One Enchanted Evening

by Anton du Beke

  . . . and there lay Sybil in her crib, softly snoring in her sleep.

  Hélène was hanging over the crib, unable to understand, when Noelle and Maurice appeared in the doorway behind her.

  ‘Hélène?’ Noelle gasped. ‘What’s happened? Why aren’t you dancing?’

  Hélène reached into the crib and put the back of her frigid hand to Sybil’s head – but her daughter slept soundly, without any fever at all.

  The baby opened her eyes. It took her a moment to take in the scene around her. Then, when her eyes found her mother, Sybil began to babble, reaching out with both pudgy arms.

  ‘Dadadadadadadadadaaaa!’

  Hélène took her baby in her arms and cradled her to her chest. Sybil shrieked and squirmed where Hélène held her against the snowmelt on her coat, but she held on to her all the same.

  With her daughter in her arms, she marched back past Noelle and Maurice, into the living room where two glasses had been laid out, with a bottle of rum in anticipation of midnight.

  ‘Hélène, something’s happened,’ said Noelle, hurrying in their wake. ‘You’re supposed to be dancing. You’re supposed to be putting on a show. What changed?’

  Hélène thought of the letter in her pocket. If Sybil really was well, it meant that somebody had connived against her tonight. Somebody had tricked her. Somebody else was spinning across the ballroom in her place.

  Some time later the little carriage clock on the mantel began to toll midnight. Sybil’s head craned around to listen. Through the walls, Hélène could hear the sounds of ‘Auld Lang Syne’ being sung in a drunken baritone. In the ballroom now, a thousand voices would be joined in chorus. Up and down the Buckingham Hotel, princesses and queens would sing in concert with concierges and chambermaids. The dances would go on and on and on, into the deep, still hours of the night; there was still time to get back – but what did that matter to Hélène Marchmont? What did Nathaniel or the Edgertons, or even Maynard Charles matter to her? She carried Sybil to the window and showed her the snow falling down. Sybil gaped and cooed, reaching out a fist as if she might catch a snowflake through the glass.

  ‘Mama . . .’ Sybil gurgled, for the very first time. ‘Ma . . . ma . . .’

  No, thought Hélène, none of it mattered. Not the elegance and the grandeur. Not the two-step or the quick. Not the joyful rhythm of the Archie Adams Band or the spectacle of the hotel dancers performing for the adoration of the crowd. You could keep all the riches and the intrigues in the Buckingham Hotel. You could keep all the kings and queens and crown princesses who came to grace its beautiful ballroom. All of that was just dust when compared to standing here, surrounded by family, with her child in her arms, while one year faded, and another, full of possibilities, began.

  She leaned down and placed her lips gently on the top of Sybil’s head. On an enchanted evening like this, there was no other place she would rather be.

  Epilogue

  January 1937

  A New Year

  NANCY NETTLETON OPENED HER EYES.

  The fifth day of January and, at last, the snow across Berkeley Square was starting to retreat. As soon as she was dressed, she hurried to the kitchenette where Rosa, Ruth and all the other girls were kneading the sleep out of their eyes. ‘Another day, another duchess’s sheets to change, eh, Nance?’ Rosa joked as, linking arms, they gazed from the window across the rooftops of Mayfair. It was the start of a new year, a fresh beginning, and London was waking up . . .

  But the work of the Buckingham Hotel, from upstairs to downstairs, from on high to low, still carried on.

  Mrs Moffatt was waiting for them in the housekeeping lounge. As Ruth dished out the tea and the girls listened to Mrs Whitehead reading out the tasks ahead, Nancy tried not to crease up with laughter at the way Rosa, with the simplest crinkle of her features, could mimic Mrs Moffatt exquisitely. There was, she knew, a new spirit in the girls since New Year – and not only because of what they’d learned of her secret friendship with Raymond de Guise. It seemed to Nancy that the discovery of her secret had meant so much more. The girls knew her now. She’d told them about Raymond, yes, but she’d told them about other things too: her mother, her father, the brother she’d left behind and hoped one day to bring to London. And they, too, had shared stories of their own. Nancy had even spent enough time in the little kitchenette that she’d been victorious in her very first game of backgammon. ‘And that’s a sign.’ Rosa had grinned. ‘You’re one of us now.’

