Hot Pies on the Tram Car

by Sheila Newberry

  ‘You’re sharing my room, I hope you don’t mind?’ Sadie asked. ‘Not much space, but it’s comfortable. Bathroom just along the corridor. It’s plain cooking here but plenty of it. They don’t object to serving dinner when you get back from the theatre. There’s some big names on the bill, but I miss the London scene. I’m told this theatre really comes into its own in the pantomime season; maybe I’ll still be here then!’

  She took in Rose Marie’s doleful expression. ‘You must be hungry!’ Sadie exclaimed contritely. ‘I’ll ring for a sandwich and pot of tea for you to be brought up here. I never eat, as you know, before a performance. You’ve time for a quick bath first. We need to leave for the theatre in about an hour. Unless you would rather relax here, after your journey?’

  ‘I’m tired,’ Rose Marie confessed, ‘but I don’t want to be on my own. I’ll come.’

  ‘Oh, good! Look, I don’t want to know the ins and outs of what’s gone wrong between you and Russ. I don’t think he understands why, either! I just thought, Rose Marie must want to get away from it all, have a complete change of scene.’

  ‘You were right, Sadie. I’m very grateful for your concern.’

  ‘Off to the bathroom now before someone else bags it, and your refreshment will await you on your return!’

  ‘What shall I change into?’

  ‘Whatever you like, as long as its comfortable. Shoes, in particular!’

  After a soak in hot, scented water, Rose Marie felt much better. The hotel towels were huge and soft. She wrapped one round her while she washed her hair in the basin. Now she had removed all the grime and smoke from the journey, she thought, despite her fluffy, damp hair. No time to set it. The food completed the revival process.

  It was still light, a pleasant summer evening, when they emerged from the hotel to find another waiting cab. The rush-hour was over, the traffic less; this time Rose Marie enjoyed the ride through the city.

  Backstage, Rose Marie was introduced to passing artistes, but most were too preoccupied to talk; the stalls were already filling with smartly dressed people, but the real buzz of excitement emanated from the gallery above.

  ‘There’s still a lot of wealthy folk in Birmingham, despite the slump in business. Then there’s the other side, where people work long hours for low wages to turn out all the stuff with the label, Made in Birmingham. They like a night out too, and the gallery is their choice. Cheap and cheerful! Sheer escapism. I’m glad to do my bit in that respect,’ Sadie told Rose Marie.

  The orchestra tuned up, while Sadie led Rose Marie to her dressing room.

  ‘Just a cubby-hole really, but then we’re not the stars of the show! Better than the communal dressing room, though. You never know who might have used your powder puff!’

  Sadie selected a frock from the rail, hung it on a hook on the back of the door.

  ‘What can I do?’ Rose Marie ventured.

  ‘Well, you can learn about stage make-up, while I apply the greasepaint! I don’t expect you to work on your first evening, you know! We haven’t discussed all that yet.’

  ‘I only posted off my resignation to Mrs Belling this morning . . . she won’t get it until tomorrow. So officially I still work for Belling’s.’

  ‘You’ll lose your wages in lieu of notice, I suppose. Are you all right for money? Don’t worry about the hotel, I’ve done a deal with the manager on that.’

  ‘I’ve got some savings.’ Rose Marie realized that neither Russ or his mother had told Sadie about her windfall. She added quickly, ‘How long before you’re on stage?’

  ‘We’re the final act before the interval. It’s a good spot.’ A rap on the door made Sadie look up. ‘I expect that’s Stan. He’s staying in our hotel too, with his friend. They would have come here earlier. Open the door, there’s a dear.’

  Stan wasn’t talkative. Rose Marie was already aware of that. Dedicated to his dancing, she thought wryly, when he greeted her with a brief nod.

  ‘You’re late,’ Stan reproved Sadie. He was already immaculate in his dress suit.

  ‘I’ve never let you down yet, have I?’ she returned. ‘Well, you’ve got time for a quick one in the bar, while I get changed. I’ll see you backstage.’

  ‘Dashing about, when you should be resting before the performance,’ he complained.

  ‘Family come first with me, you know that. Off you go!’

  ‘Family,’ Rose Marie said a little later, as she held the dance frock clear of the make-up on Sadie’s face and neck. ‘Is that really how you think of me?’ She regarded Sadie’s reflection solemnly in the mirror.

