The Wartime Singers

by Lesley Eames

  Blossom Town was running at Fordham’s Theatre on St Martin’s Lane. Lizzie paused outside it then took a deep breath and followed the others inside. It was another exquisitely appointed theatre and considerably bigger than the Merriment. ‘Our audience will be much smaller than this,’ she whispered, hoping to reassure Polly. Hoping to reassure Margaret and herself as well.

  ‘Everyone’s smiling too,’ she observed. ‘People come to the theatre to be entertained so they’re full of goodwill.’

  ‘That could change if the performance is bad,’ Polly said.

  ‘Let’s put all of our worries aside and enjoy the evening.’

  Polly nodded, though she still looked afraid.

  Blossom Town told the story of Cherry and Augustus. Their path to romance was difficult due to a number of misunderstandings, not least because Cherry’s friend, Sybil, also loved Augustus, and his friend, Max – played by Jack – also loved Cherry. All was well in the end, as not only did Cherry and Augustus become a couple but so did Sybil and Max.

  ‘Wasn’t that wonderful?’ Lizzie asked at the end, applauding loudly and realising she’d been so engrossed that she’d barely given a thought to bombs.

  ‘Just perfect,’ Polly agreed, her eyes shining now.

  Jack had invited them backstage so they walked around to the stage door where the doorman had been told to expect them. It was Blossom Town’s last night and a party was being held in the dressing rooms.

  Jack grinned broadly as he greeted them. ‘What did you think?’

  ‘We loved it,’ Lizzie told him.

  He looked at Polly and her smiling nod of agreement clearly pleased him deeply.

  Turning to Margaret, he raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Congratulations, Mr Lomax,’ she said. ‘I may be advanced in years but it appears I can still be pleasantly surprised.’

  ‘I’m honoured,’ he told her, then signalled to someone to bring glasses of sparkling liquid that Lizzie guessed was champagne or something like it.

  He introduced them to some of the other cast members. All were friendly. Lizzie was given a second glass of champagne and her head began to buzz rather pleasantly. But then a low, drawling voice reached her ears. ‘Jack, darling. How delicious of you to invite me to the party!’

  Lizzie turned to see a young woman standing in the doorway. She wore a black dress that fitted rather daringly to her slender figure. Her hair was dark and so were her glittering eyes, while her pouting mouth was red with lipstick. She’d arrived as Jack was talking to Polly, and Lizzie didn’t miss the jealous glare that was directed at her friend.

  ‘Amy!’ Jack moved forward to welcome her with a kiss on her cheek.’ He looked around and said, ‘Amy’s performing in Sweet Kisses.’

  Lizzie saw little sweetness in Amy but smiled politely when Jack introduced her.

  ‘Delighted,’ Amy said insincerely, then her gaze flickered over Polly who greeted her with gentle charm.

  How pretty and fresh Polly looked compared to this lizard-like creature. Lizzie moved to Polly’s side protectively but Amy simply linked arms with Jack and drew him away to talk to another performer she appeared to know.

  Jack brought her back eventually to talk about the fundraising show. There was nothing wrong with Amy’s words, but Lizzie knew instinctively that the last thing this girl wanted was to be working with Polly.

  ‘My goodness, isn’t Amy attractive?’ Polly remarked to Lizzie as they made their way home.

  ‘I suppose she is. In a brittle sort of way.’

  ‘I hope she doesn’t think we’re horribly amateur.’

  ‘Jack doesn’t think so. He’s heard us sing and it’s his opinion that matters.’

  Polly looked unconvinced but said no more.

  Lizzie was more than a little frustrated as she prepared for bed that evening. Polly and Jack couldn’t be better suited in Lizzie’s opinion, but Polly’s disappointment over Davie and lingering hope of a reconciliation with him were blinding her to other routes to happiness.

  Should Lizzie talk to Polly about it? Suggest that she should open her eyes to Jack’s admiration and give him a chance? Explain that it needn’t mean more than taking pleasure in each other’s company in an open-minded sort of way while they saw what, if anything, came of it?

  Intuition warned Lizzie against anything of the sort. The mere mention of Jack’s interest was likely to make shy Polly clam up in his presence and avoid him as much as possible.

