by Ruby Jackson
A few minutes later Sally, feeling like a princess, was walking up the Savoy’s beautiful staircase, breathing in the scents of pots and vases of exotic plants and flowers. When they reached the restaurant a table was found almost immediately. Sally was stunned but excited and the tiniest bit guilty. The world was at war and she, like every other woman in the crowded room, was beautifully dressed.
‘Champagne?’ asked Sebastian, and, trembling with excitement, Sally nodded. The wine waiter and Sebastian had a discussion that she did not understand at all and then the waiter left.
‘Let’s dance while he’s digging it out, Sally, and then you’ll have to decide what you’d like to eat. Their smoked salmon is delicious. I hear it comes down from Scotland – how, I don’t know.’
‘Swims,’ she suggested, and he laughed.
He took her arm and led her out onto the floor, which was already crowded with couples of all ages and all nationalities. Not for the first time, Sally wished she had studied harder at school. She was almost sure that she heard a couple speaking French but they were speaking much more quickly than her French teacher had spoken and a one-day trip to Calais had done nothing for the learning process. Just then two beautifully dressed couples took to the floor at the same time and, for the moment, the language question flew right out of her head.
‘Sebastian, don’t look, but is the man beside us – no, don’t look, he’ll see you looking – is he someone I know?’
‘How can I tell if you don’t let me look, Sally? But yes, he is; he’s in the Cabinet and the woman with him is the wife of some ancient baronet. Sally, stop trying to lead. The place is full of famous faces, or should I say infamous faces? There are very important meetings and discussions going on as well as rich people out to enjoy themselves. The difficulty is to differentiate between them. That rather smartly dressed woman is an American journalist and the man with her is with the BBC. You’ll have seen both of them on Pathé News. Wouldn’t it be fun to eavesdrop but alas the powers that be would not approve. That beauty at the best table is Vivien Leigh, you’ll know, of course, and I expect you’ve noticed Clementine Churchill talking earnestly to that dull-looking man. I gather Mrs Churchill is a tireless woman – and she needs to be. And over there, among the jeunesse dorée, I do believe there are at least three Mitford sisters.’
Sally was almost quivering with excitement. Part of her was saying, ‘I can’t believe I’m here with all these people,’ and another part was saying, like Sebastian’s grandmother, ‘Your mother would not approve.’
‘I won’t let it go to my head, Sebastian, but I think I know how Cinderella felt at the ball.’
He squeezed her tightly for a heartbeat. ‘Is it a happy feeling, Sally?’
‘Definitely.’
‘Good, let’s go. I want food.’
‘Are there foreigners on the dance floor?’ she asked as they stopped dancing and made their slow way back to their table, threading their way through tables where elegant couples sat, crystal glasses to hand. Without exception, the women were dressed in glorious gowns; their necks and arms glittering with jewels, and delicate but more often cloying perfumes hanging in the air around them.
‘Apart from Americans? London’s full of foreigners: dignitaries, politicians, diplomats. Why do you ask? You don’t object, do you?’
‘Don’t be silly. I was trying to recognise languages.’
‘Now, as for me, I was too busy coping with trying to find out who people were and who they were with – and all without looking at them, plus dealing with fancy footwork.’
‘Mine or yours?’
He laughed again as the sommelier appeared to open the champagne. When he had poured the first two glasses and wished them a happy evening he went off to his next table and Sally sipped.
‘Good?’
‘Incredible.’
‘I know that only the few idle rich can afford these prices but believe me, Sally, the luxury hotels are very important to the war effort. Many of those people on the dance floor are here for important discussions. They don’t sip champagne all night every night and their dining out usually has real purpose. As a general rule, it’s the hosted who are important, not the hosts.’
He changed the subject after they had ordered a light meal of smoked salmon and smoked duck, which they shared. ‘Were Grandmamma here she would be glaring at some of those overdressed women; not glaring exactly – because glaring is rude – but her displeasure would be palpable.’
