Applause (The Dudley Sisters Saga Book 2)

by Madalyn Morgan

  ‘So we’re moving?’

  ‘We’ll see.’

  ‘We’ll see? What do you mean, we’ll see? I want to move, Bill. I want us to have a home of our own with our own front door. I want to paint it and buy pretty ornaments and things. I want to be able to nip home and have my tea after the matinee. I want to invite friends for drinks and…’

  ‘Wow! Slow down, Margot. This is the first I’ve heard of moving and you’re already throwing parties.’

  Flushed with anger, Margot put down her knife and fork with a clatter and glared into the mid-distance. She hated it when Bill cut her off, especially when she was saying something important.

  Placing his cutlery gently on the table, Bill took hold of Margot’s hands. He waited until she looked at him. Then, when he was sure he had her attention, he said, ‘Anything as important as moving house is something we need to discuss.’

  ‘We were discussing it!’

  ‘No Margot, we weren’t. You were telling me what you wanted, assuming I’d agree like I always do. But it isn’t just about moving house. It’s leaving our home. It’s a big step. So, whatever we decide, we’ll decide together when we’ve discussed it properly. It won’t be because you’ve had another crazy idea.’

  ‘Crazy? It isn’t a crazy idea! What’s crazy about wanting to live with your husband in your own home?’ Margot knew if she pushed Bill too far he would dig his heels in. He could be stubborn sometimes. She softened her tone. ‘At least say you’ll think about it.’

  ‘I’ll think about it! Now, could we please eat our meal while it’s hot?’

  Margot also hated it when Bill patronised her. He was right of course, anything as important as moving home shouldn’t be rushed. But that didn’t stop her asking him every night until he gave in.

  ‘Have you given any more thought to us getting our own place, love?’

  ‘Yes I have, but--’ Margot leapt out of her chair. ‘If you let me eat my supper in peace,’ Bill said, ‘I will go and see Anton and Natalie. It’s only fair that we tell them that we’re thinking about moving.’

  ‘Thinking?’

  ‘All right! That we might – will – be moving. We’ll start looking in the morning. There’s a notice board at work that advertises apartments--’

  Margot squealed with excitement. ‘And there are newspapers.’

  ‘And there are newspapers,’ Bill repeated. ‘There’s a local one, the Covent Garden News. And there are a couple of letting agencies in Neal Street. I’ll call in tomorrow.’

  ‘And with me working so near, I can pop in every day.’

  ‘There are bound to be vacancies. People are moving out of the West End because of the nightly bombing of the East End, which is getting closer.’ Bill looked into Margot’s eyes and shook his head. ‘Who in their right mind would want to live in the West End of London?’

  ‘Me!’ Margot said, jumping up and throwing her arms around Bill. ‘I want to live there!’

  ‘I meant other than you, Margot.’

  Margot moved her face close to her husband’s until their noses were touching. She gave him several Eskimo kisses before kissing him full on the lips.

  That night, after they had made love Margot lay in Bill’s arms, content and sleepy. ‘A place of our own,’ she whispered. ‘Thank you, lovely husband. I’m so happy… You make me so….’

  The following night Margot arrived home with newspapers, leaflets, For Sale and For Rent cards that she’d taken from shop windows, promising to return them the following morning, and half a dozen sheets of paper with the address and description of a dozen or more apartments in and around Covent Garden. After supper, she spread them out on the bed while Bill made their bedtime drink.

  ‘Are you sure you have enough information there, Margot?’ Bill said, handing her a cup of cocoa.

  Margot laughed. ‘For now, but I can show you more if you want. I’ve whittled them down to a couple of dozen, so pay attention,’ she said, wagging her finger. ‘These are the possible-stroke-probable apartments. I have a batch of maybe-could-be and another of not-on-your-life in my shopping bag. I wonder if they have carpets and curtains? Probably will,’ she chattered on. ‘We might like them of course, but if we don’t we can change them. Our own little love nest,’ she said, pursing her lips and blowing Bill a kiss. ‘And a bed,’ she said suddenly. ‘I don’t want to sleep in a bed that anyone else has slept in. Will we be able to buy a new bed? I’ve never thought about it before. Are beds rationed?’

