Night and Day

by Caron Allan

  ‘A whole pound!’ Flora grumbled.

  ‘A cigarette girl?’ Dottie said, and felt a twinge of disappointment. ‘If that’s true, Archie Dunne wasn’t the nice man I’d hoped he was.’

  ‘I know what you mean,’ Flora agreed. ‘I had such high hopes that the rumours of his philandering were spurious. How sad. Poor Susan. And well, you know, what a shame. So it was just a cigarette girl all along.’

  ‘Do we know which one?’ Dottie asked. ‘Would it be possible to ask her a few questions? Well, obviously it would have to be you who did that, George.’

  ‘Talk to a pretty girl? Oh well, if I simply must. I’ll try to catch her when she comes round. No, by the way, I don’t know which one, but I will courageously interrogate them all until I find the right one. Give it another half an hour and no doubt there’ll be a girl in the corridor outside.’

  And so the show recommenced. Dottie, leaning forward with her elbow resting on the parapet of the box, and her chin in her hand, remained completely oblivious to what was taking place on the stage. The actors moved, spoke their lines, sang and danced, but all she could think about was that odious policeman, and the fact that, after all, Archie had been nothing more than a womanising cad. And all this time, she thought to herself, I’ve imagined him as a noble and tragic figure, when in fact the whole thing is merely sordid and horrible. No doubt Archie was killed by the cigarette girl’s jealous boyfriend with a sword-stick. Dottie shook herself and tried to concentrate on the rest of the show, unaware that below them in the shadow of the stalls, the inspector had been watching her the whole time.

  *

  About half an hour into the second act, George wandered out into the hallway and sure enough a pretty young woman of about eighteen or twenty was there, holding a box of smoking requisites suspended from her shoulders by broad straps. Upon his approach she whisked out her little electric torch and played the beam over her range of wares.

  ‘Good evening sir, what would you like?’ She fixed him with a bright smile and George felt embarrassed. She looked like a sweet little thing. He hesitated, trying to think of the best way to proceed. It was difficult to find the right words.

  ‘Perhaps a nice cigar?’ she suggested, seeing his diffidence. ‘We have several different brands including some really special Cuban ones in this corner, or if you prefer, we have some miniatures and cigarettes.’

  ‘Actually, if you don’t mind, Miss—er...’

  ‘Valerie.’

  ‘Oh, er, Miss—Valerie. Er—gosh that’s an awfully nice name...’

  ‘Thank you, sir. What was it you were wanting sir?’ She smiled still, but her eyes were wary.

  ‘It’s a bit awkward, Valerie, and I’m not terribly sure of the best way to go about it, so I’m just going to come out with it, and I hope you won’t be cross with me. Um—a friend of mine recently passed away and I’m sort of wondering if he might possibly have been a friend of yours too. Um—his—er—his name was Archie Dunne.’

  She looked at him with cool eyes. Whatever she’d been expecting, it wasn’t this. Her eyes seemed suddenly much more mature than the rest of her, he thought. She said nothing. Panicking slightly, he ploughed on, ‘Of course you mightn’t know him after all, I was just sort of hoping. You see, I’ve been told he had a friend who sold cigarettes here and I was rather hoping it might be you.’

  ‘It wasn’t,’ she said. ‘At least, well I suppose it sort of was.’ She was wrinkling her nose up, trying to find the words to explain what she meant. ‘He came to me and asked me if I’d help him out. I thought it was going to be the usual, you know, but it wasn’t. Usually when a certain type of gentleman sees me, he thinks he can buy me at the same time as he buys his fancy cigars, but I’m not that sort of girl.’

  ‘No, no, of course you’re not, Miss—er—Valerie,’ George said, and he blushed as an elderly couple pushed past them in the hallway and continued on towards the stairs, glancing back once or twice to direct looks of disgust at him.

  ‘Oh dear,’ said George. He bit his lip. ‘I suppose you wouldn’t come into the box, would you, only...’

  ‘Certainly not! I told you, I’m not...’

  ‘My wife and my sister-in-law are there, they’d be chaperones, if you like.’

