‘You’re sacking me?’ Margot cried.
‘No, I’m not sacking you. You are going to leave. Tonight wasn’t the first time you were absent from your post, but it was the last. It isn’t fair on the other usherettes if they have to do your work as well as their own.’
‘Does Mr Goldman know I’ve been-- I’m leaving--’
‘No. As you’re a personal friend, I thought it best not to involve him.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Besides, it isn’t as if you’re leaving the theatre. You’ll still have your job in wardrobe.’
‘Will I?’
‘Of course. It’s only because you’re not interested in being an usherette that you’ve become unreliable. You obviously enjoy working with Mrs Horton, which is why she’s always singing your praises. Right, you’d better get off. It’s gone eleven. Your husband will be wondering where you are.’
‘Thank you, Miss Lesley. I’m sorry I’ve caused you so much trouble.’
‘I know you are. Goodnight.’
‘Goodnight.’ Margot left the small office and made for the backstage passage. Bill would be at the stage door waiting for her. She wasn’t looking forward to telling him she’d been released from her usherette job. Miss Lesley’s a lovely person, she thought, pushing open the door that would take her backstage. I don’t blame her for getting rid of me. I’d get rid of me, if I was her.
Looking on the bright side, she would be able to watch the show at night without interruption. She knew most of the routines well enough to perform already, but new ones were being added all the time, sometimes weekly. Working in wardrobe she’d often be backstage when the artists were learning new routines. She would watch from the wings and rehearse at home. Margot brightened. Now she didn’t work as an usherette at night, she might be able to do another spot at the Albert Club. And when the time was right, she’d ask George, or Nancy, to introduce her to the theatre’s director, Richard Smiley. She could invite him to the club to see her sing and afterwards, over a glass of champagne, suggest herself as an understudy. Tell him that when the chorus girls were called up, or left the show at short notice, she could step in and take their place. She would casually mention that she knew all the songs and dances and-- And she heard Bill’s voice. She’d decide what to say nearer the time.
She looked in the mirror at the end of the passage. She looked terrible. She’d cried off her makeup, her face was blotchy and her eyes were red, but there was nothing she could do about it. She cleared her throat, put on a smile, and entered the stage door area. ‘Is Bill here, Bert?’
‘In here, reading Bert’s newspaper.’
Margot peeped through the small hatch. ‘It’s all right for some,’ she joked. ‘Are you warm enough sitting in front of Bert’s fire?’
‘Yes I am.’ Bill pushed himself out of Bert’s old chair. ‘What on earth...? Have you been crying?’ he asked, putting his arms round his wife.
‘Take me home, Bill.’
‘Who’s upset you, darling?’
‘I’ve upset me, Bill. I’ve upset everything.’ Margot buried her head in the sheepskin lining of her husband’s motorcycle jacket. Take me home and I’ll tell you.’
‘Here, drink this.’ Bill handed Margot a glass. ‘Ginger wine. It’ll warm you up.’
Margot sipped the spicy liquid and gazed into the fire.
‘Well?’ Bill said, after a few minutes. ‘It’s not like you to cry. What’s going on?’
Margot took another sip of her drink. ‘I can’t tell you, Bill.’
‘You’re scaring me now, Margaret. Are you ill?’
‘No.’
He exhaled noisily. ‘Phew! Thank God for that. What then?’ he said, his voice lighter. ‘Come on, love, we don’t keep secrets from one another. Just say it.’
‘I’ve been sacked.’
‘You’ve been what?’
‘Sacked?’
‘By who?’
‘Miss Lesley.’
Bill tilted his head and frowned, the way he did when he knew his wife was hiding something. ‘Why would she sack you? She likes you. You like her. And you love the job.’
Margot didn’t love the job; she loved the theatre.
‘You’d be in that damn theatre day and night if you had your way. So?’ Bill put his hand under Margot’s chin and lifted her face until her eyes met his. ‘What have you done that is so bad you’ve been sacked?’
‘Well,’ Margot began. She needed to sweeten the pill. ‘Well,’ she said again, ‘Miss Lesley didn’t sack me, exactly. She said she was letting me go to pursue my career.’
‘Pursue your career? What the hell does that mean?’
‘She knows I want to sing and dance and--’ She burst into tears.
