‘Now, what can I get you ladies?’
‘One salmon mornay and one rack of lamb, please,’ Mattie replied, hearing the slight wobble of nerves as she spoke. ‘Actually . . . the reason we came was because Ms Silver was one of the acts booked to play at the club when it was the Palm Grove.’
Derry gave Reenie a surprised smile. ‘Is that so? When was this?’
‘1956,’ Reenie beamed. ‘I was lead singer with The Silver Five.’
‘Well, how good is that? I had no idea we were entertaining VIPs this afternoon! Hey, my boss would be over the moon to meet you. Shall I call him over?’
With a surreptitious wink at Mattie, Reenie clasped a hand to her heart. ‘Would you? That would be wonderful.’
Derry nodded and looked out over the club. ‘He’ll be made up, honestly. His grandfather used to run the place, and . . . Ah, here’s your man now. Gil! Over here!’
Reenie’s eyes were as wide as saucers as the club’s owner approached. ‘Oh, he’s just the spit of Jake . . . Look, Mattie.’
Derry was relaying the details about them to his employer as Mattie turned – and saw the tall, sandy-haired barman strolling towards them. Reenie was right, she realised now – he was the image of the photo of Jake Kendrick she had seen on the website. He wore his hair a little longer, but there was an obvious curl to it, reminding Mattie of the styled quiff his grandfather had worn. How hadn’t she spotted it at the bar?
‘That explains the cocktail umbrella,’ he grinned, reaching out to shake Reenie’s hand. ‘The Silver Five, eh? My grandfather used to talk about you, Ms Silver.’
‘I hope it was all good stuff?’
‘It was.’ He turned to Mattie. ‘I owe you an introduction. I’m Gil Kendrick. I co-own the club with my brother Colm. Unfortunately he isn’t in today – he’ll be sorry he missed you.’
‘We did arrive unannounced. I wonder, could we be cheeky and ask for a tour of the club?’
‘Sure – it would be my pleasure. Would you like to go now?’
‘Now’s as good a time as any, Mr Kendrick,’ Reenie said, rising slowly and accepting the offer of his arm to help her.
‘Please – call me Gil. It’s great to meet a friend of Grandad’s.’
‘Call me Reenie,’ the old lady purred, patting his arm coyly. ‘Lead on, Macduff!’
They began to walk slowly from the table towards the large space beyond, which had once housed Soho’s most glittering dance floor. Gil pointed out the different areas, most of which were still visible even under the uniform black paint.
‘So, diners sat here and sometimes surrounding the first part of the floor, depending on the acts Grandad had performing. Originally there was an orchestra pit just in front of the stage, but after the war, when big bands tended to be the main draw, Jake moved them onto the stage. I believe he extended the stage back in around 1951, building new dressing rooms and adding about twenty feet to the performance area.’
‘I first met him not long after that work had happened,’ Reenie nodded. ‘He was so excited about it, as I recall. You know, this place still has the magic it had sixty years ago.’
‘Does it?’
‘Oh, yes. I met my manager Rico here. Snuck in with my mate who was waitressin’ because Matt Munro was doing a set – and there he was. Harry Slack, leanin’ on the bar, looking for all the world like he’d stepped off the plane from St Tropez. He bought me cherry brandies all night and I thought all my birthdays had come at once.’ She let out a sigh as she they moved down towards the stage. ‘The Palm Grove was like Hollywood in Soho. Not dark and dingy like it is today – no offence, Gil.’
He smiled. ‘None taken. What was it like back then?’
‘Gorgeous. Chandeliers everywhere, candelabras on every table, gold chairs and pink linen tablecloths so thick and luxurious you could’ve worn ’em as an evening gown.’
Looking around the modern club, with its careful mix of black and chrome, it was difficult to imagine the opulence it had become renowned for during the late 1940s and early 1950s. Only the pair of rich red velvet curtains that encircled the stage gave a clue to the club’s former glory.