  ‘Someone slept in this bed before we did, and you’ve been happy sleeping in it.’

  ‘Yes, but this bed is different, we know who slept in it before us, or at least we know it would have been someone clean. In a rented apartment in Covent Garden there’s no telling who has slept in the bed.’ Margot lifted her hand and flicked the possibilities away. ‘No, we’ll have a new bed and that’s that!’

  Bill made no further comment. He slipped out of the room, leaving Margot ticking off the good and the bad points of what looked to him like every available flat in the West End. He settled down on the settee and read the newspaper.

  Eliminating those that didn’t come up to her standard, Margot was left with two properties that she wanted to see. She went into the sitting room to show Bill. He was asleep, so she cleared the unwanted literature from the bed, put the two she wanted to view into her handbag, and pulled down the bedclothes.

  ‘Come on, sleepy head,’ she said, returning to the sitting room and shaking Bill by the shoulder. ‘Time to go to bed.’

  Bill pushed himself up and, squinting through sleepy eyes, shuffled into the bedroom and fell onto the bed. ‘G’night love.’

  Margot took off his slippers, pulled the bedclothes up, and tucked him in. Then she switched off the light and slid into bed beside her already snoring husband.

  Margot flew into Bill’s arms. ‘I’ve found it. I’ve found our new home and it’s perfect,’ she said, showing Bill a photograph of a spacious sitting room, one double bedroom and one single. ‘I love it, Bill. I want it. The kitchen is so modern. It’s got a big sink, hot water on tap, and a mangle in one of the cupboards. Oh, and there’s a bathroom and toilet and guess what? Go on,’ she said after waiting only a second. ‘Guess what it’s got that I’ve always wanted.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Bill said. The happiness radiating from his wife overwhelmed him. It always did. ‘I give in.’

  ‘A front door! We’ve got what we’ve always wanted,’ Margot said, as if it was the only apartment in London with a front door. ‘Please say you’ll come and see it tomorrow,’ she said, jumping up and down on the spot.

  ‘Tomorrow?’

  ‘Yes… Pleeeeeeease.’

  The flat was all Margot said it was, and more. It did indeed have its own front door. Made of solid wood with a brass door knocker and handle, it opened onto a cobbled side street. Number 3 Oxford Mews was between the offices of a film company and a theatrical agency. At the end of the Mews there was a wrought iron fire escape belonging to a late night gambling club. The letting agent had told Margot that the club’s clients kept a low profile and never bothered the residents of the Mews. There was a door beneath the fire escape, which was the entrance to the club’s kitchen, and a door next to that with a small window above. There had been a red light in the window the first time Margot visited the Mews. Today, she was relieved to see, there was no light and the curtains were drawn.

  ‘It will be quiet at night,’ Margot said, opening the front door leading to the apartment she so desperately wanted. ‘The offices close at half past five and whoever lives at the end of the Mews is far enough away that we won’t hear them, or anyone else, come to that.’

  Bill nodded. ‘Good location,’ he said, giving Margot’s shoulder a squeeze.

  Margot led Bill up the stairs to a small landing. The door was on the left. She put the key in the lock and turned to Bill. Her eyes sparkled with excitement. ‘Well, this is it! I hope you like it,’ she said, and she th
rew open the door.

  The square entrance hall was bright with clean straight lines and four doors. The door directly ahead of them led to the sitting room and kitchen. Margot opened it. ‘Look Bill, isn’t it lovely? Nice big settee and armchair, and the dining table and chairs look perfect here, next to the kitchen.’ Margot sighed. ‘It’s smart, isn’t it?’

  ‘It looks like a doctor’s waiting room,’ Bill said.

  Margot pretended she hadn’t heard him. ‘The kitchen’s through here. You’ll love it, I know you will. It’s so modern. I’ll be able to bake you a cake and things, like a proper wife.’

  Bill laughed, ‘That’ll make a pleasant change.’ Margot punched him playfully on the arm.

  She ran her hand along the edge of the worktops. ‘Cream and cherry are the latest colours. Oh, Bill, look at this cabinet. It isn’t only for keeping food in.’ She pulled the handle in the middle. ‘Look, it turns into a work surface.’

  ‘Where’s the bedroom?’

