by Anne Douglas
‘If we want it?’ the girl next to Jess murmured. ‘I’m dying for a cup already!’
But Jess was more interested in the tour, and as Miss Dollar called out, ‘This way, ladies!’ was the first to follow.
From the vestibule they moved into the foyer, familiar to Jess, of course, from her many past visits. Here was the box office itself, focus of interest for the girls, of course, though it was no more than a small glass-walled office with a couple of seats, and a counter with ledgers and files and the machine that dispensed the tickets. When everyone had had a brief look, Miss Dollar drew their attention to the foyer’s marble flooring, decorative pillars, and the fine plasterwork of the ceiling cornices, all features in fact of the classical style of the whole cinema.
‘And all costing a packet, as you might expect, when the Princes was built in 1912,’ she added. ‘But money seemed no object then. Later on, when the talkies came in and the old piano for the silent films went, they bought a grand cinema organ – and how much that set ’em back, I couldn’t tell you.’ She gave a chuckle. ‘But maybe you ladies will be more interested in the photos of the stars? They’re all here, you know, round the walls.’
And so they were, as the girls exclaimed. Clark Gable, Henry Fonda, Charles Boyer, Greta Garbo, Marlene Dietrich – oh, all of ’em. Weren’t they terrific?
‘Charles Boyer’s on this week, in Algiers,’ one of the girls murmured. ‘Och, he’s so gorgeous, eh? That French accent!’
‘Want to see the picture, then?’ another girl asked.
‘You bet! And Jezebel – that’s coming soon.’ The first girl sighed. ‘With Henry Fonda. He’s gorgeous, too. So stern!’
‘Sorry to interrupt, but we’ll have to move on,’ Miss Dollar said cheerfully. ‘This way to the auditorium. No Charles Boyer on at the moment. It’s always like a church at this time of day – nobody around but the cleaners.’
They saw everything, from the cleaners at work in the hushed auditorium with its great Wurlitzer organ, to the staffroom and offices and the projection room behind the circle, described by Miss Dollar as the hub of the whole place.
‘All very technical up here, as you can see, but everybody at the Princes has to have an idea of how things work. We all have to muck in, you might say, from time to time. One big happy family!’
At the looks on their faces, she gave another chuckle.
‘But no need to worry. You’ll no’ be having to show the films. Sorry our projectionist is out just for the minute, or he could’ve said a few words. As a matter of fact, he’ll be interviewing himself today – needs an assistant.’
‘Did you say we were to be seen in alphabetical order?’ Jess asked, as they all trooped along to the cafe that was as elegant and gracious as everywhere else at the Princes, though closed until matinee time to the public.
‘I did,’ Miss Dollar replied. ‘What’s your name, dear?’
‘Jessica Raeburn.’
‘Oh, what a shame, you’re last but one to go in! There’s only someone called Tricia Wright after you. Never mind, Mr Hawthorne will no’ take long.
‘That’s a relief,’ Jess answered, gratefully accepting a cup of tea and a chocolate biscuit from a young woman who’d opened up the tea counter specially for them. ‘And thanks very much, Miss Dollar, for showing us round.’
‘Why, thank you for that, Miss Raeburn. No’ many bother to say anything.’
Hope she didn’t think I was trying to butter her up, Jess thought as Miss Dollar hurried away. For she really had enjoyed the tour, and did think the cinema beautiful.
‘Miss Armitage!’ Miss Dollar suddenly cried, after consulting her list. ‘Will you come this way, please?’
‘Oh, no!’ the tall redhead whispered, putting down her coffee cup. ‘That’s me, then!’
How soon for me? Jess wondered, moving nearer to Miss Wright, who’d have to share the longest wait with her. But, in what seemed no time at all, she saw Miss Dollar’s eyes on her and heard her cheerful voice, ‘Miss Raeburn, please!’
‘Good luck!’ Tricia Wright generously called after her.
‘Thanks,’ Jess answered, her heart thumping, as she once again followed Miss Dollar.
Four
‘Miss Raeburn, Mr Hawthorne,’ Miss Dollar announced, throwing open the door of a small office that had not been shown before. ‘Go along, dear,’ she whispered to Jess, ‘take that chair in front of the desk. Then I’ll sit next to Mr Hawthorne.’
