Applause (The Dudley Sisters Saga Book 2)

by Madalyn Morgan

  Margot followed the old man into his office and perched on the arm of his chair.

  George and Betsy were next to come down. ‘Bye, Bert,’ George called, heading for the stage door. ‘See you tomorrow.’

  ‘Night-night, lovely,’ Betsy said, sticking her head through the small window of Bert’s office and blowing him a kiss. ‘Margot? Why are you still here? Not going to the club tonight?’

  George turned at the sound of Margot’s name and followed Betsy into Bert’s office. ‘What’s going on?’

  Margot confided that she and Bert had seen Goldie’s Nazi boyfriend. ‘He’s gone now, but he was standing in the alley staring at the stage door.’

  George’s brow furrowed. ‘I’m surprised he’s still hanging around. I thought he’d got the message after coming in here and threatening Bert.’

  ‘He did what?’

  Bert waved his hand dismissively. ‘It was something and nothing.’

  ‘Come on, Bert. We said we’d look after each other, and that means you too.’

  ‘He came in earlier in the week, just after the show came down. He asked if Goldie was here. I didn’t say she was; I said if she hadn’t left already, she’d be down when she’d changed. He went, but he’d know if he was watching the stage door that she didn’t come down.’ George looked perplexed. ‘And,’ Bert said, ‘he came in the next night, asked for Miss Goldie again, and I told him the same thing. I busied myself with some drawer tidying, so as I didn’t have to talk to him. I don’t think he was fooled by my domestic chores, because when I turned to see what he was doing, he made a fist of his right hand and punched the palm of his left hand.’

  ‘How dare he threaten you? The damn bully!’

  ‘He dare all right. The last time was after you’d all gone. He didn’t say a word, he just stood over there.’ Bert pointed to the window at the side of the stage door. ‘I asked him to leave. I told him that I had to hand the keys over to Arthur, the night watchman, and I couldn’t do that until I’d checked the dressing rooms, made sure everyone had left. He laughed. “Tell you what,” he said, “I’ll check them for you.” “No you won’t!” I said. “Get out, or I’ll call the police.”’

  ‘What did he do?’

  ‘He came right up to me and laughed in my face. He made that fist again and said, “Tell her I’ll be waiting – and when she least expects it!” Then he left, slamming the door behind him. I was shaking when he’d gone, I don’t mind telling you.’

  ‘Was that the last you saw of him until tonight?’ Margot asked.

  ‘No, I saw him sitting in his car on Butte Street. I expect he was there because Miss Goldie used to walk that way home – if he didn’t fetch her.’

  ‘Thank God he doesn’t know it’s me up there on stage,’ Margot said. The sound of a motorbike engine attracted her attention. ‘That’s Bill. I’d better go.’ Saying goodnight to George and Betsy, Margot followed them out. ‘Lock the door after us, Bert, and put the bolt on.’

  ‘Will do.’

  As Bill pulled up outside the stage door, Margot waved goodnight. Returning the wave Bert went into the theatre and, Margot hoped, locked and bolted the door.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Margot thanked the bandleader and band and looked into the audience. She bowed again, and then put her hands to her mouth and blew a kiss. The audience were always generous with their applause, but tonight it seemed they were never going to stop. She took a final bow and was about to step down from the stage when she saw a man in a black leather coat standing at the bar. He wasn’t clapping. The room was smoky and the spotlight was on her, but she knew that hard face and those cold menacing eyes. She forced herself to smile but he didn't return the gesture; he just stared at her, his black eyes boring into hers, penetrating and threatening. She looked across the room to the table where Nancy and Salvatore were sitting and gave one short nod – the signal that Dave Sutherland, Goldie’s fascist boyfriend, was in the club. She glanced back at the bar. He was leaving. Salvatore jumped up, summoned two of his men, and followed him out.

  The audience were still clapping as Margot stepped shakily from the stage. She walked through the tables, stopping occasionally to say hello or thank someone for a kind comment. At Nancy and Salvatore’s table she smiled broadly and took a final bow before sitting down.

  ‘Gone. Disappeared into the night,’ Salvatore said when he returned. ‘Was it him?’

  Margot shuddered. ‘Yes! Who else would just stand there and glare at me like that?’

