The Glowing Hours

by Marina Oliver

  Nell was shaking her head. 'I don't want to see him! Paul, I don't have to, do I? I can't help blaming him for not being there. And – I know I shouldn't, it's wicked, but I can't help wishing it had been him and not Ma!'

  'You needn't do anything you don't want to do,' he reassured her. 'Now go in and let Marigold look after you.'

  *

  Albert Baxter stood looking down at the nine coffins. They were like a set of those silly boxes that had no purpose except to fit inside one another, he thought with a spurt of anger. Take the smallest, for little Ronny, not yet two years old, fit it into Joan's, then Betty's, and so on until they were all enclosed by the one which held his Emily. Back into the womb from which they had sprung, he thought fancifully. He began to weep, and didn't hear any more of the burial service which the Reverend Wragge Morley, Vicar of St John's, was conducting.

  He and Ned had wanted the ceremony to be conducted by their mentor, Pastor Wiseman. Ned and Florence had become members of his fundamentalist religious sect some time before, and Pa, under the joint influence of an unusual twinge of guilt and pointed innuendoes from Florence that only if he reformed his ways would he be welcome in her home, had embraced the same faith. But Bert, the next oldest son, and Nell, supported by a very pretty but implacably formidable young lady from Edgbaston, had insisted that Emily and her children should be buried with a Church of England ceremony.

  'Ma was christened and married in church, not chapel,' Nell declared, 'and she'll be buried by it too!'

  As Nell was paying they had to submit to her wishes. Albert, wiping his nose on the sleeve of his jacket, glanced to where she stood. She was unrecognisable as his daughter in her smart black costume, and her black hat which managed to look saucy even with a deep veil attached. To either side of her stood the doctor who worked at the Ladywood clinic and the lady who had helped make the arrangements.

  He resented their presence. This was a family do. And he resented their fine clothes and air of wealth. He glanced down at his own shabby clothes, all he had, and mourned that he hadn't been wearing his best suit and new waistcoat on the night of the fire. If Nell had the money to waste on the sort of flowers she'd sent, she could at least have bought him some respectable clothes. As soon as this was over he'd mention it to her. They would still come in useful after the funeral.

  He had no chance to mention it. The moment the last coffin had been lowered into the big grave, the pretty, golden-haired woman took Nell's arm and guided her away. Danny tried to speak to Nell as she passed, but she turned her head away and walked steadily on. Albert and his four eldest sons watched as they got into a large chauffeur-driven Bentley saloon and drove away.

  'Bleedin' toffs!' Danny exclaimed.

  'Never mind. Florence's got some grub ready, come an' 'ave – have some,' Ned suggested.

  Danny and Sam glanced at one another. 'Any booze?' Danny asked.

  'No. Yer knows we don't drink no more. It's agin the Good Book.'

  'It were the demon drink ruined me 'ole life,' Pa informed them seriously.

  'If Pa hadn't' 'a got drunk, 'e – he'd 'ave bin 'ome – home that night,' Ned said, stumbling crossly over his aspirates. It was difficult, trying to speak like Florence wanted. It wasn't too bad at home, but when he got with his workmates or his brothers he forgot the lessons she'd given him.

  Danny looked at Sam and sniggered. Clearly Ned didn't know about Janie Pritchard. They wondered whether that was against Pa's new chapel morality too.

  'Er, we'd better get back ter work,' Danny said, and he and Sam, followed swiftly by Bert, escaped.

  *

  'Paul's mother has invited us to tea,' Marigold said a few days later.

  'In Kenilworth?' Nell asked, surprised.

  'No, at Paul's house. She's staying with him for a few days and said she'd love to see you again. She was worried it might be too soon after the funeral, but I told her you needed some distraction. It's – destructive to brood on things that can't be helped. I know that too well.'

  Nell looked at her curiously. 'You seem to be so calm and happy,' she said softly. 'You've been so good to me.'

  'I wasn't always happy or calm. I feel for you so much, since my youngest sister was once badly burned.'

  'Was she seriously hurt?'

  'She was scarred. But that was a long time ago. I wanted you to know I understand a little of what you're going through. Shall we accept the invitation?'