‘Why? I’ve never seen anything like this before. Some of the jewels must be priceless.’
‘Exactly, and according to the ladies wearing them, each piece once belonged to the late, lamented Marie Antoinette. Why anyone would think such provenance is something to lie about, I cannot imagine, but then I am a mere man. But back to Grandmamma who often told me that, as she was being prepared for her formal presentation to the King – not this one – her own grandmother told her that before leaving the house for an engagement a lady should examine herself in a mirror, back and front, and remove something; a bracelet, a flower.’
‘I’m sure your grandmother was always perfectly dressed.’
‘I agree but look at the rather large lady in the purple satin.’
Sally looked. ‘Her jewels are fabulous.’
‘Too much. Reminds me of a rather vulgar Christmas tree, pre-war, of course. Dangle, dangle, dangle and even more glitter.’
‘Oh, you are in a snippy mood, and a tree can’t be vulgar; that’s a people thing. All I can think of is that I’ve had real champagne and, would you believe, I have most definitely developed a taste for smoked duck. My mother will be surprised.’
‘Not so much as your developing love affair with the finest of French champagnes; now that will surprise her. Let’s dance off some of your joie de bubbles.’
No one wanted to sit out while Carroll Gibbons and his Savoy Hotel Orpheans were playing. Sally stood up. Conscious that people were looking at her, she walked gracefully with Sebastian to the dance floor. Her silken skirts swirled, then settled themselves around her, and she smiled, wondering if the admiration or envy in some eyes would still be there if it became known that the dress was borrowed – and without permission. Sebastian held her close, enjoying the dance, for she now moved effortlessly; the former ‘fairy guard’ who had not been allowed to dance was now the belle of the ball.
Champagne continued to flow, and everyone who had been able to find a place on the crowded floor was creating memories as they moved to one of the world’s greatest dance bands. War was raging all over the world, bringing misery, death and destruction to countless numbers of people and yet, here in this English bubble of perfection, music was playing, and no one was hungry or thirsty. Fear had to be there, though, hadn’t it?
‘This has to be a dream,’ decided Sally as once more she allowed Sebastian to guide her round the ballroom in a foxtrot. She was living a dream. She closed her eyes and allowed the sounds, the scents and the atmosphere to soak into her. She was drifting away when Sebastian’s voice brought her right back to the present.
‘I’m so devastating that you’re falling asleep – and at the Savoy, of all places. Really, Sally, one only sleeps here if one is inebriated or if one has booked into a vastly expensive bedroom, and you, my darling, are neither drunk nor in bed. Mind you, there are air-raid shelters here, complete with beds and maid service. I’m sure you won’t wish an air raid on us and so, Cinderella, let’s be on our way.’
They picked up Sally’s evening purse, which she had left on the table and were moving through the still-crowded tables towards the doors when a voice stopped them.
‘Do forgive me, Mr Brady, Miss Brewer, my name is Cedric Arnold – ah, I see you recognise it,’ he said looking at Sebastian. ‘Could I prevail on you to sit with me a while? I have a proposition for Miss Brewer, not that I wouldn’t be interested in your après la guerre career if you’re not still with the West End wolf, Mr Brady.’
Seba
stian held out his hand. ‘Behold big tooth marks, Mr Arnold. I’m sure Miss Brewer would be happy to talk with you but perhaps not tonight as we have three shows tomorrow.’ He turned to Sally. ‘Sally, darling, Mr Arnold is a very successful theatrical agent and he’s obviously interested in representing you.’ He looked at the agent for confirmation.
‘Absolutely. I see at least two other agents looking rather cross that I seem to have approached Miss Brewer before them – I’ve been waiting all evening for the opportune moment. May I suggest that I ring you tomorrow, or better still that you ring me at a convenient time, to set up a meeting?’ He took a card from the breast pocket of his cream silk waistcoat and handed it to Sally. ‘Until tomorrow,’ he said.
Having no experience of theatrical agents, Sally looked at Sebastian for guidance.
