‘Excuse me, Miss,’ he said, closing his newspaper and dropping it onto the seat next to him. ‘You look kinda familiar. Have we met?’
‘I don’t think so. I’m sure I’d remember if we had.’ Margot felt her cheeks flush and she began to chatter to hide her embarrassment. ‘I’m in show business. Perhaps you’ve seen my photograph outside the Prince Albert Club in Covent Garden. I’m with ENSA at the moment. I worked at the Prince Albert Theatre on the Strand, until--’ Margot felt a lump in her throat and busied herself putting the magazine in her bag.
‘Well, how about that! I’m in the movies back home. Have you made any movies, Miss…?’
‘Dudley, Margot Dudley,’ she said, regaining her composure.
‘First Lieutenant Boyd Murphy. Pleased to meet you,’ he said, standing up.
Margot shook the lieutenant’s outstretched hand and watched him sit down. Damn, why hadn’t she said something? By not speaking she’d ended the conversation and she was desperate to know about the movies and movie stars. How could she take the conversation back without appearing to be a gushing fan? ‘To answer your earlier question,’ she said at last, ‘I was filmed when I was with ENSA last year. I haven’t actually made any movies, but I should like to.’
‘Well, if ever you’re in California--’
‘I’ll be sure to look you up,’ Margot laughed. ‘Do you live in Hollywood?’
‘No. My dad does, and I stay with him all the time. Mom and my sisters and me live in Santa Monica. It’s only eighteen kilometres away. That’s about eleven of your English miles, or a half-hour drive.’
‘I read that James Stewart joined up.’
‘He sure did.’
‘Is he in England as well?’
‘No. I don’t know whether it’s to do with his age – he’s over thirty – or because he’d been training guys to fly for about a year, but he’s still in the US and he’s still an instructor.’
The train whistled and juddered as it began to slow down. ‘Soon be in Southampton,’ the lieutenant said, jumping up and taking down his kit bag. ‘Is Southampton your destination, Miss Dudley?’
‘No. I’m going to Stony Cross air force base in the New Forest to do a concert for ENSA.’
‘Well I’ll be! That’s my base. Since we’re both going to Stony Cross, could I offer you a lift? The base bus is picking us up. If you don’t mind sitting among a bunch of rowdy Yanks, I’d be happy to give you a ride.’
‘If my friends aren’t at the station, I’ll take you up on it, Lieutenant.’
‘Call me Murphy,’ he said, his blue eyes sparkling.
‘Margot,’ she said, holding his gaze.
As the train pulled into Southampton station Margot picked up her handbag and gas mask in one hand and her suitcase in the other.
‘Let me,’ Murphy said, covering her hand with his. Margot’s heart began to flutter with girlish excitement and she felt the heat of a blush on her cheeks. She slid her hand from under his and let him take the handle. With his air force bag over his shoulder he picked up the suitcase.
As she stepped from the train, George and Betsy were waiting. Throwing their arms around each other they hugged and kissed and all spoke at once. ‘Come on, let’s get out of here,’ George said, taking Margot’s case.
Margot turned and looked along the platform. The US air force boys were filing off the train. Murphy was with them. He had turned at the same time as Margot. When she waved, he saluted.
RAF Stony Cross was the first date of the Albert Sisters’ final tour. They opened with Artie’s piano gag, followed by his impersonation of George Formby. Then Artie called in the troops. The airmen, RAF and USAAF, whistled and cheered as Margot, George and Betsy strutted on stage. Instead of standing to attention by the piano, they marched to the front of the stage and swiped caps from the heads of the three nearest Americans. Then, marching back to the piano, they turned and stood to attention, saluting American-style. With their GI caps sitting at an angle on their perfectly coiffed hair they sang The Andrews Sisters’ song, “Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy of Company B” followed by “I Can Dream, Can’t I?” As they marched off stage for their quick change, RAF boys and GIs cheered and threw their caps in the air. When they returned, Margot and Betsy in long evening dresses and George impersonating Noel Coward in white dinner jacket and black bow tie, they sang “A Room With A View” followed by “Putting On The Ritz”. The audience went wild.
