‘Lucky for the mouse you had a box handy, Fred,’ Bess whispered into the boy’s unwashed ear as she handed him the tiny creature.
‘Yes, miss,’ Fred mumbled, dropping the mouse into a box ventilated with holes the exact circumference of his pencil.
Bess liked the children in her class, she liked her colleagues and she liked South London. It was only a ten minute bus ride from the school to where she lived, on Clapham Common’s East Side, but she preferred to walk. Walking across the Common reminded her of the park at Foxden, and James. Although she would put him out of her mind immediately.
Making a detour to the drapers on the High Road on her way home, Bess bought a yard of blackout material and later that evening made a small curtain for the window in her front door. Satisfied that the curtain covered the window fully on the inside, Bess went outside to make sure the curtain didn’t allow any light to escape.
She pulled her cardigan across her chest and folded her arms. It had been a warm day, an Indian summer sort of day, but now the sun had paled. What had been a refreshing breeze had turned into a cold wind. She stood for some time on top of the wrought iron staircase outside her apartment and watched three boys try to control the erratic flight of a large triangular kite. The kite, a black dragon breathing red fire on a white background, took a swirling nosedive. Before it hit the ground a gust of wind swept it up again and drove it deep into a horse chestnut tree. The boys pulled and tugged at the kite’s guide rope, but the more they tugged the faster the kite stuck. Eventually the rope snapped and the dragon’s tail snaked to earth, leaving the angry dragon blowing fire at the fading sun.
The three boys left the Common as the sun began its descent behind the rooftops on Clapham Common’s west side. The clouds, earlier ribbed with crimson, had turned to grey and suddenly, as if someone had thrown the switch on the world’s lights, it was dark. Satisfied that the light in her hall did not show through the blackout curtain, Bess went inside.
Her apartment was above the garage of a large Victorian house, owned by the headmaster of Christchurch School’s elderly aunt. The aunt was abroad and had asked her nephew to find someone suitable to live on the premises while she was away, as a burglar deterrent. It was Bess’s good fortune that she had accepted the job at Christchurch School while the headmaster was looking for a tenant. In more affluent times the apartment would have been the living quarters of the chauffeur. Today it was a school teacher’s sanctuary.
The main room was L-shaped, and was both living room and bedroom, with the bed tucked neatly behind a decorative wooden screen in the foot of the L. The living room had a bay window that overlooked the Common, a drop-leaf table, two high-back chairs, and a cottage style settee and chair on either side of a small fire. The other rooms in the apartment, the galley-style kitchen on the left of the entrance hall and the bathroom and toilet on the right, were considerably smaller, but well-designed and functional.
Bess loved the peace and quiet of her small apartment, especially after a day teaching noisy, sometimes naughty, and always energetic children. As the oldest girl in the family it had fallen to her to help her mother look after her younger sisters. It wasn't until she went to the grammar school that her sister Margaret was made to share the responsibility. Even so, Bess rarely went anywhere without taking at least one of her siblings with her – usually Ena – which was probably why she and Ena were so close. As she looked around her small neat home an involuntary smile crept across her face. Bess had never had a bed of her own, let alone a bedroom. Now she had a whole apartment to herself and she loved it.
*
Bess styled her hair in a fashionable bun, dabbed rouge on her cheeks to add colour to her pale complexion, and patted it down with face powder before applying burnt-orange lipstick and dabbing Goya Gardenia perfume on her neck and wrists. Not bad, she thought when she caught her reflection in the mirror. Not bad at all.
Happy with what she saw, she put on a pair of fully-fashioned stockings, taking care not to snag them with her nails. After checking there were no wrinkles, she fastened the metal garter hooks of her girdle over the small rubber buttons to hold her stockings in place. Satisfied that the seams were straight, Bess stepped into the green dress she wore on her twenty-first birthday and then her shoes, before putting on her hat.
Her hair made the hat sit at a jaunty angle, which Bess thought looked rather chic. She looked fine. She looked better than fine, but if she didn’t leave now she was going to be late. Quickly putting on her coat, Bess picked up her handbag and left the flat. After locking the door, she made her way to the Underground station at Clapham South where, after a short journey, she would see her friends Natalie and Anton Goldman at the Prince Albert Theatre on the Strand.
