by Nancy Revell
‘You’ve got to be joking,’ Vivian said, smiling across at Rosie. ‘Not unless I want to be a pauper all my life! I’m quite happy here thank you very much – earning the money I do.’
Vivian put her hands on Kate’s slender shoulders. ‘Not like this one here, who would work for next to nothing as long as it meant she had a bit of fabric and a needle and thread to hand.’
Rosie looked at Kate as she blushed; something she always did when the attention was on her, no matter how briefly.
‘So, Kate, how’s the dress coming along?’ Rosie asked as she sat down with Lily and pulled her cup of steaming tea towards her. There was no need to say whose dress – there was only one dress at this moment in time that was of any importance.
‘Oh,’ Kate said, putting her hand up nervously to her hair, which had now been successfully piled on top of her head. ‘It’s coming along really nicely … Well,’ she added, nervously, ‘I think so … I just hope Bel thinks so too when she sees it at the next fitting.’
‘Oh, there’s no question she’s going to adore it.’ Maisie moved from the warmth of the Aga and sat down at the head of the kitchen table. ‘She’s lucky to have you making her such a fantastic dress – in fact she’s very lucky to have all her family and friends around her, making her wedding so special.’
Rosie looked at Maisie and wondered if she had been to see her family – the family she had claimed were the main reason for coming up north. She was sceptical. Rosie, like Lily, had her doubts about the veracity of Maisie’s claims to have relatives up here. Both women had agreed that they were more inclined to surmise that Maisie had wanted to leave London for reasons other than seeking out her kin.
‘Oh, I do like a good wedding,’ Vivian chirped up, sashaying around Kate and inspecting her workmanship.
‘Now, don’t forget, Rosie,’ she added, ‘next time you see Polly or Bel, tell them I’d be more than happy to do Bel’s hair for her if she wants. I can come to the shop when she’s getting ready and do it. And I won’t charge a penny.’
Lily laughed before taking a sip of her tea. ‘Ma chère, you are so transparent. One free hairdo does not earn you a ticket to the ball you know?’
Vivian haughtily turned her heavily made-up face, complete with large fake eyelashes and a cherry red pout, away from Lily and focused on Rosie. Looking like butter wouldn’t melt, she said, ‘And, Rosie, you must not forget that if Lily here can’t accompany you to the ball, for whatever reason, I will be more than willing to step in for her – at a moment’s notice.’
Rosie smiled and shook her head from side to side. ‘Honestly, I feel like I’m in a real-life version of Cinderella. If you weren’t so gorgeous, Vivian, I’d say you fitted the part of one of the Ugly Sisters perfectly.’
They all looked at Kate, who, it was obvious, would have made the perfect Cinders.
Speaking their thoughts, Maisie chirped up.
‘And, Kate, pray tell us, what are you going to wear for the ball? As the chief seamstress I’m guessing that you have been invited?’
Kate nodded.
‘And wouldn’t you know it,’ Vivian butted in, ‘but Fairy Godmother Lily here has given Kate one of her designer dresses from her younger days to tinker with.’
Everyone looked at Lily, who nodded. And by the smile on her face she clearly had no objections to being assigned the role of the good angel.
Maisie pushed a cigarette into the long ebony holder that had become her trademark. She was just about to light it, but asked first, ‘And the mother of the bride? Has she a dress to go to the ball?’
Kate blushed again. ‘Well, I’m doing a few alterations for her.’
‘I’d say our Kate here is doing far more than a few alterations,’ Vivian blustered. ‘When I popped into the shop the other day, I copped a look at the most wonderful “mother of the bride” dress I’ve ever seen.’
‘Who is the mother of the bride, again?’ Maisie asked.
‘Pearl,’ Kate said.
‘Well, Pearl is one very lucky woman,’ said Maisie. ‘Not only is her daughter marrying a war hero – a daughter who also has what some would see as the encumbrance of a young child – but she is also having a specially designed dress for the occasion … in times when we’re all doing a Scarlett O’Hara and having to make clothes out of old curtains!’
