In the narrow corridor he almost bumped into the night porter going on duty, his head down as he fastened the buttons on his waistcoat.
‘Taking up more than your fair share of room, aren’t you?’ the porter demanded amiably.
‘Who, skinny little me? It’s you who takes up all the room, otherwise, why do you have such a job doing up your buttons, eh?’ Joey grinned back.
‘For being so cheeky, young ’un, I won’t tell you there’s a letter for you. Expensive paper, lady’s handwriting.’
‘Don’t tell me, then. I’ll find out for myself. Probably just from one of my wealthy admirers.’
The porter’s reply was lost in the air as he hurried across the yard to the staff entrance.
In spite of his blasé attitude Joey was surprised and excited to receive a letter. He recognized Mercy’s handwriting immediately. He had heard about Blanche’s visit to the Villa Dorata, of course, and he knew that Mercy was now free to communicate with the family again, but somehow he had never expected her to contact him. The message was short. It merely said that Mercy was very happy to be able to write to him; she hoped he was well and could they perhaps meet on his next day off? The text was neatly penned and formal; it was in the postscript his old familiar Mercy was revealed. She had written, ‘Please say you will come, for I have far, far too much news to be packed into a silly old letter. I hear that you have grown up so much you are no longer my little brother. Do come!’
How could he resist such an appeal? Without further ado he hurried back into the hotel and, slipping unseen into the writing-room, he purloined some of the hotel’s notepaper and an envelope for his reply.
* * *
At first Joey took no notice of the fashionably dressed young woman who entered the tea-rooms, until she spoke.
‘Joey?’ she said hesitantly. ‘Joey, it is you, isn’t it?’
‘Mercy!’ He leapt to his feet. His immediate reaction was not astonishment that she looked the complete lady but the fact that she seemed to have diminished in size, for he now towered over her.
The same thought must have occurred to her, for she exclaimed, ‘Goodness, you really have stopped being my little brother!’
As they literally sized each other they burst out laughing.
‘I don’t believe it! Can this be the sister who used to give me a thump every time I dropped my aitches?’ demanded Joey.
‘Don’t blame me. You’re the one who has shot up like a weed,’ Mercy beamed back at him. ‘A very handsome weed, if I may say so.’
‘You certainly may. Torquay’s latest heart-breaker, that’s me. Look, we don’t have to take our tea standing up, do we? We are allowed to sit down. I hear it’s the latest craze.’
‘You haven’t changed,’ said Mercy. ‘Never lost for a reply.’
‘I get that from Blanche.’ His face grew serious. ‘From what she says you’ve had a bit of a rough time these last couple of years.’
‘Only in patches. I knew when I married Peter it would not – could not be plain sailing. Things are easier now. Grandmother’s visit helped a lot. I think one of the greatest reliefs is I’m no longer pretending to be something I’m not. I used to work in a laundry – if anyone asks I say so.’
‘Good for you! And has anyone? Asked, I mean?’
‘Yes, the Honourable Charlotte Dawson-Pring, no less, granddaughter of the Earl of Somewhere or another. She said, “I hear you used to be a laundress,” and I replied, “Yes, I was. A good one.” My mother-in-law nearly had a fit. But the Honourable Charlotte was not a bit taken aback. In fact, we’ve become quite good friends.’
‘And what about your husband?’
‘Peter? He is the dearest, kindest man ever.’
‘So you’ve no regrets?’
‘About marrying Peter? None at all!’ Mercy’s reply was decisive. ‘And there is the baby! Oh, Joey, you have the most adorable little nephew there ever was!’
‘I was wondering when we’d get around to him,’ chuckled Joey. ‘Even Blanche was impressed; though her comments on his nurse would have made your Honourable Charlotte What’s-her-name blench.’
‘I doubt it, knowing Charlotte. The nurse was one of the things I put my foot down about. She’s been replaced by someone who isn’t a reincarnation of Napoleon. But that’s enough of me and my affairs. What about you? Are you enjoying working in an hotel?’
