The Glowing Hours

by Marina Oliver

  *

  'You must go to Paris.' Nell sighed with frustration. It was now Friday. She had spent all day Tuesday arguing with the people at the orphanage; all day Wednesday writing to people she hoped might help, such as Tom who could tell her quickly how her father was, so that she might devise schemes to include him or not in the rescue of Amy; and all day Thursday arguing with Edwina again about going to Paris. Now Paul had come to bully her.

  Briefly she wondered why he had come, how he had known. But the matter was too urgent for irrelevant speculation. 'If I go to Paris I won't be able to see Amy, I won't be able to plan to make a home for her,' she explained again as if she were talking to a child.

  'Come and sit down,' he said calmly, and as she impatiently shook her head he took both her hands in his and drew her to sit on the settee beside him. 'Nell, it will take time to deal with all the formalities, weeks, probably months, and to begin with there is little you can do. You could come home frequently to see Amy.'

  'I couldn't afford to! I have to save every penny now towards getting a proper home for her.'

  'You would resent her later.'

  She stared at him, aghast. 'How can you say that? I could never resent Amy!'

  'Listen, Nell. This is what you've wanted to do for a long time. It's the summit of any dancer's ambition to be chosen for the Folies-Bergère troupe. You were prevented from going before, and you were terribly disappointed then. Go for a few weeks, fulfil your contract with them, give them chance to find a suitable replacement. Then when you come back you will at least always be able to look on your time there with satisfaction, you'll have danced in Paris. If you give that up for Amy now, and discover it wasn't necessary and it didn't help her, you'd feel some chagrin. It would be bound to influence how you felt about her, whether you knew it or not. And there won't be another chance. Even though you are the best dancer Edwina has ever seen, better even than Gwyneth, she says, they wouldn't forgive you if you let them down.'

  'I'm not better than Gwyneth! She's marvellous.'

  'So are you. But do you understand? You wouldn't mean to blame Amy, but deep down you couldn't help but wish, sometimes, that you'd had a least a taste of Paris.'

  Nell knew he was right. It had been an instant, unthinking decision to forget all about Paris, but later, when she had realised what that meant, she had been forced to stifle many pangs of regret.

  'Would they ever let her go if they thought she was to live with an immoral dancer?' she asked bitterly.

  'Nell, not everyone is prejudiced like that. They brought the children to see dancers, after all. They are sensible, careful people. They know you are not immoral.'

  She thought with agony of that night with Andrew. What would Paul say if he knew how easily she had succumbed to him? Then he would call her immoral, he would despise her, refuse to help her.

  'Someone has to be here to try and sort things out.'

  'Will you let me do it?'

  'You? Why should you help me?' she asked, genuinely puzzled.

  'I have the authority of being a doctor, they will listen to me. I also knew your family, at least some of them, slightly, and I have helped once before in a similar case to reunite a child with its mother. Nell, it will take several weeks to organise the preliminary details. Remember, they had no idea who Amy was. They'll have to contact the ladies who found her and check records. While they are doing this there is nothing you can do.'

  'No, but I don't feel I should be too far away.'

  Paul gave a silent word of thanks. She was weakening. 'Paris is not the other side of the world. It would not take many hours for you to return to London. Besides, your salary at the Folies-Bergère would be much more than you get in England. You could save more than you could here, it might help persuade them you can look after Amy.'

  Nell looked at him as if seeing him for the first time. 'Why are you helping me like this?'

  He wanted to say he loved her, enough to let her leave him and follow this driving ambition to dance. He wanted to say he still hoped she might one day agree to marry him. But that would disturb her, make her worried, might even make her feel he expected more in return than simple gratitude, and he would never try to buy her love.

  'I'm sorry for Amy,' he said at last.

  *

  'Nell! How wonderful!' Kitty exclaimed, and ran across to hug Nell fiercely.

  They were in the hostel, and Nell had just been shown into the dormitory she was to share with three other girls. To her astonishment one of these was Kitty.