  ‘This way, sir.’ Margot led Bill back to the hall. ‘After you,’ she said, opening the door and following him into the double bedroom. The room had three matching mirrors: one on the dressing table, one on the wall opposite, and a huge oval one on a wooden stand. Margot looked at herself in all three, turning to the left, and then the right, before jumping onto the bed. ‘Come and try it, Bill,’ she said, patting the mattress. ‘It’s ever so comfortable.’

  Bill laughed and lay down beside her.

  ‘Close your eyes and relax for a minute.’

  Bill closed his eyes and Margot rolled over and kissed him. ‘You do like the apartment, don’t you?’ she purred, walking her fingers up his chest to his chin.

  ‘Yes,’ he sighed, ‘I like it.’

  Margot squealed and jumped up. ‘I knew it, I knew it, I knew it! I knew you’d love it!’

  ‘I love you, Margot,’ Bill said, ‘and if you want to live here, I want to live here. I don’t care where I live as long as I’m with you.’

  ‘But you do like it, don’t you, Bill? Please say you do.’

  ‘I like it. I love it.’

  Margot squealed again. ‘Then what are we waiting for? Let’s go and tell the letting agent, and give him the deposit.’

  The agent was delighted and asked when they wanted to move in.

  ‘Next Sunday,’ Margot said, grabbing hold of Bill’s hand.

  The man raised his eyebrows at Bill. ‘Next Sunday it is then,’ he said. ‘If you’d like to pay the deposit, you can sign the tenancy agreement.’

  Margot skipped out of the letting agency, chatting and laughing. Nothing could be done that day. Being a Saturday, there was a matinee and an evening show to get through. But she spent the following day packing the things that she and Bill could manage without until they moved into their new home.

  The week flew by, but Margot managed to pack a little each day, before and after work. The day before they moved, Bill couldn’t find any clean socks – Margot had packed them.

  Two of Bill’s mates from St. Thomas’s and Margot’s friend Jenny, who worked with him now on the ambulances, arrived at ten o’clock and loaded up a van that Bill had borrowed from work. The rooms, which had been home to Margot and Bill for so long, looked sad without Margot’s bright furnishings.

  With his arm around Margot’s shoulder, Bill said, ‘We’ve been happy here, haven’t we?’

  ‘Yes we have; very happy. But we’ll be happy in Covent Garden too – and without so much travelling we’ll be able to spend more time together.’

  ‘There’s that,’ Bill said, giving her a gentle squeeze. ‘Right!’ he said, kissing her on the cheek. ‘I’d better go down and tell the lads they can get off. Next stop Covent Garden.’

  ‘I’ll have a quick look round, check we haven’t forgotten anything. I’ll be down in a sec.’

  ‘Okay, don’t be long.’

  Margot walked through each of the rooms that had been home to her and Bill since soon after they were married. She stopped for a moment in the living room with its tiny kitchenette, where she had often burnt their dinner, before checking the bedroom. She sighed. Even when she’d kept secrets from him and he found out, Bill always forgave her, and they always made up. There had been some tears, but there had been much more laughter. As she left, Margot looked back and smiled before closing the door.

  Having invited their friends Anton and Natalie to lunch the following Sunday, Margot and Bill said goodbye and travelled to number 3 Oxford Mews on Bill’s motorbike.

  ‘Well, Mrs Burrell,’ Bill said, after locking their helmets in the panniers. ‘Isn’t this where I carry you over the threshold?’

  ‘I think it is, Mr Burrell.’ Margot put her arms around her husband’s neck and lifted one leg.

  ‘Give me the key and I’ll open the door,’ Bill said.

  ‘You’ve got the key!’ Margot put her leg down. ‘I gave it to you before we left. Oh Bill! What have you done with it?’

  ‘Only joking,’ he said, producing the key from a pocket inside his jacket.

  ‘Thank goodness. I thought we’d have to go all the way back to Hampstead.’ Margot watched Bill put the key in the lock and, squeezing his arm, jumped with joy when he turned it and she heard the click that said it was unlocked. Together, laughing like a pair of teenagers, they pushed the door open.