Bess had written to Natalie from Foxden during the summer but she hadn’t seen her since she’d been back in London. She hadn’t seen any of her friends and she’d turned down several invitations to go out with her work colleagues, but she wasn’t going to turn down any more offers to go out.
She left the train at Waterloo station and walked across the bridge, stopping briefly to take in Big Ben and The Houses of Parliament on her left and a few minutes later, St. Paul’s Cathedral and the docks on her right. At Lancaster Place she turned into the Strand and crossed the road to the Prince Albert Theatre.
‘I’m here to see Mr and Mrs Goldman. My name is Bess Dudley,’ she said to the young man in the Box Office.
‘If you’d like to take a seat, Miss,’ he said, pointing to a maroon-coloured seat on the opposite wall, ‘I’ll phone through and tell them you’re here.’
Bess thanked the young man, walked over to the seat and sat down. The seat matched the heavy drapes at the windows and doors. The floor was marble. It reminded her of Foxden – and for a moment she thought of James and the night of the New Year’s Eve party. The floor also reminded her of her childhood. When her mother cleaned for Lady Foxden she would often take Bess with her and sit her in the corner of the hall while she and another estate worker’s wife scrubbed the marble floor on their hands and knees. Her mother’s knees were swollen for weeks afterwards and her hands were red raw from using strong detergent. She was sorry that her mother had to do that kind of work - and grateful that she didn’t.
She was miles away when she heard Natalie Goldman calling her. ‘Bess, how good to see you, and looking so well.’ Natalie kissed Bess on both cheeks. ‘Come, Anton is looking forward to seeing you and to finally giving you a guided tour of the theatre.’
Natalie thanked the young man in the Box Office and, taking Bess by the hand, led her through a set of doors marked “Private”.
Anton Goldman was as charming and kind as Bess remembered him to be, and he whisked her off on a guided tour of his theatre. He introduced her to the front of house manageress, Miss Lesley, and to Bert, the stage doorman. He took her to the workshops in the dock where the carpenters were making final adjustments to the scenery, and the scene shifters were playing cards, because they weren’t needed until the show began.
Upstairs Anton introduced her to Miss Horton, the Wardrobe Mistress, who took her to the costume storeroom, where there were rows and rows of exotic gowns made of fine silks and satins, crepes and muslins. Next they went to the room of hats. At one end, Indian turbans, 19th century bonnets and the enormous hats of the early 1900s – decorated with flowers, feathers, ribbons and tulle – sat on mannequins’ heads with featureless faces, next to the modern cloches and berets of the 20th century. At the other end of the room, there were as many different styles and colours of wigs, feather and beaded headdresses, crowns and coronets. Glass cabinets displayed diamond and ruby and emerald and pearl necklaces, bracelets and rings. And beneath them were drawers of belts and gloves, and racks of shoes. Bess shook her head in amazement.
‘We’re not done yet,’ Miss Horton said, leading the way to a room crammed full of men’s costumes. In wardrobes the size of small rooms, decorative coats, evening jackets and waistcoats made
of brocade and velvet hung above trousers, breeches, leggings and shirts. Below them, rows of boots and shoes stood next to racks of walking sticks, canes, riding crops and umbrellas.
‘Enjoying yourself, Bess?’ Miss Horton asked.
‘Yes, I am,’ she said, following the Wardrobe Mistress along the corridor and into what she thought was the most exciting room of them all. ‘A dressing room,’ she gasped, ‘where the artists put on their costumes and make-up.’ She looked around like an excited child, taking in the long bench-style dressing table with make-up boxes, brushes and combs, perfume bottles and jewellery. Above it were square mirrors surrounded by light bulbs and below, chairs with artists’ names on them.
‘Thank you so much,’ Bess said, following Miss Horton down several flights of stairs and along half a dozen passages to Anton Goldman. ‘No wonder they call backstage the rabbit warren,’ she said as Anton lead her down a flight of narrow steps, through a pass-door and into the auditorium where Natalie was waiting for them.
‘That’s our box, Bess. That’s where we’ll be sitting to watch the show tonight,’ Anton said, pointing to a large box on the left of the auditorium. ‘You are coming to the show, aren’t you?’