‘If there’s a moment between rehearsals, I’m sure Max will allow a telephone call, Mr Arnold,’ Sebastian said.
‘Max? Not the Max?’
Sebastian nodded. ‘Yes, Max, the great white Hunter.’
‘How droll. I’ll concede that the great Maximilian discovered this enchanting creature …’ he turned to Sally, ‘but even he will agree that such talent needs the best agent.’
‘I’m representing her for now, and will see that she has time to make some calls tomorrow.’
‘Calls? Plural?’
‘But of course. You did say you saw other circling sharks. Good night, Cedric.’
He cupped Sally’s elbow in his hand and walked with her out of the room.
‘What did you mean – representing me, Sebastian?’
‘Nothing. Arnold’s good and he represents some famous names.’ He rattled off several that Sally had seen in films. ‘But if he thinks others are anxious to have you on their books … well, simply, he’ll cut you a better deal.’
‘Wow, Sebastian, everything is happening too quickly.’
Sebastian stopped. ‘Sally, you are the only person in the world who calls me Sebastian. Why? Seb’s fine.’
‘I’ve never known anyone called Sebastian before and I think it’s a lovely name.’
‘Even when you’ve only had cocoa?’
‘Even then.’
‘Then you may continue and, yes, things do have a habit of staying dormant for far too long and then jumping up. I believe you’ll be all right with ENSA. I may be wrong but I doubt that even Arnold could get you more money or more time off at this moment. When the war is over – that’s a different story.’
‘I’ve already had a raise. I got £4 a week last year and this year …’
‘No one’s business but yours, darling. I’m delighted your worth has been recognised, and talking about agents reminded me of something I wanted to discuss with you.’
‘Can’t it wait till tomorrow?’
He helped her drape the beautiful fur around her shoulders. ‘In the summer you must bring up the blue cloak. Devastating, but perhaps better with white.’
She said nothing and so they waited silently until his car had been brought round.
‘Thank you, Sebastian. I can’t wait to write to all my friends and tell them that I dined at the Savoy; they’ll be thrilled for me.’
The uniformed doorman held the passenger door open for her and she slid across the seat. ‘I’ve just remembered something. Daisy, probably my best friend, well, I’m sure Mum said in a letter something about plans for her to stay with someone she met in the WAAF. They were going to a play and then her dad was taking them to the Savoy or maybe it was the Ritz. Oh, wouldn’t it have been fun if we’d been here when Daisy was? I mean, perhaps we could all have had lunch. You’d like Daisy; everybody does.’
‘Sally, darling, if she’s the teeniest bit like you I will adore her, but for now, could you please stop talking. I’m worried that your vocal chords will wear out. Happens, you know.’
She stopped immediately and, almost instantly, fell asleep.
Dmitri, still awake in the parking lot, found the situation extremely amusing. Sebastian was calculating how much strength he would require not only to carry the tall slender Sally wearing a fur coat that weighed twice what she did all the way to the Mansion, but also to get her up three flights of stairs. ‘I carry her to the Mansion, Mr Brady. Then you carry upstairs and I keep closed my eyes.’
‘Very funny, but I would be grateful.’
The Russian picked Sally up as if she weighed no more than a small child and set off, Sebastian beside them wondering if it would have been better for the men’s roles to be reversed. Dmitri was obviously extremely fit and his chore should have been the stairs. Luckily, Dmitri did the stairs as well.
Sally slept through the entire proceedings and never did discover that a man who might have been a deposed Russian prince had carried her, not only from the car to the flats, but also up three flights of stairs, before laying her down on her bed as gently as if she was a baby. Instead, next morning, she apologised to Sebastian, who waved her thanks aside.
‘Let’s get to work,’ he said, ‘and, next time, remind me to feed you before I ply you with alcoholic beverages to which you are not accustomed.’
Sally buried her head back into the pillow. ‘Was I … drunk?’ The words could hardly be heard.