‘I am indeed!’ Joey’s face lit up with enthusiasm. ‘You know, I think I can really get somewhere in this business. Oh, it’s hard work at the moment. Come to think of it, it will always be hard work. But I love it, and I mean to get on. I want to become a manager of a really superior hotel like the Devonshire Hall – in the end.’ He grinned mischievously. ‘I’ve found I like to live in style.’
‘You’ll get there, I know it. Oh, I’m so glad, Joey! I really am!’ Mercy beamed at him with delighted pride. ‘As for the style, from that suit I can see you’re learning quickly.’
Joey gazed down at the sharp grey pin-stripe which had cost him quite a few of his tips.
‘Would you believe that a Pekinese dog bought most of it?’ he said.
‘You’ve filled out, too. The food must be good.’
‘Marvellous, and lots of it. Some of the overflow I take home on my days off. It’s against the rules, but everyone does it. You should see the waste even so!’ This was one aspect of his work which still troubled Joey. ‘It’s a funny old world, isn’t it? One half hasn’t got enough to eat and the other half has too much.’
For a moment there was silence, as each reflected on the numerous times they had gone to bed hungry. Shame for her own affluence engulfed Mercy briefly, but those days of want were still too close for her pleasure in the luxuries of life to be dimmed for long.
‘How’s everyone at home?’ she asked.
‘Getting on fine,’ Joey assured her. ‘Pa still spends all his time in the Oak, but apart from that things are much better. I reckon Blanche must be slowing down because these days Ma usually beats her in the race for the money you send. That helps a lot. I can spare a bit, too. And Lizzie is working full time in the dairy at Prout’s farm. So the Seatons are pretty comfortable at the moment.’
‘I’d love to come and see you all!’
‘Why not? It would be grand to have you back for a visit.’ Despite his enthusiastic words Mercy sensed hesitation in his manner. He went on more cautiously, ‘Better leave it for a bit, though. It’s not that we don’t want you, of course. You see, the Seatons may be better off, but when it comes to the social graces we’re still lagging behind, especially when Lizzie and Blanche have a go at one another. You’re somebody now, Mrs Lisburne of the Villa Dorata, and I bet it hasn’t been easy for you. Don’t do anything that would set you back, not now.’
Mercy was about to protest that she did not care about her social position, but she had second thoughts: she remembered only too well what her family could be like, and their behaviour could affect not only Peter but John too. She could not take that risk, not yet.
Eager to brush away those harsher memories she said, ‘What did you mean when you said a Pekinese dog had bought your suit? Were you joking?’
‘Certainly not! It was the honest truth!’
Joey launched into tales of the people he had met and the amusing things which occurred at the Devonshire Hall Hotel. In turn Mercy told him of her new life and the happenings at the Villa Dorata. Almost unconsciously they ordered tea, and mechanically they consumed toasted muffins and cream cakes, never letting the conversation falter for a moment.
Finally the waitress, eager to get home, was forced to break into their conversation to ask them if they would like the bill. Startled they looked round to see that the tea-rooms were in near darkness. They were the last customers.
‘It can’t be that late!’ declared Joey in horror. ‘I’m due on duty in ten minutes!’
‘We’ll share a taxi, then.’ Mercy began to look in her bag for her purse.
Joey
put out a restraining hand. ‘Allow me,’ he said.
Mercy bit her lip to hide a smile at the nonchalant way in which he glanced at the bill and then cast a handful of coins on to the table.
‘In that case the transport is on me,’ she said.
Joey’s man-of-the-world air disappeared swiftly as they climbed into the taxi, to be replaced by a huge grin.
‘This is what I call style,’ he beamed, as the engine coughed into life and they set off, somewhat bumpily, toward the Devonshire Hall.
It took them some time to persuade the taxi-driver that it was the staff entrance of the hotel they wanted and not the Grand Foyer. As Joey explained, being late on duty was bad enough, but a mere waiter could not possibly be seen arriving through the guests’ entrance.
‘You’ve no idea how wonderful it has been seeing you again,’ said Mercy, as they drew up in the narrow lane at the back of the hotel.
‘And seeing you, too. We’ll get together again soon, won’t we?’