Rosie looked at Maisie. Her velvet voice was complemented by the most beguiling smile, yet she had managed to ever so subtly demean both Bel and Pearl in the same breath. By intimating first of all that Bel had done well for herself in finding another husband in spite of having a child in tow, and then that Pearl was equally fortunate in having her own personal dressmaker to hand. Was there a touch of jealousy there?
No one really knew much at all about Maisie’s personal circumstances, about her own parentage, or even if she had any siblings. Lily’s ‘new girl’ kept quite a closed shop. Naturally, there had been idle chatter amongst the rest of the girls about Maisie – and her life before she came to Lily’s. And, of course, they were all more than curious about her ancestry. But no one, so far, had felt it appropriate to ask her outright.
Lily had confided in Rosie the little she knew about Maisie – that her mother had been fair-skinned and that her father’s lineage was South African, although they were both from America and had emigrated to England at the beginning of the century and settled in London. Lily had intimated that her family had been quite well off, which Rosie thought seemed to fit with Maisie’s soft hands and more educated way of speaking. But that was about all Lily had managed to glean about Maisie’s past, and she had confessed to Rosie that she was curious herself as to how Maisie had drifted into her chosen line of work.
‘Ah, George,’ Maisie’s voice lifted in genuine pleasure as the door to the kitchen swung open. Rosie turned to see George hobble into the room, his walking stick clattering against the doorway. He looked like he was in a rush.
‘Good evening, ladies.’ George doffed an imaginary hat.
‘If you’re after the Chablis or Rémy, it’s in the larder – top shelf,’ Lily instructed.
‘No, my dear, I’m afraid I’m after Maisie, if you ladies can spare her, please?’ He took a deep breath, then went on. ‘We have some potential members of the Gentlemen’s Club in reception and I wanted Maisie to show them around next door, give them a guided tour of the place … and describe to them what it’ll be like when we’re ready to open.’
Maisie stood up, put her cigarette holder down in the cut-crystal ashtray in the middle of the table and straightened out her cream embroidered silk evening dress. She needn’t have worried about creases, for even if there were any, Maisie had the ability to carry off any slight imperfections, with her gracefulness and faultless femininity.
‘D’accord, mon cher,’ Lily said, putting her teacup down, ‘business before pleasure. Always.’
‘Oh George,’ Rosie said as he turned to leave, ‘you won’t forget about your appointment tomorrow with Gloria, will you? I’ve given her the morning off. I think she’s a little apprehensive about it all.’
George lifted his stick in the air as if it were almost an extension of his arm and nodded his head energetically. ‘Of course, my dear. It has not been forgotten. I will be there and will endeavour to do my best to make the whole process as easy and as painless as possible.’
Rosie caught Vivian and Maisie giving each other a questioning look, but both knew not to probe about the mystery appointment. Rosie was always friendly with all the girls, but she kept her distance as well. Like Maisie, she had never really disclosed anything too personal about herself to the girls at the bordello, nor did she talk much about her women welders at the yard.
As George and Maisie left the room, Rosie poured another cup of tea.
‘None for me, ma chère,’ Lily said, tottering over to the larder and retrieving the brandy. ‘I think I’ll just have a little tipple to set me up for the evening. Anyone care to join me?’
The qu
estion was really just a courtesy, as Lily knew Rosie would be itching to get back to her beloved books and ledger, and Vivian would be due to start work soon and rarely allowed herself a drink until later on in the evening.
And Kate, she was sure, wouldn’t have as much as a drop of any kind of alcohol. Nor would Lily allow her. The first week she had come to live with them, after Rosie had found her begging in town, she had gone through the most awful withdrawal, complete with sweats, nausea and the tremors. Lily had seen it before in her long and varied life and had done what she could to help. Thankfully her new charge had been more resilient than she looked and had come through to the other side in one piece.