  'Where's Gwyneth?' she asked. 'I haven't heard from her for weeks. Oh, I'm so tired!' The last week had been exhausting, and when she had finally agreed to come to Paris they had all been very busy organising trains and tickets, sending telegrams, and promising to keep in touch about Amy.

  'Gwyneth? Oh, Nell, it was funny! That dreadful man!'

  'What man? Kitty, what happened?'

  'Her father. He came here, he'd discovered where she was, but I don't know how. He was utterly foul! The way he ranted and raved about us you'd think we were all the whores of Babylon!'

  'She always said he was a fanatic. But where is she?'

  'He took her home. She's under twenty-one and she'd forged his permission. Stupid fuss!'

  'So that's why she didn't write. Have you heard from her, Kitty?'

  'No, I wasn't here as it happens, when she left, I was out with a friend. I believe he hauled her off to the train, saying he wouldn't let her out of his sight until he had her safely back in Wales. I expect she's there now, being preached at about her iniquities.'

  'Poor Gwyneth. I don't even have that address, I just know it's near Saundersfoot. Do you think a letter could possibly find her?'

  'Addressed to Davis, in Wales? There's no chance.'

  'I suppose you're right. Perhaps she'll write to one of us soon.'

  'Perhaps. But Nell, tell me all your news. Have you seen Andrew? Or Paul? Neither of them have written for absolutely ages. Timothy was here, but he went off to South Africa again weeks ago.'

  'Andrew's going to America and Paul's trying to help Amy. Oh, yes, and Frank was killed.' Nell explained when Kitty paused in her excited exclamations. 'Nothing has gone well for me since I lost my patch-box,' she said tiredly. 'I used to think it was a sort of talisman, and it seems I was right.'

  There was an uncomfortable pause. Then Kitty smiled brightly. 'I'm not dancing now,' she told Nell. 'It was too much like hard work, besides giving me muscles I don't want! Do you realise you'll have a dozen costume changes, and it's five flights of stairs up to the dressing rooms we have? Talking of which, you have a rehearsal tomorrow afternoon, so you'd better go to bed. I'm going out for a late supper with a friend. I'll see you in the morning.'

  *

  Gwyneth knew she would have to leave as soon as she could. Her father would be in Cardiff for a few days, helping to organise the South Wales strikers, but he might be back at any time. The one piece of good fortune was that he had left his car at home, travelling with a man from Pembroke. She had only to get out of her room.

  She knew her mother would be sympathetic and not try to stop her, but she would not disobey her husband to the extent of unlocking Gwyneth's door. It had been Mr Davis's instructions that Gwyneth should not be permitted out of her room while he was away, and all food should be taken up to her by the odd job man, Dai, who was a little simple-minded and in such fear of hellfire that he obeyed Mr Davis unwaveringly. He would guard her while the maid did what was necessary.

  It might be possible to induce her mother to open the door if she thought Gwyneth was ill. On the day her father left Gwyneth packed a small valise with essentials, refused all food, complaining that she felt sick. When she knew Dai would be occupied in the garden the next morning, and her mother sorting the linen on the floor beneath, Gwyneth began to emit loud groans. Soon her mother's hesitant voice could be heard on the landing.

  'Gwyneth, darling, what is it? Are you ill?'

 
Gwyneth moaned again, and replied in a feeble voice. 'I'm feeling so sick! My stomach! And my head!'

  Her mother, after a slight pause, went away. Soon she could be heard climbing the stairs once more and fitting the key into the lock.

  'Darling, let me see,' she began, but Gwyneth had slipped past her and before Mrs Davis knew what was happening pushed her into the room and slammed the door shut.

  'Mother, I'm sorry,' she said, feeling wretched. 'I love you but I won't endure this treatment. Father's a monster! He's kept me locked up for over two months! It was the only way I could think of. Dai will be up here soon with my food and he'll let you out. If I don't lock you in Father will blame you. Don't worry about me, I'll write soon.'

  'But Gwyneth, how will you get away? There are no trains!'