  Nell nodded. Marigold was right, she knew. She had to keep busy to suppress her anger and regret at the pointless tragedy of Ma's life and death. She'd seen Paul's house from the outside, and the opportunity to visit it was too tempting to miss. It wasn't likely he'd be there, he'd be working or visiting patients.

  It was bigger than she'd expected, on the crest of the rise and set well back from the road. The main door was at one corner, with a large lobby full, it seemed to Nell, of umbrella stands and fleshy-leaved plants. The entrance hall led off to the left, and a woman Marigold introduced as Mrs Williamson, Paul's housekeeper, showed them into the main drawing room. This was a big, high-ceilinged room stretching right across the front of the house, with three bay windows overlooking a long, sloping lawn surrounded by mature trees.

  Mrs Mandeville made them welcome, expressed sincere regrets for Nell's bereavement, and then turned to Mrs Williamson. 'We'll have tea in half an hour. I want to show Miss Baxter round the house.'

  Nell followed, marvelling at this opportunity to see Paul's home, determined to remember everything she could, so that she could think of him in his own surroundings. It was better than thinking of her own family, though it brought a different kind of pain, emphasising how far apart they would always be.

  'We'd better not invade the kitchens, but this is the dining room. It looks out over the back garden, which Mr Williamson cultivates mainly for vegetables. Rather old fashioned, I'm afraid, with this heavy Victorian furniture. Paul hasn't bothered to change anything since I left. I think he spends most of his time in the study, beyond the stairs.' She led the way past a gracefully curving flight of stairs which rose off the hall to the right, overlooked by a wide, deep window with panes of coloured glass through which the sun cast many-hued diamonds of light. There was a passage leading to a door to a conservatory, which contained, Mrs Mandeville explained, two productive vines. 'We will have some of the grapes for tea, they are still delicious, and I am so proud of them! My husband planted them when we moved here thirty years ago. But it's too cold to spend time there, and this is Paul's sanctum. It's really the library, but he spends most of his time here.'

  Nell gazed round. It was a welcoming, informal and comfortable room, with deep leather armchairs, solid-looking tables mostly covered with books and papers, a wide fireplace where she could imagine roaring log fires, and a big desk set near a window overlooking a formal rose garden where the roses still bloomed.

  Above the fireplace was a portrait of a girl. Nell stared at it, fascinated despite herself. That must be Victoria, and she was incredibly lovely! No wonder Paul could not forget her.

  'We'll have a quick look upstairs, the first floor, anyway. There are several rooms in the attic, and the Williamsons prefer to use that as a flat rather than have the sitting room off the kitchen. Paul put in a bathroom for them. When we used it as a nursery there wasn't one up there.'

  Nell lost count of the bedrooms she was shown. There must have been six or seven, and a big bathroom even more luxurious than Kitty's. They were well furnished, but cold and empty. All except the largest, at one corner to the front, with a small dressing room off it, which was clearly Paul's. Nell glanced surreptitiously at the large bed, and felt her cheeks glow with embarrassment. It was too intimate, looking at his bed. She turned away and left the room swiftly, thankful when the others followed her and Mrs Mandeville led the way back downstairs. She was relieved Paul was not at home, she could not have concealed her emotions from him.

  *

  It was a month before Gwyneth returned t
o Birmingham, and Nell moved back into her lodgings. 'I was so sorry I couldn't be here with you,' Gwyneth said as they sat drinking cocoa the first night back.

  'You came every Sunday, that helped. Let's forget it. There are odd hours when I can manage to think about other things. It does no good to keep remembering, and wishing. Where do you go next?'

  'A week in Solihull, then Frank says there may be changes. He was very mysterious when I spoke to him last night.'

  'He wouldn't send me with the troupe when they went off to Manchester, said he wanted to have me in Birmingham. I'm only rehearsing, though he's paying me performing wages. I think that's Edwina, being kind.'

  'I have a feeling we'll be dancing together again. I do hope so, it's not the same without you to share digs with.' She was silent for a while, then spoke hesitantly. 'Frank told me something else. Andrew has formed another dance band and will be playing at Endersby's again next week. Have you seen him?'

  'No, nor Kitty. Well, I don't expect we'll be there, so we needn't see him. Gwyneth, I'm so tired, I must go to bed.'

