‘Palace Hotel.’ His teeth flashed and his eyes glinted in the reflected face in the driving mirror. ‘The biggest and best. Nothing but the best for my two lovely ladies.’
Mam giggled. She had evidently forgotten that the Hammonds were staying at the Palace. ‘You’re going to meet some of my business associates,’ he said. ‘There will be seven of us, with Lily.’
It was a splendid, grand hotel. Uniformed men ushered them into the ballroom, which was the biggest room Lily had ever seen in her life. Scores of tables, round and oval, were laid with white damask and laden down with silver and crystal under the great chandeliers.
They followed the head waiter past women in silver lamé dresses with low-cut backs, grandes dames in black satin with feather trims and men in tail suits, wing collars and white bow ties. Gold glistened and diamonds flashed, and over all of this was the hum of male voices and the tinkling of ladies’ laughter.
Lily was pink and self-conscious as they were shown to their table, where two middle-aged couples sat. Their table was next to the dance floor, where couples were gliding to the tune of ‘Blue Moon’, a foxtrot played by a dance band: five men in white suits.
It was like the Hollywood pictures she’d seen at the Majestic. Waiters pulled out their chairs and seated them and Lily’s knees were weak with nervous excitement for she had spotted them at the next table – the Hammonds and the Mackenzies. Her heart almost stopped. She wanted to curl up and die of embarrassment at the thought of Ian having carried her, covered in blood.
Mam smiled and nodded in their direction with an air of indifference and Lily tried to sneak a quick look at Ian. He grinned and lifted his hand in a welcoming gesture. Lily’s face burned fierce, fiery red. They brought iced lemonade to the table for Lily and red and white wines for the others. Lily noticed that Mam was merely toying with her glass as the hors d’oeuvres, the first of seven courses, were wheeled to them on a great trolley. She had never seen such food and had to watch what Mr Leigh did so she wouldn’t make a fool of herself.
Mr Leigh was being the fine gentleman, switching his smile on and off, being extravagant in flattery to the two ladies in the party as well as to Mam and Lily. Prim from embarrassment, Lily blushed every time she caught Ian’s eye, which she did every time she looked across at his table. Mam was occupied – sparkling for Mr Leigh, making him laugh so much he had to dab at those droopy-corner eyes with his table napkin. After the fish they brought fillet steaks with a Bearnaise sauce and tiny new potatoes, roasted onions and buttered peas.
There was a pause after the meat, and Mr Leigh asked Mam to dance. People had been taking to the floor all through the meal. There were about eight couples dancing when he took Mam in his arms while the band played ‘Embraceable You’.
Mam was soignée in a low-backed black dress of crushed velvet with a headband of sparkling stones. Jet beads at the hem and neck twinkled under a revolving glitter ball as they danced. The chandeliers were dimmed. Only on the dance floor was there light and movement. And all this time Lily sensed Ian’s eyes on her. She dared not look him in the face but out of the corner of her eye she saw that he had stopped eating, he was very still and his eyes were fixed on her.
When Mam and Mr Leigh came back from the dance floor they were served with meringues glacées with Chantilly cream. Mr Leigh called out for champagne and asked that a glass be brought for Lily. When it was poured he tapped his hand on the table and stood up. He was the only person standing up to speak at a table in that vast room. Heads turned. Lily noticed that the Hammonds’ table had gone quiet.
And then she realised, too late, the purpose of this celebration. ‘Friends!’ he said. ‘Friends! My dear friends.’ He made a little, high-pitched, throat-clearing noise. ‘It is with pride and joy that I am able to say that …’ He patted Mam’s shoulder. ‘… That Elsie and I are to be married.’ He lifted his glass and said, ‘She will make me a very happy man! To Elsie!’ Then, abruptly, he sat down again.
‘To Elsie!’ Everyone but Mam and Lily raised their glasses. Mam nudged her, and reluctantly Lily raised hers, but there was a lump in her throat and she could not swallow a drop of champagne. Tears blurred her eyes. Her chin and mouth were being pulled down in misery as she wondered why she had not seen it coming. She couldn’t speak, though everyone at the table was congratulating Mr Leigh and wishing Mam every happiness, making Mam’s face go all pink and self-conscious.
