A Christmas Gift

by Ruby Jackson

  **That’s the address at the top of the page.**

  We pay rent and we all clean and cook together and, most of the time, we’re working together. Millie is a ballerina; she’s wonderful. Sebastian’s room is on the other side of the flat. Next time you come up to town you must see it – the flat, I mean. You’d love the curtains although Sebastian says they’re old-fashioned. Millie and I like them.

  You haven’t sent me anything more about Jonathon Galbraith. Please, Mum, if there is anything in the Dartford papers, send them to me.

  The Dartford papers? For some reason as Sally wrote those words down, she seemed to hear Jon’s voice. ‘Talk to Maudie.’ Maudie … Of course, his former nanny would know any news because she knew everything about the family, and if she was not listed as a relative she would certainly know the people who would be given information about Jon’s fate.

  I must get to Dartford, or would a letter to Maudie at the second-hand shop reach her? Maybe it would be best to try to see Maude at Christmas … She dipped her pen in the ink and finished the letter to her parents.

  Apart from anything else, there is the ring to think about. Even if I knew who to talk to about it, I would feel better. Mum, I don’t know about Christmas yet but I want to be home with you and Dad so badly. I’ve asked Millie to come with me but she’s saying no, and I think that’s because she thinks she’d be in the way but I’ll ask her again if I find out for certain.

  Lots of love,

  Sally

  Having finished two letters, put them in envelopes, addressed them and stuck on stamps, Sally put away her notepaper and it was only then that she saw that Millie was already sound asleep.

  Next morning, Millie was busy in the kitchen when Sally, overjoyed to find the bathroom empty, hurried in to wash. Sebastian was at the door as she came out.

  ‘Millie’s cooking something. Terrifying thought. Be an angel and have a look.’

  ‘I will when I’m dressed.’

  With that Sebastian had to be content.

  ‘Porridge,’ Millie said with pride. ‘We have lots of milk. See, I’ve scooped the cream off the tops of three bottles and so we can each have a little cream. Doesn’t that look good?’

  Sally looked and had to admit that the bubbling porridge looked absolutely perfect. ‘I thought you couldn’t cook.’

  ‘I can’t, not Beef Wellington or Chateaubriand. Patrick liked his protein.’ She was quiet for a fraction of a moment before continuing. ‘This is just porridge. Wish we had some brown sugar or syrup.’

  ‘My dad used to say that if you put sugar on your porridge, you would fall asleep on the beach in the summer. We have salt on ours.’

  ‘Sounds awful, but each to her own.’

  ‘That looks good. When did you do it, Sal?’ Sebastian had arrived and was peering over their shoulders.

  ‘I didn’t. Millie did it because porridge isn’t cooking.’

  ‘I see,’ he said, and it was obvious that he had no idea what they were talking about.

  ‘Remember your letters, Millie,’ said Sally a few minutes later as they made their way out.

  Millie was checking the seams on her stockings. ‘Oh, for just one pair of silk stockings. I don’t think I’ve seen any at any price all year.’

  ‘Manufacture was banned this time last year,’ said Sally, hoping that mention of 1940 would not bring that distraught look into Millie’s eyes. ‘You should go bare-legged – in the summer at least – your legs are so good, and, if you need to look dressed, just draw a seam down the back. What do you think, Sebastian?’

  ‘About Millie’s legs or legs in general? Ladies do not walk around bare-legged, or so Grandmamma would say. It’s unseemly,’ he added, and they all laughed at his unintentional pun.

  ‘What have you three been up to?’ Sybil and Lalita had reached the stage door just before them. ‘Good to see everyone looking so much better. Millie, be sure to give Max’s secretary your new address – absolutely vital that we know where everyone is, and families should be kept informed of moves. We’re using the stage this morning, so off you go and get into rehearsal clothes.’

  Sally was delighted that she was now sophisticated enough to know that wearing rehearsal clothes did not mean – or usually did not – that they were rehearsing. It meant simply that they were to wear clothes in which they were comfortable and in which they could move easily, should they be asked to move. The dancers usually wore tights and leg warmers, the men, actors, musicians, et cetera tended to turn up in loosely fitting trousers and open-necked short-sleeved shirts, while the women, apart from the dancers, wore either shorts or a skirt and a blouse. Almost everyone tended to throw a sweater or cardigan across the shoulders, tying the arms together in front.