‘In my day,’ Reenie continued, her gold rings clicking together as she pointed to a slightly sunken area just in front of the stage, ‘the best dancers in town used to head here after their West End shows. Your grandad was a peach like that. All very hush-hush, mind, but I know a fair few girls who kept roofs over their heads in the early days because of the cash he’d bung ’em for dancing. He said it made his club look good. It did, as well. You walked into this place and it drew you into a fantasy world. You might be the least interested of a party, but I’d guarantee by the end of the night you’d be willing to do anythin’ to grab a piece of it.’
Mattie followed behind Reenie and Gil, surprised to hear her friend’s stories of the former owner. Why hadn’t Reenie mentioned this before? All she had said of her link with the Palm Grove prior to their visit was that a talent scout from the club had seen The Silver Five performing, and invited them to appear. That scout couldn’t have been Jake Kendrick, could it?
‘Bringing back memories?’ Gil asked.
‘More than a few, kid. Answer me one question, though: when you must’ve spent so much making this place modern, why on earth did you hang on to those moth-eaten stage curtains?’
Gil stared at the old lady, then broke into the warmest smile Mattie had seen him wear since their arrival. ‘Well spotted, Miss Silver.’
‘Those are the original curtains?’ Mattie asked, her interest immediately piqued. One of the things she loved most about working with vintage goods was the sheer variety of fabrics. Such a tactile representation of the past never failed to make her think of the item’s previous owners, her fingers tracing the same paths as those of unseen individuals, generations before. ‘Sorry, do you mind if I . . . ?’
‘Sure. Be my guest.’
Gil was clearly amused by her sudden enthusiasm, but Mattie didn’t care. While Grandpa Joe hadn’t seen Reenie perform at the Palm Grove, she knew from the conversations they’d shared that he’d spent many a Friday and Saturday evening in the sumptuous surroundings of the club. He might never have appeared on its stage, but this solitary remnant of the club’s original fabric was the closest link in the place to the grandfather she missed. She took the three steps at the side of the stage and ran a hand down one of the folds of red velvet. On close inspection she could see patches where the material had been worn thin, the brown threads of the backing fabric along the hem clearly visible in a few places. The curtains had the scent of old fabric: modern velvets just didn’t smell the same. It reminded Mattie of the scent that lingered on her clothes the day after she’d baked bread and scones with Grandma in the farmhouse kitchen: toast-like, with hints of sun-roasted dust.
‘My brother wanted to bin them.’ Gil’s voice was soft when it sounded by Mattie’s side. Surprised, she turned her head to see he had joined her on the stage.
‘You did the right thing ignoring him,’ she smiled back. ‘This kind of quality just doesn’t exist anymore. How old are they?’
‘Grandad commissioned them when he opened the club in 1931. They once had the initials P. G. and a palm tree logo embossed on them in gold.’ He lifted one edge of velvet curtain and held it up to her. In the light from the overhead spots, Mattie could just make out tiny flecks of gold paint and a faint outline where the velvet was darker in colour. ‘I take it you’re interested in this sort of thing?’
‘I am. I own a vintage goods store. Old fabrics are a particular favourite of mine.’ Suddenly realising how odd it was to be discussing the merits of eighty-five-year-old velvet with a relative stranger, Mattie smiled. ‘It keeps me happy.’
Gil laughed. ‘I’m the last person to mock someone’s personal obsessions. Here’s a tip: don’t ever get me started on Tommy Cooper. I could recite his routines to you for hours . . .’
It was an innocent comment that felt like an invita
tion. Mattie felt her smile broaden to mirror Gil’s. Velvet and vintage comedians, it transpired, were a potent mix when discussed on this stage. Aware of Reenie, who was watching them both with sly interest, Mattie hurried back to the former dance floor.
‘And there was me thinking I’d be the oldest thing in the place today,’ she said, raising an eyebrow. ‘Usurped by a pair of curtains – charming!’
‘Sorry, Reenie. Occupational hazard.’
‘You and your business. I don’t know. Next thing I know you’ll be flogging me to the highest bidder.’ Reenie’s eyes sparked with mischief as she patted Gil’s arm. ‘Pay no attention to me, I’m just having a bit of fun. I do appreciate being here. Sincerely. It’s bringing back a lot of memories.’
