by Anne Douglas
‘Guy isn’t paying for the flat, I am, out of what I make at the office. And I’m sure I don’t know what you mean by hanky-panky. Guy’s very correct. Everything will be right and proper.’
‘Right and proper?’ Her mother laughed. ‘Hasn’t shown much sign of being right and proper so far, has he?’
Marguerite flushed brightly, but could think of no reply.
‘So, how long will this arrangement go on, then? When will you get your divorce?’
‘I can’t say. Guy’s father will do what he can, but seems I’m the guilty party because I left Ben, so they’ll have to go for desertion as cause and that takes time.’
‘The guilty party?’ Addie’s lip trembled. ‘Oh, Marguerite! What a terrible thing it is, to hear you call yourself that.’
‘Well, Scots divorces aren’t like English ones, seemingly. There you can just send your man off to a hotel with some woman and there you are, you’ve got your divorce. Unless they can prove it’s a put up job.’
‘Why should Ben do that for you?’ Jess cried. ‘He’s the innocent party. Why should he pretend he isn’t?’
‘He’s no’ doing anything for me, is he?’ Marguerite sighed. ‘Look, I’m really sorry if I’ve hurt him, but there it is – when something’s dead, you can’t bring it back to life, can you?’
Oh, what terrible words to use to end a marriage, Jess thought, walking slowly back to work. And knew she was not thinking of Marguerite and Ben.
Though Ben appeared to be getting over Marguerite’s betrayal remarkably well, Jess was sure that underneath his easy manner, the wound still throbbed. He never admitted it to her, though they sometimes met for a lunchtime snack, or just a walk in the summer air, but she had the feeling he liked to be with her because with her he needn’t put on his usual act. They were at ease with each other, and that meant a lot.
Strolling back from the gardens one late August day, they stopped outside a display window of Logie’s, one of the city’s grandest stores.
‘See that?’ Ben asked.
‘What?’
‘That television set.’
Jess studied the large walnut cabinet housing what appeared to be a very small screen, which at that time of day was blank.
‘What about it?’
‘Not realize you’re looking at the future?’
She met his dark eyes. ‘I know what you’re talking about, but I don’t go along with it. Television isn’t going to close our cinemas.’
‘Not all, no. But maybe in the future quite a lot. They say the number of TV sets sold is going up every year, and the industry’s still new. It’ll improve – be able to offer more and more.’
‘More than a lovely comfortable cinema, with films in colour on a screen you can see? I don’t believe it. Look at the titchy little screens the televisions have. They just can’t compare.’
‘Yes, but folk have to go out to the cinema, don’t they? Television, they can see at home. News, sport, drama, even our old films.’ Ben shook his head. ‘I don’t say it’s a threat here at the moment, but I think they’re already worrying about it in America. You’ll have read all the trade articles, I suppose?’
‘Of course I have, but I still believe there’ll always be an audience for the cinema. What about the young people who don’t want to stay at home? They need somewhere to go.’
Ben grinned. ‘Better cultivate them. Might be all we’ll get.’
Jess shook her head in exasperation. ‘Oh, come on, let’s go back, this is getting depressing. I bet Mr Syme wouldn’t agree with you, anyway. He won’t want to be losing his cinemas.’
‘If I know him, he’ll be moving into the television business at this very moment!’
They walked back, laughing, but in the foyer, Ben’s gaze became serious.
‘Sorry if I sound depressing, Jess. But you know you’ve no need to worry. Whatever happens, you’ll cope, you’ll adapt. And anyway, change is a long way off.’
‘Well, you’ll be all right, too. You can adapt as well as anyone.’
‘Yes, but maybe I should be retraining as a television engineer? Rusty, too.’
‘Oh, no,’ she said quickly. ‘No one’s going to be retraining. We need you here.’
‘Nice to think we’re needed.’
‘You’re no’ seriously considering retraining, are you? Maybe moving away?’
‘Of course not. I’ve got my house, I’ve got my job.’ He touched her hand briefly. ‘I’ve got my friends. I’m staying put.’