  ‘I can’t, I’ve got these bloody cigarettes to sell. There’s not much more I can tell you anyhow. I met him here, a few months ago, when he came to buy some cigarettes and we got talking. Archie, he wanted me to help him with something. He wanted me to pretend to be his bit on the side, so’s he’d have an excuse to pop out from home of an evening. He was convinced his wife was carrying on with someone, and he wanted to be able to follow her without her knowing. So a couple of times he’d say he was going to the theatre, and she’d think he was with me. But then, he just stayed outside in the street and watched the house. Like I said, he was just trying to find out where she went, and what she was up to.’

  ‘Did he tell you what he found out?’

  ‘Not really, but I know he found out something. It fairly upset him. He said it wasn’t what he thought it was and that it would mean changes to his domestic—what-d’you-call-‘em—arrangements. His home life. I took that to mean he was slinging her out. But I don’t know what actually happened. He only came back to see me the second time, and he paid me twenty quid for helping him out, not that I even did anything. And if she or anyone was to ask me about him, he wanted me to just pretend I was new and didn’t know anything about it. I had to say I’d been brought in to replace a girl who got the sack for carrying on with the clientele. He said to tell her we’re all called Valerie, it’s part of the job. That way his wife wouldn’t think it was actually me and make things difficult for me. That’s it, the whole thing. It’s a real shame he’s dead, he seemed like such a nice chap. Really upset he was, it must be awful to know your wife is carrying on with someone else behind your back. Are you sure you don’t want anything from the box, sir?’

  ‘No, sorry, I’m afraid not. Erm—look you’ve been very helpful, Valerie, I do hope you’ll keep our conversation to yourself. I wouldn’t want anyone to misunderstand our friend’s motive, or to cause any embarrassment to the family now that he’s...I’ve got to dash. Thank you so much.’ George deftly transferred two neatly folded pound notes into her hand and hastened back to the box to tell Flora and Dottie what he had learned.

  It was difficult to talk during the show, however, as the people in the box next to theirs kept shushing them, and then during the second intermission the noise was just too much to make themselves heard. He promised to tell them everything in the taxi on the way home, and meanwhile they’d just have to be patient, which was easier said than done.

  Dottie was greatly relieved that she didn’t see the policeman again during their trip to the refreshments lounge during intermission, as for some mysterious reason of his own, he stayed away, and she felt able to relax and enjoy the spectacle of the people in all their finery standing around her. She didn’t even see him once she came back to her seat. When she leaned on the parapet and looked down into the stalls she could see that someone else was now occupying his seat and the policeman was nowhere to be seen.

  ‘Thank goodness,’ she said, ‘he seems to have gone.’

  ‘Who, darling?’ Flora asked.

  ‘That odious policeman,’ Dottie said, and didn’t understand why her sister suddenly turned to smile at her husband.

  George snoozed through the majority of the final part of the show, and it was a relief all round to just pile out of the theatre and into their taxi and collapse back against the seats.

  And then he told them everything.

  The two women sat back and exchanged knowing smiles.

  ‘What?’ George demanded. ‘What is it?’

  ‘She is having a baby,’ Flora said shaking her head in realisation. ‘Of course. How could I have been so dense? That explains why she is so emotional, and not feeling well. And those mysterious visits, or whatever Archie though
t she was up to, that he followed her for...’

  ‘...were just her visits to her doctor!’ Dottie finished. ‘Yes, of course!’ Her smile faded. ‘Gosh, poor Susan, left a widow when she’s just found out she’s expecting. How absolutely horrible for her. And for the poor little baby. Perhaps that’s why she’s been so determined to soldier on as if nothing has happened? Perhaps she feels she’s got to keep going for the sake of the baby?’

  ‘Oh it’s awful! Poor Susan. Do you think anyone else knows?’

  ‘I bet her parents do, and probably Muriel too,’ Dottie said. ‘Perhaps we’d better not let on we know, if we should see her again. Which I doubt, seeing as she went to so much trouble to avoid us at Muriel’s engagement bash.’

  ‘In any case, we can’t give Archie away,’ George pointed out, and they both nodded in agreement. ‘It’s quite nice to know there wasn’t anything untoward going on, just a little case of marital misunderstanding.’

