A Christmas Gift

by Ruby Jackson

  He seemed to be looking straight at Sally who had deliberately avoided the unpleasant task. ‘I did mean to do it but I haven’t got anything to leave anyone anyway.’ Immediately she saw a picture of her hand showing the beautiful ring. What was she to do about that? She could not wear it; Jon had bought it with love in his heart, not for her, but for his wife. Were she to wear it, she would think of her …

  ‘Your parents are your next of kin, Sally, and would inherit.’ Max’s deep voice broke into her thoughts. ‘That goes for several of you, but just in case there’s something you would really like your best chum to have, make a will. Did anyone do it?’

  Not a hand went up.

  ‘Christmas, Max, too busy.’

  ‘Excuses, excuses. By next Monday, ladies and gentlemen, or I’ll be looking for new blood. And, by the way, we are recruiting. I think we need our own little orchestra. Can’t possibly move a group like Geraldo’s orchestra, but we need something slightly grander than we have; we need woodwinds and strings, if anyone knows an experienced player? We were sent some “I’m available” letters earlier but mainly pianists, a guitarist, two drummers.’

  ‘Guitar’s a stringed instrument, Max,’ shouted one of the Balladeers.

  ‘How kind of you to point that out.’ Sarcasm dripped from Max’s voice but then he smiled. ‘I don’t particularly want soloists, but a classically trained guitarist who could do any and all musical styles would be a godsend. Lal, Sybil, look up his details, please. If he’s good then he could add something to our little group. We’re still looking for a few violins, a cello maybe.’

  ‘Double base is a really versatile instrument, Max,’ put in Sam, who rarely spoke, ‘everything from great classical—’

  Humph interrupted him, ‘All the way up to the latest jazz.’

  Everyone laughed.

  ‘All right, smarty, get the feelers out and please, not your second cousin twice removed who had violin lessons when he was ten and played at the village fête. We want musicians. Think Henry Hall, Lou Preager, Geraldo. I want new comic routines; sorry, Humph, remember that the radio broadcasts carry your jokes to every military base we have, all over the world. The troops don’t want to hear it all over again when we turn up in person. New dance routines, some new speeches or readings, Seb. Have you heard or read anything by a chap called Dylan Thomas, a Welshman? Sir Seymour thinks he’ll be great some day and we want to be up to date with the latest thing.’

  Sebastian was forced to admit that he had never heard of the Welshman, ‘and anything that I do find would probably be better read or recited in a Welsh accent. That’ll take me a few days to work up.’

  The company went to their rehearsals grumbling a little but also excited. They knew they had to move on and what better time to be trying something new than a new year?

  Sally had hoped that she was safe with her programme, or that she would be offered a speaking part in something, anything. She had her date arranged for the advertisement photographs, her mother having agreed to come up to London and to meet Sebastian and Millie if their schedules allowed, but that wasn’t until the spring. It meant that she was available to travel with the company to perform on two bases in Scotland.

  Train journeys continued to be a nightmare, continually delayed or cancelled. She could remember every moment of her fairly short journey back from Dartford and had several times woken up dreaming that the train was being attacked by German aircraft. How much more dangerous it would be to travel almost the entire length of the United Kingdom. Somehow travelling up in a convoy of lorries did not seem quite so dangerous.

  But you’ve been in a lorry that they tried to bomb, she told herself. More than once.

  ‘Perhaps it’s just that a train is a much bigger target and I won’t know a single person on it,’ she confessed to her friends.

  ‘We’re at the beginning of the fourth year of this war, Sally. It has to be over soon. The Americans will be here to help before long, and they’re a huge power; they’ll scare Jerry,’ Millie assured her. ‘Just you wait and see.’

  ‘If Max sees the “Cleaner” campaign pictures and I do get this chance with Mr Coward, maybe he’ll give me something, just the smallest part – the maid, the cleaning lady … Oh, I do so want to be an actress. I’m not a Vera Lynn or a Beryl Davis.’

  ‘Approach Max then, ask Lal to have a little word, but don’t put your singing voice down.’

  But Max was adamant. ‘You’re not ready, Sally. You’re a beautiful girl with a great figure and the men love just looking at you.’

  ‘I’d still look the same as an actress.’