Each night after the show, Tommy Trinder, who had asked for the Albert Sisters to support him after working with them the previous autumn, invited them to his makeshift dressing room. The great man was charming and instructed his dresser to keep their glasses filled. He then disappeared to sign autographs. They didn’t think it would be polite to refuse the star of the concert’s generosity and, trying to hide the fact that they were in awe of the biggest star of British films, they allowed his dresser to fill their glasses.
On the last night at Stony Cross, Tommy returned from signing autographs with a brown paper sack. ‘Thank you presents for the Albert Sisters,’ he said, giving each of the girls a gift. ‘And a bottle of Hooch for you,’ he said, handing Artie a bottle of bourbon. ‘You lucky people!’ he shouted, and everyone laughed. ‘Oh, and there’s one for me,’ he said, looking deep into the paper sack, and everyone laughed again.
Margot opened her gift and caught her breath. Lying on a cushion of cream satin was a pair of silver wings. Apart from being smaller, they were identical to those that Murphy wore. Betsy ripped the paper from her present to reveal a pair of fully-fashioned silk stockings. She squealed with delight, while George wrapped a beautiful long white silk scarf round her neck.
‘Am I allowed to wear these?’ Margot asked. ‘Isn’t it against the law to wear military badges if you’re not in the services?’
‘Might be if they were the real thing, but these aren’t,’ George said. ‘These are smaller – and they’re silver.’
Artie poured himself and Tommy a glass of bourbon. ‘Who have I got to thank for this, Tommy?’
‘No idea. A young GI gave me the bag when I was signing autographs. Said he’d enjoyed the show and would never forget us.’
Margot looked at George and Betsy. They knew it was First Lieutenant Boyd Murphy who had sent the gifts, but they said nothing. Margot had been friends with Murphy, nothing more, but it didn’t stop her from feeling guilty as she pinned the silver wings onto her jacket.
It had been sad saying goodbye to Tommy, but the Sisters were happy to be back in London and were looking forward to the grand reopening of the Prince Albert Theatre. While the finishing touches were being made to the theatre, Margot, George and Betsy spent their days at Margot’s apartment running lines and learning songs. Artie, having had a taste of show business, had no intention of going back to his old job as a night watchman and turned up after a couple of days with his accordion.
One Wednesday morning at the beginning of March Margot was woken by a furious hammering on the outside door. ‘All right, I’m coming,’ she shouted, dragging on her dressing gown and running down the stairs. It was George. ‘Hello. I didn’t think we were working today. Where’s Betsy?’
‘She’s been called up,’ George said, beads of perspiration on her forehead and out of breath from running. ‘She received a letter this morning telling her to go for a medical.’
‘Damn! Just when things were going so well! Come in, love,’ Margot said, leading the way to the apartment. ‘Sit down while I get dressed.’ A few minutes later, wearing slacks and a button-through cardigan, Margot joined George on the settee.
‘What if she’s sent overseas, to the front line?’ George burst into tears. ‘I couldn’t bear it, Margot. I don’t know what I’d do if she was…. I couldn’t live without her.’
Margot put her arms around her friend. ‘I didn’t realise you felt that way about Betsy. Does she know?’
‘No! And she must never find out. She’d be mortified if she knew I … had feeling
s for her.’ George pulled away and, looking terrified, said, ‘You won’t tell her, will you? Promise you won’t, Margot.’
‘Of course not. Not if you don’t want me to. But I think you should.’
‘No! Never! I would lose her. Swear you’ll never say anything.’
‘I swear.’ Margot smiled at her friend. ‘I’ll make a cup of tea and we’ll decide what we’re going to do.’
‘If there is anything we can do.’ George put her head in her hands.
‘We’ll think of something. Come on,’ Margot said, ‘chin up. She hasn’t been accepted yet. It’s silly worrying till we know. Besides, she’s a member of ENSA. That’s it! Betsy’s still in ENSA. She’s already working for the war effort – so are we. Surely they won’t ask her to leave the work she’s already doing.’ Margot made tea and took it into the sitting room. George was at last dry-eyed. ‘Drink this.’ Margot handed George a cup. ‘Did she say where she was going?’
‘Seven Dials.’
Margot smiled. ‘It won’t take us long to get there from here. And when we find her we’ll take her to the club for a drink.’
‘Drown our sorrows?’
‘No,’ Margot said, ‘celebrate that the conscription office has made a mistake.’
