a low voice, recalling Mrs Mandeville's hopes that he would find a girl to make him an appropriate wife. She almost giggled hysterically. How his mother would be horrified if she knew!

  'Why not?'

  'Can't you see why not? Paul, you're rich, well known in Birmingham, you have a position to keep up. Your wife must be the same class, able to help you. I'm just a nobody, I come from one of the worst slums in Ladywood. My father's a drunken bully, and so are some of my brothers! You'd soon grow ashamed of me. Your family and friends would be shocked. Your mother would be horrified.'

  'Nell, it's my life, and I'm the only one who can say what sort of wife I want. Do you care for me at all?'

  Nell sighed. For a few moments while she put forward all the arguments against such an astounding marriage, she had allowed herself to glimpse what it could be like, and found the picture conjured up alluring beyond her dreams.

  'I like you enormously,' she said quietly. 'But it just wouldn't do. Besides, I don't ever wish to marry.'

  For a moment he didn't speak, and when Nell nervously glanced up at him she was startled at the look of desolation in his eyes.

  'I won't attempt to persuade you, Nell,' he said at last. 'Can we be friends still?'

  'Please, yes please,' she whispered.

  'Perhaps, in the future, you'll change your mind. I shall continue to hope. I don't say I'll never ask you again, but I won't make myself a nuisance, I promise. Now would you like some more coffee, or prefer to go home?'

  ***

  Chapter 16

  Paul sat in his library, a glass of brandy in his hand, and stared at the girl in the portrait. She was honey-blonde, small and plump, her vivid beauty startling in its impact. She was as unlike Nell, with her elusive charm, as possible. Even at seventeen Victoria's feminine attractions had been abundantly evident. She had been energetic, always laughing, wilful, and damnably enticing. He was still inescapably fascinated by her.

  He silently berated himself. What the devil had he been thinking of, prosing on to Nell in that boring, reasonable manner? No wonder she had rejected him. How could he ever imagine that a young girl, and Nell was very young still, could possibly find a pompous fellow of his advanced age remotely exciting?

  What he should have done, he told himself angrily as he drained the glass, instead of taking her to a formal meal in quiet, elegant surroundings, and making what sounded like a business proposition, was sweep her off her feet. He should have found some wildly romantic spot, hired a couple of violins, organised an al fresco picnic, then thrown himself at her feet while the violins played soft, seductive music from be
hind a bank of roses. Or perhaps he should have paid a couple of villainous-looking ruffians to kidnap her, with him swooping to the rescue and carrying her off in his arms. He rose abruptly to his feet. He was being ridiculous. But what the hell could he do? This, at least, he thought as he hurled the brandy glass at the seductively smiling lips and mocking eyes which stared down at him.

  *

  Nell tossed and turned, unable to sleep despite her physical weariness. They had rehearsed endlessly all week, and when they weren't dancing or singing, or planning improvements to the act, she had sat up late sewing the new costumes.

  Outside work Gwyneth had been subdued. She was still shaken from the accident and Paul, when he came to see her, ordered her to sleep as much as possible. Kitty was withdrawn, slipping out every evening on her mysterious forays, and inclined to be snappish if spoken to.

  Nell had no one she could confide in. Gwyneth had her own problems, and Kitty wouldn't understand. Besides, Nell was beginning to wonder if she hadn't imagined the whole episode. When she saw him Paul was cool, calm and friendly, the same as he always had been. Surely he had never made her that impassioned proposal? A man like him could never lose control of himself to the extent of asking a girl from a slum to marry him!

  She tossed and turned. When it was time to get up she rose thankfully, though heavy-eyed. For brief moments during the daytime bustle she could forget. When she couldn't forget she could often force her tired brain to concentrate on other matters. But in the endless hours of darkness her mind was uncontrollable. She wavered from incredulity and disbelief, to a passionate craving for the bliss that might have been. Then, peeping hesitantly into the future, she would encounter despair. If it had been true, if she had believed him and they had actually married, it would have destroyed him. She could never mould herself into a suitable wife for Paul Mandeville. He would have known that, in the end. Yet being honourable he would have had to make the best of it. And that would have been unbearable. The alternative, not being free to love him, was worse.

