The bandleader instructed the band and Margaret moved nearer to the microphone. Hardly able to contain the excitement she felt, she looked out into the audience, and they began to applaud. She hadn’t even started to sing and they were clapping. She was so excited she wanted to clap too. She found Nancy’s smiling face in the darkness. She was clapping enthusiastically. Margaret took a breath to calm her nerves and smiled back. Then she turned to the bandleader, her heart beating so loudly in her chest she thought the microphone would pick up the rhythm, and she nodded. The band began to play; she began to sing.
When the song came to an end, the bandleader joined her. ‘Miss Margot Dudley, ladies and gentlemen,’ he said. And while he and the audience clapped, Margaret took a bow.
‘Thank you, Miss Dudley.’ The bandleader proffered his arm and Margaret, beaming, took it and allowed him to help her from the small stage. Once on the dance floor the bandleader bowed, and then stepped back onto the stage.
Margaret looked around. The band had begun to play, but people were still applauding her. She tried to smile, but the muscles in her face were paralysed. She peered into the darkness and saw Salvatore walking towards her. She put out a shaking hand. ‘Salvatore, thank goodness,’ she said, resting her hand on his arm. ‘I feel all wobbly. My legs are like jelly.’
Salvatore laughed. ‘You were wonderful, Margaret. Listen to the applause. They love you.’
‘Do they? Was I? I don’t remember,’ she said shakily.
‘Hold tight, Margaret,’ Salvatore said. ‘Or should I call you Margot?’
As she turned to answer him someone shouted, ‘Lovely song, Margot.’ Someone else called, ‘Nice to see you, Miss Dudley.’ And a third, ‘Hope we see you again, Margot.’
‘Margot!’ she said, smiling up at Salvatore. ‘Call me Margot!’
As she arrived at the table the girls stood up, lifted their glasses, and shouted, ‘To Margot!’
Margot dropped into her chair and George poured her a glass of wine. ‘I don’t how I dared do that,’ she said, taking a sip.
‘You were a hit, Margot,’ Salvatore said. ‘Would you like to do a spot every Thursday night around this time?’
Margot didn’t reply, but stood open-mouthed.
‘A couple of numbers for… shall we say, £10?’
Wondering whether the jumble of words in the back of her throat would ever find their way into her mouth, Margot nodded.
‘She’d love to,’ Betsy and George said together.
‘Yes!’ Margot gasped finally. ‘This could be my big break!’ she squealed. ‘Oh my God!’ She looked at Nancy. ‘I’ve completely forgotten about Bill. What on earth is he going to say?’
‘He’ll be proud of you,’ Nancy said, and everyone agreed. Margot wasn’t so sure.
‘More importantly,’ Betsy said, ‘how are you going to get out of the theatre?’
‘Oh! I hadn’t thought… I-- I can’t, can I?’
George nudged Betsy, and then tapped Margot on her arm. ‘We’ll think of something,’ she whispered. ‘We’ll get Salvatore to arrange for your spot to be in our second act. That’ll give you plenty of time to get here, do two songs, and get back to the theatre before the curtain comes down. Easy!’
‘Easy?’ Margot screwed up her face. ‘I don’t think it’ll be easy, but I’ll do it!’
Margot walked the route from the Prince Albert Theatre to the Prince Albert Club a dozen times – and the longest it took was ten minutes. She reasoned that it would take five minutes to get out of the theatre, ten to get to the club, five to change into an evening dress, five hanging about, and ten to do the two songs. Then ten minutes to walk back to the theatre, and five to change back into her usherette uniform. A total of fifty minutes. It was tight, but she was determined to do it.
On the first Thursday night, as the curtain rose for the second act, Margot checked her section of the audience. Every seat was taken. Before the stage lights came up, she side-stepped behind the curtains at the exit and, in one movement, slipped through the door. She nipped to the staffroom and picked up a large bag containing her handbag, gasmask, dress and shoes. Seconds later she was through the pass-door leading from front of house to the backstage area and walking unseen along the passage behind the stage. So far, so good.