The queue along Monmouth Street was a mile long. It reminded Margot of the day they auditioned for ENSA except everyone waiting to go into the Drury Lane theatre looked hopeful. Some of these women looked scared to death. Betsy was nowhere to be seen.
‘Are you sure she said twelve?’
‘Positive.’ George looked at her watch. ‘She’s either already in there, or she’s late.’
‘We’ll hang on until a few more come out and if she isn’t among them, we’ll go back to the beginning and start again.’
As four women came out of the recruitment office, four went in. ‘This is hopeless!’ George turned and marched back the way they’d come.
Margot ran and caught her up. ‘Stop!’ she shouted, pulling on George’s arm. ‘Look! She’s over there.’
‘Where?’
Margot pointed to a low wall on the opposite side of the street, surrounding the paved garden of an official-looking building. Betsy was sitting on the wall, frowning.
‘Betsy!’ they called in unison. Running over to her friend, George flung her arms around her. ‘Bets, I’m sorry.’
‘Me too,’ Margot said.
‘Anyone would think I’d been accepted.’
‘What?’ George looked worried, while Margot jumped with joy. ‘You mean they’ve turned you down? Why? Are you ill?’
‘Yes. No! Not ill, but I had scarlet fever as a child. They said I wasn’t fit for duty. So it’s back to Every Night Something Aaaaaabsolutely wonderful.’
Relieved, the three friends danced along Monmouth Street arm in arm, singing “Sailors Three” from Tommy Trinder’s film.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Margot inhaled deeply before opening the stage door. Taking a tentative step, she looked around at what should have been a familiar place. It didn’t look or feel familiar. Cards and telegrams were piled up on the post table in the usual way, but the table was round, not square. Margot didn’t like it. Nor did she like the regulation green coloured paint on the door to Bert’s office, or the frosted glass in the window. ‘Bert’s office,’ she said. ‘That’s Bert’s office,’ she told a man who had suddenly appeared at the window. ‘Bert’s window and Bert’s office,’ she said, nodding frantically, willing the man to nod that he agreed, but he didn’t. Instead he stepped back and picked up the telephone. He said a couple of words that Margot couldn’t hear and replaced the receiver. He’s got a kind face, she thought. Bert had a kind face, but he’s gone. ‘I’m sorry. For a moment I--’ She spotted the rehearsal schedule on the wall. It was in a different place, but that didn’t matter. She read the artists’ names over and over, looking for Nancy’s name. She shook her head. ‘I thought I could cope,’ she said to the man in Bert’s office, ‘but it’s too hard.’
‘Margot?’ How lovely to see you. Welcome back.’ Pamela Lesley was standing in the doorway leading to the backstage area. ‘You’re early, dear. Let’s go through to the front of house and have a cup of tea. Stan will let us know when the rest of the company arrives.’
Margot looked at the new stage doorman, ‘I’m sorry, Stan,’ she said. ‘What must you think of me? Please accept my apologies.’
‘Nothing to apologise for, Miss Dudley.’
Margot acknowledged Stan’s kindness with a smile. Then she took a deep steadying breath and turned to Miss Lesley. ‘Thank you, Miss Lesley, I should love a cup of tea.’ Still feeling overwrought, Margot allowed the front of house manager to lead her along the corridor behind the stage, through the pass door and into the small staff room that she had known when she was an usherette.
Once inside, Miss Lesley took the kettle from the stove, filled it with water from the tap in the washroom and replaced it. Then she turned on the gas, struck a match and held it against the ring of hissing jets until they ignited with a loud pop. Margot jumped.
‘I have some sugar in my office,’ Miss Lesley said, conspiratorially. ‘I’ll be back in a jiffy.’
Margot hadn’t been in the front of house staff room for a long time; probably since she was an usherette. She looked around. There was no bomb damage. The staff room was far enough away from the stage door. She ran her fingers along the shelf. She could see by the shine that it had been recently painted – and about time.
The kettle began to whistle, softly at first and then louder, until it became shrill and piercing. Margot turned off the gas and the whistle lessened until there was no sound at all. She spooned two scoops of tea into the pot and added the boiling water.