When he had left her for the projection room, Sally, who was opening up the box office, gave Jess a call.
‘He’s doing well, eh, Ben? Looking so much better.’
‘Yes, he seems OK.’
‘Likes to talk to you, dear. A sympathetic ear?’
‘We’re old friends, Sally.’
‘Sure. We’re all his friends here. Listen, you know I told you we’d be wearing skirts to our ankles one of these days? Well, I’ve got one!’
‘Oh, let’s see!’ Forgetting the possible problems lying ahead, Jess was glad to take an interest in the large dress bag Sally was producing from beside her seat. ‘Is this the New Look we’ve all been hearing about?’
‘Certainly is. Got it this lunchtime from over the Bridges.’ Sally undid the bag and took out what seemed to Jess an immensely long dark blue skirt which she held against herself, then twirled around. ‘Well, what do you think?’
‘There seems a huge amount of material in it, Sally. Won’t it feel a bit heavy?’
‘Och, no. Just different. See these little frills at the top? Fancy, eh? It’s supposed to be the answer to wartime austerity.’
‘We’re still in wartime austerity, if you ask me. I mean, even Princess Elizabeth is going to have to manage on her clothing coupons for her wedding.’
‘Is that what they say? I bet folk will send her bagfuls. Now me, I’m spent up – coupons and cash – but I think it’s worth it, don’t you?’
‘Can’t help thinking the knee-length skirt’s easier to manage.’
Sally made a face. ‘Jess, the New Look’s fashionable, that’s the thing. Who cares if it’s easy to manage or not? Now, why don’t you go out and buy yourself something new and get Rusty to take you somewhere nice?’
But at the look on Jess’s face, Sally flushed a little and began packing away her new skirt.
‘Sorry, dear. Speaking out of turn again. Story of my life.’
‘Don’t worry, Sally,’ Jess said quickly. ‘It’s good advice to go out somewhere. Maybe Rusty and I will try it.’
As she made her way to her office, she knew it was unlikely that they ever would, and couldn’t decide which was gloomier – thinking about Rusty, or that large television set in Logie’s window.
All the same, when it came to the evening intermission, she slipped along to the projection room where she knew Rusty would now have taken over from Ben, and decided to try him with Sally’s idea. He was out of the box, taking a break; not smoking, she was relieved to see, but drinking coffee from a paper cup, while in the background came the sound of Trevor playing a musical medley on the organ.
When Rusty saw Jess, he raised his eyebrows.
‘What’s up, then? Cinema on fire, or something?’
‘Why talk like that? Can’t I look in to see you?’
He shrugged. ‘Usually takes something dramatic for you to do that these days.’
Though it was unfair, there was some truth in it; she didn’t often see him during the working day, but then how much did he want to see her?
‘Ben was talking about television today,’ she said brightly. ‘Thinks it’ll be a threat one day.’
‘To cinemas? Goes without saying.’
‘You agree with him?’
‘Most do.’
‘I don’t.’
Rusty drained his coffee and crumpled the cup.
‘You just don’t want anything to happen to the Princes, but it’ll be the second-rate ones that go
under. Folk’ll get more choosy about what they see and where, that’s all.’
‘I feel a bit more cheerful, hearing all that.’
‘Surprise, surprise, I’ve cheered you up.’
He gave her a long unsmiling look.
‘You often talk to Ben these days, don’t you?’
‘He needs someone to talk to, Rusty. After what’s happened.’
‘Must have known it would never work out with Marguerite.’
‘Why do you say that? They were really in love in the early days.’
‘He was never her Mr Right, was he? The one she was always looking for? Soon as she found him, that was it – curtains for Ben.’ Rusty glanced at his watch. ‘Jess, it’s time for me to go. There’s the clapping for Trevor.’
‘No, wait – I just wanted to say I was talking to Sally, too. Know what she said? I should buy some new clothes and you should take me out somewhere.’
‘We need Sally to tell us that?’
‘I’d say we did. Seeing as we never do go out, do we?’
