by Nancy Revell
Chapter Sixty-Four
Charlotte heaved her shopping bag into the Maison Nouvelle.
‘Do you mind if I leave this here for a little while?’
‘Of course not,’ Kate said. She was sitting at her workbench stitching pale blue glass beads onto what Charlotte thought looked like a headband.
‘I’ve just got one more thing to get,’ she said, hurrying back out of the door.
Kate smiled to herself. Rosie could be pretty conniving when she wanted. Not only was she keeping Charlotte out of mischief, as well as out of her hair, she was also ensuring that she was helping Bel with the wedding. It wasn’t a case of killing two birds with one stone but three.
Leaving the boutique, Charlotte hurried down Holmeside, turned left into Waterloo Place, then crossed over onto Athenaeum Street, before taking another left onto a very busy Fawcett Street.
Dodging shoppers, she finally reached Bridge Street, where she stopped and tried to find the shop she’d been told was around here somewhere.
The town was packed. Everyone seemed to have left their Christmas shopping until the last minute. Either that or they were out enjoying themselves, partaking in the Christmas spirit.
Charlotte spotted two Admiralty officers who looked as though they were doing just that. They weren’t drunk, but they did look a little unsteady on their feet. If it wasn’t for their age, she might have described them as dashing.
Suddenly she caught sight of two women walking down the street.
Was that …?
Charlotte stood and looked hard.
Her vision was temporarily blocked by a tram slowly gaining momentum as it headed for the Wearmouth Bridge.
Charlotte squinted a little. It was freezing cold, but the sun was shining. Dazzling. She put her hand to her forehead to stop herself being blinded.
Yes, it was.
It was Maisie and Vivian.
Mind you, they didn’t look like they’d been shopping. They weren’t carrying any bags or parcels.
Charlotte lifted her hand to wave and catch their attention.
She was just about to try and cross the road when she saw one of the Admiralty turn around and say something to Maisie. She laughed as he folded her in his arms and kissed her, before taking her hand.
Charlotte dropped her own hand.
The other naval officer was now speaking with Vivian and was offering her his arm.
They were clearly out on a double date.
Charlotte stayed where she was.
The officers seemed a little old for Maisie and Vivian. Must have been at least twice their age.
Charlotte stumbled a little as she felt someone bump into her.
‘Sorry, pet!’
Charlotte smiled and looked back to see where Maisie and Vivian and the two white-suited officers were going.
She caught them just as they disappeared through the main doors of the Grand.
When Charlotte got back to the Maison Nouvelle, she knocked on the door as she always did nowadays to stop Kate having kittens every time she entered the shop. She had noticed her sister always shouted out straight away whenever she came to the boutique and Charlotte had decided to do something similar.
Kate came out of the back room.
‘You done all your chores then?’
‘I have.’ She let out air dramatically. ‘It’s like a bull bait out there, though.’
Kate chuckled.
‘I know, anyone would think it was Christmas.’
Charlotte heard a rustling to her side and looked round to see Bel appearing through the divide in the curtain that provided the backdrop to the front window display.
She was holding her wedding dress.
‘Thank you so much, Charlie, for doing everything. You are a real star. I don’t know what I would have done without you.’
Bel gave Charlotte a hug while holding her dress out so as not to get it creased.
‘Now come and show me what you’ve got.’
Charlotte picked up the bag she had left earlier and the confetti she had bought from the bridal shop on Bridge Street and took them into the back room.
While the three of them drank tea and oohed and aahed over the things Charlotte had bought, Charlotte kept thinking about Bel’s sister and Vivian.
There were a few times she’d thought about mentioning that she’d seen them – after all, Maisie was Bel’s sister and the pair lodged with Kate at Lily’s – but each time something had stopped her.
Chapter Sixty-Five
Just after six o’clock there was a knock on the front door of number 7 Cairo Street. Martha had just returned from the yard and was helping her mam get the tea ready.
Not long before that Mr Perkins had staggered in with a rather emaciated Christmas tree, but it was a tree all the same. He had then gone up into the attic to bring down the decorations.
‘Who’s that at the door?’ Mrs Perkins said, drying her hands on her pinny. ‘We’re not expecting any visitors, are we?’ She looked at Martha, who shook her head.
‘Who’s that?’ Mr Perkins stuck his head out of the square opening in the landing ceiling.
He watched, his vision upside down, as his wife answered the door. Martha was behind her. Forever protective.
‘Oh, goodness me,’ Mrs Perkins said. ‘Well, this is a surprise.’
She looked at the delivery boy who had somehow managed to cycle with the wicker picnic hamper balancing on the basket on the front of his bicycle. He had put the bike on its stand and was now standing, knees bent and arms outstretched, holding the hamper that had a huge red bow tied around it.
‘Are you sure you’ve got the right address?’ Mrs Perkins asked.
She felt herself being nudged aside as Martha squashed past and took the delivery from the skinny young lad before he collapsed under its weight.
Martha looked at the tag dangling from one of the leather straps that were holding the hamper intact.
‘“Mr and Mrs Perkins”,’ she read.
‘Well, this is a surprise,’ Mrs Perkins said, flattening herself against the wall of the hallway to allow Martha and the hamper to get past.