A second later Miss Lesley returned. ‘Thank you, dear,’ she said, taking the caddy spoon out of Margot’s hand. Margot sat down and watched Miss Lesley pour the tea. She added two spoons of sugar to Margot’s and handed her the cup. ‘That will do you good.’
Margot smiled at the kind woman who had given her a job when she first came to London. Because of Miss Lesley’s tolerance she had climbed the career ladder to where she was now. And where was she now, she wondered.
They drank their tea in silence and when they’d finished Miss Lesley said, ‘Feeling better?’
‘Yes, thank you. It was seeing Stan in Bert’s place, and then not seeing Nancy’s name on the call-sheet.’ Margot broke down. ‘She’s gone, Miss Lesley. Nancy’s gone, hasn’t she?’ Pamela Lesley held Margot in her arms. ‘She was so beautiful, and so kind. If only I hadn’t stopped to autograph that girl’s programme, I might have been on Maiden Lane earlier. And Nancy might have got out of the taxi before--’
‘There was nothing you could have done,’ Miss Lesley said. ‘Besides, if you had arrived sooner, you would have been there when the building collapsed and you would have been killed too. It was lucky that you--’
‘My good luck, but Nancy and Bert’s bad luck. How unfair is that?’
‘I know.’ Then, gently pushing Margot away and holding her at arm’s length, Pamela Lesley looked into her tearful eyes. ‘It was unfair, Margot, terribly unfair. Thousands of people have been killed in this war – mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers, husbands and wives – and their deaths were unfair too. But we can’t change what has happened. All we can do is remember our loved ones and get on with our lives.’
Margot looked surprised, but said nothing.
‘It might sound harsh, but we owe it to them to carry on,’ Pamela Lesley said. ‘And we must!’
A knock on the staff room door startled Margot, and she flinched.
‘It’s all right. It’ll only be Stan,’ Pamela Lesley said, and she called, ‘Come in.’
The stage doorman poked his head round the door. ‘Rehearsal is about to start. Shall I tell them five minutes?’
‘Yes, thank you, Stan.’ When the doorman left, Pamela Lesley said, ‘Ready, Margot?’
Margot nodde
d and dried her eyes. ‘Thank you, Miss Lesley. I am.’
As she entered the auditorium Margot was aware that the chatter and laughter, which was as much a part of getting ready to rehearse as the warm up, came to a sudden hush. George and Betsy ran over to her, and Natalie and Anton Goldman, who were sitting in the stalls, left their seats and joined her on stage. Anton turned to the artists and nodded to them to carry on, while Natalie put her arms around Margot and assured her that if she needed to take a break, she only had to say.
Margot looked into the auditorium. The lights were off, but she could see Pamela Lesley sitting in the usherette seat that used to be hers. Grateful to her for her kindness, Margot blew her a kiss. Then she turned and hugged Betsy and George – who weren’t scheduled to rehearse until later – and welcomed the chorus members, old and new. Then, after shaking hands with the director, Richard Smiley, and hugging choreographer Lena Di Angelo, Margot kissed and congratulated her friend Artie Armitage, the Albert Theatre’s new pianist.
‘Everyone had time to look at their song sheets?’ Smiley asked. And without waiting for a reply, he shouted. ‘From the top!’
As Artie played the opening bars of the first song, Margot’s heart was breaking with the injustice of it all, but her head told her to sing, to do what she had worked so long and so hard for – and she did. She sang and she sang and she sang.
Margot sat on the apron of the stage on the afternoon of opening night and looked around. On either side of the stage there were new canvases, flats and curtains. Above, new lights shone down from the flies and below, surrounding the orchestra pit, was a new mahogany partition. The smell of recently waxed wood filled her nostrils. It reminded her of the ballroom at Foxden Hall before her sister Bess turned it into a hospital wing. Bess would be in London now. She had come down for her old housemates’ wedding and stayed on. Claire wasn’t able to get leave from the WAAF, but Ena was coming. Margot couldn’t wait to see them. She looked over to where they would be sitting with Natalie and Anton Goldman. The box didn’t look as if it had been refurbished. Most of the seats in the auditorium hadn’t either. Only the first three rows had been replaced; the rest had been cleaned. They’d have been covered in brick and plaster dust after the--.
Applause (The Dudley Sisters Saga Book 2) Page 22