  ‘We’re as much in uniform,’ Sally decided, ‘as soldiers and sailors.’

  Again she experienced a shaft of real pain as the word ‘sailor’ conjured up an image. How can I contact Maudie? What was the name of the shop?

  ‘Wake up, Sally, you don’t want to hold us up. I warn you that Max is not in the best of moods.’

  The reason for Max’s ill temper was made very clear to them when they assembled on the stage.

  ‘Good news first. I have refused to accept any events on Christmas Day. Sybil, Lal, Sam, Sebastian and I will do a few hospital visits; none of us has family waiting at home. The rest of you will have Christmas Day off. Those who have some distance to travel, speak to me and we’ll see how many days we can let you have. Priorities to those who had no Christmas leave last year. The requests keep coming in and we’ll prioritise them too, but there are several companies operating out of this theatre and so we can pass requests over to them. I have to warn you that we’ll be doing quite a lot of travelling next year and at least one gig is in France.’

  He stopped talking as excited chatter broke out.

  ‘France? But they’re fighting there. Won’t it be dangerous?’

  ‘There’s a war on. Of course it will be dangerous but Jerry is dropping bombs on us here. Not much difference, far as I can see.’

  ‘Bit more glamorous, la belle France.’

  ‘If you lot didn’t make me want to cry, I’d laugh,’ Max growled. ‘There is nothing remotely glamorous about travelling in choppy seas on a troopship, or sitting on your backside on the floor of the belly of a transport plane. The accommodation we’ve had so far is a suite at the Ritz compared to some bombed-out old church in a muddy field in France. I’d ask Father Christmas for Wellington boots and some woollen underwear.’

  ‘I have them already,’ said Millie quietly.

  ‘Sebastian, didn’t the idle rich go to France to toast themselves on the beaches all day and to gamble, glass of bubbly in hand, all night?’ shouted one of the Balladeers.

  ‘We did indeed. Blasted war has ruined our playground.’

  ‘The beaches must still be there.’

  ‘It’s possible they’re not quite what they were,’ said Max. ‘Millie, I’ll see you in my office at morning break. Sally, I’ll have a word with you now.’

  Sally could guess that Max was assuring Millie that she would be taken to France, but why did he need to speak to her? What could she have done wrong?

  She hurried after him.

  ‘Yes, Max?’

  ‘Sit down.’

  She sat down quickly.

  ‘I’ve had a call from a chap called Arnold who says he has some work for you.’

  ‘But he can’t have, Max. I told him I wouldn’t sign with him because I wanted to stay with ENSA until the war is over, honestly I did.’

  ‘So I’ll tell him you don’t want to be photographed for an advertisement campaign?’

  ‘Gosh.’

  ‘And you certainly don’t want a forty-five-second slot in a morale-boosting film starring Noël Coward?’

  ‘The Noël Coward?’ Sally’s face had gone pink at first and now Max saw it grow paler and paler and he took pity on her.

  ‘Sorry, Sally, I’ll
explain. The photographic session – you in a uniform holding some cleaning product all military should be using – is to be shot in London and will take less than a day. Your mother or other responsible adult should be with you. The filming might take a few days and so we’ll have to dock your wages but even that small job will pay well. The film studios have their own chaperones so no worries. Arnold will contact you here, but these things take time so don’t expect to hear more for a while yet. Well done, Sally; they’re not even auditioning you. Arnold’s judgement and, of course, your growing reputation were enough.’ He leaned over his desk and shook hands with her. ‘Congratulations. Pity Coward doesn’t need you to speak but if you’re going to have a first film role, standing beside the great man is just about the best place to start. You will get what’s called a still from the film, possibly the two of you side by side. Directors and producers will lap it up and one would look rather nice in this office. “ENSA star stars with star”,’ he finished, and was delighted to see her smile and blush.

  Sally was absolutely dumbfounded. She had thought she was to be reprimanded for something and instead … golly, such news. An advertisement, for newspapers or magazines, she thought, but had been too unaware to ask, and ‘a few days’ to capture a short scene in a film. What would her mother say?