Lily remembered Nanna’s words. She must shift for herself, try to find something good that could come out of the dreadful decision Mam had made. Everyone at their table had gone to stand by Mr Leigh and offer their hands for shaking, because their table was too wide to reach over. But it was graceless behaviour, in Lily’s eyes. Nobody else in the ballroom stood up and walked round the table. Everyone was watching them, and as Mam fumbled in her bag for a handkerchief to dab her eyes, which were watering, she pleaded, ‘Give us a hand, Lil! For heavens’ sake find my hankie!’
Lily handed hers over. ‘Here.’
Mama didn’t want the others to hear. ‘I told you we’d be out of it. Have you made up your mind?’
‘Not yet.’
‘You wanted a father! You told Grandpa you wanted it all made legal,’ she whispered. ‘You’re an ungrateful …’ Mam stopped whispering rebukes, because the others were seated again.
Lily felt herself growing faint. She put her elbows on the table and cupped her face in her hands. Was Mam was doing this for her? Did Mam want Mr Leigh to adopt her? She could be legitimate. She could be baptised and confirmed. She drank her champagne in one go. Everyone was getting up from their table, making for the dance floor. Only Lily was left. She looked towards the Hammonds’ table where Magnus, Sylvia and Ian were talking. Ian looked across the two tables and again their eyes met and locked. Lily tried to avert hers but couldn’t, because Ian was smiling at her. Despite the embarrassing blush, Lily’s low spirits began to lift.
Ian got to his feet, said something to Magnus and Sylvia, all the time watching Lily. A warm, tingling sensation came rippling through her as he came towards the table; tall and handsome in his evening dress suit. Then he stood in front of her, correct and formal. He held out his hand. ‘May I have the pleasure of this dance?’
His level, steady blue eyes were not cool or formal. They were blazing with life. Something as old as life, the magnetism that draws lovers together, sparked between them as Lily held his hand and went to the dance floor.
‘Better?’ he asked, as his right hand went firmly into the small of her back and she felt the pressure of his fingers through the ruby dress. Her left hand rested on his shoulder and she was moving like an automaton, but her face was flaming. As they joined hands he looked into her shining eyes and said, ‘You don’t look like a girl who was at death’s door yesterday.’
‘I’m all right.’ She coughed, to catch her breath. ‘I feel such an idiot.’
‘So do I!’ Ian’s straight eyebrows almost met. ‘I’m sorry I hurt you.’
‘Oh. It’s nothing.’ She was breathless. ‘I feel an idiot because …’
They moved across the floor together and he said, ‘You don’t appear an idiot. You seem at home in …’ he smiled, ‘… this milieu!’
She was concentrating like mad, and the scent of him – that faint man and coal tar soap smell – was making her aware of all her senses. ‘I mean yesterday. You rescuing me and all …’
They were dancing, turning at the corners, all the difficult steps, but Ian pressed his hand in the small of her back and turned expertly. ‘Don’t give it a thought,’ he said. Then he tightened his hold on her. ‘I could dance the night away with you.’
He made a little frown of concentration. ‘I’m trying to look couth – not uncouth – as if I’m used to this …’ he said as they did a smooth reverse turn. ‘Trying to impress you so you’ll think I’m a–’
Lily laughed at last, because her nerves were gone and because, though he meant what he said, Ian was so obvio
usly enjoying himself.
‘Not a very convincing lounge lizard, am I?’ he said. ‘I spend all my free time out of doors.’ They danced past Mr Hammond and Rowena, Mrs Hammond and Ian’s father. Their feet matched in perfect step. They had not missed a beat. Next he said, ‘The important thing is – are you recovered from the water? From the bruising I gave you?’
‘Good as new.’ She laughed softly, and her laugh had changed, gone lower and huskier with the thrill that was coming from dancing; from being held in a man’s arms for the first time in her grown-up life. Their eyes met again, his blue and steady, hers wide and gazing up into his in the naive, adoring expression that fifteen-year-olds cannot hide.
‘We make a good partnership,’ he said. ‘Everyone’s watching us.’ He danced faster, did another reverse turn. ‘Do you remember playing the piano when I played accordion at Archerfield?’