  She hadn't known her own feelings before he said he loved her. The very idea would have seemed laughable, incredibly presumptuous, had she even thought about it. In merely contemplating marriage with Tom Simmons she had raised her eyes far above what a girl in her position could reasonably expect. To go hundreds of steps further and imagine marrying a man like Paul was as unlikely as marrying the Prince of Wales.

  Yet she knew she loved Paul. She hadn't loved Tom. At the time Tom proposed she hadn't known what love was, but had instinctively rejected accepting that she might love him. Now she shuddered at the thought that in her ignorance she might have allowed Tom to persuade her. Marriage with him would be like drinking muddy pond water compared to the champagne of life with Paul.

  *

  The first performance of the new act was a triumph. The girls had never before experienced the thrill of having an ecstatic audience calling them back on stage for encores. Andrew, grinning broadly, pushed them back on in front of him, and signalled that they should repeat the last number. They hadn't dared tempt fate by rehearsing special encores, but would remedy that first thing in the morning.

  'Darlings, you were wonderful! We have to celebrate!'

  They smiled, and for a moment forgot their own concerns, but before she had finished the first glass of champagne Nell felt the familiar blanket of misery descend on her.

  She sat down on the stool before her mirror. Even the fact of having one of the best dressing rooms, the three of them sharing but having a dressing table and mirror apiece, and good lighting, did no more than vaguely surprise her. She began to cream off her stage make-up, ignoring the excitement behind her. Then she realised that Gwyneth was doing the same thing beside her. She glanced sideways, and met Gwyneth's eye.

  'I shall be so glad to get back to the lodgings,' Gwyneth said abruptly.

  'Are you tired?' Nell asked with quick sympathy. Gwyneth looked so pale, and ever since she had crashed Timothy's car had been unusually subdued, though her dancing had been the same as ever.

  'Yes, and I don't really feel like this,' Gwyneth said quietly. 'Let's slip out and go back on our own.'

  'What about Kitty?'

  'Kitty? She'll find someone to bring her back, even if Andrew doesn't,' Gwyneth said with a note of bitterness in her voice.

  'She looks as if she's enjoying it,' Nell commented, glancing through her mirror to where Kitty, still in her stage costume, was surrounded by men and talking eagerly to the theatre manager. They finished with the make-up, and slipped behind the screen to change into their street clothes. It had been a very hot day, so neither of them had brought coats to the theatre. They were not conspicuous as they emerged and gradually edged their way towards the door. By now most of the other performers had crowded into the room, and many unknown people. The noise level was increasing, and little notice was paid to them as they smiled their thanks at the congratulations and eventually, with sighs of relief, gained the passageway outside.

  'Come on!' Gwyneth said, and with a laugh ran swiftly towards the stage door. 'Let's hope there aren't too many stage-door johnnies waiting!'

  There were a couple of hopeful, very young, men sitting nervously in open-topped cars in the street outside, but Nell and Gwyneth linked arms and pretended absorbtion in their own conversation, and beyond a hopeful 'Doing anything tonight, luv?' from one of the men, reached the main street unmolested.

  There was a tram coming, and laughing with relief at their escape, they ran to scramble aboard. It was only a couple of stops to the end of the street where they had found rooms for the week, and by the time they alighted their brief lightness of mood had faded. In silence they walked the hundred yards to the tall, terraced house where they were staying. They let themselves in and, suddenly weary, began to climb the stairs.

  'Come and have some cocoa,' Gwyneth suggested, and Nell, not really wanting to be alone with her private devils, listlessly followed Gwyneth into her room.

  Nell sat on the bed while Gwyneth lit the small spirit stove and set milk to heat. They didn't speak until they were clasping the hot, comforting mugs. Then they chatted desultorily about the show, their success, and the plans for the forthcoming tour Andrew had arranged. Finally these topics were exhausted and Nell reluctantly rose to her feet.