  Gwyneth laughed, shakily. 'I know how to drive, Mother! I'll write and tell you where I've left the car.'

  *

  Timothy tapped his foot restlessly. 'Come on, Andrew, stop that endless practising. We have to do something to help! Besides, it will be fun!'

  'You need to go back to Paris and find Gwyneth,' Andrew responded, breaking off the jazz tune he was trying out.

  'We'll both go, I'll find out why she hasn't replied to my letter, and you can have another go at the little Nell.'

  'I don't know why you call her little! She's as tall as Kitty and Gwyneth,' Andrew replied.

  'But we can't go while there's a general strike and almost no trains and boats. Let's go and drive a couple of buses, at least we could do that. It would be something to do while we wait, and if I don't do something I shall go mad with frustration.'

  'You never used to be like this. You could sleep all day at one time. Is it the prospect of being even more filthy rich and covered in your own diamonds?'

  'Gold, Andrew, not diamonds. Will you come?'

  'No, but please go yourself. I want to get this phrasing right and you're being a hell of a hindrance, old fellow.'

  Timothy shrugged, and spent the whole of that day and the next driving a bus between the city centre and Longbridge. The strike, while a nuisance, did not seem to be having a great deal of effect on most people. Volunteers drove trains and buses, and to start with there was almost a holiday mood. He had just begun the last journey of the day back to the city centre when he saw a woman waving down the bus. He stopped, obligingly, and then stared in delight. He neither knew nor cared how she came to be here, but he was overwhelmed when he saw Gwyneth, and for the first time knew that the attraction she had for him was no passing fancy. He had to have her.

  *

  Once she could thrust the thoughts of Amy from her mind Nell was enchanted with Paris. The professionalism of the dancing girls was a revelation. She and Gwyneth had possessed it, and a few of the others in the troupes they had led, and Edwina, in a different way, had the same urge for perfection. Here everyone in the theatre had it, from the top management, the solo performers, the designers and costume makers, and every dancing girl and showgirl. Everything had to be perfect, the amazing technical effects, the stunning tableaux, the cheeky banana skirt worn by the brilliant new star from America, Josephine Baker, known as the Black Pearl, and the last feather and inch of ribbon and sequin on the dancers' legendary clothes.

  Like Gwyneth, she had at first been embarrassed at the virtual nudity about her, but as everyone appeared to treat it as perfectly normal she was soon able to do so herself, and also became accustomed to her own costumes, much more revealing than she had previously worn. When everyone else took them for granted, regarding them only as a part of the entire spectacle, it seemed silly to let a false sense of prudery bother her.

  Paris itself, when she could be persuaded to look at it, was delightful. The trees were by now in full leaf, the flowers in window boxes blooming, and the pavements alive with beautifully dressed people. Kitty showed her all her own favourite places, and they often sat drinking coffee or wine in small cafés, observing the world.

  Occasionally Kitty persuaded her to go to parties with the new friends she had made. 'You mustn't fret about Amy,' she chided. 'Paul will arrange for her release. He always does get what he wants.'

  So Nell attended suppers after the performances, picnics in the Bois de Boulogne, and drove out on Sundays to the chateaux of Kitty's male admirers. She was taken to see the Palaces of Versailles and Fontainbleau, went to the races, and firmly refused all the many invitations for more private excursions. She insisted on going with other girls.

  At one time, with a particularly persistent young Spanish Duke, who was good company and reminded her a little of Paul with his deep-set eyes and beautiful mouth, she was tempted. Why not, she asked herself, sighing dejectedly. Wasn't she a whore? Hadn't Andrew robbed her of the only thing she could have given to Paul, if he'd ever wanted her? And so she agreed to have supper with him.

  He was ecstatic and escorted her proudly to the Ritz. He was at first furiously angry, then cringingly apologetic when Nell refused to eat the supper he had ordered in his suite.

  'We eat in public or I go straight back to the hostel,' she told him. She was remorseful. She might have known that by accepting his invitation she had given him the wrong impression. A tiny part of her whispered that she had meant to go to bed with him as he so ardently desired, but in the end she could not force herself to comply. He wasn't Paul.