The door to the stage door area stood ajar. Margot peered through it. Bert was in his office, reading the Evening Standard. Keeping her head down she tiptoed though the door. Suddenly she heard what sounded like a chair scraping on the floor. She froze. She stood up straight and looked into Bert’s office again. He had his back to her and was putting something into the top drawer of a chest of six. Like lightning she dashed through the blackout curtain and out of the stage door.
Quickly she walked the length of Maiden Lane, turned into Southampton Street and zigzagged through the narrow streets of Covent Garden to Long Acre and the Prince Albert Club. She looked at her wristwatch. It had taken exactly ten minutes. After giving her coat to the cloakroom girl Margot popped into the ladies’ toilet, took off her skirt, blouse, and shoes, and put on a black velvet evening gown that Goldie had worn in one of last season’s shows and a pair of black patent leather court shoes. The dress fitted as if it had been made for her – the shoes too. Checking her hair in the mirror, she was pleased to see it looked the same as it had before she left the theatre. The setting lotion she’d used to secure the finger waves was so strong there wasn’t a hair out of place. She wasn’t able to put a comb through it and decided to use less next time. After putting on lipstick, Margot smoothed the skirt of the gown over her hips and left the ladies’ for the club.
‘It’s lovely to see you, Margot,’ Salvatore said. ‘Are you ready to sing for us?’
‘Oh yes,’ Margot said. ‘I can’t wait.’
Salvatore took her by the hand and led her though the tables in the crowded restaurant to the stage.
The bandleader put out his hand to help Margot onto the stage and whispered, ‘Did you learn the songs?’
‘Of course!’
He gave her hand an encouraging squeeze. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Miss Margot Dudley.’ When the audience had finished clapping he continued, ‘She is going to sing “Cheek To Cheek” from the film Top Hat, followed by “I'll See You Again” from the musical Bitter Sweet.’ The bandleader bowed to Margot and she moved to the microphone. It was bigger than she remembered and when she stood behind it, it covered her face. She moved to the left, and then the right. That was it. Comfortable with her position she looked over her shoulder at the bandleader. He gave her an encouraging wink before nodding to the band.
Margot’s stomach was churning. She thought she was going to be sick. Her throat felt dry, but there was nothing she could do about it. She looked into the audience and imagined it was Nancy, George and Betsy clapping – and she smiled. As the band struck the first chords of “Cheek To Cheek” Margot planted her feet firmly six inches apart in an attempt to stop her legs from shaking. It worked. She smiled again, leant into the microphone and on cue began to sing…
At the end of the song the audience applauded long and loud. Margot thought her heart would explode in her chest, she was so happy. She mouthed ‘Thank you!’ so many times her jaw ached. She daren’t look at her wristwatch but she knew if they didn’t stop clapping soon she would be late getting back to the theatre. She turned to the bandleader and nodded that she was ready to sing the second number. Again she looked into the audience. This time she wasn’t nervous. This time her smile was open and bright, and her eyes were alight with excitement. As the band began to play, Margot reached out to the audience with every fibre of her being as she sang Noel Coward’s “I'll See You Again”. As she finished singing Salvatore appeared out of the darkness. She turned and bowed to the bandleader, and then to the band, before allowing Salvatore to help her from the stage.
‘Thank you. I’m a bit worried about the time,’ she whispered. Salvatore smiled as he guided her through the tables. After t
hanking people for their kind words and assuring them she would be back next week, Margot said goodbye to Salvatore, thanked the cloakroom girl – who was standing at the door holding the bag containing Margot’s own clothes – and left.
On the way back to the theatre, Margot relived every second of her performance at the club. She hummed the songs, stopping once and twirling in front of a shop window. She couldn’t see her reflection because there wasn’t a moon, but she didn’t care. Giving the sandbags outside the church a wide berth, she danced along Maiden Lane until she arrived at the stage door. Then, after inhaling and exhaling deeply to calm herself, she slowly turned the doorknob. Once inside she stood behind the blackout curtain and quietly closed the door.