  Salvatore beckoned a waiter and motioned to their empty glasses.

  ‘Have a drink, darling,’ Nancy said. ‘If Bill isn’t here in half an hour, Salvatore and I will take you home.’

  Margot drank her champagne, followed by a second glass. Safe among friends, she began to feel better. Bill arrived twenty minutes later, by which time she had decided not to tell him that she’d seen Nazi Dave in the club. She didn’t want him to worry. Nor did she want him to stop her working there.

  ‘There’s a bouquet for Miss Dudley,’ Bert said to Nancy when she arrived for the evening show. ‘It was on that table when I came down from having tea with Mrs Horton. I don’t know how it got there. I could have sworn I locked the stage door.’ Bert picked the flowers up. ‘They’re wilting a bit.’

  ‘They’re wilting more than a bit, Bert. They look half dead. Not to worry, I’ll take them to the dressing room and put them in water. They’ll revive in no time. Poor Margot, her first week is almost over and she hasn’t been able to celebrate. Do you think we could throw a small party in the dressing room after Saturday night’s show? We can celebrate Goldie arriving at her sister’s in Ireland too,’ she whispered.

  George arrived before Bert had time to answer. ‘Who died?’

  ‘What do you mean, who died?’

  ‘The arum lilies. They’re funeral flowers. What they use to decorate the church, and put on coffins.’ George wrinkled her nose. ‘Who are they for?’

  ‘They’re for Margot.’ Nancy frowned. ‘Why would someone send Margot funeral flowers?’

  ‘Why would they send her flowers at all?’ George asked.

  Nancy rounded on George. ‘Because she’s doing a very good job--’

  ‘That isn’t what I meant.’

  ‘What then?’

  ‘Why would anyone outside the four of us, Mrs Horton and Margot’s husband send Margot a bouquet? No one knows she’s in the show. As far as the audience is concerned it’s still Goldie they’re watching on stage.’

  ‘That’s right.’ Nancy turned to Bert. ‘Which florist’s boy brought the bouquet?’

  ‘No idea. I didn’t see him. But it couldn’t have been one of the usual lads. They’d have waited for me to sign the delivery docket. Mind you, they don’t always wait these days. The younger lads don’t anyway. And there are more younger ones than ever now so many of the regular lads have been called up. There’s been quite a turnover recently – a different face every few days, so--’

  ‘It isn’t your fault, Bert,’ George said, cutting the old man off – which for once he didn’t seem to mind. ‘What does the card say?’

  ‘I don’t know. It’s in a sealed envelope.’

  ‘Open it and have a look. It might be from Nazi Dave.’

  ‘What might be from Nazi Dave?’ Margot said from behind George.

  ‘Margot! I didn’t hear you come in.’

  ‘What’s up? Why are you all looking at me as if I’ve grown another head?’ Margot lifted her hand and pretended to check. ‘No, still only one,’ she laughed.

  George and Bert looked at each, but said nothing. Nancy showed Margot the bouquet. ‘This came for you earlier.’

  ‘Funeral lilies?’ Margot shivered. She put her gas mask and handbag on the floor, took the lilies and laid them on the table next to Bert’s door, and then opened the envelope and took out the card. ‘R.I.P.’

  At that moment, Betsy came bounding in as she always did, full of energy, and opened her mouth
to greet everyone. She smiled at Margot, who was facing in her direction, but after registering the look of terror on her face, said nothing. Instead she tapped George on the arm and when she turned, raised her eyebrows as if to ask what was going on. George stepped to one side to allow Betsy to join the group and Margot handed her the small card. Betsy gasped.

  Kat arrived a minute later. Margot showed her the flowers and Betsy gave her the card. Kat’s eyes flashed with anger. ‘Right!’ she said. ‘We must find a way to protect Margot from this snake! Let us go to the dressing room, where we will not be disturbed, and discuss it!’

  Nancy took the card from Kat and put it back in the small envelope. ‘Bert, would it be possible to seal this envelope up again? Make it look as if it hasn’t been opened?’

  Bert nodded. ‘I’ve got special thin glue that I use for pasting up the newspaper reviews. Leave it to me.’