  Patience was needed instead, but, without some sort of answering spark of interest from Polly, Jack’s patience might run out, especially as Amy and doubtless other girls would be only too pleased to walk out with him.

  Margaret’s comment on her advancing years was on Lizzie’s mind too. Margaret wasn’t old. She had years ahead of her and Lizzie wanted them to be happy years. Maybe it wouldn’t harm to write to Mr Grafton. He could simply throw the letter away if it didn’t interest him. She made several beginnings but finally settled on something short.

  Dear Mr Grafton,

  I have had the pleasure of playing a number of your songs and would like to thank you for the enjoyment they’ve given me.

  Although my name is unknown to you, I believe you may once have known my godmother, Margaret Penrose. I live with Miss Penrose in the house which has been her home for all her life and I’m pleased to report that she’s well. She teaches piano to children but also helps to entertain convalescent soldiers with musical concerts. Miss Penrose plays the piano while my friend Polly and I sing. We call ourselves The Penrose Singers and Players.

  Please forgive me if this letter is unwelcome. I simply wish to thank you for your music and give you news of someone I believe may have once been a friend.

  Yours sincerely,

  Lizzie Kellaway.

  Surely he couldn’t take offence at that? She wrote out an envelope, stamped it and took it to the pillar box the next day. But doubts ambushed her again, surrounding her like spectres warning her to leave well alone. Sighing, Lizzie dropped the envelope back into her bag and walked away. She wouldn’t send it until she was confident it was the right thing to do.

  It wasn’t until she went to bed that Lizzie had a chance to hide the letter in the drawer with Mr Grafton’s music. But the letter wasn’t in her bag. Panic swept over her as she wondered if she’d lost the letter in the house and Margaret had found it. But, no. Margaret had behaved normally all evening.

  Lizzie remembered then that she’d been walking home from the pillar box, huddled beneath an umbrella because it had started to rain, when she’d collided with a man who was huddled beneath another umbrella. The impact had caused her bag to fall to the ground. They’d both picked up the contents and stuffed them hastily back into the bag but the letter must have been missed, caught on a gust of wind perhaps and blown into the road where it would have been crushed to a wet pulp by the passing traffic.

  Lizzie’s first feeling was relief but soon she was thinking of writing a substitute letter. She even reached for paper and a pen only for the doubts to flood back. If Margaret wanted to see him again, wouldn’t she have tracked down his publisher’s address as Lizzie had done?

  Maybe. Maybe not. She might have been too hurt, or too afraid of a second rejection, or… There was a whole world of possibilities.

  Sighing, Lizzie returned the paper and pen to their drawer. She wouldn’t write again today. She might never write.

  29

  Sunday’s dress rehearsal was a disaster. Before anyone had even set foot on the stage the Tierney Tenors reported that they’d left their music behind, Galina’s Sugar Plum Fairy costume tore and the violinist fell over his own feet, twisting his ankle. Amy stroked Jack’s arm sympathetically. ‘Poor Jack.’

  ‘Terrible dress rehearsal, excellent performance when it counts,’ Jack said gamely.

  Margaret was the first to walk onto the stage and she did so like a warrior determined to preserve her dignity, even if she couldn’t win the battle. ‘When you
’re ready,’ Jack said.

  Her playing was faultless in terms of hitting the right notes but Lizzie could tell that her fingering was awkward. ‘Well done, Miss Penrose,’ Jack said when she’d finished. ‘That was marvellous.’

  Vowing not to let him down, Lizzie concentrated hard as she played her piano duet. Again, it was competent, if uninspiring, and Jack looked relieved, as though he hoped things would improve from now on.

  But they didn’t. A Tierney Tenor dropped his hat, opera singer Eduardo accidentally smacked fellow opera singer Estella in the face, and Galina complained that she couldn’t dance with pins in her dress. Lizzie caught Amy smirking at Jack. ‘Let’s show them how it’s done,’ she said, getting up like a snake unfurling its long, sinuous body.

  Her singing was good – she was a professional, after all – but there was something arch about the performance that Lizzie didn’t like, though perhaps she was confusing dislike of the performance with dislike of the girl who might wean Jack’s attention from darling Polly.