  ‘Thank you very much, Max, and may I tell Sebastian and Millie?’

  ‘Of course, but don’t broadcast it. Jealousy takes root very quickly in a theatre’s fertile soil.’

  Sally hurried out, passing Lalita on her way in.

  ‘The little Brewer tell you her good news, Lal?’

  ‘No, do tell. Lovely that someone is hearing tidings of great joy.’

  Max filled her in on the two offers, finishing with, ‘And what do you think of that?’

  ‘I’ll try to ensure Sybil’s allowed to do her make-up for the ad campaign. She doesn’t make nearly enough of her eyes.’

  ‘And the film? Noël Coward? What does your Machiavellian mind make of that?’

  ‘Rather surprised. Possibly he doesn’t know she’s with ENSA. Arnold knows he doesn’t think much of us and so he probably didn’t mention her involvement or …’

  ‘Or?’

  ‘“The play’s the thing” and he doesn’t give a hooha.’

  ‘Well, there’s a new word for my growing Spanish vocabulary.’

  ‘I made it up.’

  ‘I know, darling, but you make them up so well. Kettle on?’

  At the lunch break, instead of going to get some food with Millie and Sebastian, Sally asked Sybil for a sheet of paper and an envelope, and stayed in the dressing room to write another letter to her mother. How amazed Elsie would be to have two letters in the same week.

  Dear Mum,

  You will never believe my news. I’m going to bein the papers; it’s a product advertisement. I’ll be promoting a cream or polish or something like that which cleans up oil and grease. I have to wear a uniform – no idea which one – and be photographed with the jar or tin – and Max says the company will pay me. They told me to bring you with me on the day of the shoot – a shoot’s what they call taking pictures or filming. I don’t know which date, Mum, but it is to be soon and you’ll get expenses so that’s nice, isn’t it? And my even bigger news? Will I be nasty Sally and not tell you or nice Sally? All right, nice Sally. I’m going to be in the pictures. Yes, the dream is beginning to come true, Mum. Noël Coward, yes, the real Noël Coward is making a film and, for some reason he wants me – I think wearing a naval uniform – standing beside him as we look out to sea or something like that. I’ll be in the film for exactly forty-five seconds, yes, that much, but it will take two or three days to make sure it’s exactly right. I don’t need a chaperone there because the studio has their own chaperones for under-age actors.

  You will come, won’t you, and you can meet Sebastian and Millie. I’ll let you know immediately they give me the dates.

  Love,

  Sally

  She had felt her heart lurch as she had written ‘naval’ and by now tears were threatening to fall. However exciting these new opportunities, she felt a huge emptiness undermining her, sapping her fortitude. What was the point of any of this when the man she loved was missing, presumed dead?

  The man I love. With some wonderment she acknow-ledged what she’d allowed herself to think and everything became clear – she loved Just Jon.

  ‘Would you like to tell me all about it?’

  She had forgotten that Sybil was working at the desk.

  Desperately Sally reached for a handkerchief but she had forgotten to pick up one before they left the flat. ‘Damn, damn, where is Sebastian when you need him?’ she mumbled as she sniffed loudly and tried to wipe her eyes with the sleeves of her cardigan.

  ‘Here.’ Sybil pushed a delicate lace-edged linen handkerchief into her hand. ‘Bet it’s prettier than Seb’s.’

  Sally tried to smile. ‘Much.’

  ‘I won’t pry, Sally, but if I can help in any way, I will. Seb’s been herding you and Millie like lost lambs lately. It’s not prurient interest, child. We could say that you’re part of our company and what weakens you weakens all of us – see totally selfish, but at least I won’t gossip.’

  Sally looked at Sybil’s amazing ballerina face, the nose and cheekbones sculpted as if by a master. ‘It’s all right, Sybil, really. If I get home at Christmas, even just for a few hours, I can do something. That’s all it would take, a few hours.’

  ‘Didn’t Max tell you the company is not working on Christmas Day or do you have so much on your mind that the good news didn’t penetrate?’

  Sally flushed, annoyed at her own stupidity. ‘He did tell us; I’m sorry.’

  Sybil’s beautiful hands waved in the air, dismissing Sally’s worries. ‘Can’t think of anyone who doesn’t have a blocked mind occasionally. Now listen, we can get you home today if there’s a family emergency.’