  ‘You know it is. I took to you the minute we met! Mind you, I worried a bit about my young brother sweeping you off your feet like that. I did wish you hadn’t decided to marry so young, before you’d had a chance to further your career. Your sister, now, seems to have given up her’s for teaching, when she has a lovely voice. Wasn’t she married at your age?’

  ‘Yes, but Jose wasn’t the best choice she could have made. Although their daughter is very special to Florence. I think the world of her, too.’ She changed the subject. ‘Shall I tidy your hair for you? It’s rather ruffled at the back.’

  ‘Please! I can see you’re going to make yourself indispensable to me!’

  Later, Rose Marie sat on a chair in the wings, with a sideways view of the stage. Not quite the same as sitting in the stalls, she thought, recalling with a pang the day she had met Russ. She’d clutched the dress box from Belling’s on her lap. He’d flirted with her, and she supposed that was when they fell in love. So much had happened since then.

  The Charleston was still a favourite here. Sadie’s energetic steps, the billowing of her flame-coloured short skirts, the swinging of her long, knotted rope of glittering beads, the bandeau round her head, all added to the charisma of the dance. Stan was a perfect foil, with his smouldering good looks; the audience must surely believe, as Rose Marie had in her youthful naïveté, that these two were lovers. She mused, it’s an illusion, but it was real enough between Russ and me.

  A voice in her ear startled her. ‘Can you see well enough?’

  ‘Yes, thank you,’ she murmured shyly. She made out a tall man in the shadows, then as the spotlight followed the dancers across to that side of the stage, she glimpsed his face with high cheekbones and dark eyes, above the roll-neck collar of a black jersey. He smiled.

  ‘I should introduce myself, in a stage whisper, naturally! I am Jack Dawes, the theatre manager. You must be Rose Marie, Sadie’s sister-in-law?’

  ‘Not exactly, but Sadie’s a good friend,’ Rose Marie replied.

  The dancers were taking a bow, to enthusiastic applause. With a wave, they came offstage. When Rose Marie turned round, after congratulating them, Jack Dawes had gone.

  The curtain came down. ‘Time for another cup of tea, and a change of costume,’ said Sadie, leading the way to the dressing room. ‘Stan prefers his tot of whisky.’

  ‘I met Mr Dawes,’ Rose Marie told Sadie. ‘He seemed to think I was your sister-in-law.’

  ‘I suppose that’s how I think of you! I imagine you put him right? He’s a grand chap.’

  Rose Marie nodded. ‘I haven’t stopped loving Russ, you know. We were so close, but I believe it would have hurt him more if I had stayed.’

  ‘I said I wouldn’t pry, and I’ll endeavour to keep to that. I have a dilemma of my own, Rose Marie. Jack Dawes, well, he’s asked me to marry him.’

  ‘He seems very nice. He’s certainly handsome!’

  ‘Not so young, though, did you notice? He was married to an actress, but she left him a few years back. He’s bringing up a young son, who’s at boarding school. He’s quite frank about it: he’d like to get married again; have his boy home with him all the time, not just for the holidays as he is now.’

  ‘You don’t want to take on his son?’

  ‘It’s not that, Rose Marie. I’m selfish. I don’t want to give up my dancing. Besides, I have to help support my mot
her.’

  ‘That’s hardly selfish! Still, I’m not the one to give you advice, Sadie, am I?’

  ‘Well, I have to agree! But in case you’re wondering, I’m not in love with Jack, and he isn’t in love with me! We’re, well, comfortable together, but that’s hardly romantic, is it?’

  *

  Lilli’s meagre possessions were lined up on the table. Philippe lifted the stoppers from the perfume bottles, sniffed them. He turned the bottles in his hands thoughtfully.

  ‘These are old?’ he queried.

  ‘They were my grandmother’s. She lived with us after my grandfather died and my father inherited the château. When she passed away, my mother said I could have them. The perfume still lingers. I kept them in my lingerie drawer.’ Lilli wished she hadn’t said that.

  ‘Then you must do the same, here,’ he said smoothly. Then he sighed. ‘It is obvious that there is nothing here which anyone would want.’