  *

  A few days later, when Nell was rehearsing some new steps with Edwina, Frank Bliss burst into the studio waving a telegram.

  'It's come! They want six girls! They go next week. The Bliss dancers are established, recognised!'

  'Frank, that's wonderful,' Edwina replied, and glanced with a smile at Nell. 'Can we tell Nell now? I assume you want her to go?'

  'Of course. That's why I didn't send her to Manchester. Nell,' he went on portentously, 'the Bliss School of Dancing has been asked to supply six of the best dancers to – the Folies-Bergère! What do you think of that?'

  'Paris? The Folies-Bergère? With the Tiller Girls? And you want me to go?'

  'Of course! Derval left the selection to me, on the understanding that if any are unsuitable they will be sent back. You and Gwyneth are our star dancers, and we have to show them in Paris what Birmingham and the Bliss School can produce!'

  'They will provide costumes,' Edwina said practically. 'Max Weldy is a brilliant designer, so we need not do anything about that. You will stay, at least until you find your way round Paris, in the hostel in the Rue Duperre, near the Place Pigalle.'

  Frank interrupted, full of excitement. 'Ah, the Place Pigalle! The memories it brings back! Gay Paree! The boulevards, the cafés, the girls! Yes. Well, I will leave you to discuss arrangements with Edwina. Tell Gwyneth to come on Sunday, and I must be telling the other girls I have chosen to go.'

  *

  Nell went straight to Endersby's. There was no one else to tell, and during the weeks she had spent in Marigold's home they had developed a real friendship. She knew Marigold would be pleased for her. She'd been recommending a total change to help Nell forget.

  'I'd like to tell Paul, too,' she said hesitantly. 'I haven't seen him for over a week, though, since I left you. I expect he's been busy. He was so helpful, and spent such a lot of time finding things out for me, getting me Pa's address, dealing with the Vicar.'

  'Telephone him,' Marigold suggested, indicating the instrument which sat on her desk.

  Nell drew back. 'I daren't! It would seem too presumptuous.'

  'Why? Paul's a friend, and he would be hurt if you left without telling him.'

  'Couldn't you tell him? Please, Marigold, I would feel too shy, awkward.'

  'I'll telephone, but only if you promise you'll speak to him too.'

  A few minutes later Nell replaced the receiver, a smile trembling on her lips. 'He's asked me to have dinner at the Grand,' she said, slightly breathless.

  'When?'

  'Tomorrow. Saturday.'

  'Then we haven't much time. You need a new dress.'

  'But I have plenty of dresses, more than I ever dreamed of having.'

  'And they are mainly white, or pale colours, or the black you've been wearing lately. They make you look so young. It's time you discarded mourning anyway, to help you put the whole tragedy behind you. I've had a fancy to see you in something sophisticated. Besides, you will need a really good gown for Paris, where there are the best-dressed women in the world. Come, we are going to visit the best shops in the city. And before you say you can't afford it, it's an early Christmas present to you.'

  Bemused, Nell allowed herself to be swept along. Marigold seemed to know exactly what was wanted, and though Nell would have been happy with almost any of the gowns she was shown, Marigold unhesitatingly rejected them.

  'No, it's not good enough.'

  'But we've been in a dozen shops already!'

  'And we'll go in a dozen more until we find the one that's just right. Here is one that might have something suitable.'

  She was inside the shop before Nell recognised it. Miss Fremling, sensing a wealthy customer, stepped forward, and Nell blushed vividly as she recalled the days when she had scrubbed this floor. Then Miss Fremling paused, glancing from Nell to Marigold, and looking confused.

  'Surely, it's Nell Baxter?' she asked hesitantly.

  'Yes. Good morning, Miss Fremling. How are you?'

  Nell, sensing the older woman's embarrassment, turned to Marigold and explained. Marigold laughed.

  'Then surely you'll be delighted to see how beautiful she can look, now she's properly fed and not so overworked,' she said briskly, and explained what she was looking for.

  Lizzie, who had been hovering nearby, smiled nervously, and while Marigold inspected the gowns Miss Fremling displayed, Nell spoke to her.

  'Hello. You're Gwyneth's friend Lizzie, aren't you? I saw you once or twice.'