  Sally shook her head. ‘No, my parents are fine; it’s just … a friend. Oh, Sybil no one will tell me anything because I’m not a relative,’ and she started to weep again.

  Sybil soothed her as if she were a child. ‘Tell me about him, Sally. If I can help I will.’

  And so the whole story spilled out. Sally sniffed loudly when she had finished and blew her nose on the lightly scented handkerchief. ‘Oh, dear, I’ve ruined it; I’m so sorry. If I could talk to Maudie … maybe. I don’t know but I’ll try. He said, “Talk to Maudie” but that was for her to give me his address and then we met anyway.’

  That made no sense at all to Sybil but gamely she carried on. ‘Why don’t you ring her? Does she have a telephone?’

  ‘I don’t know. The shop might.’

  ‘Good start. Where’s the shop?’

  ‘In Dartford, on the High Street, but I can’t remember what it’s called; it was a second-hand clothes shop.’

  ‘WVS?’

  Sybil patted her back, then quickly pushed Max out as he started to enter his office with a, ‘Ten minutes, Max. Emergency.’ By the time Sally had mopped her eyes again she was aware of Sybil speaking to someone on the telephone. ‘… Yes, Dartford, second-hand clothes shop on the High Street, WVS.’

  Sybil picked up a pencil and scribbled and then Sally heard, ‘… You are so kind. That is most helpful. Thank you.’

  Sybil looked across at Sally, smiled encouragingly, then turned back to the telephone and dialled.

  ‘Good morning, my name is Sybil Tapper. I’m with ENSA at the Theatre Royal in London … Well, how very kind of you to say so. I’m trying to get in touch with a volunteer named Maudie … Oh, that’s absolutely splendid. Thank you.’ She put her hand over the receiver. ‘Sally, the lovely Fedora – enchanting name – is bringing a Maude from the storeroom. Here.’ She handed the receiver to Sally. ‘I’ll go and pacify Max.’

  A few minutes later, Sally heard, ‘Hello, Maude here, what can I do for you?’

  Sally thrust back threatening tears. ‘Maude, Maudie, it�
�s Sally Brewer. I really need to ask you about Jon Galbraith …’

  ELEVEN

  Elsie and Ernie Brewer thoroughly enjoyed their Sunday afternoon strolls through the park with their friends, Flora and Fred Petrie. Then, tired but relaxed, they would treat themselves to a nice cup of tea. They had caught up almost completely with all the doings of their children, including Grace, who was not their child but who had always been treated like one of their own, and the various war reports or rumours that came to them in the local newspaper or on Pathé News. Elsie had kept the best piece of their news until, enjoying the autumn sunshine and the changing colours of the leaves, they made their way home.

  ‘Come on, Elsie, spit it out,’ Flora teased. ‘So help me, all afternoon you’ve looked like one of the Humbles’ hens preparing to lay an egg, and I can’t wait another second to hear. Is Sally walking out with that young actor chap?’

  ‘Oh, better than that. Now promise me you won’t tell a soul.’

  Since, over the past twenty years or so, those words had been uttered by each mother fairly regularly, Flora and Fred nodded their heads vigorously.

  ‘Our Sally’s going to be in pictures.’

  ‘Oh, Fred, isn’t that wonderful? Elsie, love, tell us all.’

  So Elsie told Sally’s news to her friends, who listened wide-eyed.

  ‘Noël Coward, the actual Noël Coward?’ Flora was beaming with admiration. ‘Ernie, you’ll order the film for Dartford right away, won’t you?’

  ‘You know I will.’

  ‘How did you manage not to spit that news right out, Elsie? I’m sure, if I had news like that, everyone in Dartford would hear me shout.’

  ‘I know, like you shouted out when our Daisy went to learn to fly a plane,’ Fred laughed. ‘Tell her how thrilled we are, Elsie, and oh, wouldn’t it be nice if they was all home for Christmas.’

  The old friends chatted a few minutes longer and then as autumn showed its sharper teeth, they said ‘cheerio’ and went home, all still talking.

  The Brewers continued to talk about Sally’s news, at least Elsie talked and Ernie listened as the cry of wonder and amazement at their daughter’s success went on and on.