  'I'd better go to bed,' she said quietly.

  'No. Nell, don't go.' Gwyneth looked up at her, pleadingly. 'Nell, there's something I ought to tell you, but I don't know how to.'

  'Gwyneth?' Nell sat down again, and impulsively reached out her hand towards the other girl. 'What is it? Are you in trouble somehow?' she asked quickly.

  Gwyneth laughed shakily. 'No. No, Nell, it's not me. I – well, I don't want to be impertinent, but I couldn't help noticing how quiet you've been for the last week. I wondered if you knew?'

  'Knew? Knew what?' Nell asked. For a dreadful moment she'd imagined Gwyneth was going to say she knew about Paul, and even to her best friend she couldn't bear to speak of that agony.

  'It's difficult. I feel like a traitor, yet you were my friend first. It's about Tom Simmons. I don't know how much you like him.'

  'Tom?' was all Nell could reply, startled. 'What about him?'

  'He and Kitty. Oh, Nell, I didn't know if you knew, but Kitty's been keeping so quiet about it I decided she didn't want to tell you. She's been seeing him regularly. I found out while we were shopping in New Street, she'd arranged to have lunch with him at the Queen's Hotel. That's why she went out every evening last week, she was with him.'

  Nell suppressed an urge to begin laughing. She knew that if she started she might not be able to stop. But the thought of the aristocratic Kitty enamoured of a trade union officer, especially the rather stodgy Tom, was hysterically funny.

  'Oh, Gwyneth, is that why you've seemed preoccupied? But I really don't care for Tom! Even before I met you, before you helped me escape from home, I couldn't bring myself to marry him. At the time it would have been a marvellous oppor
tunity, I'd have been able to get away and live comfortably, but I didn't want to! I didn't ever want to marry anyone! I still don't!' she added vehemently.

  'Then what's been keeping you awake this past week? If you didn't know about Kitty and Tom, and didn't care anyway, why have you got such dark shadows under your eyes?'

  'I don't know,' Nell lied. 'I haven't been able to sleep. I suppose it was worrying about the new act. You know how I used to worry about finding lodgings? It's the same sort of thing, not knowing what's going to happen, worrying in case things go wrong. It was safe, dancing with the Bliss Beauties, I didn't have to cope with changes.'

  Gwyneth looked keenly at her, and Nell tried to smile confidently back. Then the older girl shrugged.

  'I hope that's all it is. I'm thankful you weren't hurt about Tom. You can do a lot better. What has me absolutely puzzled is what Kitty sees in him when she has Andrew and Timothy and Paul, and dozens of others clamouring after her. Whatever it is, she should have told you she was seeing him. It wasn't very straight to go sneaking off without a word.'

  *

  Somehow Nell escaped to her room. Gwyneth was a good friend, worrying about her feelings for Tom. But she was thankful Gwyneth had no idea about Paul, and imagined he was simply showing a friendly interest in teaching Nell to drive. She just could not endure sympathy for her loss of him.

  Then she berated herself fiercely. What she'd just said to Gwyneth was true. She didn't want to marry. Marriage meant children, and the sort of drudgery and poverty her mother had to endure. It flickered through her mind that Paul was wealthy, had servants, and would no doubt employ nurses and governesses for his children, but the idea of him having some other girl as wife, and children that weren't hers, was so painful that she rejected it in a panic. She did not, in any circumstances, ever want to get married. She had to cling to this belief in order to suppress the agony of loss.

  *

  Tom sighed, and began at the top of the page yet again. It was important he knew the exact details, and yet twice he'd come to the end of the sheet and realised he hadn't taken in a word. Firmly he tried to push all thoughts of Kitty away. The enigma of why she had pursued him, demanded that he take her out every single evening the previous week, and showed him very plainly that despite his excuses about not being able to spend a weekend with her she wanted their acquaintance to progress much further, could not be resolved. He knew he was a well-favoured young man, with good prospects and a comfortable home to offer any girl he might honour with his attentions, but even his self-esteem boggled at the idea of Kitty regarding what he could offer as a magnificent prize.