  'How is she? Still dancing?' Lizzie asked shyly. She raised her hand to smooth down her hair, and Nell saw that she was wearing a ring with a tiny diamond.

  'She's doing very well. We're going to Paris next week,' Nell said, at the last moment deciding not to say precisely where. People had the wrong impression of the Folies-Bergère, she'd discovered. 'Are you engaged?' she added quickly, and Lizzie's attention was diverted.

  'Yes,' she smiled. 'Tell Gwyneth George and I got together again. He was ever so sorry, about the quarrel,' she added, colouring slightly. 'We're getting married next year, or maybe the one afterwards. It depends how quickly we can save enough money. George says he won't start in anything but his own house.'

  'Nell, this looks perfect!' Marigold called, and Nell turned back. She gasped. Marigold was holding up the most gorgeous dress she had ever seen. It was a deep ruby red silk tunic dress, with slightly paler red and silver fringes. The neck was modestly high in front, daringly low at the back, edged with delicate silver thread and bead embroidery.

  'It would have been disastrous to use gold thread, but the silver enhances it, and when you move, the different shades produce a fascinating effect,' Miss Fremling said enthusiastically. 'With Nell's dark hair it will be perfect!'

  Nell tried it on, and knew their search was ended. She would have bought it, despite the price being so high it would have taken all the savings she had, if Marigold had rejected it. Fortunately Marigold nodded, and she and Miss Fremling decided that it fitted perfectly and didn't need any alterations.

  'We'll be unlikely to find shoes to match,' Marigold said as they waited for the gown to be wrapped in layers and layers of tissue. 'I think silver will be best, not too heavy as black would be. 'And I have a pair of ruby earrings which have never suited me, I'm too blonde. Even Richard said they were a mistake after he bought them for me, and went out straight away to get sapphires instead. I shall give them to you.'

  Overwhelmed, Nell stammered her thanks. 'I don't know why you should be so generous,' she exclaimed.

  'I was poor too, once. Think of it as an investment,' she added, reflecting that if Paul didn't make another attempt to propose to Nell when he saw her looking so sophisticated he didn't deserve to win her.

  *

  'Kitty, please let me talk to you!'

  'Tom, you're being an utter bore! Do you have to waylay me whenever I come out of the house? We had fun, darling, but it's
over. Can't you understand?'

  'But – the things you said, I thought you meant them!' he muttered, walking beside her as she set off along the road.

  'Don't you ever say things you don't mean? In the excitement of the moment? Maybe even mean them a little then, but afterwards you realise you've been silly, allowed yourself to be carried away.'

  He was hurt. 'Then when you said you'd marry me you didn't mean it?'

  Kitty laughed, a brittle sound. 'Tom, I don't want to be cruel. I never actually said I would marry you, just that I'd think about it. I did. For about two minutes. Can you really imagine us being married? We're so unsuited.'

  'I don't see why,' he said stubbornly. 'OK, you've got more money than I have but in these days surely that's not what's important.'

  'Really, darling, you do have some odd ideas. Can you imagine me even contemplating marrying a man who can't provide me with everything I want?'

  'Money isn't everything.'

  'No, and you haven't provided any proof that you can give me anything else!'

  He flushed. 'Just because I wouldn't organise a dirty weekend? Kitty, I want to respect my wife. I couldn't do that if – if we'd been to bed together before our union was sanctified!'

  She grinned knowingly, and he was certain she was quite aware of his dilemma. If he'd been more experienced, her glance seemed to say, he wouldn't have been so fussy about his future wife's virginity.

  'It's more than that, Tom. Not just sex. I couldn't bear to be married to someone who came from the wrong background. It would be too demeaning to have a plebian husband.'

  They walked along in silence while Tom digested this. It was more painful than anything else. Until he'd met Kitty he had been satisfied with his lot, content to know that he had been privileged with a better education than the neighbouring children, and any girl he wished to marry would regard it as a favour. Both he and his father had white-collar, office jobs, even if it was working for a blue-collar union. At least it was one of the elite unions. The railwaymen had always been at the top of the tree, and to get work on the railways men had to be connected to a railway family, or be very strongly recommended by one of them.