Bill waited until Margot calmed down. ‘Let me get this straight. Last week you said you liked your boss. You said she was a nice woman. You also said she was pleased with your work and grateful to you for all the hours you put in. Is that right?’
‘Yes, but…’
‘But what?’
‘It was the wardrobe mistress who said that.’
Bill shook his head. ‘There’s more to this, isn’t there? What aren’t you telling me, Margaret?’ She closed her eyes. Bill was angry. He had every right to be. ‘You might as well tell me,’ he said, ‘or would you rather I ask Miss Lesley?’
‘I was late. The air-raid siren started and an ARP warden made me go to Aldwych Underground. And you know how I hate--? Anyway, I was pushed and shoved into the station and almost down the stairs before I got away. Then it took ages to get to the theatre--’ Margot burst into tears. ‘I’m sorry, Bill.’
‘Hold on. It wasn’t your fault you were late. We’ll explain what happened and everything will be all right. Do you know if she’s told Anton?’
‘She said she hadn’t, but--’
‘No more buts! I’m not having you treated like this. Pamela Lesley can’t sack you for being late if you were caught in an air raid. Here,’ Bill handed Margot his handkerchief. ‘Dry your eyes. I’ll go and see Anton tomorrow, explain what happened and get you reinstated.’ Bill put his arms around Margot and rocked her gently. ‘So no more tears, all right?’
‘It wasn’t the first time.’
‘What wasn’t the first time? That you’d been late?’
‘No. That Miss Lesley had caught me away from my post. It wasn’t my first warning either. I’m sorry, Bill. I didn’t tell you before because I didn’t want you to be angry with me. And the reason Miss Lesley hasn’t told Anton is because the Goldmans are our friends. I know they’re really our Bess’s friends, but Miss Lesley said our friends, and I wasn’t about to--’
‘Stop, Margaret! Never mind whose friends are who.’ Bill frowned, then looked thoughtful. ‘When was this air raid? When did the sirens sound?’
‘Tonight.’
‘Yes, Margaret, tonight! What time? We were called out to an accident at around seven. We drove past the Aldwych. I didn’t hear the siren, or see people queuing to get into the station.’
‘Just before ten,’ Margot whispered, looking at the floor.
‘Did you say ten?’ Margot nodded, but didn’t look up. ‘What the hell were you doing walking around the streets at that time of night?’
Tears began to run down her cheeks. ‘I’m sorry, Bill, I should have told you. I wanted to, but it never seemed to be the right time. And if I’d told you and you made me stop, I don’t know what I’d have done. I love it, Bill. You don’t know what it means to me. It’s what I’ve always dreamed of. Please don’t stop me doing it, Bill, please,’ Margot begged. ‘If you do, I’ll die. I will, I’ll die!’ Margot pulled away from her husband, threw herself onto the bed and sobbed.
Bill poured them both another drink. ‘Drink this, you’ll feel better. Come on,’ he coaxed, ‘sit up.’
Margot lifted her head from the pillow with a shuddering sob. Her face was red and her eyes swollen. Trembling, she took the glass of ginger wine and spilt
a drop. ‘Sorry,’ she whispered.
‘Tell me why you weren’t at the theatre at-- whatever the time was. And I want the truth, Margaret!’
Margot told Bill how the theatre had gone dark after the sewerage works had been bombed. How the girls had persuaded her to go with them to the Prince Albert Club, and how Nancy’s fiancé, Salvatore, asked if one of them would do a song from the show. ‘None of them wanted to sing. They shouted out my name, said I would sing – and I did. I sang a song on the stage, Bill.’
Margot paused to give Bill time to comment, but he just sipped his drink. She couldn’t read his expression and she lowered her head. ‘Go on,’ he said, eventually.
‘Well, I walked across the dance floor to the stage. I was so nervous… Anyway, the bandleader helped me onto the stage and there I was, in the spotlight, in front of all those people. He asked me my name and I felt nervous and excited at the same time. I said Margot, because it’s kind of short for Margaret. I didn’t know whether you’d like it if I sang in a club as Margot Burrell, so I said Dudley.’
‘Your maiden name?’ Bill shook his head. ‘Did you take your wedding ring off, too?’