  ‘I’m surprised she doesn’t look pregnant,’ Dottie said. Flora, older and wiser, smiled and said,

  ‘Well it won’t show for a few more weeks yet, and if she’s only just found out, she must be still in the very early stages. Besides she’s such a stick, I don’t suppose she’ll ever balloon up the way some women do. I bet I shall get huge when it’s my turn.’

  ‘Don’t worry, darling,’ said George, right on cue, ‘I’ll still love you no matter how enormous you get.’

  ‘Oh you’re so adorable,’ she said leaning over to kiss him. Dottie made protesting sounds until they stopped.

  Chapter Eleven

  ‘There he is,’ hissed Flora behind her hand. It was the fateful evening of the Mandersons’ Christmas party.

  ‘George? With our drinks?’

  ‘No you fool, the Honourable Cyril Penterman. He’s not as awful as I’d expected,’ she added.

  Dottie turned and regarded the newly-arrived gentleman critically. He appeared to have a full head of hair, but as he was most agreeably tall, it was hard to be completely sure. She made a mental note to walk behind his chair during the buffet supper to get a proper look at his crown. ‘And,’ she said, continuing her train of thought out loud, ‘until he smiles we shan’t know the state of his teeth, either.’

  ‘Don’t forget that in spite of all his apparent good looks, he might prove to be a truly dreadful dancer. Could you live with that?’ Flora asked.

  ‘Definitely not. Just imagine never being able to dance with one’s husband.’ Dottie said. ‘It’s all right for you, George is a divine dancer, you’re so lucky. Are you sure he doesn’t have any single brothers or male cousins we don’t know about?’

  ‘Oh look out, here comes Mother. Battle stations!’

  ‘Dorothy! Florence! For goodness’ sake, girls, mingle. Circulate.’ Their mother bustled by, her pearls bouncing wildly on her ample bosom.

  ‘Oh come along, Florence, do. Circulate!’ said Dottie.

  ‘Very well, Dorothy, just so long as you ensure you mingle.’ Flora leaned close to Dottie’s ear. ‘Try to mingle in the direction of Cyril the Potential.’

  ‘I’ll try,’ Dottie said. By the time she’d walked in Cyril’s direction, with every appearance of looking for Someone Else, he had succeeded in dropping his cigarette case and on bending to retrieve it, afforded her an excellent view of the top of his head.

  ‘So far so good,’ she muttered, pleased that there was not the slightest hint of scalp showing through the thick fair hair. She put a hand out to greet the elderly lady standing beside him.

  ‘Mrs Gerard, how lovely to see you again. It must be at least a year since we last met. How is your Pekinese?’

  ‘Dottie, my dear girl! How lovely you’re looking this evening.’ The elderly woman stretched up to kiss Dottie’s cheek. ‘Poor Flopsy! She isn’t with us any longer, you know, I do miss her terribly.’

  ‘I’m so sorry, what a shame, she was a sweetie. Will you get another?’

  ‘Bless you dear, I may be getting a pup in the spring, I’m waiting to hear from my friend who breeds them. Do you know the Honourable Cyril Penterman? He’s my nephew, my brother’s eldest boy. Cyril, dear, this is Dottie Manderson.’

  Cyril’s eyes were hazel and merry. His mouth widened in a smile, and without any hint of British embarrassment, he seized Dottie’s hand and placed a kiss on its back. Dottie felt herself turning crimson but was absurdly pleased. Nice teeth too, she noted. His attributes were stacking up...

  ‘Miss Manderson, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Tell me, do you like to dance?’ He gave her a dazzling smile.

  ...nicely.

  ‘Oh Mr Penterman, I love to dance!’

  ‘Perhaps a foxtrot? Or a quickstep?’

  ‘Lovely.’ She beamed at him happily. Cyril the Potential was certainly scoring well on the approval scale.

  ‘Then may I request the foxtrot and lead you out onto the floor?’

  ‘I’d be delighted.’

  He hurried away. Mrs Gerard clutched Dottie’s arm and put her head close to Dottie’s.

  ‘He’s an Honourable, single, got pots of money and although he’s my nephew so I’ve got to say it, he is quite the nicest young man I know. I really think you should give him every encouragement. He couldn’t find a sweeter or lovelier girl than you, dear.’