‘Difficult to arrange, getting time off together. Story of our lives.’
‘All right, forget the new clothes – let’s just make it Sunday afternoon, the way we used to. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?’
‘Sure. Let’s see what sort of day it is on Sunday, then. Got to go, Jess.’
He’s not interested, she thought, watching him return to the projection box. Might just as well have said so. What’s the betting that if it’s raining on Sunday, he’ll be off the hook, anyway, but if it’s fine, he’ll make some excuse. Why had she bothered asking him? Because she felt a touch of guilt? No, why should she blame herself?
Marguerite’s words came back to her, and echoed in her mind as she made her way to her office.
‘If something’s dead, you can’t bring it back to life.’
But as she opened her door, she heard her phone ringing and was glad to let the words go and run to answer it.
‘Good, you haven’t left yet, Jess,’ John Syme’s voice said cheerfully. ‘Thought I might just catch you. I’m coming over tomorrow morning, about eleven – any chance of your being in?’
‘Oh, yes, I’ll be here, John. I’ll look forward to seeing you.’
But having put down the phone and stared at it for a moment or two, she had to admit she was puzzled. Usually, they met in Glasgow, where she’d been only last week, and John only came over to Edinburgh for a specific reason. So what was the reason this time? He hadn’t said.
It was a little disturbing, she didn’t know why, except that meeting John Syme could have that effect anyway. What usually happened was that she felt apprehensive until they met, and then relaxed, finding there was nothing to worry about. Probably, tomorrow’s experience would be just the same.
Much more worrying was the prospect of higher taxes being imposed on non-British films by the Board of Trade, and that might well be something John wanted to discuss. If it came, Hollywood would be sure to react badly and maybe stop their films coming in altogether, which meant managers having to find more British films – not easy and not desirable, either. Problems, problems. At least they put personal anxieties on the back burner. For a while.
Fifty-Eight
As the clock in Jess’s office neared eleven the following morning, she hastily ran in to check on the coffee with Edie.
‘Eveything ready for Mr Syme, Edie? He should be here any minute.’
‘Oh, yes, Jess, it’s all ready. And I’ve managed to find some shortbread biscuits – he likes those.’
‘Lovely.’ Jess gave a quick smile. ‘Have to try to please the owner, you know!’
‘Always do,’ Edie happily replied.
Jess, back in her office, pulled down the jacket of her lightweight navy suit and straightened the skirt, then fiddled with her hair. Why so on edge for this meeting that was, after all, only one of many with John Syme? Impossible to say, but there was no doubt that she felt more nervous even than usual, and would be heartily relieved when the cinema owner finally arrived.
Which he did, as punctually as ever, looking elegant in pale grey with a silk handkerchief in his breast pocket and a dark trilby hat over his well-groomed hair.
‘Jess!’ He swept off his hat. ‘How nice to see you on this fine morning. And is that coffee I smell?’
‘You’d like some, John?’
‘Yes, please, but let’s not linger. I want us to take a stroll in Princes Street.’
‘Princes Street?’ As Edie served the coffee and handed the shortbread, exchanging smiles with John when he thanked her, Jess raised her eyebrows. ‘We’re going for a walk?’
‘A very short one. As I say, it’s a fine morning – it will be good to get the air after my drive.’
But we’re not going for the air, Jess thought, as something in John’s manner seemed to be increasing her nerves, rather than relaxing them. What are we going for, then? It was crazy, but she couldn’t help wondering if it wasn’t something to do with television. Hadn’t Ben said he was sure their owner would already be interesting himself in the new industry? Maybe he too wanted to show Jess the large television set in Logie’s window?
‘Let’s go, then!’ John cried, setting down his cup. ‘If you’re ready, Jess?’
‘I’ll just tell Edie I’ll be out for a little while.’
‘See you in the foyer, then. What film are you showing at the moment?’
‘A Danny Kaye. The Secret Life of Walter Mitty.’
‘Oh, marvellous!’ John was already smiling. ‘Saw it in Glasgow last week. Remember him as the British air ace? And the surgeon with the watering can? My wife and I were in stitches!’