‘Of course not! How could you even think that? Dudley is my stage name, my professional name. All the girls have one and I wanted one too. It has nothing to do with being married or single. I used to call myself Margot Dudley when I was a kid, when the Dudley sisters used to sing in the Christmas concerts at Woodcote village hall.’
Margot could see the hurt and disappointment in Bill’s eyes. ‘I’m sorry. I love you and I love being your wife, Bill, but this is what I’ve dreamed of since those days in the village hall. It was a wonderful feeling, singing in front of all those people. I dared to look into the audience once and they’d stopped talking and eating. They were listening to me sing. And when I finished they clapped for ever such a long time. I wish you’d have been there.’ Bill lifted his head and raised his eyebrows, but said nothing.
‘Salvatore helped me from the stage and walked me back to where the girls were sitting. He asked me if I’d like to do a spot every week. I said no, of course, but George and Betsy said I would. They egged me on, and I suppose I got carried away. And with everybody listening, I had to say yes, didn’t I?’ Bill didn’t reply.
‘The girls were laughing at the beginning, when they suggested me to sing – having a bit of a joke, you know? But when I finished singing they clapped me tons.’ Bill still didn’t comment. ‘So there it is. I’ve been sneaking out of the theatre and going to the Prince Albert Club to sing two songs every Thursday for the last six weeks. And no one would have been any the wiser if the ARP warden had let me go down Maiden Lane.’
‘Maybe not, but you’d have worn yourself out doing three jobs, because that’s what you would have been doing. All that rushing backwards and forwards... You couldn’t have kept it up. And the deceit…’ Bill shook his head, finished his drink, and banged the empty glass down on the dresser.
‘Are you very angry with me?’
‘I’m furious.’
‘Don’t be, Bill. I won’t go to the club again, if you don’t want me to. I’ll tell Salvatore tomorrow.’
‘No you won’t Margaret – Margot – and I wouldn’t ask you to. If I did, you’d end up hating me. Besides, you’ll find a way to do what you want, you always do. I’m going to bed.’
Margot sat on the edge of the bed while Bill undressed. Reaching across, she took his pyjamas from under his pillow and handed them to him. He put them on, and then pulled back the bedclothes on his side of the bed and climbed in. Without saying goodnight, he turned over so his back was to her and pulled the eiderdown up to his chin.
Margot watched Bill sleeping, waiting and willing him to turn over and face her. He didn’t. She was cold and began to shiver, so she undressed and put on her nightgown. Slipping into bed beside him, Margot brought her knees up behind his. Instead of bending his knees and leaning back to spoon, as he always did, Bill straightened his legs and edged forward.
‘Goodnight Bill,’ Margot whispered, and she cried herself to sleep.
CHAPTER SEVEN
‘Margot?’
Margot stopped and looked around. She could have sworn someone called her name, but there was no one in else in Maiden Lane. At least, there was no one near enough to--
‘Margot?’
There it was again. Not much louder than a whisper, but it sounded urgent, desperate. She looked up and down the Lane, but still couldn’t see anyone. She looked across to the alley that zigzagged through the side streets of Covent Garden to Leicester Square and-- ‘Goldie!’ Running across the road, Margot found Goldie Trick on her knees, head against the wall, holding her ribs.
‘Help-- please-- Margot,’ Goldie begged in breathless whispers. ‘Theatre-- better inside.’
Margot wanted to say, you won’t be better anywhere until you get away from that bad ‘un, Dave. Instead, she said: ‘Of course I’ll help you. Can you stand?’
Goldie nodded, took a breath in preparation, and fell to the ground. ‘Ouch! It hurts when-- I-- breathe.’
‘What on earth has he done to you this time?’ Margot knelt in front of the bruised and bleeding dancer. ‘Breathe really slowly; small shallow breaths, it won’t hurt so much.’ Margot waited until Goldie nodded that she was ready. ‘Take my hands and I’ll pull you to your knees. If it hurts we’ll stop. But if we do have to stop, try and lean against the wall, that way you won’t fall down.’
Trembling, Goldie gripped Margot’s hands as she slowly pulled her to her knees. ‘Good girl. You’re halfway to standing.’ Goldie closed her eyes and took several shallow, shuddering breaths. ‘You’re doing really well,’ Margot said. ‘Take a rest but don’t sit down, will you? I don’t think that bugger would dare to show his face around here, but the sooner we get you into the theatre the better.’
