The Penny Bangle

by Margaret James

  ‘The girls I mess with are all right,’ she wrote to Frances. ‘There are lots of them from the big cities, and most grew up in little terraced cottages, like me. The drivers are all nobs, though. They drove Daddy’s car before the war, and Daddy’s chauffeur taught most of them to drive.

  ‘But they’re very interested in Rob, and it’s all round the barracks that he met me at the station, walked me here, and then cleared off into the night.

  ‘I’ve told them all he’s Daisy Denham’s brother. So he’d better introduce us, and I’d better get her autograph, or else my name here will be mud.’

  She didn’t manage to get any leave. But then, she thought, she’d only just been posted, and she couldn’t expect it. All the same, she wished and wished and wished she could see Robert, hug him, kiss him, talk to him, and feel the warmth of him.

  But her other self insisted it was best she didn’t, that nothing but hurt could come of it, that men like Robert Denham never meant what they said to girls like Cassie.

  She had a few days’ training, driving and stripping down the engines of the big black staff cars in which the senior officers got ferried round the country.

  Then she was given her first job, taking a visiting colonel back to London, and bringing a brigadier to Aldershot the following morning, staying in a requisitioned billet overnight.

  This could be her chance. She asked if she could spend the night with her mother’s cousin who lived in Hammersmith, a place she’d heard of through the other drivers, and knew was part of London.

  She was informed she could, provided she left the car itself in an army garage in Piccadilly, and was there herself at nine o’clock the following morning.

  ‘So that would be perfect, if you could come to meet me. If you aren’t too busy, or canoodling with other birds,’ she wrote to Robert.

  ‘All the birds are hiding in the bushes, so I suppose I must make do with you,’ said Robert’s postcard and, instead of being offended, Cassie found she was elated.

  ‘This is stupid,’ said her other self, as she washed her underwear in Lux flakes stolen from a driver who was off on leave, and as another girl, who had been a hairdresser in Civvy Street, Amami-waved her hair.

  As she showered herself with someone else’s Coty L’Aimant talc, and as she practised painting a perfect Cupid’s bow with the hut corporal’s lipstick, she told herself she was a fool.

  Shut up, shut up, she told this other self.

  On the morning she was going to London, she was up and smartly turned out hours before she had to leave, impressing both the visiting colonel and her own CO.

  ‘Your first time in London, I believe. I hope you know the way?’ the colonel asked as she saluted and as he stared at her legs.

  ‘I have directions, sir,’ she said politely.

  ‘Then let’s hope you can follow them.’

  Cassie held the door open and the colonel got into the car. She put on her brand new driving gloves and then they drove away.

  To her relief, the whole thing was a doddle. There was hardly any other traffic on the roads, and the colonel dozed most of the way, so she could concentrate on driving. Although the road signs had been taken down, she soon discovered the directions she’d been given were all excellent. She didn’t lose her way.

  The London traffic was a challenge, but she found most other vehicles gave way to the Humber, waving her through at junctions, and waiting patiently on the rare occasions that she stalled.

  She dropped the colonel off at his HQ in Oxford Street, drove the big black car to Piccadilly, found the army garage down a side street, then walked to the Lyon’s Corner House where Robert had suggested they could meet, and there she saw – the twins.

  She hadn’t expected it to be the twins.

  But, as she thought about it, she realised Robert would want to see his brother before he went away. She felt mean and cruel for wishing Stephen wasn’t there, especially when his face lit up as she walked up to them.

  ‘Just look at you!’ cried Stephen, who now jumped up and kissed her on the cheek, and then stood back to stare, amazed. ‘Gosh, don’t you look smart! You’ve filled out, as well. I honestly wouldn’t recognise the skinny little urchin who turned up at the cottage – when was it, Rob? Six months ago?’

  ‘At least.’

  Then Robert smiled at Cassie, and her heart turned somersaults of joy. ‘Come and sit down,’ he added, standing up and pulling out a chair. ‘Miss, may we have more coffee, and another plate of cakes?’ he asked a passing waitress, who blushed and grinned at him.

  ‘How are you getting on?’ asked Stephen.

  ‘Oh, I’m doing fine.’ Cassie took a cake, a sorry-looking yellow thing, piped with ersatz cream and blobbed with runny, scarlet jam. ‘I’ve passed lots of tests, and now I’m driving lorries, jeeps and staff cars.’