  ‘Not a good sales pitch. Looks have zilch to do with ability; you have ability. I’m upping the ante, Sally, and if you work hard, you’ll improve and, one day, perhaps in a month or two, maybe less, who knows, I’ll find a few words for you to deliver – onstage. Now go away and see if you can sing and act at the same time. I want to hear you deliver, “Mad About the Boy” and I want your body singing too. The delivery needs more than a little ooh-la-la; you can do it.’

  Sally had not the slightest idea what he was talking about and he could see it written on her face. ‘Sally, you have to relax, let go of your inhibitions; use those fabulous “Come to bed eyes” of yours. It’s not a simple little love song; it’s certainly not a sweet little girl song. It’s a woman’s song. Go find Lal; if she could get brainless tenors sounding wonderful, you should be a walk-over. Sam will play it for you, listen to him play it; the music should tell you what to do. Go.’

  Since there was no sign of either, Sally looked for Sebastian and found him in a huddle with two actors and a playwright. They were obviously very busy and so she turned away and began to walk back to the rehearsal area where, she decided, she was eventually likely to find Lalita. Sebastian caught up with her.

  ‘Problem, Sal? Tell Uncle Sebastian.’

  ‘You’re not nearly old enough to be my uncle, and I don’t want to take you away from your work.’

  ‘I’ll always have time for you, Sally, and, believe me, I could – legally – be your uncle even if I were younger than you are. I know, I know, sounds impossible but when we have time to play I’ll show you how. Now tell me, who stole your chocolate?’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘I am trying to cheer you and failing miserably. Tell me your problem and we’ll return to the chocolate later.’

  She told him about her orders from Max. ‘I don’t know what he means, Sebastian. I sing or speak with my tongue, teeth and lips and, of course, my diaphragm. What else does he want?’

  ‘Sex.’

  ‘You’re insane.’

  ‘Sally, that number is a sexy song and I think you equate sexiness with vulgarity. They’re not at all the same thing. You’re used to singing sweet little love songs. Your voice is pleasant, not great, but pleasant on the ear. You look fabulous – when you’re not frowning as you are now. Watch out, the wind will change and your face will stick like that.’

  ‘Stop talking nonsense and tell me what else I need to do.’

  ‘Have you seen Carmen Miranda in films?’

  Sally smiled. ‘Of course, she’s fabulous. How does she keep all that fruit on her head?’

  ‘Too bad there’s a war on; there’s no chance of a bunch of bananas for you but she doesn’t need them to be sexy. She projects the mood of the song with her gestures, her facial expressions, her moves, her eyes and you have to do the same.’

  ‘I’d die of embarrassment.’

  ‘Then you’ll never make an actress, Sally.’

  She rounded on him. ‘That’s all I want to be – an actress. Perhaps I should have stayed in Dartford; at least they were giving me parts. I could have been in a Noël Coward play instead of dressing up like a doll in pretty dresses and singing love songs. I’m not a singer.’

  ‘You’ve forgotten that ENSA with the songs and the pretty frocks has given you experience, exposure and, Sally, my darling, an advertising ca
mpaign and an appearance plus a credit in a film.’

  Those home truths deflated her. ‘Oh, I don’t mean to be so ungrateful but I want my parents to be proud of me.’

  ‘They are.’

  ‘Sebastian, have you the slightest idea how difficult it was for my parents to send me to a fee-paying school, to allow me to stay on there preparing for a university education while my friends were out at work? And then after all that and when I’d been accepted at a university, I refused to go because I wanted to act and they allowed me, and now what do they see?’

  ‘Their beautiful daughter doing important war work. Sally, don’t negate everything we’re doing. You can see the faces in the audiences change; strained, tired faces relax, smile, laugh. Now, I want you to listen as often as possible to the Forces request programmes. Maybe some chap will ask for “Mad About the Boy” and you’ll hear how a pro sings it.’

  ‘How a pro sings what, Seb?’ They had not heard Lal coming in.

  ‘The song Max wants.’

  ‘Quite a change for you, Sally, but you’re an actress, you can do it. Play it for her, Seb.’

  ‘Sorry, Lal, my skills aren’t up to that. Christmas carols by the fire are more my style.’