  Every day Nell watched for letters. Edwina wrote with news of the school and what they were doing about Amy. Marigold wrote to say she was sure Nell was doing the right thing, and she could not be of any help in England. There was a long letter from Tom, which had missed her at the London hotel, to say that Pa was still living with Ned, but was looking for a room somewhere because they only had two bedrooms and Florence was hoping to have another child soon. Then he passed on to his own doings, enthusing about how well he was doing and their plans to support the miners during the national strike. Finally Tom sent his love and suggested that if Nell were to marry him he would be prepared to offer Amy a home until she was old enough to go into service.

  Paul did not write. It was only from Edwina's later letters that Nell discovered how much he had been doing, travelling to London almost every week to talk to the people at Dr Barnardo's, to insist on visiting Amy on the grounds that he had once treated her family, pointing out that her terrible experience, plus the loss of her mother, necessitated some continuous contact with her former life.

  Then there was a letter from Gwyneth. It was short, with no address, just to say she had escaped from home and her father. 'I am helping Edwina for a while, but she doesn't know where I live. It's safest until my father has promised not to try and drag me back home. I've written to him through a solicitor Marigold took me to, and he believes I am in London. I daren't risk him coming here. If the Folies Management will forgive me, and want me back when I am twenty-one and don't need his permission, I will happily return then. Please, Nell, will you ask them, and write to me when you next write to Edwina?'

  Finally, a small packet arrived for Nell. There was no covering note although it was postmarked Birmingham. She opened it, puzzled, and inside a small metal tea caddy, carefully wrapped in cotton wool, found her patch-box.

  ***

  Chapter 24

  'Tell me everything,' Timothy demanded.

  He and Gwyneth were sitting in as small café, drinking mugs of strong tea. She'd needed little persuasion to wait while he handed over the bus. The journey, first the long drive and then finding her way to Birmingham, had left her wilting and numb. She was happy to let someone else make decisions for her.

  'Did you know my father hauled me back to Wales?' she asked, and he nodded.

  'Kitty wrote to me. She said he was frightful.'

  Gwyneth shuddered. 'It was much worse than she knew. He's kept me a prisoner since, only allowed out of my room in his company. I tricked my mother while he was away helping the miners, and stole his car. There was no other way to leave the village, no one would have helped me. They're all
too afraid of him.'

  'You drove?' Timothy chuckled. 'I knew you could do it if you had the incentive.'

  Gwyneth grinned back at him. The tea was reviving her and she felt safer than she had all day.

  'So what are you going to do now? Nell's in Paris – '

  'Nell? At The Folies? Oh, how wonderful for her! I wonder how she managed to get her father's permission?'

  'Were you hoping to stay with her?'

  Gwyneth frowned. 'Yes, I was.'

  'And your father would look for you at Edwina's.'

  'I can't go to Edwina's, not to stay, though I hope she'll find me some work. I'll have to go to a small hotel until I find lodgings again. I'll just have to hope I can avoid my father when he comes after me.'

  'You could always come and stay with me,' Timothy said diffidently. 'No strings. I won't be at Manor Farm all the time anyway.' Perhaps, he thought optimistically, she would accept his overtures if he made them slowly.

  'Really? You'd let me live there? That would help enormously,' Gwyneth said slowly. 'I could come into Birmingham by train to see Edwina.'

  'Then let's go. My car is just round the corner. There's so much to tell you. I couldn't believe it when I saw you running for the bus,' Timothy said, laughing triumphantly. The first hurdle had been cleared. In time Gwyneth would relax her defences.

  On the drive home he told her about how Nell's sister had been found, and she exclaimed in surprise.

  'Where is she living then, with one of her brothers?'

  'It's not so simple. Apparently the orphanages won't allow the children out until they have satisfactory homes to go to. Paul made Nell go to Paris because he said it takes months to sort out. He's dealing with it, from what I understand, though I can't see why he should concern himself.'