Carefully she pushed the curtain to the side. Bert wasn’t in his office. She crossed quickly and quietly to the passage behind the stage. The orchestra was playing the lead-in to the finale. Margot sighed with relief. Everyone was on stage. She ran along the passage and was through the door leading to front of house in seconds. In the staff room she took off her coat and dress. After hanging up the coat she folded the dress, put it in her bag with her shoes and pushed it under the chair. She then put on her skirt, blouse, and tabard. Glancing in the mirror she saw that her hair hadn’t moved. Definitely less wave lotion next time, she thought, and she giggled. And there was going to be a next time. “See you at the same time next week?” Salvatore had said when she left.
Seconds later Margot was in the auditorium and, noticed by only one old lady as she wiped off her lipstick, she slipped into her usherette’s seat.
She had an overwhelming urge to scream with happiness. She didn’t.
CHAPTER SIX
Margot no longer felt anxious leaving the Prince Albert Club. After six weeks, she not only made it back to the theatre before the final curtain, she was often in her seat for the finale. Margot laughed out loud. When she first started doing a spot at the club, she would run back to the theatre in a panic and spend the rest of the night and most of the following day feeling guilty. Now she only felt the thrill of it. She loved the excitement and the danger.
As she entered Southampton Street Margot heard the drone of low flying aircraft followed by the air raid siren. She looked up. The sky on the other side of the river glowed orange and red. The East End was under attack for the ninth night in a row. The rumble and crump of German bombs sounded louder tonight, and nearer. Standing in the shadows, Margot watched as searchlights, their beams crisscrossing in the night sky, illuminated half a dozen heavily-armed Messerschmitts. Directly above her one minute, they went into a dive, off-loading their bombs on the docks. Suddenly the familiar winding sound of the siren in Green Park started up, followed by the ear-shattering cracking sound as streams of bullets were fired into the sky. With an almighty roar the Messerschmitts broke formation, flying off to the left and the right to avoid the anti-aircraft guns. Margot began to run.
‘Hey you!’ someone shouted. Then she heard the shrill blast of a whistle. ‘This way!’
‘I’ve got to get to work,’ Margot shouted over her shoulder to an ARP warden who had given chase.
‘Not tonight you’re not,’ he said, catching up with her. He pointed across the road to the entrance of Aldwych underground station. ‘Come on!’
‘You don’t understand. I’m late,’ Margot said.
‘And you’ll be dead if a bomb drops on you. Now move along!’ he ordered.
Margot had no choice but to join the queue of people leaving the Aldwych and Lyceum theatres. She looked at her watch. The safety curtain would have come down at the Albert by now and Anton would soon be addressing the audience, if he hadn’t done so already. It was too late for a sing-song; the usherettes would be showing the audience to the exits. An unpleasant taste rose from Margot’s stomach and stuck in her throat. She wanted to be sick. Tears of anger and frustration ran down her cheeks. She was in trouble.
The entrance of Aldwych underground station was crammed full. ARP men were trying to control the crowd by blowing their whistles while station employees were shouting for people to make their way down to the platforms. Allowing people to push past her, Margot shuffled on the spot, looking all the time for a way to escape. Once downstairs on the platform she would be stuck there all night. The thought of Bill thinking she was trapped in a raid, dead even, almost outweighed the fear of a ticking off from Miss Lesley. A ticking off? If only. Tears began to fall again. The repercussions of-- ‘Hey! Watch what you’re doing!’ Margot shouted, as a boy of about ten bumped into her.
‘Sorry Missus,’ he said, his hand on her handbag, pretending to steady himself.
‘You’re on the pinch, you little devil. I’m going to call the police.’
‘I ain't, missus, ‘onest I ain’t. Please don’t call the Rozzers.’
Holding his false but pleading stare, Margot had an idea. ‘All right,’ she said, ‘but if I don’t call them--’ Before she had finished speaking the boy, eyes darting this way and that, turned as if to run. Margot grabbed the threadbare collar of his jacket and yanked him back. ‘How would you like to earn a shilling?’
The boy shrugged her off and wiped the cuff of his sleeve across his nose. ‘Say I would,’ he said, squinting at her as if he was sizing her up. ‘What would I ‘ave to do?’
‘Get me out of here.’
‘That’s easy, follow me. I’ll say as you’re me mam and your proper poorly, so I’m taking ya to the ‘ospital.’