  ‘Good. And when you’ve done that, would you put the bouquet on the table exactly as it was when you found it? That way, if the Nazi comes in later he won’t know Margot’s seen it. He might even be stupid enough to think it isn’t her on stage.’ Bert disappeared into his office with the small envelope. ‘I’ll let you know the plan when we’ve got one,’ Nancy said. Bert, already thinning the paper glue, nodded and Nancy left.

  A couple of minutes later, Nancy put her head round the door of dressing room two. ‘Shan’t be long getting dressed. Start without me. I’m sure I’ll agree with whatever you decide.’ She looked at Margot. ‘You’re not alone in this. We’re all in it together.’

  Assured by Nancy, Margot nodded, and the girls shouted, ‘Too right!’ and ‘Absolutely.’ George entered as Nancy left. ‘All for one and one for all!’

  ‘Who do you think we are,’ Betsy said, poking George playfully in the stomach as she squeezed past her, ‘the three musketeers?’

  ‘There were four musketeers. Everyone forgets d'Artagnan.’ George plucked a silver-handled walking cane from the props box just inside the door, pointed it at Betsy, and began to advance.

  ‘Stop it, George!’ Betsy squealed, giggling.

  ‘There is only half an hour until the half,’ Kat said, glaring at George. ‘I shall change into my opening costume while we discuss what we are going to do. I suggest you do the same.’

  ‘Yes, sorry, I, we…’ Trying not laugh as Betsy stood, open-mouthed at Kat’s reprimand, George clapped her hands. ‘I shall also change into my opening costume. I suggest you do the same!’ she told Betsy, in the worst Russian accent.

  Kat ignored George. ‘There must be someone with Margot at all times,’ she said. ‘She must not be left on her own. Not even in the theatre. Agreed?’

  ‘Agreed!’

  ‘With Bert on the stage door I’ll be safe in the dressing room.’ Margot looked at Kat, then at George and Betsy. ‘Won’t I?’

  George shook her head. ‘I don’t believe for a minute that Bert went upstairs this afternoon and forgot to lock the stage door.’

  ‘You think Dave came into the theatre and put those flowers on the table without Bert seeing him?’ Margot felt pricking at the back of her eyes. It was possible, because she’d done it herself when she was sneaking in and out to sing at the club. She blinked quickly to stop the tears.

  ‘Can’t rule anything out, which is why one of us will be with you at all times, even in here. Chin up,’ George said, putting her arm around Margot’s shoulder and giving her a squeeze. ‘We’ll look after you.’

  ‘We should give Pamela Lesley a description of him. Ask her to circulate it to the box office staff and the usherettes.’

  ‘Do you think we should tell her why?’ Margot asked.

  ‘It isn’t necessary,’ George said. ‘Besides, the fewer people who know the better. That he’s a fascist will be reason enough for Pamela Lesley to keep a look-out.’

  ‘I’ve got the gist of the plan, and I agree,’ Nancy said, entering. ‘We’ll take it in turns to be with Margot before, during, and after the show. Tonight’s my turn. We’ll stay in here until Bill arrives.’ As she left the dressing room she said, ‘Enjoy the show, Margot, and don’t worry. We’ll look after you, won’t we, girls?’ Everyone shouted in agreement.

  Nazi Dave hadn’t been seen in the theatre or the club for weeks – nor had he been backstage. Bert kept the stage door locked during the show and anyone wanting access had to knock. Even then, before he answered the door, he looked through the small window. And every time he let someone in he took the opportunity to check the street – giving special attention to the alley opposite. To all intents and purposes Nazi Dave had disappeared.

  Margot was no longer chaperoned in the theatre and as time passed the rule that she was never to go out alone was relaxed. The girls still went for tea together between the matinee and the evening show, Bill picked her up at night, and Salvatore still sent a car for her and Nancy on the nights she performed at the club, but Margot travelled to the theatre by bus, on her own. She loved the freedom, although since the day of the arum lily bouquet, she looked over her shoulder more often. And she didn’t always feel as relaxed or confident walking among the crowds in Covent Garden. But at last she was able to enjoy performing on stage. She could look into the audience without fear of seeing Dave’s threatening, sneering face. The icing on the cake came when Anton Goldman announced the new programme would be on sale from Saturday.