  After breakfast was done, Nancy tried not to show how anxious she was when Mrs Moffatt beckoned her over. I wonder what she knows? Of New Year and everything that happened. Of Raymond de Guise . . .

  ‘I’ve an extra job for you, Nancy.’ Nancy must have looked startled, because, before she carried on, Mrs Moffatt looked at her gravely. ‘Is something wrong, Nancy?’

  ‘No, Mrs Moffatt,’ she breathed in relief, ‘nothing at all. What . . . what kind of job, Mrs Moffatt?’

  ‘It’s a little unorthodox, and of course you’ll have to complete your other jobs today as well, but there’s been a personal request. From Miss Vivienne Edgerton.’

  Nancy’s heart stilled. It seemed to take an age for it to start beating again. And when it did . . .

  ‘It seems Miss Edgerton has made a request of management, and Mr Charles has asked me to relay it to you. Miss Edgerton has made it known that she wants no other chambermaid, nor even one of the housekeeping mistresses – not even me, you understand – to be responsible for her suite.’

  There was silence in the housekeeping lounge as Nancy tried to process what was being said.

  ‘Nancy, do you understand? You, and only you, are to be responsible for Miss Edgerton’s quarters from this moment on. She won’t tolerate anybody else. It seems she’s taken quite a shine to you. There’ll be a little extra in it for you, of course. As I say, highly unorthodox, but Miss Edgerton is who she is and we are left with little choice in the—’

  ‘I’ll do it!’ Nancy blurted out.

  Mrs Moffatt stepped back. ‘As I say, we aren’t left with any—’

  ‘No, Mrs Moffatt. Mrs Moffatt, I want to do it.’

  I really do, thought Nancy as Mrs Moffatt dismissed her with a knowing twinkle in her eye, and she hurried out into the hall. What happened at New Year changed Miss Edgerton, but it changed me too. Miss Edgerton needs a friend. Everyone does. What else is there in the whole of the world? Mrs Moffatt was right when she said it was highly unorthodox – but then, Nancy Nettleton had never been the most orthodox kind of girl.

  The other girls had already disappeared up in the service lift, so Nancy wandered alone up the housekeeping hall and to the red-and-black chequered reception where the Norwegian fir had already been stripped down. It wouldn’t be long before they started thinking about the next Christmas, thought Nancy; in a hotel as vast as this, time passes by so quickly. But how much can change in a year? Last year began with a new king and ended with his abdication. This year we’ll crown another new king. There’s still war in Spain. And in Germany . . .

  Nancy stopped herself. Well, who knows what the future can bring? So much happened in a year, for the world as well as for me . . .

  Billy Brogan was lurking – yes, there was no other word for it – by the reception desks, where the night manager was filling out his end-of-shift reports for handover to Mr Charles. When Nancy appeared, Billy caught her eye and, flushing crimson, promptly looked the other way. There had been something shamefaced about Billy since New Year’s night. What he’d helped Miss Edgerton do to Hélène was unconscionable. But everyone deserves a second chance. And Billy did the right thing in the end, didn’t he? What’s right and what’s wrong – he knew the difference, when it mattered. We’re all just trying to live our lives, to make them work, in the best way we can.

  But Billy hadn’t spoken to her since New Year’s night – and that wasn’t right either.

  ‘Billy,’ she said, hurryi
ng to his side. ‘Billy Brogan, you’re going to have to speak to me some day. The Buckingham’s big but it isn’t big enough that—’

  Billy’s eyes flashed up, opened wide. He lifted a finger to his lips, urging her to be quiet, then stretched it out, past the check-in desks to the hotel director’s office beyond. Nancy followed his gaze.

  Mr Simenon had appeared.

  Nancy turned, as if she might scurry instantly away – but then she felt Billy’s hand on her arm. ‘Wait,’ he whispered – so waiting was what she did. She waited as Mr Simenon approached. She waited as he loomed over her, his great beak nose in the air and his sallow eyes narrowed. She watched as he stopped dead, his heels clicking, and cut Billy to the core with a devastating look. She listened as he seethed, ‘You’ll pay for this, Brogan. It may be when you least expect it – but, one day, you’ll pay . . .’

  Then she watched as he donned a long woollen coat and marched directly out of the revolving brass doors.