‘It’s very popular,’ Jess told him. ‘Audiences have been almost as good as 1946 – and they were peak figures, of course.’
‘Of course.’ Still smiling, John made his way to the foyer, where Jess found him studying the photographs of the stars. Some new ones had, of course, been added: Humphrey Bogart, Robert Mitchum, Danny Kaye himself – but the old favourites were still there.
‘Clark Gable, Henry Fonda,’ John murmured. ‘Still acting, still looking good. Charles Boyer – has he been in much lately? Garbo seems to have become a recluse. Ah, but they’re the great ones, eh? No one like them.’
‘I agree!’ Jess cried, and followed John out into the sunshine.
Princes Street, on an August morning, was filled with visitors pointing out the sights, and local people, mainly women, window-shopping. Nothing new there, but John seemed to want to stand and watch the comings and goings, while Jess, watching him instead, continued to feel a nagging feeling of unease. Suddenly he swung round to look at her.
‘What do you see here, Jess? In this part of Princes Street?’
‘What do I see? Why, just the usual – the Scott monument, the gardens . . .’
‘No, no, I mean on this side of the street, where we are now.’
‘Oh.’ She looked around, wondering what on earth he could be wanting her to say. ‘Just people, then. And shops.’
‘Shops, yes, but what kind?’ He shaded his eyes with his hand and gazed at the smart facades of Jenner’s, Logie’s and Forsyth’s, three of Edinburgh’s grandest department stores. ‘Smart, wouldn’t you say? Shops for the well-to-do?’
‘Yes, at this end, they tend to be for that sort of customer.’ Jess cleared her throat. ‘But there’s Woolworth’s further to the east, isn’t there? And more middle-range stores towards the west. I think we’ve a pretty good cross-section of shopping in Princes Street, John.’
‘But nothing like Keys and Keys,’ he said quietly. ‘There’s the gap, you see.’
‘Keys and Keys? They’re an English chain, aren’t they?’
‘A very popular English chain and very keen to come to Scotland. They sell good quality, medium-priced clothes and household furnishings, and also run excellent cafes. Exactly what is needed here, wouldn’t you agree?’
‘Yes, I suppose so,’ she said
doubtfully. ‘They’re interested in Princes Street, then?’
John didn’t answer, but turned to look at the clock over the North British Hotel, then checked his watch.
‘Twelve o’clock already,’ he exclaimed. ‘How about a quick drink and a little lunch, Jess?’
‘Oh, I don’t think . . .’
‘Come on, come on, you can easily be spared, if that’s what you’re worrying about. You told Edie you’d be out for a while, didn’t you, and you can be back soon, if you like. But I need to talk to you, Jess. And in pleasant surroundings.’
Pleasant surroundings. Exactly what the North British Hotel could offer, but as far as Jess was concerned, she might as well have been in a wartime snack-bar for all the comfort she took in the elegant bar and the handsome dining room. Clearly, John was a regular client here, known to the waiters, certain of what he wanted to order, not only for himself but for Jess, too. Yet what she drank and what she ate were a complete blur, for she knew now that he had brought her here for one reason only, and it was to soften the blow of what he was going to tell her.
And what that might be, she had no idea, except that it was something to do with the English store and with herself, and not, as she had once thought, television. Had John added Keys and Keys to his list of businesses, perhaps? Might he want her to be manager? No, that was ridiculous. She’d done nothing in retail since she worked at Dobson’s so long ago. Besides, that wouldn’t be any sort of blow, and just the way John kept smiling, then sliding his eyes away from her, she knew whatever was coming her way was something terrible.
‘Now I never talk business over a meal,’ he was saying, ‘but coffee’s another matter. Let’s have it in the lounge, where there are comfortable chairs.’
‘It’s very kind of you to give me lunch,’ Jess said bravely, when they were settled, with views of Princes Street from their seats in the window and coffee on their little table. ‘But I wish you’d tell me whatever it is you want to tell me.’