‘And you will stay for the party afterwards? Oh, do say you will, Bess. First night parties are such fun,’ Natalie added.
‘I’d love to, but I need to get home at a reasonable time. I have the exercise books of twenty-seven young Einsteins to mark before Monday, as well as next week’s lessons to prepare.’ Natalie looked disappointed by Bess’s excuse. And it was an excuse; the excuse she made to avoid going anywhere. She was never going to celebrate James marrying Annabel Hadleigh. But since she could do nothing to stop it, it was time she accepted it and got on with her life. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I’d love to see the show tonight. And yes, I will come to the party afterwards. It’s time I had some fun.’
Natalie clapped wildly. ‘Are you hungry, Bess?’ She didn’t wait for Bess to reply. ‘We will have lunch next door, at the Fleur Jardin Café, and afterwards walk to Oxford Street and do some window shopping. Don’t worry my darling,’ she said, kissing her husband on the cheek, ‘we will be back long before the show opens tonight. Come, Bess,’ she said, taking Bess by the hand and playfully dragging her out of the theatre.
The Fleur Jardin Café attracted a bohemian clientele. Beneath its blue and white striped awning young writers, poets and artists sat at wooden tables drinking strong coffee and talking excitedly about literature, art and music. They made grand gestures with their hands and laughed loudly. Bess envied them their carefree lifestyle and wondered, if there was a war, how long it would be before their lives changed.
The inviting aroma of freshly ground coffee and aromatic herbs met Bess and Natalie when they stepped through the door, as did a young waiter. ‘Bonjour, Madame Goldman, Mademoiselle,’ he said, smiling. Then to Natalie, ‘Your usual table, Madame?’
‘Yes, thank you, Eric,’ Natalie replied, following him to a table by the window, where he pulled out Natalie’s chair and then Bess’s. When they were seated, he handed them each a menu.
‘I would like onion soup to start, followed by Carré d’agneau. What about you, Bess? I’m having the lamb. I can recommend it.’
‘It all looks delicious but I’ll have the lamb too. Thank you,’ she said, handing the menu back to the waiter.
‘And we’ll have two glasses of claret, please,’ Natalie said, smiling at Bess.
‘Merci, Madame,’ the waiter said, and left.
‘Are you enjoying being a teacher, Bess?’ Natalie asked while they ate their meal.
‘Yes I am, very much. Some of the children in my class are a little rough around the edges, but most of them are eager to learn.’
‘And what about your apartment? Is it comfortable?’
‘Yes, it’s lovely. I can’t believe my luck. I pinch myself sometimes to make sure I’m not dreaming.’
Natalie laughed. ‘So you have a job you enjoy and a lovely home, but what about a social life; a young man to take you dancing?
‘I’m too busy for dancing,’ she said, dismissing the question.
‘That’s a shame, Bess. You need fun in your life as well as work. What about the young man who gave you his card? I thought you were fond of him?’
‘I am-- was. But he isn’t free. The last I heard he was getting engaged. He joined the RAF and I haven’t seen him since.’
Laying her hand on Bess’s, Natalie said, ‘You’ll meet a wonderful man one day. A man who deserves you, Bess.’
Bess was desperate to tell Natalie how wonderful James was and how much she loved him when the waiter appeared with the bill on a small round silver dish, which he placed on the table beside her. Natalie covered it with a pound note, nodded and said, ‘Thank you, Eric.’ Her way of saying keep the change, Bess thought.
Smiling, Eric said, ‘Merci, Madame.’ Then he turned, nodded to Bess and left. And the moment to tell Natalie about James had gone.
After using the Ladies’, the two friends set off to Oxford Street via Covent Garden. Taking a short cut through the market they walked briskly past the Royal Opera House and the Coliseum, and zigzagged their way through the side streets to Shaftsbury Avenue, where they read reviews in glass frames outside some of the West End’s most famous theatres: “Fantastic and Funny”, and a little further down the Avenue, “Another Hit for Noel Coward.” But the best notices were “Flanagan and Allen At Their Best” and “Flanagan and Allen – The Best Show in Town.”
Natalie whispered, ‘The critics are in tonight. I do hope they like the show, for Anton and the company’s sake. They have all worked so hard.’