‘Morning, Miss Raeburn,’ the manager said, smiling, as he stubbed out a cigarette and rose to shake Jess’s hand. ‘I’m afraid you’ve had a bit of a wait.’
‘That’s all right,’ she murmured, obeying Miss Dollar’s instruction to take the chair in front of the manager’s desk, letting her eyes, with a great show of confidence, meet his.
From the worry lines on his brow and the beginnings of a double chin, she guessed him to be in his forties. His fairish hair was also receding from that worried brow, but his smile was one that met his brown eyes and it seemed to Jess that he’d be good-natured. But who could say? Looks were deceptive, folk always said.
‘Well, now, I have your details to hand,’ he began, glancing down at her application form open on his desk. ‘And I see you’ve been four years with Dobson’s in Cash and Accounts?’
‘That’s correct, Mr Hawthorne.’
‘So – good experience in cash handling.’ He moved his finger down the page. ‘And before that you were with Marling’s the stationer’s. That’d be mainly counter work?’
‘To begin with,’ Jess replied. ‘I’d always done well with figures at school and would have stayed on, only we needed the money, so I took the job at Marling’s. When they asked me to help out with the cash one time, I liked it and did some evening classes. Then I moved to Dobson’s.’
‘Where they think very highly of you.’ Mr Hawthorne looked down again at her references. ‘But – about this particular post – there’s more to it than people think.’ His eyes went to Miss Dollar who nodded agreement. ‘It’s not just a question of selling admission tickets. We have to spend a lot of time here making things balance. I do, Miss Dollar does. Cash has to correspond to sales.’ Little lines creased his eyes as he laughed. ‘Story of my life, Miss Raeburn! So, there’s checks and records to be kept, dealing with enquiries, and occasionally there’s assisting me, or others.’
‘I did tell everyone that we all mucked in,’ Miss Dollar murmured. ‘One big happy family.’
‘And that’s right. This is a small cinema, you see, Miss Raeburn, and we have to be ready to do anything that comes up. That’s why I wanted everyone shown round the cinema before the interview, so that they could see the set-up.’
‘It was interesting, looking round,’ Jess told him.
‘Yes, well, the other thing is that as box office assistant, you’ll often be working on your own. In the evenings, too. You’d be happy with that, Miss Raeburn?’
‘Quite happy, Mr Hawthorne.’
He hesitated, shuffling papers round his desk.
‘I’m still not sure, though, if you don’t mind me saying so, why you want to make the move from Dobson’s. We’d be paying you less, you know, and the hours are not easy.’
‘Oh, I know,’ she said quickly.
‘And you wouldn’t be doing the same sort of thing as you’re used to. So . . . what made you apply, then? Just the chance to see the films?’
‘No, no, it wasn’t the films – though I do like to go to the pictures.’ Jess was already blushing. ‘It was the cinema.’
‘The cinema?’
‘This cinema. The Princes. I love it. It’s just so beautiful. So . . . different.’
‘Different from what?’
‘I mean, from what you usually see. Everything that’s ordinary.’ She gave a nervous smile. ‘Sorry, I’m no’ explaining very well. I just know I love it.’
There was a silence, as Mr Hawthorne and Miss Dollar stared at her and her blush, deepening, rose t
o her brow in a painful tide. Och, what a fool, eh? To go blethering on like that in an interview! She was lowering her eyes, looking down at her hands, when Mr Hawthorne finally spoke.
‘Miss Raeburn,’ he said quietly, ‘so do I.’
After another silence, he rose, thanked her for her application and asked her if she’d mind waiting in the cafe for a little while. He might want to speak to her again. The interview was over.
‘I do feel a fool,’ she heard herself saying on the way back to the cafe, but Miss Dollar smiled and patted her shoulder.
‘You’ve no need to feel that, dear. You did well.’
‘I thought I’d be going straight home now.’
‘Like the others, you mean?’
‘The others have gone home?’ Jess’s eyes widened. But it was true, of course, no one had returned to the tearoom.
‘We’ll be letting them know. You, too. Now . . . I have to find Miss Wright, eh? Poor lassie – the last to go in, eh?’