  Bewildered, Nancy wheeled around. She had not noticed it until now, but Mr Charles had appeared from the corridor directly behind Mr Simenon. He was standing, half-hidden by the check-in desks, with his hands folded in front of him and a satisfied look on his face. When Mr Simenon had vanished down the hotel’s polished marble steps, Mr Charles nodded firmly at Billy. ‘On with your work now, boy. We’re all done here.’ Then he turned on his heel and disappeared once more.

  ‘Billy,’ Nancy gasped, ‘what happened?’

  ‘Oh, you know what Mr Charles does.’ Billy was trying to be dismissive, but a smile was playing in the corner of his lips. And it’s good to see Billy Brogan smile, thought Nancy. ‘He protected the Buckingham’s reputation. Isn’t that the job of a hotel director? To make the scandals go away, no matter how big or small they are? Well, the Buckingham needed protecting. Somebody was bringing it into disrepute. Somebody was risking everything, just to make a few extra pounds for themselves. Somebody was giving Miss Edgerton whatever she wanted – even if it was going to kill her in the end.’

  ‘How did Mr Charles find out who it was?’

  Billy shrugged, giving a wink. ‘People whisper in this hotel, don’t they, Nance?’

  Nancy felt such an outpouring of affection for Billy that, unprompted, she threw her arms around him. Then, into his ear, she whispered, ‘I’m glad you’re still here, Billy.’

  ‘I thought I wouldn’t be, Nance, not after what I did. I didn’t know if I could show my face. But then I thought: running away’s not right, is it? Not when you done something wrong. The only thing that puts anything right is to stay where you are, on your own two feet, and hold your hands up to it and take what’s coming. So I went and found Miss Marchmont. Crack of dawn, New Years’ Day. I went and stood on her doorstep and told her everything I done, and why I did it. I swore I’d never set foot in the Buckingham again, if that was what she wanted. But, well, it’s Miss Marchmont, isn’t it? Miss Marchmont’s heart doesn’t work like that. She seemed to understand . . . Everyone’s just trying to do the best for the people they got, aren’t they, Nance?’ For a fleeting moment, Billy’s shame crossed his face. Then he brightened. ‘Miss Marchmont said she’d see me here, ready to start the year anew. Well, she can’t give up either, can she? Not with a mouth to feed. Not with her secret safe . . .’ Billy paused. ‘At least that old serpent Simenon won’t be going after you every time he sees you now, will he Nance? You see, I was your knight in shining armour after all . . .’

  ‘Billy, you have the best heart. Don’t ever change.’

  In an instant, Billy’s face was bright red with embarrassment.

  ‘Billy,’ Nancy said, ‘there’s something I wanted to ask . . .’

  This seemed to perk Billy up. ‘If it’s another trip to the Midnight Rooms,’ he joked, ‘maybe you can ask somebody else?’

  I’m just going to concentrate on whatever Mr Charles needs, he thought, because there’s bound to be something, isn’t there? War still going on in Spain and the National Socialists on the march in Germany. More and more blackshirts on the city streets out east. New Year’s gone, but the world keeps turning. There’ll still be secrets. There’ll still be spies. There’ll still be guests coming through this hotel that need watching . . .

  ‘Nothing like that.’ Nancy grinned – though, privately, she wondered if there might be a trip to the Midnight Rooms again, one where she could dance openly with Raymond, far away from the prying eyes of the Buckingham Hotel. ‘It’s only that . . . I wondered if the Buckingham might ever want more pages? There’s so many of you already but maybe there’s room for another? It’s my brother. I left him at home and I promised . . . Well, families should be together, shouldn’t they? It doesn’t seem right not to have your family around.’

  Billy drew himself tall, bursting with pride. ‘I’ll find out, Nance. I’ll put a word in. Well, what could be better? Two Nettletons in the same hotel! Nance,’ he announced, ‘you been a good friend to me. I’m at your service.’

  Nancy beamed as Billy hurried on.

  It was almost time for the day’s work to begin. If she were to dally a moment longer, Mrs Moffatt was sure to find out – and then, whether she was suddenly Miss Edgerton’s personal chambermaid or not, there were certain to be stern words. You’ve got to know your place, Nancy reminded herself.