  ‘Bless you, Mrs Gerard, he’s just the breath of fresh air we need this evening,’ she lowered her voice to a whisper, adding confidentially, ‘there are quite a few stuffed shirts here, I’m afraid.’ Dottie paused then said, ‘I believe he takes after his mother?’ She thought she was being exceedingly clever and terribly subtle.

  ‘Eh? Gloria? Well, I suppose...’

  And then the band struck up a foxtrot, and Cyril Penterman materialised at her side, and tucking her hand into the crook of his elbow, he led her away to the dancefloor.

  He was the most divine dancer—light on his feet—and hers—intuitive, fluid and best of all, inclined to add in a few improvisations of his own. Never had Dottie enjoyed herself so much. Best of all, towards the close of the dance, he said softly in her ear, ‘Would you do me the honour of accompanying me to the theatre? I’m thinking of going to see that Astaire thing, Gay Divorce. Have you seen it?’

  The dance had ended, and they all stood about applauding the band. And the band then stuck up a chord and without even asking, he swept Dottie into his arms once more, this time for a waltz, and their conversation continued as if there had been no interruption.

  She told him with genuine regret that she had already seen the show several times and that she didn’t feel able to see it again. She liked his old-fashioned courtesy, and on impulse told him, ‘I’m afraid that show doesn’t have the happiest of associations for me now.’ And she went on to explain about finding Archie Dunne dying. She watched his reaction carefully.

  ‘Good Lord!’ he exclaimed, ‘I knew about poor Archie, of course. We are acquainted with the family. And I knew that a young woman had discovered the body and summoned help, but I had absolutely no idea...It must have been a horrifying experience for you.’

  ‘It was awful,’ she admitted. ‘I have never felt so helpless in my life. And even though I had never met him and didn’t know him, I couldn’t bear to leave him alone...it just felt so—so wrong.’

  ‘I think a lot of people wouldn’t have had your courage. I must say, I tremendously admire the fact that, oblivious to your own comfort and convenience, you remained with him, not only until help came, but until his own end came. That takes real strength of character.’

  He was so earnest, so forthright, she was overcome with shyness and couldn’t meet his eyes. Yet her heart sang. After this, she thought, I shall never complain or disoblige my mother again. Well, she mentally added, not for a little while anyway.

  As they moved around the floor with all the other couples, she caught sight of her sister and brother-in-law a few couples away from them, entwined in each other’s arms, heads close together as they whispered. She thought how wonderful
it was to find that perfect someone, that soulmate, to never be alone again. And then there was her mother, watching from the sidelines, a satisfied smile taking in her youngest daughter and her eminently eligible partner.

  As the second dance came to an end, annoyingly her father cut in, and Dottie was hugely disappointed. Then the dance turned out to be a tango, and that was not her father’s forte, so by mutual consent they moved on into the next room for a glass of punch. Dottie saw Cyril go by clutched in the embrace of a blonde woman she knew nothing about other than that she was from New York, and tremendously wealthy. She certainly looked like the cat with the cream, Dottie thought, and detested the very sight of her. How dared her mother invite other, attractive, young women!

  Janet, Dottie’s maid was serving the punch, and she poured Dottie and Mr Manderson an extra-large glass each. As she handed Dottie hers, Janet leaned forward to whisper loudly, ‘he’s a nice one, and quite a catch,’ she directed a knowing look in the direction of the dancefloor, then turned back and added, ‘bet he’s loaded, too,’ and gave Dottie a broad wink. Dottie smiled and quickly turned away.

  Flora grabbed her arm, and drew her out of the room. Dottie, feeling guilty, turned back but her father was already deep in conversation with an old friend. Flora and Dottie hurried into the little lobby at the back of the house, between the morning room and their father’s study.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘He dances divinely, and his teeth are beyond reproach. Oh, and he’s got hair. Even Mother would approve.’ Dottie confirmed.

  ‘I knew it!’ Flora laughed.

  ‘In fact she does approve, I caught sight of her watching us, and she couldn’t have looked happier. He wanted me to go with him to the theatre but I told him about seeing Gay Divorce so many times already, and then I told him all about finding Archie. I wanted to see how he responded. But then Father interrupted us. I could have been dancing the tango with Cyril by now, but instead, thanks to Your Father, he’s with that blonde piece from New York. I could spit.’