  Lilli bridled at that. ‘I brought my treasures, as I call them, from my own country. They are precious to me. I hope you will tell the people you work for that I obviously do not have what they are looking for. Surely, now, you can allow me to go?’

  He shook his head. ‘Supposing you have concealed something from me or, rather, that your friends have?’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous! If only you would tell me what you believe I have?’

  ‘A secret gift from your father, before he went off to war.’

  ‘I have no recollection of that!’ she insisted. ‘Why won’t you believe me?’

  ‘Look, pack these things back in your case. Cast your mind back. You must remember! As soon as you tell me, you will be free.’

  ‘Then I shall be here for ever,’ she cried, with a flash of her old spirit. ‘Because I am telling you the truth!’

  *

  The Saturday matinée, and this time Rose Marie had a younger companion in the wings. Ronnie Dawes was eight years old, very like his father to look at.

  ‘Don’t be a nuisance,’ his father cautioned.

  ‘I’m waiting for the ventriloquist to come on. I like his dog; it’s really funny!’

  ‘You relish the bit, I suppose, where the stage hand comes on with a mop and bucket. Well old Larry doesn’t think that’s so hilarious.’

  ‘Well, the ventriloquist shouldn’t make the dog say, “I gotta go” then, should he?’

  ‘Ronnie always has to have the last word,’ Jack said, ruffling his son’s hair. ‘I reckon he’ll be a ventriloquist one day.’

  ‘Which turn do you like best?’ Ronnie asked Rose Marie when his father had gone.

  ‘The dancing, of course!’ she replied promptly. ‘All those sequins were sewn on by me!’

  After the show, Jack invited Sadie and Rose Marie to spend the time before the evening performance at his home nearby. ‘Ronnie enjoys your company and so do I,’ he said gallantly.

  It was a town house, but with a small, secluded garden. They sat on a stone seat on a perfect square of Cumberland turf, and were served with chilled lemonade with a slice of real lemon and shortbread biscuits by the housekeeper.

  Ronnie bounced a ball on a paved area, until his father mildly requested he desist.

  ‘We’ll have a day out in the country tomorrow, shall we? Find somewhere you can kick a ball as much as you like.’

  ‘Can we take a picnic?’ Ronnie’s face brightened up.

  ‘You know I’m not much good at packing picnic baskets! We’ll find a nice pub, where we can sit outside, and have whatever we fancy to eat. How about that?’

  ‘Can Sadie and Rose Marie come too?’

  ‘Why don’t you ask them? They may have other arrangements.’

  ‘Have you? Go on, say yes,’ Ronnie pleaded.

  ‘We haven’t, and we’d be pleased to come,’ Sadie said promptly. ‘Rose Marie will be surprised, I think, to see the beautiful countryside around the city. Will you call for us, Jack?’

  ‘We certainly will,’ he said. ‘Is eleven o’clock too early in the morning?’

  ‘We’ll be ready and waiting, won’t we, Rose Marie?’ Sadie asked.

  Rose Marie nodded, smiling. She thought, Sadie may consider Jack is not serious about her in that way, but I can tell he is!

  Later, when they were back in the dressing room at the theatre, and Rose Marie was pressing a chiffon scarf carefully with a cool iron, she said, ‘It should be fun, tomorrow.’

  ‘Mmm.’ Sadie was laying out the sticks of greasepaint on the make-up shelf. ‘I suspect that you’ve already guessed the life of an artiste is not always a giddy whirl! Not as it was when my mother was wooed and won by a minor member of the aristocracy! More sober times, I suppose. Maybe I’ll end up like your sister Stella, teaching rather than performing.’

  ‘Maybe you’ll get married.’ Rose Marie folded the scarf carefully.

  ‘You think I should take my chance with Jack?’

  ‘You’d have a ready-made family, and a comfortable home. A permanent place in this theatre! You’re wrong about him not being in love with you: it’s obvious to me he is.’

  ‘Just as it’s obvious to me,’ Sadie retorted, ‘you and Russ are made for each other!’

  Rose Marie made her mind up. ‘I will tell you the reason why I fled, Sadie. It’s rather shocking, I’m afraid. It concerns my family.’

  ‘My dear, what could be more shocking than what happened to my father? We’ve had to live with that, especially my mother. But we’ve never kept it a secret. Things are always easier to deal with, Mother says, if they are out in the open. I’m ready to listen . . .’