‘I’m sure they will. By tomorrow night, the walls of the Prince Albert Theatre will be covered in wonderful reviews.’
Squeezing Bess’s arm, Natalie said, ‘Thank you.’
The windows of the shops in Oxford Street were dressed with “New Season” autumn and winter fashions. By the time Bess had seen the coming season’s coats, must-have shoes, and dresses for “that special occasion” she had spent an imaginary fortune.
‘I need a drink,’ Natalie said. ‘Shall we go to Lyons Corner House for tea?’
‘Yes, I haven’t been to the new one yet,’ Bess said. She was parched and her feet ached from walking so far in high heels.
In no time at all, Berwick Street market and the exotic shops of Soho were behind them and they were entering Piccadilly’s newly refurbished Lyons Corner House.
‘This,’ Natalie said, ‘is the most fashionable place to take tea in, in London, they say.’
‘And the most modern,’ Bess added, ‘Look at those marble counters and the mirrors on the walls behind them. They must be six feet tall,’ she marvelled.
Sitting in the tea bar area the two friends kicked off their shoes and giggled like teenagers.
‘Tea for two?’ Natalie trilled, when a pot of tea, cups and saucers, a plate of sandwiches and two iced buns with cherries on top arrived.
‘Sounds like you’re about to burst into song,’ Bess said, laughing.
‘Don’t dare me or I will,’ she warned, before tucking into a salmon and cucumber sandwich.
When Natalie and Bess eventually left the Lyons Corner House, they walked down Haymarket to Trafalgar Square. Under the watchful gaze of Admiral Lord Nelson they fed the pigeons before walking the short distance along the Strand to the Prince Albert Theatre and the first night of “Seven Wonders of The World”.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Anton escorted Bess and Natalie to the Goldman’s private box where four high-backed chairs had been placed in a row. On the seat of the chair nearest to the stage was a corsage of three pink orchids.
Natalie’s face lit up. ‘Thank you, darling,’ she said, handing the corsage and its small pin to her husband, who attached it to her dress. He then took a similar corsage in cream from the seat on his right and gave it to Bess. She had never worn orchids before. Her sister Claire had a young a
dmirer who sometimes gave her an orchid. He was an apprentice gardener in a large country mansion and when he worked in the orchid-house he was allowed to take the occasional less than perfect flower home, as a perk of the job. Bess turned to Anton and Natalie and said, ‘Thank you, they are beautiful.’
The audience was seated and the usherettes, who had been checking the tickets and showing people to their seats, had themselves sat down. Bess laid her orchids on the empty chair beside her and took her seat next to Anton. If things had been different James might have been sitting there, after he had pinned the orchids on her dress. His parting words came flooding back. ‘We could meet in town, see a show and have a bite of supper.’ Before the tears that were already threatening began to fall, Bess shook James’s words from her mind. She would ask Natalie to pin the orchids on her dress in the interval.
As the lights began to fade a hush swept through the audience like a giant wave. The safety iron began to rise, the maroon and gold fringed stage curtains began to open, and the orchestra’s string section began to play. And when the curtains were fully open, the stage lights came up on the Great Pyramid of Giza.
Bronze, muscular male dancers, dressed as Egyptian slaves, pulled huge boulders across the stage, climbed onto them and struck masculine poses. Two ballerinas, one dressed as a black cat and the other as a golden eagle, led the Pharaoh and his Queen onto the stage. Handmaidens waited-on, nymphs danced attendance, and eunuchs – slim boys wearing extravagant face make-up – fanned the royal couple with reeds.
As the scene came to an end a juggler dressed as an Egyptian merchant kept four golden spheres in the air at the same time, while a snake-charmer played a rhythmic flute to lure not a snake but a slender bejewelled belly-dancer out of an Ali Baba basket. Free of her wicker confinement, the belly-dancer clapped her hands sharply once and the lights went out.
To set the scene for the second Wonder of the World a magician waved a magic wand over a top hat and produced two doves. The doves circled the auditorium, and when the curtains opened flew up to the fly-deck high above the stage. As the doves disappeared into the darkness two trapeze artists appeared out of it, and the lights came up on the Hanging Gardens of Babylon.
Foxden Acres (The Dudley Sisters Quartet Book 1) Page 10