  ‘You’re a marvel, aren’t you?’ Robert shook his head. ‘You learned to drive in what was it, a fortnight?’

  ‘It was three days, to be exact,’ said Cassie carelessly, as she licked the jam off her cream cake.

  ‘That’s even more astonishing, and now they’re letting you drive the army’s most expensive vehicles into London.’ Robert picked up another cake himself. ‘You didn’t have any little prangs?’ he added, grinning wickedly.

  ‘No, I did not!’

  ‘Put in a request to come to London, and then you can drive me,’ suggested Stephen. ‘Since I got my head bashed in and go doolally sometimes, they won’t let me drive myself.’

  ‘I saw her first,’ said Robert, as he draped one arm round Cassie’s shoulders. ‘When I’m a colonel, Steve, she’s going to drive me.’

  ‘We’ll toss for it,’ said Stephen. ‘We – ’

  ‘Shut up, Steve,’ said Robert, ‘and have another cake.’

  They drank their coffee, ate their cakes, then Robert said it was time to go and see Daze, who was expecting them for dinner.

  Dinner?

  Cassie’s heart began to pound. This is where I muck it up, she thought. She was all right, sitting in a café with the twins, with lots of other, ordinary people. But now, she was going to meet their famous sister, and she would be out of her depth, she knew it.

  She should not have come. She didn’t know how to behave with nobs. She wouldn’t like nob food. She wouldn’t know which fork to use for what. She knew she’d be so nervous that half her dinner would end up in her lap, and there would be loads of stuck-up servants who would sneer.

  But Rob and Steve were getting up and putting on their hats. They linked their arms through hers, they took her into custody, and then they marched her off to meet her doom.

  They soon reached a smart apartment building in Park Lane, sandbagged and heavily pock-marked from the effects of bombing, but an impressive mansion all the same.

  They went inside and up some marble stairs.

  When they rang the bell to the apartment, some old butler – or Cassie supposed the bloke must be a butler, since he was all dressed up like Charlie Chaplin in striped trousers and a tail coat – came to the door at once.

  ‘Good afternoon, Mr Denham,’ he began, ‘and Mr Denham, too. Miss Denham is expecting you.’

  ‘Hello, Mr Reeves. Come on then, Cass,’ said Robert, taking Cassie’s hand and pulling her inside the flat.

  The butler took their hats and gloves, then led them to a vast and handsome sitting room, done out in pale wood, with a huge Turkey carpet on the floor. A pretty, fair-haired woman was sitting by the window, writing at a little desk.

  ‘Hello, Daze.’ Still holding Cassie’s hand, Robert strode across the room, kissed his sister briefly on the cheek, then slumped on to a sofa, dragging Cassie down beside him. ‘This is Cassie, Daze. She used to work for Mum at Melbury, but now she’s in the ATS.’

  ‘Good afternoon, Miss Denham.’ Cassie struggled to her feet again, went over to Miss Denham, and held out her right hand.

  ‘Good afternoon.’ Miss Denham shook Cassie’s proffered hand,
and smiled at her politely. ‘It’s Daisy, please,’ she said.

  ‘Where’s Fraser?’ Stephen asked his sister.

  ‘Oh, he’s got a special matinee, but he’ll be here for dinner,’ said Daisy Denham calmly. ‘Then I thought we’d all go to a club.’

  Daisy stood up then and smoothed her smart tweed skirt, which Cassie could see had cost a lot of money. It fitted to perfection, and didn’t sag at the back or round her knees. ‘Cassie, do you like to dance?’ she asked.

  ‘I – er – yes, I love it,’ faltered Cassie.

  ‘Then you must dance with Ewan.’ Daisy ruffled Robert’s hair. ‘Poor Ewan, he was hopeless when he was Robert’s age, but now he’s wonderful. So he’ll be a better partner for you than this awkward lump.’

  Robert made a face at Daisy.

  Stephen helped himself to whisky from a glass decanter.

  Robert put his feet up on the sofa, then told Stephen to pour him a whisky, too.

  Cassie stood and stared.

  ‘I expect you’d like to make yourself respectable?’ said Daisy suddenly.

  ‘Sorry?’ Cassie jumped and thought, what’s wrong with me – have I got something down my front, or have I smudged my lipstick?

  But Daisy was already at the door, so Cassie followed her along a passage to the most gorgeous and luxurious bedroom she could have imagined, frilled and draped like something in a film.