  But perhaps there was time for one more moment . . .

  Nancy scurried down the hall that snaked around the ballroom, and tentatively opened up the door to the little dance studio behind. The music of the gramophone was quietly playing – while there, on the makeshift dance floor, Raymond de Guise and Hélène Marchmont turned a simple tango, limbering up for their rehearsal to come. For a time, Nancy watched them dance. Indeed, so silent was she, so respectful, that the song had come to an end before Raymond and Hélène had even noticed her at all.

  When his eyes found her, Raymond’s face lit up. His almond eyes glimmered, his lips opened up in a smile still faintly crooked after the brawl of the Midnight Rooms three months before. Every last piece of him was beautiful to Nancy.

  The gramophone was clicking into another song. Raymond moved as if to step out of the hold he was in with Hélène, but Nancy softly shook her head and mouthed the single word, ‘Later.’ Raymond understood. He returned to Hélène and, as the beat of the music increased, their gentle steps turned into something more strident, something faster and more demanding. Nancy watched as they crossed the room, turned, crossed it again, weaving their magical signatures across the studio floor. The music lifted Nancy up, filled her with as much joy as if she was out there in the ballroom on New Year’s night itself. And there was Raymond. Her Raymond. It was enough to simply stand here and watch him dance.

  The year was only just beginning.

  The End

  Acknowledgements

  My heartfelt thanks to my marvellous editorial team – Sarah Bauer, Kate Parkin and Eleanor Dryden for all of your support, energy, inspiration and enthusiasm for me and my imaginary world of the Buckingham Hotel. Ever since the day we first met and discussed my ideas and inspiration, I’ve known it would be the perfect pairing. I’ve had tremendous fun throughout the process – thanks for all your hard work and for never saying no!

  Thanks for your copyediting and proofreading prowess Jo Gledhill, Marian Reid and Steve O’Gorman. And to Richard Barber, for spotting an anachronism we’d missed.

  I’d also like to thank my publicist, Francesca Russell, and the whole team at my publishers, Bonnier Zaffre. I’ve learnt that it takes a lot more than an author and an editor to make a book! Every single person I’ve had the pleasure of working with or meeting at Bonnier Zaffre has been absolutely amazing, so passionate and hard-working. I feel like a very lucky author.

  I am hugely grateful to Melissa Chappell, my agent at I Will Know Someone, but more importantly, my friend. Without Melissa’s support, advice and keen eye, incredible projects like this wouldn’t happen. Thank you too, to Kerr
MacRae, my literary agent, who has not only guided me into the wonderful world of publishing, but was the one that first suggested – and believed – that I could be a novelist.

  Ballroom dancing is a partnership and writing this book was no different. As a debut novelist I couldn’t have written this without the support of my wonderful writing collaborator. Thank you for all that you’ve done, it’s been a pleasure. Over many hours and weeks you guided me and helped me turn my story ideas into this finished book – a dream of mine that has now come true.

  A lot of the ideas that this novel grew from were inspired by all the fascinating, talented, inspirational and eccentric people I’ve met and the places I’ve had the great fortune to have visited or performed in during my years in this magical world of dance. Thank you to every one of you.

  And finally, but most importantly, thank you to you – my readers. Without you there would be no novel.

  About the Author

  Anton Du Beke is one of the most instantly recognisable dancers today, best known for his role on the BBC’s Strictly Come Dancing, which he has featured on since its conception in 2004. His debut album reached the Top 20, and his sell-out Dance Tour has been running for over a decade.

  A household name and all-round entertainer, known as Mr Debonair, Anton brings all the wit, charm and style he’s famous for to this, his debut novel.

  http://www.antondubeke.tv/

  Hello my loves,

  As I write this it still doesn’t quite seem real that it will be going inside my book. My book. I still get excited saying that. I’m an author now, don’t you know? It feels tremendous and I am so pleased that you’ve got it and, hopefully, have read it!

  I just wanted to write this little note to say thank you. As some of you may know I’ve always loved books and reading and it has been a dream of mine to write a novel, which is why I am so thrilled about this one. But it couldn’t have happened without you – my readers. If you’ve bought this book, thank you. If you were given this book as a gift, thank you (and the person who bought it for you), frankly I don’t mind how you got a hold of the book, thank you for reading it.