If she hadn’t been so desperate to get out of there, Margot would have laughed. By the way they were dressed, no one would have believed they were related, let alone mother and son. However, the scruffy urchin was her only hope and she wasn’t about to offend him. ‘Good idea, but the ARP warden at the entrance knows me. As soon as he sees me he’ll stop me.’
A feral grin crept across the boy’s face. ‘I’ve got another idea, but it’ll cost you two bob. The ARP bloke knows me too.’
‘Go on then,’ Margot said, ‘but be quick, I’m in a hurry.’
‘Not till I’ve got me money,’ the ragamuffin said, holding out his hand.
Margot gave the boy two shillings and, pretending to move along with the rest of the crowd, waited.
‘Oi!’ she heard the ARP warden shout. ‘Stop that child. The little bugger’s swiped my whistle.’
As the ARP warden chased after Margot’s scruffy little partner in crime one way, Margot slipped out of the underground station the other – and fled.
As she burst through the stage door, Margot’s lungs felt as if they were on fire. She leant forward and, with her hands on her thighs, took several deep breaths.
‘Miss Lesley’s looking for you, Miss.’
Still breathless, Margot choked back the tears. ‘I’m in trouble, aren’t I, Bert?’
‘I’m afraid so. She asked me to tell you to go to her office when you got back from-- wherever it is you’ve been.’
‘Thanks, I’d better…’ Margot forced a smile, left the backstage area and walked along the passage behind the stage. It was deserted. She sighed and whispered, ‘Thank God.’ She was dreading bumping into someone from stage management. It would be bad enough having to face the other usherettes. Margot stood outside the staff room for some seconds. Finally she plucked up the courage and opened the door. The small room was empty.
Once inside, Margot closed the door and let the tears flow. She took off her coat and hung it up. Then she stepped out of the beautiful gold sequin evening gown that Betsy had ‘borrowed’ for her from the wardrobe store. She put on her black skirt and white blouse and looked in the mirror. Her hair looked fine, but her makeup had all but been cried off. She took a handkerchief from her handbag, spat on it, and gently rubbed the mascara that had been washed from her eyelashes to her cheeks. She didn’t look much better, but she didn’t care.
After putting on her usherette’s tabard, Margot left the room. Her legs felt like marshmallows, but she held her head up and set off along the corridor at a pace
. By the time she arrived at Miss Lesley’s office any confidence that she had mustered had gone. Forcing herself not to cry again, Margot lifted her hand and made a fist to knock. However, before her knuckles met the wood the door opened.
‘Come in, Margaret.’
Margot followed Miss Lesley into her office and closed the door. Standing in front of the large desk, she clasped her hands so tightly behind her back that her nails dug into her palms.
‘I think you know why I have asked you to come and see me?’ Margot nodded, but didn’t speak. ‘I’ve been told by a reliable source that you’ve been leaving the theatre during the second act to sing in a nightclub in Soho.’
‘Soho? Who told you--?’
‘Please don’t interrupt, Margaret. Or should I call you Margot?’
Margot opened her mouth again, but shut it quickly when she realised Miss Lesley didn’t actually want an answer.
‘And,’ she went on, ‘you return to the theatre, to your job as an usherette, just before the end of the show?’ Margot didn’t say anything. She didn’t know whether she was meant to answer the question, or not. ‘Well, is it true?’
‘Yes,’ Margot whispered. ‘But it isn’t in Soho and it’s only once a week. I--’ Margot saw Miss Lesley’s eyes spark with anger, so she cut short the explanation.
‘The address and the dates are irrelevant, Margaret! You’ve been leaving your post in the middle of the show!’
Margot felt the tears begin. ‘I’m so sorry I’ve let you down, Miss Lesley. It won’t happen again.’
‘No, Margaret, it won’t! However naïve I think you are for chasing this hobby, or whatever you call it, I’m going to release you from your job as an usherette to pursue it.’
‘You’re sacking me?’ Margot cried.
‘No, I’m not sacking you. You are going to leave. Tonight wasn’t the first time you were absent from your post, but it was the last. It isn’t fair on the other usherettes if they have to do your work as well as their own.’
Applause (The Dudley Sisters Saga Book 2) Page 7