  ‘I do hope you’ll be comfortable,’ said Daisy, opening another door. ‘Just through here’s a shower, but if you wish to have a proper bath, the bathroom’s down the passage.’

  ‘It – it’s all lovely, thanks.’ Cassie put down her shoulder bag and gazed out of the window at a beautiful green park, which was these days one enormous vegetable patch, but made a pleasant outlook, all the same.

  She hadn’t known real people lived like this.

  She had a wash in the luxurious shower room, marvelling at its golden dolphin taps and giant seashell of a porcelain basin. Then she put on more lipstick, combed her hair, and went to make a fool of herself at dinner.

  But dinner didn’t turn out to be so bad.

  Daisy’s famous film star husband hadn’t yet appeared and, to Cassie’s great relief, the food was recognisable as standard meat and vegetables – it wasn’t something strange. Also, you could help yourself – you didn’t get it dumped on to your plate.

  There was just one servant, a woman dressed in black. She put all the dishes on the sideboard in the dining room, and then she disappeared. She’d had to go on fire-watching duty, Daisy said.

  The butler had gone fire-watching too.

  Robert and Stephen filled their plates, and Daisy talked and ate at the same time. No one seemed to care which fork you used.

  Daisy had changed for dinner. She was looking beautiful, in a low-cut, dark red satin dress – far too posh for eating a bit of dinner in, thought Cassie. But Daisy was an actress, so perhaps she was allowed?

  Then they heard the front door slam, and Daisy’s husband walked into the room.

  ‘Och, here’s Macbeth at last,’ said Stephen, grinning like a monkey and spitting out some crumbs.

  ‘Hello, Ewan darling.’ Daisy kissed the man, and he kissed Daisy, and Stephen made a face. ‘Good matinee? I’m afraid the brats have come to cadge some dinner. But at least they’ve brought their pretty friend.’

  Daisy’s famous husband, Ewan Fraser, whom Cassie had had a great big crush on since she was sixteen, turned out to be very nice, and very natural as well – not at all stuck up. He had bright red hair, a Scottish accent, and he smoked all through dinner, stubbing out his fag ends on his plate.

  He too talked with his mouth full, telling them about his matinee, saying they’d had a decent house, whatever that might mean, and that some woman called Lizzie was divorcing Richard, and that Ewan wasn’t surprised, because poor old Richard was a drunkard and a fool.

  ‘Aye, the demon drink,’ said Ewan, and shook his chestnut head. ‘It’s been the ruin of many a puir wee man.’

  ‘God, you’re such a Presbyterian hypocrite,’ Stephen told him, knocking back some more of Ewan’s whisky. ‘You’re always going on about – ’

  But he didn’t finish, because now Ewan quelled him with a flash of his green eyes – the look which had the bad guys shivering and shaking in his films, and now shut Stephen up as well.

  Ewan wasn’t anything like the English toffs and nobs he often played in films. He talked so posh in films, and he must wear a wig in them, thought Cassie, or he must dye his hair.

  ‘So, where do you come from, Cassie?’ Ewan asked, his eyes still twinkling bright.

  ‘Birmingham,’ said Cassie, thinking blimey, can’t you tell?

  ‘I was once in rep in Birmingham,’ said Ewan, blowing a perfect smoke ring. ‘A filthy, dirty place it is, canals and smut and smoke and factories, as I recall. How did it manage to produce a bonny lass like you? I remember, back in ’36 – ’

  ‘Oh Jesus Christ, he’s off again – when I played with Noel Coward, when I kissed Vivien Leigh,’ groaned Robert, helping himself to pudding, and putting the serving spoon down on the cloth.

  ‘Where are we going tonight, Daze?’ Stephen asked.

  ‘We’ll get a taxi to the Florida, but if no one interesting is there, we’ll go to the 400,’ Daisy told him.

  ‘But Cassie hasn’t got a frock,’ said Robert.

  ‘I could go in uniform, don’t worry,’ said Cassie hurriedly, for she was scared of being left behind.

  ‘I think we ought to find you something, dress you up a bit,’ said Daisy, standing up and holding out her hand. ‘Come on, I must have something that will fit you. I know – there’s my violet calf-length tulle. It will be full-length on you. The colour will match your eyes.

  ‘Robert and Steve,’ she added briskly, ‘Mrs Jimp’s not here, so you two do the washing up.’