‘Of course.’ Mercy hugged him hurriedly. ‘Give my love to everyone at home, along with this. It’s a letter and a little something for them.’
Through the envelope Joey could feel the outline of sovereigns. ‘Trust me,’ he said. Then leaning back into the taxi window he planted a kiss on her cheek, whispering in her ear, ‘That’ll give the driver something to think about!’
Mercy was still laughing, her eyes bright with happiness as the taxi drove away.
By the time he had changed into uniform Joey was fifteen minutes late going on duty. He sped up the staff stairs hoping his absence had not been noticed. In his haste he ran into the under-manager, who was standing at the end of the corridor, every line of his short corpulent body expressing displeasure. At the sight of Joey he took out a watch from his waistcoat pocket and regarded it in a gesture of exaggerated surprise.
‘It is only a quarter past, Mr Seaton!’ he said. ‘It is extremely kind of you to break into your social life long enough to honour us with your presence.’
‘I’m sorry I’m late, Mr Bell,’ gasped Joey breathlessly.
‘Not nearly as sorry as you are going to be, I assure you. Fifteen minutes!’
‘I’ve never been late before—’
‘And you think that is an excuse for being late now? Such slipshod thinking will not do at the Devonshire Hall Hotel, Seaton, do not imagine that it will! Fortunately we found a replacement for you in good time. You can take his place in the staff dining room, a position that will be permanently yours if your conduct does not improve!’
Without waiting for further explanations or excuses Mr Bell turned on the heel of his patent leather boot and stalked away. As he did so a door opened and Barty emerged carrying a tray. He made no attempt to conceal his feeling of smug self-satisfaction at the sight of Joey.
‘Mabel give you a good roasting, did he?’ he inquired. ‘Serves you right for being so late.’
Joey swallowed his annoyance. ‘Mabel?’ he said. ‘Mabel? Is that any way to refer to the under-manager? If you want to remain up here permanently, Barty, my lad, you’re going to have to learn better manners than that.’
‘My name is Bartholomew!’ protested Barty. Joey did not hear. He was already hurrying downstairs to his new and, he sincerely hoped, temporary situation in the staff dining-room.
It was thanks to the intervention of Mrs Haddon that he was reinstated. Under Barty’s charge Ming had not enjoyed his evening exercise, which had been hasty to say the least, and his supper had been served in a most unsatisfactory manner. Mrs Haddon, who knew the hotel’s rules about pets as well as anyone, was far too tactful to make her complaints specific. She merely let it be known that the new young floor waiter was nowhere near as satisfactory as the previous one and that she hoped to see Joseph back as soon as possible.
Next day Joey returned to his former duties, official and unofficial. He was particularly conscientious during the next few weeks; he already had one black mark against him, and with lads like Barty breathing down his neck eager for promotion he had to be careful.
The coming of spring emptied Torquay’s hotels as the fashionable winter visitors sought pastures new. The Devonshire Hall was no exception, with only a handful of permanent guests remaining. Even Mrs Haddon had taken Ming for a change of scene. A tense air hung over the staff for this was a time when work was in the balance, and everyone took careful note of all arrivals and departures, hoping against hope to hold on to their jobs during the precarious weeks until the summer visitors came.
Joey, however, was in his usual cheery mood as he finished his breakfast.
‘I’m glad someone’s got something to sing about,’ grumbled the bleary-eyed night-porter.
‘It’s my day off,’ replied Joey. ‘And I don’t propose spending it nattering with you. Nothing personal, Rod, old fellow. It’s just that I’ve got better things to do.’
He had his day planned to a nicety. First a visit home for a couple of hours to see how everyone was, then a meal out somewhere – the food at the Devonshire Hall had shown up all too clearly the deficiencies in Ma’s cooking – then, if the weather did not improve he would go to the Picturedrome in Market Street. His head busy with the delight of having money jingling in his pocket and a whole day to spend it in, he returned to the long room above the hotel garage which he shared with a dozen others. He removed a package from his locker. In it were the slices of beef, half a dozen savoury pastries and some chocolate biscuits he had stored away the night before. Ma and the rest of them always looked forward to seeing what he had brought.