‘Oh, yes!’
‘And we said we’d make music together?’
‘Of course I do.’
He twirled her round in the corner of the floor. ‘We are making it!’
Ian might not realise it, but to Lily he was an expert dancer. His firm hands were guiding her so that they never touched or bumped into anyone, but she was aware of every muscle in his arms, every movement of his strong legs against hers. He laughed softly as he did another complicated step. Then he said, ‘Do you still play the piano?’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘And you?’
‘It’s my greatest pleasure.’ He couldn’t stop the deep, chuckling laugh, not caring who was watching them. ‘Playing the piano is my greatest pleasure. The next best thing to dancing with my pretty wee accompanist.’
This was the most romantic conversation she could ever have dreamed of. Words and answers were slipping out of her mind. The ruby-red dress was swirling round her ankles, her head was whirling and spinning and a great big smile was fixed on her face as she looked into honest blue eyes that had no guile, no pretence, no insincerity in them. The band was playing a quickstep and Ian was singing, ‘Grab your coat and get your hat … Leave your worries on the doorstep … Just direct your feet … to the sunny side of the street.’
Lily looked up into his eyes, wishing the dance might last forever.
Ian said, ‘I keep forgetting your name. I always thought of you as my wee accompanist.’ He pulled her a bit closer, bent his head towards hers and in a voice that had lost all traces of its former buoyancy and had become tender and hesitant said, ‘Now I’m with you again I don’t know how I could have forgotten. What is it? Tell me and I promise I’ll remember it for ever.’
She was not a child any longer. She was making her own decisions and choices. Onward and upward! She couldn’t go back. She’d go forward, with Mam, into a new life. She went on tiptoe and whispered in his ear, ‘I used to be called Lil. Short for Lily Isobel. Just call me Isobel!’ she said. ‘Soon I’m going to be Isobel Leigh.’
‘Isobel Leigh. Isobel Leigh. What a lovely name.’ He leaned back a little and held her at arm’s length, smiling appreciatively. Then he pulled her towards his strong, broad chest and said, ‘Magnus hasn’t taken his eyes off us. I once told him I hadn’t met a girl I’d care to waste time dancing with.’
PART TWO
Chapter Fifteen
‘Isobel?’ ‘Isobel,’ she said to everyone on their return from holiday. ‘I want to be known as Isobel.’
Mam and Nanna kept forgetting, Shandy had to think twice and Doreen said she could only think of her as Silly Lily, but Isobel refused to answer to her old name and it turned out that a change of name was not at all unusual. At the Central School there was an Elizabeth who was no longer Betty, two Margarets who used to be Peggies and a Bunty who cried if anyone remembered that her real name was Jane.
But the new name was not the only difference in her life. Since she’d taken charge of the housekeeping money, her responsibilities had snowballed, to the point where Mam would say, ‘Sometimes I wonder who is the mother and who the daughter.’ Mam had begun to look to her for advice, and Isobel determined to learn about diabetes and its treatment.
They had never subscribed to the penny-a-week scheme where families could consult a doctor free, so Isobel had to squeeze out of the housekeeping purse the money for Mam’s treatment as well as half a crown for a private consultation with the doctor. She was shown into Dr Russell’s surgery a week later.
He had the reputation of not suffering fools at all. People lowered their voices when they said his name. Others boasted that he was the best doctor in Macclesfield and that he called them by their Christian names.
He said sternly, ‘It cannot be cured.’
‘I haven’t come here hoping you can cure her,’ she said. ‘Tell me how to look after her, please.’
He looked over the top of his wire-framed glasses. ‘The greatest danger is coma. You know there are two sorts of coma?’
She didn’t know. ‘What are they?’
‘Diabetic coma resulting from high blood sugar is the lesser of two evils. A patient’s blood sugar levels can rise steadily through years, yet they carry on with nothing more than bouts of depression or lethargy. The danger here comes from infection or, worse, injury. Poor circulation and unhealthy tissues. Cuts that won’t heal become gangrenous …’
‘How do I make sure this doesn’t happen?’ Isobel asked quickly.
‘You make sure she takes her insulin.’