‘I’m going to get on with Pearl’s dress,’ Kate said, standing up and self-consciously touching her hair. Rosie and Lily knew that as soon as she got to her own room on the third floor, the first thing she would do would be to release her tresses from the confines of Vivian’s hairpins.
‘Yes, and I’ve got the brigadier in soon, so I better shake a leg,’ Vivian said.
After they both left, Rosie and Lily sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, before Lily broached the subject of DS Miller.
‘So, that’s it with your detective then?’ she asked warily. ‘No more rendezvous or tea and cake dates?’ She took a sip of the Rémy Martin.
‘Goodness, Lily, absolutely not, he’s a distant memory now. I’ve almost forgotten who he is,’ Rosie said, pushing her chair out and getting ready to go back to her office.
Lily looked at Rosie and knew she might be telling the truth about not seeing the copper any more, but she was lying through her teeth when it came to claiming he was a ‘distant memory’. All this excitement about the wedding must be pulling at her heartstrings.
Unlike Maisie and Vivian, who appeared all sweetness and light on the outside but were actually as hard as nails on the inside, Rosie was the reverse. She gave a good impression of being a steely, no-nonsense woman, but inside she had a soft centre and Lily knew it had hurt her terribly to end her love affair.
‘All right,’ Lily said, turning to watch Rosie leave the parlour, ‘I’ll be in to see you later to talk through all the boring financial details about this new Gentlemen’s Club. The official paperwork has come through from the Corporation allowing us to use next door as a place of business, although they have made a few stipulations about noise and the like.’
Rosie nodded as she left, but she wasn’t really listening. Her thoughts had been dragged like a magnet back to Peter. She wished Lily hadn’t mentioned him. She was trying hard to forget about him, to keep the shutters well and truly closed. On the whole, she was succeeding, especially as she was so busy, but sometimes, like now, when his name cropped up or thoughts of him crept through her defences, then it was as if a dark cloak enfolded her and she was suddenly weighed down with a heavy sadness and a feeling of being totally bereft.
She missed him. Really missed him.
And it was that which made her heart ache the most.
As DS Miller sat crushed up in the small police cabin near to the Sea Lock along the south dock, he tried to look interested in what the two other police officers were saying – that there had just been a shipment of beef and lamb carcasses into the docks and there’d been whisperings that a known gang was going to try and steal them. He hated to admit it to himself, but his heart just wasn’t in this particular potential collar. His lack of enthusiasm perturbed him. He had always been so passionate about his job. Had been driven by a need for justice for as long as he could remember – and for once the law was coming down hard on these black marketeers who were raiding supply depots and docks up and down the country for precious produce; there had even been talk of increasing the maximum jail sentence from two to five years, as well as heftier fines for those caught dealing in illicit goods. All of this should have been music to DS Miller’s ears – after all, he was always lamenting the numerous loopholes in the law which allowed too many villains to get off scot-free.
Tonight, though, his mind wasn’t focused on getting the bad guys, but on solving the mystery that was Rosie, especially after everything he had seen this evening.
His instinct had been right. Rosie was somehow connected to the Ashbrooke house.
He might have put her visit tonight down to her simply visiting her friend Kate, had he not seen the very eccentric-looking woman who had opened the door to Rosie and embraced her. He wasn’t sure if it was the effect of the light, but it looked like she had orange hair. It was all very odd.
But what troubled him the most – and try as he might he hadn’t been able to shrug it off – was the feeling that there was something dodgy about the house.
And then a half hour later three men, all old enough to have seen a good few years’ service in the First War, came out of the house, accompanied by a stunning dark-skinned woman, who certainly didn’t look like she came from these parts. The four of them had walked down the garden path, turned left and then let themselves in to the house next door.
He’d waited until nine o’clock but Rosie had not come out again and he had been forced to leave his spot under the lamp post to come back to the docks and start the graveyard shift.
‘Who wants to patrol up the south pier?’ Arnold, one of the older detectives, asked.