One quick glance at himself in the once ornate mirror, a casualty from the banqueting-room cloakroom, and with the parcel under his arm he set off. He got no further than the door.
It was strange how a man as small as Mabel could entirely fill a doorway. Puffed up with his own importanceunder-manager stood there, his pig eyes glittering with something like triumph.
‘Where are you going, Seaton?’ he demanded.
‘Why, home, Mr Bell. It’s my day off.’ Something in the man’s expression made him feel uneasy.
‘Indeed? What are you taking with you?’
Joey looked down at his parcel. Already the brown paper was stained with grease from the pastries.
‘Just a few things, Mr Bell,’ he said.
‘Perhaps you’d better show me what sort of things.’
Mabel pointed to a scrubbed deal table. Joey had no alternative but to put down the parcel and undo the string.
Mabel looked down at the somewhat squashed contents, his face registering distaste. ‘I suppose it is useless to ask if you have paid for these items?’ he asked.
‘No, of course not! They were going to be thrown away,’ protested Joey, his unease increasing.
‘Nevertheless, they are hotel property and you know the rules. Food is not to be taken away from the kitchens.’
‘Everyone does it!’
‘Then it is your misfortune to be the one caught stealing—’
‘It’s not stealing! It was going to the pigs, honestly!’
‘…to be caught stealing,’ repeated Mabel, ‘and so there is only one course of action. Pack your things, be in my office in a quarter of an hour to collect any moneys due to you, then you will leave the hotel premises immediately. Under no circumstances can you expect a character reference.’
He leaned forward and gathered the parcel together, picking it up by the tips of his fingers as if to avoid contamination. He stalked out with it paying no heed to Joey’s desperate protests.
After the under-manager had departed Joey sank down on to his bed. It was so unfair, though he had to admit not totally unexpected. He knew the hotel management frequently made an example of someone, just to keep the rest on their toes, especially at slack times.
The clank of a bucket made him look up. An elderly woman, mop in hand, stood in the doorway so recently occupied by Mabel.
‘I suppose you heard all that, Kitty?’ said Joey de
spondently.
‘Couldn’t ’elp it, boy. A cryin’ shame, I calls it!’ She leaned her weight on her mop. ‘’E sneaked on ’ee, that’s what ’e did! Must ’ave done!’
‘Who sneaked on me?’ asked Joey in surprise.
‘That little un, the one that looks like one of they cherrybums. I’ve never trusted un further than I could fling un.’
‘Barty?’
‘Dun’t know ’is name. But ’e was standing’ by your cubby-’ole there, just closin’ un, and my, didn’t ’e jump when ’e seed me. I thought then, You’m up to summat ’ee shouldn’t be, boy. And now us knows what, dun’t us?’
Fury rushed through Joey, and he sprang to his feet.
‘I’ll thrash the hide off him. I’ll—’
‘Fust you’d better parcel up them bits and bobs of yourn and get over to see Mabel,’ advised Kitty. ‘If you keeps un waitin’ ’e’s liable to start dockin’ pennies off your money.’
She was right. Joey slipped her a shilling he could ill afford now, and speedily rolled his possessions into a bundle. His interview with Mabel was short and terse, and his back wages were handed to him in near silence.
As he left the hotel Joey made a profitable detour via the men’s washroom, where he encountered Barty.
If Barty had hoped for immediate promotion to floor waiter he was out of luck. Mabel took one look at him and relegated him once more to the staff dining room. At the Devonshire Hall it was out of the question to have a floor waiter sporting a black eye and a split lip!
* * *
‘So, you have been dismissed without a character. It is rapidly becoming a family tradition.’ Blanche regarded Joey blearily across the kitchen table. Her brief excursion into sobriety at the Villa Dorata was now a memory, and she nursed her gin-bottle like a favoured child.
‘What you’m goin’ to do now, me ’ansome?’ asked Ma, her face wrinkled with anxiety.
‘I’ll find something, never fear,’ said Joey with a confidence he did not feel. He knew very well that it was the wrong time of the year for seeking employment, especially without a reference.
To Dream Again Page 16