‘Not what I would call drunk, Sally, and it was my fault; you drank two glasses of champagne very quickly and on a very empty stomach. The fault was mine,’ he repeated, ‘I should have taken better care of you. It won’t happen again.’
She sat up and noticed that thankfully she was still wearing the evening gown. Very carefully she climbed off the bed. ‘Please go away, Sebastian.’
‘Water’s better than warm,’ he said, and went off to see if he had enough coffee to make her a cup.
He did, and by the time they set off to the theatre she was feeling much better.
‘Did anything happen last night?’
‘I can’t believe you’re asking me that.’
She had no idea what he meant and then realisation dawned and she smiled. ‘I’d trust you anywhere, Sebastian Brady. I meant, maybe it didn’t happen, the agent person.’
‘Oh, yes, your first encounter and it won’t be the last. Arnold is good, don’t know if you remember that I told you that.’
‘Course I do,’ she answered vaguely. ‘I’m supposed to ring him.’
‘Sally Brewer, you sound as if you’ve just been sentenced to eleven years before the mast. You’re an actress, or will be when Max and the others have finished with you; you’re also rather lovely. One of the best known agents in the business has shown an interest. Ring him but, to be frank, I wouldn’t sign a contract with anyone at the moment unless you’re thinking of leaving ENSA.’
She looked at him as if he had lost his mind. ‘Leaving ENSA? Why would I do that?’
‘It’s possible that an agent could get you a better paying job, even a film role. Whoever your agent is, Sally, he or she will be entitled to a percentage of your earnings, ten per cent, possibly even twenty. Twenty per cent of nothing isn’t much, and you’ll earn nothing with ENSA – except a world-wide reputation. And, bear in mind that coaches like Sybil, Lal and Max don’t come cheap and they’re coaching you out of nothing but a belief in your ability and in ENSA’s motives. Talk to Max.’
But Max was always busy and the days went by.
Sally wrote to Jon.
Did you get my letter? I hope so. A friend Sebastian Brady took me to the Savoy and it was such fun. They have such a good band or should I say orchestra? They’re called Orpheans, and no, I haven’t got the spelling wrong. Haven’t a clue what it means. Perhaps you have heard them and know. They do play on the wireless sometimes. Some of the actors around me, like Sebastian, have been to university. Sometimes I think my parents were right and I should have gone to university but Sebastian says, ‘All knowledge is there in books, read,’ and I do read when I’m backstage and have a minute. I’m reading plays, of course, but I do enjoy a good murder.
She stopped and rer
ead what she had written and she wondered if the whole letter was too frivolous? Murder stories? Would a man like Jon, an officer in the Royal Navy, read stories?
Sally took a deep breath and decided to finish the letter. He would either answer or he would not.
At the Savoy, a theatrical agent stopped me and asked me to ring him. He’s interested in representing me. Quite exciting really, but I don’t know. I don’t need an agent while I’m working with ENSA. I’ll ring him and tell you the result in my next letter.
Sally
If there was a next letter, she thought as she made her way to Max’s office to see if he was available and, if he was not, if she could use the telephone.
Max was not there but Sybil and Lalita were sitting together at his desk, piles of documents before them. Sally explained what she wanted.
‘Use the telephone – we’ll pretend it’s an emergency – but don’t take too long. It hasn’t stopped ringing all day and these –’ Sybil indicated the neat piles of papers – ‘are applications for positions that we just don’t have at the moment. All require reading and answering.’ They bent their well-groomed heads over their papers and began to read.
Sally watched them for a moment. Many, perhaps all of those applications were from qualified, possibly highly experienced artistes. She picked up the telephone and dialled Cedric Arnold’s number.
‘Mr Arnold, I’m very grateful for your interest but I’m not ready to work with an agent. Thank you very much but, at the moment, I prefer to work with ENSA. Perhaps when this war is over …’
She hung up just as he was getting into full stride. Had she ruined her career for ever? And then she realised that, really, she did not want to work with Cedric Arnold. He reminded her – very slightly but enough – of Elliott Staines.