Goldie gripped Margot’s hands again, tightly. This time, using the wall to steady herself, she struggled to her feet. She wasn’t able to stand up straight, but she could walk.
Margot crouched slightly, so she was shorter than Goldie. ‘Put your arm round my shoulder and lean on me--’ Goldie nodded, and with some effort did as Margot asked. Holding the slender dancer around her waist, Margot was able to take her weight. Slowly, gently, she helped Goldie, one small shuffling step at a time, across Maiden Lane.
As they entered the theatre’s stage door, Goldie kept her head down, not only out of shame, but because she was in too much pain to stand up properly. Bert looked out of the small window in his office to greet them, but stepped back quickly when Margot shook her head. Best not embarrass Goldie, she thought.
Because Margot was late, Mrs Horton had hung the artist’s costumes in the open wardrobes, placed their show shoes underneath, and laid their gloves on their respective dressing tables. Margot breathed a sigh of relief; she and Goldie wouldn’t be disturbed for at least two hours. Feeling useless, Margot sat next to Goldie at the dressing table wishing there was something she could say or do to help her. ‘Why don’t you have a lie down on the chaise?’
‘That’s not a bad idea,’ Goldie said, pushing herself gently out of her chair. Margot helped her across the room to the chaise longue, lifted her feet up once she was sitting, and put Kat’s pillow under her head. ‘Will you stay with me, Margot? It’s silly, but even here I’m frightened Dave will get me.’ Goldie began to cry.
‘It’s not silly at all. Of course I’ll stay; I’ll stay as long as you want.’ Margot went back to the dressing table, picked up a chair and set it down beside the chaise. After a while Margot suggested she make them both a cup of tea. ‘If you’re able to drink one,’ she said, gently pushing Goldie’s hair from her face.
‘That would be lovely. Thank you.’
Margot went to the small ante-room. It was not much more than a large alcove with a sink, a side table that had a gas ring on it, a kettle and teapot, and several cups and saucers. After making the tea, she added milk to both cups and a
heaped spoonful of sugar to Goldie’s. When she returned to the dressing room, Goldie was sitting at her dressing table.
Margot put her tea in front of her. ‘I know you don’t normally have sugar, but it’s supposed to be good for shock, so…’
They drank in silence. When they had finished, Goldie looked in the mirror. ‘I can’t go on stage looking like this, can I?’
Margot took Goldie’s hands. She looked at her swollen face, her misshapen nose, the cut that ran the length of her left cheekbone, the arc of bruising around her left eye, which was almost closed, and her split bottom lip that she daren’t clean for fear that if she removed the congealed blood the wound would open and she wouldn’t be able to stop it bleeding. Blinking back tears, Margot shook her head. ‘No, Goldie, I don’t think you can. Besides, you wouldn’t be able to dance; you’re in too much pain.’
Goldie let go of Margot’s hands and pressed gently on her ribcage. ‘Ah!’ Tears filled her eyes. ‘You’re right; I won’t be able to dance tonight. There’s only one thing for it,’ she said, looking at Margot in the mirror. ‘You’ll have to go on for me.’
‘Me?’
‘Yes.’
Margot half expected Goldie to start laughing and say she was only kidding. ‘You want me to go on stage and pretend to be you in the show tonight?’
‘Yes. I know you’ve learned my songs and dances.’ Margot stared at Goldie, embarrassment threatening to engulf her. ‘We all know. And we know you could do it too.’
‘But how--?’
‘You can’t keep anything secret in a theatre. Everyone knows you want to be a dancer.’
‘Everyone? Even Nancy?’
‘Even Kat!’ Goldie pulled a face and laughed. ‘Ouch! That’ll teach me for being horrible.’
Margot didn’t comment about Kat knowing. Kat would have taken the Mickey out of her for wanting to be a dancer a month ago, but after the help she and Bill had given her, Kat wasn’t spiteful to her any more.
‘It’s pretty obvious. I mean, why else would you stand in the wings in your spare time and watch us rehearse? So what do you think?’
Applause (The Dudley Sisters Quartet Book 2) Page 8