  Walking offstage, Amy aimed another smirk at Polly. ‘Good luck,’ she said, but her tone suggested that all the luck in the world wouldn’t help Polly to deliver a performance half as good as her own.

  Lizzie touched Polly’s arm reassuringly then realised the smirk had actually stiffened Polly’s backbone. She began her duet with Lizzie timidly but soon she was singing her kind and generous heart out. Lizzie couldn’t resist casting a smirk in Amy’s direction.

  ‘Oh, first rate!’ Jack declared.

  ‘Sweet,’ Amy corrected. In other words, amateur.

  But she was wrong. Polly’s soaring, silvery voice drew praise from everyone and Jack’s eyes glowed as he looked at her.

  Unfortunately, the rehearsal deteriorated into more mishaps. Forgotten lyrics, a wrong turn in a dance, an argument between the opera singers…

  Jack looked drained by the time the rehearsal limped to an end. But he rallied to thank them all for coming and repeat the comforting theory that a bad rehearsal could be followed by a breath-taking performance. ‘The important thing to remember is the reason we’re doing this. Every penny we raise will help servicemen, widows and orphans in need. That thought should inspire all of us.’

  Lizzie sat next to Polly on their return to Highbury. ‘I can’t say that I warmed to Amy,’ Lizzie said.

  ‘I can’t say I did either.’

  ‘I think she’s setting her cap at Jack. He deserves someone nicer.’

  ‘Yes,’ Polly agreed, but it didn’t seem to occur to her that the someone nicer might be her.

  Lizzie’s nudges weren’t working. The rut into which Polly’s spirits and confidence had fallen was deep but Lizzie didn’t know how to help.

  *

  ‘Goodness,’ Margaret said when Lizzie walked into the music room bearing an armful of yellow roses.

  ‘They’re from Cordelia to wish us luck tonight.’

  ‘How kind.’

  More flowers, cards and notes had come from other members of the women’s group and the families of pupils. Most precious of all were the letters Lizzie had received from Harry and Matt. Both men wished her luck and seemed to have every faith in her.

  The girl who stepped out of the rubble of a bomb site with such self-possession has deep reserve of courage, Harry wrote. A show can’t be more frightening than that.

  Matt wrote in a similar vein. The girl who ran away from home all alone on a dark winter’s night can manage a theatre performance with aplomb, especially when she’s doing it to help people in need.

  Lizzie hoped desperately that she wouldn’t let everyone down.

  The day dragged slowly despite teaching and a visit to the shops. Each time Lizzie glanced at the clock her stomach clenched as she calculated how many hours remained before the show would begin. Ten hours, nine hours…

  Polly joined them for an early supper though none of them ate much. Lizzie supposed Margaret and Polly were trying to hide their nerves just as Lizzie was trying to hide hers.

  Arriving at the theatre – Lizzie resolutely thrusting all thoughts of bombs from her mind – they found more flowers in the dressing room. These flowers bore a card from Jack which said, Thank you for giving your time and talent tonight. I won’t say good luck as that’s actually an unlucky thing to say in a theatre so I’ll say break a leg instead. I don’t mean it literally, of course. Jack x

  When the performance began Lizzie had a heart-in-mouth moment as Margaret walked onto the stage only to sit at the piano as though frozen with terror. But she was only steadying herself. Soon her fingers were flying over the keys and sending notes of pure beauty into the air. She’d never played better and it set the tone for the evening with everyone rising to the occasion to perform very well indeed.

  ‘Each and every one of you is the star of this show so we’ll take our bows in the order of the programme then we’ll all bow together,’ Jack had said.

  It meant Margaret went on first and Lizzie was thrilled to see that rare flush of pleasure rise to her godmother’s cheeks at the reception she was given. Lizzie was also delighted when the audience clapped and cheered Polly at least as much – probably more – than Amy. Polly was overcome. ‘The audience is so kind!’ she said.

  ‘They know good singing when they hear it,’ Lizzie told her.

  Backstage, it was time to celebrate in the dressing rooms and the corridor that connected them. Cordelia had sent champagne and old Mrs Bishop had sent a bottle of gin with a note saying, Enjoy a proper drink instead of that fizzy nonsense. More drinks had been provided by Jack and the theatre manager, Charlie Sparrow.