  *

  ‘Oh, I didn’t expect to find you still in bed!’ Stella exclaimed, looking round for somewhere to lay down the flowers she had brought.

  Josefina said in her forthright way, ‘Now, Mummy, you have to remember that Aunty Florence is no spring chicken! See, I know what that means now!’

  ‘Come here,’ Florence invited. ‘Give your ancient aunt a kiss! I’ve missed you, dearie. You may lift the baby up for a cuddle, Stella. I know the little blighter’s awake.’

  ‘What a way to describe your baby,’ Stella reproved her with a smile, but she was soon rocking little Flynn in her arms.

  ‘Rose Marie decided not to come, then?’ Florence asked after a while.

  Josefina opened her mouth, then closed it, after a look from her mother.

  ‘Not today, but you’ll see her soon, I hope,’ Stella said quickly.

  Manny came in with Carmen, the Spanish doll. ‘Thought Josefina might like this back.’

  ‘Oh, good!’ Josefina squealed. ‘I wondered where she was. I’ve got Clarice, of course, Yvette’s doll. She says I can keep her till she sees me again, but Carmen’s my favourite.’

  They heard a knock on the door. Buck’s voice. ‘Someone to see you.’

  Manny opened the door. A tall man stood beside Buck.

  ‘I’m sorry to disturb you,’ the man said, as Buck clattered back down the stairs.

  ‘Who are you?’ Manny queried.

  ‘My name is Sam Bower. I am Lilli’s husband, Yvette’s father. I was waiting for news from your wife, but became impatient. I decided to come and find out what the situation is.’

  ‘It’s not the most convenient time to call, but you’ve come a long way, so you’d better come in,’ Manny said.

  More complications? He thought. How could he shield Florence from further worry?

  TWENTY-ONE

  ‘CAN you entertain him for a bit?’ Florence asked Manny. ‘Tell him I’ve got visitors, and the baby to feed shortly too. Make him a cup of tea, eh? We’d appreciate one, too! Where’s he staying tonight? Oh dear!’ She was becoming agitated, her face flushed.

  ‘Calm down,’ Manny said soothingly. ‘I’ll see to it all. Will you keep her out of the kitchen, Stella?’

  ‘I certainly will.’ Stella was still cooing over the baby. ‘You realize this will probably give me ideas?’ she sighed to Florence, when Manny had returned t
o their unexpected guest.

  ‘That might not be a bad thing.’ Florence’s response surprised Stella.

  Stella glanced at Josefina. Her hair hung down her back in a single braid like her mother’s. She’s grown up a lot since she left here, she thought. Cottons on more than we give her credit for. But her expression gave nothing away.

  ‘It would make me stay put, you mean?’ Stella asked. ‘What about Jose?’

  ‘Time he grew up and faced his responsibilities. Or did the other thing . . .’

  ‘What’s that?’ Josefina was listening in after all.

  ‘You don’t want to know,’ Florence said. ‘Would you like to hold your cousin for a while? I’ll put my dressing-gown on and then we’ll beat the retreat to the sitting room. I’m all hot and bothered propped up here in bed.’ She threw back the bed covers.

  ‘But, Manny told me the nurse said—’ Stella began.

  ‘I mean to stop acting like an invalid, get back to normal. Come on!’

  Manny poured two mugs of tea for himself and Sam. He refilled the teapot and set up the cups and saucers, the jug of milk, the bowl of sugar lumps, on the tray. He’d overheard the exodus from the bedroom into the sitting-room. It probably wasn’t Stella’s fault, he thought, resigned. Who could stop Florence when she was in a determined mood?

  ‘Excuse me a moment, I’ll just take this tray through . . .’

  ‘I appreciate that your wife has a new baby, but I was hoping to speak to her, later.’

  ‘Later, as you say. You are welcome to stay here tonight, in Lilli’s flat.’

  ‘I’m grateful,’ Sam said. ‘I admit I was hoping you’d suggest that.’

  On his return, Manny realized something. ‘I posted a letter to you yesterday. Didn’t you get it?’

  ‘I left before the first post. Why, has something happened?’

  ‘We know where Lilli is. She’s being kept against her wishes. She was told what to write to us. I’m sure she would have written to Yvette, if she could. They were very close.’