  ‘What, just us?’ said Stephen.

  ‘Why can’t Fraser help?’ demanded Robert.

  ‘Because he pays for everything, you’re a pair of parasites, and you’ve drunk all his whisky.’ Daisy narrowed her eyes at both the twins. ‘Come on, brats, jump to it.’

  ‘Aye,’ said Ewan, leaning back and lighting up again. ‘Off you go now, boys – do as your sister tells you.’

  Grumbling, Robert and Stephen began to clear away.

  Cassie looked at herself in the glass and didn’t believe her eyes. She looked so lovely, so sophisticated. She looked like a lady – like a toff, in fact – not like a Brummie slum kid from a street behind a tannery.

  Daisy had zipped her into the blue dress, pulling it in under her bust, pinning and tacking to make it fit her like a second skin. She’d done Cassie’s face and hair, painted her mouth and nails bright scarlet, and she’d found a pair of lovely high-heeled silver slippers, which she’d stuffed with cotton wool to make them fit her guest’s small feet.

  ‘I feel like Cinderella,’ whispered Cassie, goggling at the amazing transformation in the dressing table mirror.

  ‘You look very sweet.’ Daisy surveyed her handiwork. ‘You have good bones, your posture’s excellent, and you have lovely eyes. If you wore your hair a little longer – you could put it up while you’re on duty – and used a bit more make-up, you’d always look divine.’

  Cassie blushed and looked down at her scarlet-varnished nails. ‘It’s very kind of you to dress me up,’ she said. ‘I mean, someone like you. I wouldn’t expect it. I – ’

  ‘Someone like me?’ repeated Daisy, frowning. Then she realised what Cassie meant, and laughed. ‘Oh, you’ve got it wrong, love. I’m no lady. I’m a Cockney. I was born in Bethnal Green.’

  ‘But I don’t understand,’ said Cassie, puzzled. ‘You’re Robert’s sister, aren’t you?’

  ‘I’m adopted.’ Daisy took Cassie’s hand and helped her up. ‘My mother wasn’t married, and Mr and Mrs Denham took me in. Phoebe – she’s my natural mother – she went to America when I was just a baby, and she lives in New York
City now. I see her often, or at least I did, before the war. So Phoebe is my mother, but darling Rose will always be my mum.’

  ‘How did you come to be an actress?’

  ‘I’d always liked to sing and dance, and I was a proper little show-off when I was a child. I wanted everyone to look at me! When we left India and went to live in Dorset, I nagged and bullied Rose until she let me join a down-at-heel provincial theatre company, when I was fifteen.’

  Daisy smiled and shook her head. ‘Poor Rose and Alex. I was such a horrid brat, but they’ve always been the best of parents. Come along now, darling. We must go and show you to the boys.’

  ‘Cass, you look unbelievable,’ said Robert.

  ‘You’re like a princess in a fairy tale.’ Stephen spun her round and made her billowing skirts fly out in clouds of gossamer and gauze. ‘It never ceases to amaze me, how you girls can change your faces.’

  ‘But I don’t look all that different, do I?’ Cassie asked them, anxious now.

  ‘No, just much more beautiful,’ said Ewan gallantly.

  ‘Well, that’s all thanks to Daisy, because she did my make-up.’

  ‘Of course, old Daze knows all the tricks.’ Robert picked up the evening wrap his sister had found for Cassie to borrow and put it round her shoulders. ‘You smell delicious, too.’

  ‘It’s Arpège by Lanvin,’ Daisy told him.

  ‘I didn’t think it was Vim,’ said Robert, grinning. ‘Let’s go and show you off.’

  ‘Stephen, love,’ said Daisy, ‘could you go and find a taxi?’

  In the taxi, everyone was crammed up close together, and Cassie let herself dream for a moment, to imagine these good-looking, generous people were her real family.

  The twins teased Daisy for a while, then made sarcastic comments about Ewan’s latest film. This was some Elizabethan costume drama in which he had had to wear a velvet doublet, a codpiece and silk stockings.

  ‘At least he has the legs for stockings,’ Daisy told them, sticking up for Ewan.

  ‘Yes,’ said Stephen, grinning. ‘The world will be a better place for seeing Fraser’s knees.’

  Ewan shook his head and lit an expensive-looking black cigar, glancing briefly at the twins as if they were a couple of scruffy little kids he’d caught stealing apples but couldn’t be bothered to clip around the ears.