  He was a round but sleek man in his forties, smartly dressed in black evening wear and holding a cigar in a way that suggested he was rarely without a cigar, even if it wasn’t always lit. ‘I reckon you can say I’m pleased,’ he said. ‘We’ve raised more than three hundred pounds for the people we want to help. The theatre hasn’t done badly either, as we’ve sold tickets for our regular shows and had a decent amount of publicity. If young Jack here wants to put on another charity night, I reckon I’m agreeable.’

  Jack took Lizzie, Polly and Margaret aside before they left for home. ‘I have a singing engagement in Brighton coming up, so I’ll be away from London for a while. Might I take you all to dinner before I leave? As a thank you for tonight?’

  ‘You’ve thanked us enough,’ Lizzie told him. ‘Why don’t you come to us for a home-cooked dinner instead?’

  Lizzie was concerned he might spend more than he could afford after being so generous with the flowers and drinks. It also occurred to her that there might be more chance to throw him together with Polly at home.

  ‘I won’t be any trouble?’ he asked.

  ‘None at all.’

  ‘Jack!’ It was Amy, thin lips pouting but eyes suspicious.

  ‘Coming!’ Jack settled on a date for the dinner then went to her.

  *

  Lizzie managed to give Jack ten minutes alone with Polly in the music room when he came to dinner, but it did no good. Lizzie returned from the kitchen after checking on the food she was cooking to find Polly talking to Jack as though he was her brother instead of a handsome young man who was clearly sweet on her.

  ‘Dinner’s ready,’ Lizzie announced.

  They moved into the dining-room where Margaret was trying to open a bottle of wine. Lizzie took it from her before disaster struck. It had been a dangerous move to ask Margaret to open wine, but Lizzie had needed an excuse to draw her away.

  ‘Are you looking forward to your Brighton engagement?’ Lizzie asked as they ate the chicken pie she’d made, stuffed full of vegetables to make it go further.

  ‘I am,’ Jack said. He went on to tell them about the show. It was called A Rhapsody of Roses and Jack was taking the lead role of Valentine Jones. ‘We’ll be running for eight weeks.’

  ‘It must feel good to be settled for a while,’ Polly said.

  Jack looked at her as though searching for a sign tha
t his absence would cost her a pang.

  ‘I’ll miss London,’ he said. ‘I’ll miss all of you.’

  ‘We’ll miss you too,’ Polly said, but once again he could have been her brother.

  ‘Have the other performers from our show got work?’ Lizzie wondered then. She was thinking of Amy and hoping the lizard-like girl wouldn’t be joining Jack in Brighton.

  They all had work and Lizzie was pleased to hear that Amy would be continuing with her current show, fifty miles away from Jack. Lizzie would have preferred her to be a hundred and fifty miles from him, but fifty miles were better than nothing.

  ‘You’ll write to let us know how you’re getting on?’ Lizzie said.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Perhaps you could send us a postcard?’ Polly asked. ‘I’ve never had a postcard from the seaside.’

  ‘Certainly.’ Jack looked at her with a tenderness that suggested he’d give her the world if she wanted it.

  Polly gave no sign of noticing.

  Open your eyes, Lizzie wanted to shout. Instead she asked Jack, ‘Are you still hoping to organise another charity concert?’

  ‘I am. I’ve spoken to Charlie Sparrow and we’re thinking of November or December. It won’t be possible before then because of my Brighton engagement. I hope you’re not having second thoughts about taking part?’

  ‘Not at all,’ Polly assured him. ‘The money we raise will make such a difference to people’s lives and it’ll be fun too. Terrifying, but fun.’

  At the end of the evening Jack cast a wistful look at Polly, but how long would it be before he gave up on her? Amy might be working in London, but she could travel to Brighton by train and be back in time for an evening performance. Or Jack’s eye might be caught by a girl in his new show.

  Several days passed before Lizzie saw Polly again. ‘Life feels quiet now the fundraiser is over,’ Lizzie said.

  ‘Mmm,’ Polly agreed.

  Her mood seemed flat today. Was she was feeling Jack’s absence? Lizzie could only hope so.