  ‘Now Goldie is safe, it’s time you performed under your own name, Margot.’ He opened his briefcase and took out a proof copy. ‘The printers sent me this to check; make sure there aren’t any mistakes. There aren’t. So,’ he said, handing the copy to Margot, ‘this is for you.’

  Margot squealed with joy. Everyone cheered and clapped as Margot threw her arms around Anton’s neck. ‘Thank you so much.’ Releasing him, she opened the programme and turned to the cast list. ‘My name’s in a real theatre programme... Who would have thought it?’

  ‘Pamela Lesley,’ Anton said. ‘It was Pamela who arranged for the programmes to be printed.’ Everyone laughed and clapped again. ‘And,’ he shouted above the chatter and laughter, ‘she sent her congratulations. Have a good show tonight, everyone.’ No one responded; they were all too busy congratulating Margot.

  On Saturday morning Margot went into the theatre early and bought six copies. One for her mam and dad, one for each of her sisters, and most importantly one for Bill. She was keeping the first copy off the press for herself. It was a special copy and Margot liked nothing better than feeling special. ‘The first of many,’ she said aloud, placing the programmes in her shopping bag. Later she wrote a personal message in each programme, signed and dated them.

  As soon as they arrived home that night Margot told Bill to sit down and close his eyes. ‘I’ve got a surprise for you!’

  Bill quickly took off his coat and hung it up before dropping onto a chair at the dining table. ‘I hope it’s something to eat, I’m starving.’

  ‘What I’ve got for you is much more important than food.’ Bill opened his mouth to protest and Margot kissed him passionately on the lips. Bill grinned. ‘No, it isn’t that!’ she said, slapping him playfully on the shoulder. ‘Come on, do as you’re told or I might change my mind, then you won’t get anything.’ Bill chuckled, put his hands up in submission and closed his eyes. ‘And keep them shut,’ she whispered in his ear. Watching him to make sure he didn’t peek, Margot took his theatre programme from her shopping bag and placed it on the table. ‘Don’t look yet!’ she warned. Then she moved round the table so she was standing opposite him. ‘You can open them now!’

  Bill looked up at Margot, who was staring at the table directly in front of him. He followed her gaze. ‘A theatre programme?’

  ‘Not just any theatre programme. Open it,’ she said excitedly, ‘and read the list of artists.’

  Bill scanned the names until he came to Margot’s. He looked at her, his eyes moist with emotion. ‘I’m very proud of you.’

  ‘Read the message,’ she ordered. ‘It�
�s especially for you.’

  Bill cleared his throat. ‘“To my wonderful husband Bill. Thank you for understanding me and putting up with me. This is my dream come true, which would never have happened without your love and encouragement. I love you, Margot. xxx” Thanks, love,’ Bill said. ‘I love you too, with all my heart. Now it’s official,’ he said, looking again at Margot’s name. ‘I’ll be able to go to the theatre and watch my beautiful wife on the stage.’

  ‘And I’ll blow you a kiss.’ Margot danced across the room to the larder. ‘Spam sandwich all right?’ She didn’t wait for Bill to reply. ‘I forgot to go to the shops.’

  Margot had forgotten about Nazi Dave too, until she saw him, or thought she saw him, at Oxford Circus. Her stomach lurched as she approached the station. She had no intention of travelling on an underground train, but she was late for a hairdresser’s appointment in Bond Street and decided to take a short cut through the station. On her way across the ticket hall she bumped into a man, or rather he bumped into her. She turned instinctively to apologise, but he’d gone. She didn’t take any notice at the time but as she was going up the steps at the Oxford Street North exit the same man bumped into her again. ‘Hey!’ she said, turning to confront him. But again he had disappeared, melted into the crowd.

  Bending down outside the station, Margot adjusted the strap on her shoe. She looked under the brim of her hat and saw the man pushing his way past people entering the station. There was something familiar about him, but Margot couldn’t put her finger on it. She backed into a doorway and watched him as he looked up and down Oxford Street. After a few seconds he turned to join the sea of people going into the station and she saw his face. It was Nazi Dave. Her heart began to pound and she could hardly breathe, but she forced herself to follow him.