As Gil escorted them around the three rooms of the club and the bank of dressing rooms beyond the stage, Mattie silently rehearsed her proposition. It had been all she could think of for two weeks and, until this morning, she had been confident of her request. Now she was here, it occurred to her that it might put Gil in an impossible position. They weren’t offering to pay for the event, only to provide the group – and Mattie had no guarantee that any of the remaining four Silver Five singers would agree to attend.
And yet, being here made her believe that it could be possible.
She could be swept up in the romanticism of what this place had once been, but it was almost as if the club was spinning its magic around her head, as if the crystal chandeliers and hundreds of blazing candles were still alight. I can’t go back now, she thought. I’ve come too far.
Grandpa Joe would call this ‘an unexpected door’. He’d mentioned it often when reminiscing about the opportunities his own life had afforded him. ‘You take my advice: if you stumble upon an unexpected door, don’t hesitate. We can wait a lifetime for opportunity to call on us; unexpected doors don’t announce themselves, but wait to be found. They’re easy to miss or dismiss – trust me, love, I know only too well. If you find one, open it. You won’t regret it . . .’
‘I remember this room,’ Reenie exclaimed, as they stepped into a long, narrow dressing room. She clapped her hands together and shuffled over to one of the mirrors that still had its bare light-bulb surround. ‘I stood in for one of the dancers one night, you know, Mattie, long before I was in The Silver Five. One of the girls twisted her ankle tripping down the stage steps, and couldn’t go on. Well, I’d watched the routine enough times to know the moves, and her costume fit me. So me and me mate Marcie giggled our way through the performance on the back row.’ She grinned at Gil. ‘Your grandad thought it was hilarious when he found out.’
‘Did he? He never told me that.’
‘I’ll bet he never did. This one here,’ she pointed at Mattie, ‘thinks she knows everything about me, but we’ve barely scratched the surface. You only know what we choose to tell you.’
This was true in more ways than one, Mattie thought. Gil had no idea what she and Reenie planned to ask. Was now the right time? Taking a breath and willing whatever magic still clung to the fixtures of the club to come to her aid, Mattie seized the opportunity.
‘Talking of which, there’s another reason we wanted to visit today,’ she said, every nerve ending on her skin prickling. ‘We don’t just want to help Reenie reminisce.’
‘You don’t?’
‘The thing is – Reenie’s group never played the gig they were booked for. They broke up that night. We’d like to try to reunite them for a final time, sixty years later. Bring them all back together here, where the split happened.’
‘For what?’
‘To see the place – like Reenie’s done today. Have lunch here, invite the press, make it into a celebration of one of British rock ’n’ roll’s founding acts and this club’s place in music history.’
‘Okay.’ Gil’s eyes narrowed. ‘So, what’s in it for me?’
‘Um . . .’ Suddenly, Mattie was stumped. She’d assumed the publicity from the story would be enough. ‘Publicity?’
‘Free publicity. That I pay for.’ His brow softened. ‘I’m sorry to sound mercenary, but I’m running a business. The link with my grandfather is a great one, but are you proposing I forgo a day’s worth of business for a PR stunt that – forgive me – might only generate a little local interest?’
‘Of course not.’
Mattie turned to look at Reenie, who was leaning on her walking stick now, eyes alive. ‘Reenie?’
‘We’ll do the gig. For real, this time. You turn this place back into the Palm Grove for one night, sell the tickets, and Mattie and me will do the rest.’
Mattie felt as if the room was slowly slipping away from her. ‘What do you mean? Reenie?’
‘What are you suggesting?’ He was interested now, and Mattie watched in mounting horror as the old lady and the club owner began to mirror one another’s body language, blocking her out.
‘We’ll get you all five Silver Five members. One last gig, before we all pop off to eternity. Picture it, Gil: “The Most Anticipated Reunion in Pop Music History”. The originators of the world-famous song “Because You Loved Me” brought back together after a sixty-year rift. The gig that never happened, finally taking place on the sixtieth anniversary of the original date. Tickets would vanish in no time. You could charge whatever you liked. Money for the club, a huge coup for Kendrick’s, a perfect publicity storm.’
‘Reenie – can we talk about this?’ hissed Mattie, panic making her whisper seem strained.