Five
When Tricia Wright, pale and nervous, had left the cafe with Miss Dollar, Jess found herself alone with the girl behind the counter – one Pamela Gregg, according to her name tag – who kindly asked if she’d like another cup of coffee.
‘Oh, I would!’ Jess answered quickly. ‘I feel I’ve just done a ten mile walk or something.’
‘That bad, eh?’ Pam Gregg, who was fair with a broad freckled face, laughed. ‘You’re still here though, eh?’
‘They’re going to be letting us know.’
‘That right? Well, I’d no’ be surprised if you got news today. Like milk with your coffee? The sugar’s just there.’
As Jess moved away, walking slowly so as not to spill any coffee on Marguerite’s two-piece, Pam called that she’d better be getting on with setting the tables, they’d be opening for light lunches in half an hour.
‘And I’d better no’ be too late,’ Jess called back. ‘I’ve to go back to work this afternoon.’
‘Better wait to see what happens, though.’
‘I’ll do that, all right!’
The door opened and a young waitress came in, tying on a decorative apron, followed by a tall young man with high, thin shoulders and long legs, who stood for a moment or two, looking around.
‘Any chance of a coffee?’ he asked, his voice sounding English.
‘We’re no’ really open yet,’ the waitress told him, staring at him dubiously. ‘You’re no’ here for the box office job, eh?’
‘Box office?’ He grinned. ‘Good Lord, no. I’m here for interview with Mr Daniel. I’m a projectionist.’
‘Give him a coffee, Nancy!’ a plump, middle-aged woman called, appearing from the back of the cafe. ‘I expect Ben’ll be down in a minute.’
‘I’ll get it, Mrs Baxter,’ Pam said. ‘Black or white, sir?’
‘Thanks, I appreciate this – black, please.’
The young man, taking his coffee, looked round the tables and, having spotted Jess, approached her with a friendly smile. ‘Mind if I join you? I take it you’re a candidate too?’
As he sat down without waiting for permission, she looked at him coolly. He had a mop of waving reddish brown hair and unusual grey eyes, almost three-cornered in shape and fringed with thick dark lashes. Probably, she supposed, he would be considered handsome by most. A charmer, anyway. But not her type.
‘No’ for the projectionist’s job,’ she answered, after a pause, at which he laughed.
‘I didn’t think so. Must be for the box office, then. Look, shall we introduce ourselves? I’m Russell MacVail, always known as Rusty.’
‘Jessica Raeburn, always known as Jess.’
They shook hands and Jess relaxed a little, allowing herself a smile.
‘What time’s your interview?’ he asked, quick to smile back.
‘I’ve already had it.’
‘And you’re still here? That’s hopeful.’
‘They’re going to let us know,’ she said uneasily. Why were folk so confident for her? She didn’t dare to feel confident for herself. ‘But aren’t there any other people here for the projectionist’s job?’
‘That’s what I’ve been wondering.’ He took out a packet of cigarettes and offered it to her.
‘Thanks, I don’t smoke.’
‘Mind if I do?’
When she shook her head, he lit a cigarette and grinned. ‘Hey, maybe I’m the only candidate?’ Then the grin faded and he shook his head. ‘Unlikely the way things are. I had no luck finding anything round Woking.’
‘You were given the sack?’ Jess asked with sympathy. ‘Oh, that’s terrible. So, now you’re applying up here?’
‘My dad’s old home, Edinburgh.’ Rusty glanced at his watch and stood up, stubbing out his cigarette on his coffee saucer. ‘Look, I’ve got to go. Have to report to the projection room in ten minutes. Think we might meet again?’
‘I couldn’t say. Depends on you.’
‘If I’m lucky, you mean.’ His unusual eyes were resting on her face. ‘Keep your fingers crossed for me, then.’
She held up her hand, showing two fingers firmly crossed, and they both laughed until Rusty strode away, curly head held high, and Jess, seeing Miss Dollar approaching, didn’t feel like laughing any more.
‘Miss Raeburn!’ Miss Dollar called. ‘There you are, then. Could you come up to the office, please? Mr Hawthorne would like another word.’
‘Miss Raeburn, come in, come in! Please, take a seat.’