  Margot clapped her hands before putting her arms around Bill’s neck again. Bill smiled and lifted her up. He carried her over the threshold, kicked the door shut behind them, and mounted the stairs. Outside the apartment, Bill set Margot down and took another key from his pocket. ‘I think you should open this door, Mrs Burrell.’

  Margot took the brass key, put it in the lock and turned it. When she heard the lock click a broad smile spread across her face. She pushed open the door. ‘I don’t think I’m strong enough to carry you over this threshold though.’

  ‘Then I’ll have to carry you again,’ Bill said, picking her up. ‘There’s a new piece of furniture in the flat.’

  ‘Oh? What is it?’

  ‘I’ll show you.’

  Margot squealed with delight when Bill took her into the bedroom and laid her on the new bed. An hour later there was a knock at the door. Giggling, Margot pulled on her skirt and blouse and slipped her feet into her shoes. ‘Coming!’ she shouted out of the window, before running downstairs to welcome the friends who had brought their belongings.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Margot said, throwing her arms around Natalie. ‘I didn’t think we’d be seeing you until next week.’

  ‘Thought we’d surprise you,’ she said, beckoning Anton. ‘Anyone for champagne?’ Natalie shouted, waving a bottle in the air.

  Margot laughed. ‘Lovely idea, but we haven’t got any glasses.’

  ‘We have,’ Anton shouted, from the boot of his car.

  ‘Then yes please!’

  ‘What are you doing standing on the doorstep? Come in,’ Bill said, arriving at Margot’s side. ‘Take everyone up, sweetheart,’ he said, standing to one side to let them pass. ‘I’ll hang on for Anton.’

  After a toast of champagne, the men brought in Margot and Bill’s belongings.

  ‘If you tell the lads where you want the boxes, it will be less work for you and Bill later,’ Natalie said.

  ‘Good idea.’

  Anton brought the first box. ‘Bedding,’ Margot said, pointing to the bedroom. ‘That box too, it’s dressing table stuff. Cutlery in the kitchen – and that’s bathroom. Suitcases in the bedroom – I’ll unpack them later – and coats in the hall. Everything else can go in the single bedroom. It’s the door on the left as you come in. I’ll sort it out later.’

  When the pots, pans and crockery had been stacked on the work surfaces in the kitchen, Natalie said, ‘There’s one more box. Anton, would you fetch it?’

  ‘Of course.’ When he returned it was with a hamper, which he placed on the dining table.

  Margot opened it and caught her breath. ‘There’s enough fo
od here to feed half the theatre.’

  Everyone laughed. And as if on cue there was a knock at the door. ‘I think you’d better answer that, darling, as you’re the hostess!’

  Margot scrunched up her shoulders and put her hands up to her cheeks. ‘Bill Burrell, I love you!’ she said before running down the stairs and opening the door to see Nancy, George, Betsy, Mrs Horton and Miss Lesley, who said at the same time, ‘Surprise!’

  Margot flung her arms round each of her friends and kissed them before taking them up to the apartment. As they entered the sitting room there was more hugging and kissing. When they had finished greeting each other, Anton filled everyone’s glasses with champagne, Natalie found plates and Margot unpacked the hamper.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Margot caught a break in the traffic at Lancaster Place and ran across the road. She sidestepped around the water tank outside the Savoy Hotel and looked at her wristwatch. Half an hour until she was due to meet Nancy. She enjoyed being with her fellow dancers, loved the camaraderie, the chatter and laughter, but tea with her beautiful mentor on Thursday afternoons was special, something she looked forward to all week. She’d better get a move on; she didn’t want to be late.

  There was still so much she needed for the new apartment, but every week there was less in the shops. Earlier in the day Margot had called in to the Imperial Ironmongery off Leicester Square, but there wasn’t a saucepan, frying pan, or pie dish to be seen. “They are using metal to repair aeroplanes,” the snooty shop assistant said – as if Margot didn’t know. “You’ll just have to make do.”

  With next to nothing in the windows of the shops going south on the Strand, Margot crossed over at Charing Cross station. There was less produce and even fewer goods in the windows on the north side. She looked at her reflection in the empty window of Dutton’s Hardware, and sighed. A sign saying No Kitchen Appliances or Utensils looked back at her. Oh well, she would have to do what everyone else was doing. She straightened her hat. She would make do.