  ‘Just as well I’m here then, Seb.’ Sam Castleton had followed Lal and now he sat down at the piano and began to play. There was no music in front of him.

  ‘I’m sorry but I don’t know the words.’ Sally could see her career dissolving before her.

  ‘I have it in the office. Now watch and listen.’ Sam played the song again but this time, Lal sang to his accompaniment. Her voice was husky but true and, as she sang, she moved around the room, using her hands to reach out to people – some who were not there but with whom she was obviously communicating. Sally thought she was absolutely wonderful and found herself responding and wondering how Lal managed to be sexy without being vulgar at the same time.

  ‘Next time you’re free, come along to the office to pick up my copy. Seb won’t take long to learn to play it and you just try to remember Lal’s performance when you’re rehearsing it.’ Sam’s gentle face relaxed into a smile. ‘Relax, Sally, you can do it and everyone knows it but you.’

  Somehow an endorsement from Sam made Sally feel as if she could master almost anything. One or two of the chorus occasionally uttered snide remarks: ‘Max’s little pet’ or, more woundingly, ‘At the Academy they always said a girl needed a hell of a lot more than big blue eyes; seems they were wrong.’

  She tried to ignore remarks that she assured herself came from jealousy.

  ‘Thanks, Sam. I’ll try.’

  ‘Great,’ said Sam. ‘If I’m not in the office, the music with the lyrics is on the bottom shelf of the little music cabinet. Help yourself.’

  She thanked him and Lalita and left the rehearsal stage, deciding to go straight to the musicians’ office to pick up the music. Tonight, New Year’s Eve, she would learn to sing the song – with some ooh-la-la, whatever that was.

  Sebastian had other ideas.

  ‘We’re not staying in on New Year’s Eve. Don’t panic, Sally; I’m rusty but I do sight-read and when we have some free time tomorrow, I’ll play it for you. Meanwhile, think Lal and ooh-la-la.’ He dissolved with laughter. ‘Poor little Sally, if you could see your face. “Quelle horreur” is written all over it. Come along, we’ll put on some glad rags, Millie too – high time she was out on the town – and we’ll party.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘No idea. Not the Savoy, we’ll go to a night club – such decadence.’

  Sally said nothing. She would enjoy going somewhere different with Sebastian. Her spirits had lifted. It might only be a cup of rather stewed tea at a WVS van, but Sebastian had an innate ability to turn the simplest piece of tin into pure gold. How different life in London was from her restricted life in Dartford. This war was changing everything and she could see that despite the privations, the danger and destruction, some changes were for the better.

  ‘We are visiting a veterans’ home tomorrow, aren’t we?’ she asked at last.

  ‘Due there early afternoon. We can bring in 1942 with the sincere and solemn hope that its coming will also bring the end to the bloody war, and still be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed to cheer our heroes. Go alert Millie.’

  Millie was limbering up on stage and Sally watched her, waiting for an opportunity to interrupt her practice. If Millie saw her she made no sign as she went through what seemed to Sally to be the most amazing contortions. She followed these with dazzling pirouettes and then small jumping steps across the stage, ending in some split-leaps. She was not out of breath; she did not seem to be sweating or stressed at all. Sally wondered what Millie would look like in the traditional ballerina’s tutu and decided that she would be absolutely beautiful. Millie was not beautiful; in fact she was rather plain with no distinguishing features, but Sally decided that, even in rehearsal clothes, Millie was fragile thistledown flying across the stage.

  ‘Gosh, you’re fabulous, Millie, absolutely beautiful.’

  Millie laughed. ‘You’re sweet, Sally. One of these days I’ll take you to Sadler’s Wells.’ She gave Sally no time to reply. ‘Did you want me for something?’

  ‘Sebastian wants us to go home, put on some glad rags and go to a night club; you will come, won’t you?’

  ‘To welcome the new year, Sal? Well, it has to be better than the last two, hasn’t it? Give me ten minutes and I’ll join you in the green-room.’

  London on New Year’s Eve was not beautiful. The smoke and dust that enveloped this most historical of cities made it virtually impossible to see the ground under one’s feet. Oh, for this war to be over, for London’s lights to shine again, for London’s bells to ring again.