‘No need, kiddo. You were right. I can’t meet my maker knowing I could have made this better before I died. A nice afternoon jolly in London won’t cut it. Being here has made up my mind. The only way I will put things right is to do the gig I skipped out on. So, what do you say, Gil Kendrick?’
He was rubbing a hand slowly across his chin, and Mattie couldn’t believe he was even considering Reenie’s proposal. ‘I don’t know. It’s a lot of money to invest. And how do you know anyone still remembers you?’
‘They remember, don’t you worry. We were stars while Elvis Presley was still scribblin’ songs at his mother’s knee. “Because You Loved Me” is one of the most covered songs in recent history. Five of us share credits with the songwriter’s family, and we’ve all made a living out of it. People still remember. Trust me, they’ll come.’
‘Now, just wait a minute!’ Mattie interjected, bringing her hand a little too forcefully down on the dressing-room table. ‘I’m sorry, Reenie, but how on earth will you get all of the band members to come? Most of them haven’t spoken to you for sixty years.’
Reenie gave a girlish giggle. ‘That’s the best bit. We visit them. In person. You and me. Persuade them to come. I’ll make my apologies and get them on board. I know them. They may have spent most of their lives hating me, but none of them will turn down the chance for one last gig.’
It was good to see her friend so animated, but Mattie feared Reenie was finally losing her marbles. She lowered her voice, turning a little away from Gil Kendrick, who was scribbling calculations on a scrap of paper. ‘Reenie, this is a lovely idea, but how are we going to visit everyone and arrange this gig in time? The date is only four weeks away. And we don’t even know if they would see you, let alone agree to a concert.’
‘So, we surprise them. Just turn up. What can they do, eh?’
‘Call the police? Slam the door in our faces?’
‘Not if you had a promoter with you, bringing a cast-iron contract,’ Gil said, causing them both to turn.
‘Trust me, Gil, my word will be enough.’
‘All the same, Miss Silver, I should be there. If I’m going to commit money to this, I want to protect my investment.’
‘So, you don’t mind taking Reenie all over the country?’ Mattie asked, suddenly impressed.
Gil’s mouth opened to speak, but Reenie got there first. ‘Not likely! You’re driving, Mattie Bell.’
‘What?’
‘This was your idea. The whole “If I’d had a chance to
apologise I’d have done it” speech. Well, this is your chance.’ She dropped her tone to a hoarse whisper. ‘To do it for You-Know-Who.’
‘I have a business, Reenie! I can’t just leave it for a week . . .’
‘Nearer two weeks I’d say, kid,’ Reenie sniffed. ‘That van of yours will need it. I reckon a week and a half would give us time to get round to everybody. The rest of the group are all a little – spread out, see? Moved as far away from each other as we could.’
Mattie was horrified by the suggestion. How could Reenie be volunteering her services with no regard to her business – or what she might want? But the mention of Grandpa Joe and her graveside promise pulled her up short. What if this was a way to make amends for the past? Joe Bell had loved The Silver Five. What if she really could reunite them, and make the gig he missed finally happen? Her fingers found the silver tiepin on her collar, and in a heartbeat she knew what she should do.
‘If Joanna and Laurie are willing to cover the shop,’ she began slowly, already seeing triumph glowing from Reenie’s smile, ‘and if we can persuade Beauvale to sanction the trip . . .’
‘Pffft, you leave Beauvale to me. And I’ve met your sister and Laurie. I reckon they’d run the place like a dream for you. Do we have a deal?’ Reenie held out her hands, one to Mattie, one to Gil. The two of them exchanged glances, each weighing up the other, before their hands met in the centre of the table.
‘What was that?’ Mattie demanded, as soon as their taxi had driven clear of the street.
‘That, Mattie Bell, was ingenuity in action!’
‘I thought you said you couldn’t be in the same room as them?’
‘I changed my mind.’
‘That’s one heck of a U-turn, Reenie! And what if they don’t agree?’
‘They will. They’ll see Gil’s contract, and that’ll be all they’ll need.’ She grimaced. ‘Not that I’m happy about him tagging along. Blimmin’ cheek! Just like his grandfather . . .’
Searching for a Silver Lining Page 10