Isobel felt her mouth starting to pull at the corners as it did when she was trying to appear more confident than she was. She pressed her lips tight. ‘And the other sort of coma? You said there were two.’
‘Hypoglycaemic coma results from high insulin levels. It can be lethal if not treated quickly. Sugar has to be ingested at once, to save the patient.’
This was far worse than Mam made out. Isobel swallowed hard. ‘How will I recognise which is which?’
‘Your mother must not be left alone. She must be watched.’ The doctor spoke in a serious voice to impress the dangers upon her. ‘An insulin-dependent diabetic may have taken too high a dose of insulin, may not have eaten enough, have exercised too much or be suffering from anxiety which depletes the blood sugar rapidly. First she will be combative or disoriented; then she may have a seizure.’ He said, ‘Shall I continue?’
Isobel pressed her fingers tight together. ‘Continue. Please.’
‘Blood sugar drops. This can happen in minutes – and the patient falls into what looks like deep sleep. Frequently the patient can still hear. Hearing is the last sense to go.’
‘And the treatment?’
‘The treatment is to get glucose into the bloodstream, by ingestion. Once the patient is unconscious, ingestion is no longer an option. The patient must be taken to hospital, where glucose will be given directly into the stomach, through a tube.’
‘How do I recognise the difference?’ Isobel asked.
Now at last his expression softened. ‘I will give you full instructions.’ He paused, then as if on impulse came round to her side of the desk and placed a hand on her shoulder. ‘I don’t think your mother has anything to worry about. With such a devoted daughter she’ll live to a ripe old age.’
‘I intend that she shall,’ said Isobel. She listened intently and took away booklets and medicine and warnings of what to look out for. Diabetes, the doctor said, made its victims bone weary one minute and full of life the next. This, then, was why Mam was erratic.
Isobel threw herself into getting Mam’s diabetes under control. Mam didn’t want it advertised, she said. People might think it was catching and would stay away from her. So a tray was hidden on an empty shelf in the scullery cupboard. On it was a spirit lamp and test tubes for boiling urine, two syringes, four needles, methylated spirit in a flask containing a ready-primed syringe, gauze and spirit to clean the skin. There was also a collection of phials of insulin with different coloured labels showing the various strengths. Isobel became an expert, and a bossy one, recording dosage and the sugar
levels, and every day she saw Mam improving.
Mr Leigh came round to the house more often than before but there was no mention of wedding plans and Isobel came to hope that Mam was having second thoughts. Her behaviour surely could not all be due to the blood sugar levels. She swung from black moods, when she fumed about everything and could barely speak to Mr Leigh, to being girlish and frivolous, when she’d try to make him unsure of her. She’d say, ‘Can’t see you tomorrow, Hah-d! Our Lil and I – I mean, our Isobel and I are going to the pictures. I’ve fallen in love with Fred Astaire.’
Mr Chancellor came round for the rent one Friday. Isobel had not seen him for months but before she could speak Mam said, ‘Hello, stranger!’ in a sarcastic voice. ‘I thought you‘d passed on.’
‘Don‘t be like that,’ he said. ‘I said I’d have to leave it a while.’
Isobel thought it shocking, what Mam did next. She came to stand in front of Mr Chancellor, close and provocative, and said. ‘When are you and Nellie Plant going to tie the knot, then?’
He gave her a cold, hard look before putting his hand out for the rent money Mam was holding. ‘I’ll not marry again.’
Mam handed the money over and put her hands on her hips. ‘You’re only forty-four. No age. Why! You could marry and rear another family.’
What Mam was saying was suggestive and presumptuous and a hot blush of embarrassment rushed to Isobel’s cheeks. How could Mam behave like a low gossip-monger and bear false witness? There was a hostile silence.
Mr Chancellor looked from Mam to herself and then down at the rent book. ‘I’ve enough on my plate with the family I’ve got,’ he said. And there was a new, dreadful distance between them all.
Frank was furious. If he didn’t go now he’d lose his temper, strike Elsie or say something he’d regret. He slapped the rent book down on the kitchen table. Then he gave her a look that could turn a gorgon to stone, before giving a painful attempt at a smile in the direction of his sweet, precious daughter.
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