Mr Hawthorne was jovial, his worried brow relaxed, his eyes bright on Jess’s face.
‘Thank you for waiting – sorry it was so long.’
As though she wouldn’t have waited! Glancing quickly at Miss Dollar, who was remaining at the door, sending out encouraging signals with another wide smile, Jess again took the chair facing the manager, her heart beating fast. What was this word he wanted, then? From his welcome, his whole manner, she couldn’t help hoping it would spell ‘Job’.
But it could be anything, couldn’t it?
It was ‘Job’.
With a ritual shuffle of his papers and a pleasant grin, Mr Hawthorne came out with it. The magic word.
‘If you want the job, Miss Raeburn, it’s yours.’
All applicants had been carefully considered, of course, but there was no question, he told her, that she was the best person for it. Both he and Miss Dollar hoped she’d be very happy at the Princes. And could she start next week?
Stunned, she was for a moment tongue-tied.
‘I never thought I’d hear today,’ she said at last.
‘We’ll be notifying the others, but there was no point in keeping you waiting. So, what do you say, Miss Raeburn? Do you want to work with us here?’
‘Oh, yes, I do, Mr Hawthorne, I do! I’m . . . well, I’m thrilled.’ Her eyes brightening, as it began to sink in that she’d been successful, she said again in a whisper, ‘Thrilled!’
‘And could you start next week, then? Thing is, Miss Dollar’s lost her assistant to the Borders – had to move with her family – so you see we want someone fairly sharpish. You need only give a week’s notice to Dobson’s, I think, if you’re paid weekly?’
‘Yes, only a week is necessary.’ Jess’s head was buzzing. Only a week, and she’d be away from the work she knew and the people she knew. After four long years.
Didn’t seem possible. It was what she wanted, of course, and it was true that she was thrilled at her move, but now that it was all happening, she found she couldn’t quite take it in. How would it all work out? She was doing the right thing, she knew she was. But . . . next week?
‘All a bit sudden?’ Mr Hawthorne asked sympathetically. ‘And a big decision? But what you want, isn’t it?’
‘It is,’ she declared, straightening her shoulders, trying to appear positive. ‘I’d need the full week’s notice, though.’
‘Make it Monday week, then. How about that?’
‘That’d be grand.’
They stood up,
shaking hands, and Miss Dollar came forward and shook hands too and said she was really looking forward to working with Jess, who must call her Sally.
‘And may we call you Jessica?’ Mr Hawthorne asked.
‘Oh, Jess, please.’
‘We want you to feel at home here, you know, and as I say, be happy.’
‘I’m sure I will be.’
‘I’ve no doubt of it. Now, if you go with Sally, she’ll take you to meet my secretary, Miss Harrison. She’ll go through all the formalities with you. Then maybe you’d like a bit of lunch with us, in our cafe?’
‘Oh, I’d have liked that – thank you very much – but I have to go back to work. I only got the morning off for the interview.’
‘Another time, then. Goodbye for now, Jess. See you on Monday week.’
‘On Monday week.’
Even after going through all the formalities the manager had mentioned with his rather angular, middle-aged secretary, Jess still felt dazed at the speed with which she’d changed her life. But when Edie Harrison wished her good luck with a kindly smile, she rallied with a smile of her own, thinking how everyone she’d met so far had been friendly and helpful, and how that made her feel again that she’d done the right thing.
‘You’ll take to this job like a duck takes to water,’ Sally told her, perhaps reading her mind, as they returned to the foyer. ‘That’s what George and I felt, anyway.’
‘George?’
‘Mr Hawthorne. I call him that – we both worked at a cinema in Portobello together before we came here. He was assistant manager, I was an usherette. I know Daisy, his wife, as well, but och, what a worrier! Spends all her time telling him to take it easy. As though he ever would!’
‘Wish I hadn’t got to dash away,’ Jess murmured, as they reached the box office. ‘I could’ve had another good look round.’
‘Plenty of time for that Monday week, eh?’ Sally glanced at her watch. ‘And we’ll be opening up soon for the matinee performance. Hey, is that somebody you know?’
Jess, swinging round, saw Rusty MacVail coming towards them, his eyes lighting up, his hand raised in a wave.