  ‘Will cities in Germany be as dark as this, Sebastian?’

  ‘It’s dark all over the world, Sally.’ Sebastian, his cashmere coat open over his dinner jacket and starched white shirt, seemed to have no difficulty in finding his way along the streets.

  With Millie holding one arm and Sally clinging to the other as she tentatively picked her way down unrecognisable streets, Sebastian walked on happily. ‘I was an English Springer in a past life, girls, trust me.’

  And they did.

  They passed others who picked their way slowly or attempted to hurry, fearing that at any moment a plane spewing death would roar out of the sky, but none did.

  ‘Come along to the shelter with us, ladies,’ suggested two young men who had already opened – and sampled – the bottles of whisky or beer they were carrying. ‘Come on, bring the posh bloke; we’ll teach him how to give you lovelies a good time. We got decorations up and we’re having a party with dancing. Everybody welcome, except Jerry.’

  ‘You’re very kind, but no thank you,’ Millie said quietly.

  Sebastian pulled Sally and Millie even closer. ‘Happy New Year, chaps, and thanks for the invitation but my friends prefer to be above ground.’

  ‘Chaps, ’ear that, Charlie, according to the posh git, we’re chaps. Your loss, ladies. The best party in London tonight’ll be down our shelter. There’s lots of us there. Great booze – we been saving for months – and food.’

  ‘I’m sure it will be a terrific,’ said Sally, as she pushed Sebastian, who looked as if he might be ready to fight, backwards. ‘Have a great time, and a happy and safe New Year to you both.’

  Muttering darkly about toffs and la-di-das, the young men swaggered off.

  ‘You all right, Millie?’ asked Sally. ‘Beer talking; no harm in them.’

  ‘Apart from the fact that they’re not in uniform.’

  ‘Soldiers get leave, Millie, let’s just forget them.’ She hugged Sebastian. ‘Come on, Sir Galahad, it’s getting late; where shall we go?’

  ‘There’s the Embassy Club on Bond Street; I haven’t been but Max went with Sybil and enjoyed it. Or, we could take the underground to Covent Garden. The Opera House; it’s operating as a night club for the duration and they hav
e a terrific orchestra. They probably play “ballroom” as well as all the bang-up-to-the-minute dances from America.’

  ‘Sounds lovely. What do you think, Millie?’

  ‘I’m so sorry, but I just couldn’t go to the Opera House—’ began Millie.

  ‘Dash it, Millie,’ interrupted Sebastian. ‘How insensitive of me. I should have thought; too many memories. So sorry.’

  ‘It’s all right, Seb, and don’t feel badly. I thought I could manage but it’s just that it’s New Year’s Eve …’

  She left the rest unsaid but the others understood. Millie was not alone in having memories of other times. Sally too was thinking of times before the war when New Year’s Eve meant that the next year was something to be welcomed, when with her family and her friends she found that lovely memories flooded in, bringing joy. She feared that Millie’s memories, instead of cheering her, only made her mourn for what was lost.

  ‘The Embassy Club, Millie? Some champagne, a little supper?’

  Millie’s eyes had filled with tears, obvious even in the poor light. Her voice shook when she spoke. ‘I’m spoiling the evening. I’ll go back to the flat, Seb, and welcome you both back next year.’

  ‘No,’ said Sally at the same time as Sebastian said, ‘Absolutely not.’

  ‘I’m ruining the evening. Please.’

  ‘We’re friends, Millie, and friends spend New Year’s Eve together. Whatever we do, we’ll do it together. I’ve just thought of something that I haven’t done since I was a schoolboy and I always loved it.’

  They looked at him expectantly.

  ‘Just say if you don’t like the idea and I’ll abandon it, but when I was very small Grandmamma and I went to the steps of St Paul’s on New Year’s Eve. There was hardly a space on the steps – so many people did the same – but someone always made room for my grandmother; she had a wonderful effect on people. There was chatter and singing and we listened out for Big Ben to toll the hour and then we sang “Old Lang Syne” and wished one another a Happy New Year – people we didn’t know and would never meet again – but there was such warmth and comradeship and then we went home – Grandmamma had her car – and I was allowed one sip of champagne from her glass before I went to bed. Such joy.’