‘That’ll be me.’ DS Miller couldn’t volunteer quick enough. ‘I need to wake up and stretch my legs.’ Neither was true as he had been on his feet and out in the cold all day, but he needed to let his mind sort through what he had learnt tonight.
DS Miller knotted his muffler round his neck, pulled his overcoat off the back of the door and headed out of the cabin.
As he walked in the pitch black, following the curved outline of the quayside towards the harbour entrance, DS Miller’s mind kept asking the same question:
Who was this woman who had captured his heart?
There was no doubt in his mind now that Rosie was harbouring a secret. Or secrets. Otherwise why hadn’t she mentioned her friendship with Kate? Or her sister Charlotte? Or her parents’ tragic death? Or her visits to the Ashbrooke house?
Whatever her secret was, every fibre of his being told him that the answer could be found in the unusual goings-on in the house in Ashbrooke.
So why did his heart feel heavy?
Up until tonight he had thought that once he had found out the real reason for Rosie’s rebuttal, they would be able to talk about it, and start afresh.
Surely nothing could be that bad?
Or could it?
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Gourley & Sons, John Street, Sunderland
Friday 31 October 1941
The following morning, at ten minutes before nine o’clock, Gloria was waiting at the bottom of the stone steps leading up to Gourley & Sons, solicitors. The wide, cobbled street was lined with grand Georgian houses, most of which were inhabited by the town’s shipyard owners and important Wearside businessmen and their families. Some, however, like Mr Gourley & Sons had converted the three-storey town houses into sumptuous offices. There was no mistaking that the street was the embodiment of middle-class respectability, which was exactly why Gloria was standing feeling terribly self-conscious and like a fish out of water.
It was now the back end of October and this morning was particularly bitter. Gloria was shuffling from one foot to the other and banging her gloved hands together partly to keep warm, but also because her nerves were making her feel jittery.
She had arrived early as she was worried about being late, but now regretted getting here quite so prematurely as she felt she was sticking out like a sore thumb. Everyone she had seen so far, mainly men, coming in and out of the various houses and offices, looked very dapper, verging on aristocratic. It was obvious by the looks she’d got from a few passers-by that they were wondering what on earth she was doing here.
With each minute, her resolve to be the strong and independent woman she was determined to be seemed to dwindle and dissolve. Talking about
divorcing Vinnie and taking control of her own life was so much easier said than done – she was beginning to feel like just giving up now – and she hadn’t as much as set foot inside the solicitor’s office.
‘Gloria!’
Gloria turned to see the man she guessed was George hurrying towards her. His gait was uneven due to his bad leg, but his speed was aided by an extremely ornate walking stick.
‘At least … it is Gloria, I assume? Have you been waiting long?’ As he spoke trails of vapour streamed from his mouth. ‘Honestly, you should have gone in, you’ll catch your death out here.’
Gloria smiled nervously. ‘Ah, I don’t feel the cold now – not after working in the shipyards for the past year.’
George could see that not only did Gloria look frozen to the bone, but she was also very nervous. He was glad Rosie had suggested he come along for moral support.
‘Anyway,’ he said, stretching out his hand, ‘as I’m sure you’ve deduced, I’m Rosie’s friend George. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Gloria.’
Gloria took his hand. ‘And you too, George.’ She hesitated a moment before adding, ‘And I have to say thank you so much for sorting this out for me – and for taking the time out to come here today.’
George waved his hand as if to dismiss Gloria’s comments. ‘Not at all, you’ve done me a favour. I haven’t seen old Rupert for ages. It’ll give us a chance to catch up over a little snifter after you’ve had your appointment with him.’
He turned to the steps, and said, ‘Let’s get in there then, before we both freeze to death.’ And like a true gentleman, he extended his arm to allow Gloria to take the lead and walk ahead of him up the steps.
Gloria hesitated for a second. She was not used to being treated so courteously. It had been a long time since a man had been so chivalrous with her. She was more used to being pushed and shoved in a scrum of burly men all determined to get to the yard gates in time for the half-seven blower, than being treated like the woman she was.