‘Wait there, young man,’ she said, grabbing her handbag by the front door.
She took out a coin and pressed it into the lad’s cold hands.
‘Merry Christmas.’
The boy looked down at the shiny coin and gave Mrs Perkins a big smile.
‘Merry Christmas to you too!’ A stream of smoky cold air accompanied his words.
Shutting the front door, Mrs Perkins hurried into the back parlour.
‘William, get yourself down here,’ she shouted.
Mr Perkins was already doing just that and was halfway down the ladder. He picked up the bag of decorations he had dropped down onto the landing and hurried down the stairs.
He found his wife and Martha standing around the table, looking down at the hamper.
‘Well, it’s not going to open itself,’ Mr Perkins laughed. ‘Go on, open it!’
Mrs Perkins carefully unbuckled the straps and slowly lifted the lid off the basket.
She gasped when she saw what was inside.
It was a hamper like no other she had ever seen. Certainly not since the start of war.
Partially hidden by straw, she could see a tin of fruit, a jar of marmalade, another jar of chutney and an oblong packet of biscuits – but it was what had been placed in the middle of the picnic basket that had her eyes out on stalks.
A massive gammon joint.
‘Look,’ Martha said, picking out an envelope that was lying next to what would most certainly be their Boxing Day meal. She read out the inscription on the front: ‘“Mr and Mrs Perkins”. Nice handwriting.’
‘You open it, William,’ Mrs Perkins said, anxiously.
Mr Perkins did as he was told and carefully opened the envelope.
He read the few lines that had been written in blue ink on thick, good-quality writing paper.
Then he handed it to
his wife.
Mrs Perkins took longer to read the note.
When she put it down, she had tears in her eyes.
‘Come here,’ she said to Martha and gave her a big hug.
Later on, after they’d all decorated the tree and Martha had gone to bed with a big mug of hot chocolate and a couple of biscuits from the hamper, Mrs Perkins settled herself in the old rocking chair that had once belonged to her father.
She picked up the note she had put on the mantelpiece and read it once more.
Dear Mr and Mrs Perkins,
If it wasn’t for your brave daughter Martha, I would not be here now, nor would a mother and her little girl be celebrating this Yuletide.
You must be very proud parents.
Wishing you all a very Happy Christmas,
Kind regards,
Helen Crawford (Miss)
Chapter Sixty-Six
‘Are yer ready?’ Angie banged on Dorothy’s bedroom door.
‘Nearly!’
A few seconds later the door swung open.
‘Ta-da!’ Dorothy flung her arms out theatrically.
‘Yeah, Dor, yer look fine. Now let’s get going or we’ll never get there,’ Angie said.
Dorothy screwed her eyes up and glared at Angie.
‘Why, Angela Boulter, I do believe you’re nervous.’ Dorothy was doing a very good impression of an accent from the Deep South.
‘Am not!’
Dorothy threw her head back and roared with laughter.
‘Well, you mightn’t be, but Ahh sure as hell ahhm!’
‘Dor, stop sounding like you’ve just stepped off the set of Gone with the Wind. Act normal.’
Dorothy gasped. ‘How can I act normal when we’re about to visit a house of ill repute?’
‘That’s exactly why I’m nervous,’ Angie bit back.
‘Aha, so you are nervous.’
‘Bloody Nora, Dor.’ Angie shoved past Dorothy and opened up the wardrobe. She carefully took out George’s uniform still in its dry-cleaning bag.
‘Better not forget the real reason we’re going there,’ Dorothy hooted, although by the high state of excitement she was in, there was a good possibility she would.
‘Come on, Dor.’ Angie marched down the hallway and opened the front door. ‘I’m going whether you’re ready or not.’
Dorothy watched Angie walk out in her lovely canary-yellow dress. It showed her curves off and went surprisingly well with her blonde hair.
‘I think you’ve forgotten something,’ she shouted after her as she grabbed both their winter coats from the tallboy. ‘Blue and yellow isn’t a good look.’
Quickly grabbing both their gas masks and locking the door behind her, she hurried down the stairs and caught up with Angie as she opened the main front door.
‘Ah Angela, how are you?’
Dorothy couldn’t see the face, but recognised the voice.
‘I’m fine thanks, Quentin. How are you?’ Angie said.
‘Hi Quentin!’ Dorothy squashed herself next to Angie, who had the clothes bag draped over her arm and was looking down at their neighbour standing at the top of the steps that led down to the basement.
‘Gosh, you both look very …’ Quentin hesitated.
‘Gorgeous? Stunning? Glamorous?’ Dorothy suggested.
‘Well, yes, all of the above,’ Quentin said, although his response was directed at Angie.
‘So, are you doing anything special for Christmas Day?’ Quentin asked, his eyes nervously flitting from the ground and then back up to Angie.
‘We are indeed, Quentin,’ Dorothy answered for her friend. ‘We are going to a Christmas wedding, and the reception is to be held at the Grand.’
Angie looked at her friend, who was now speaking as if she was on a visit to Buckingham Palace.
‘Howay, Dor,’ she said, making her way down the steps to the pavement. ‘And fling me my coat, I’m bloomin’ freezing here.’
Quentin smiled.
‘You up to owt?’ Angie asked as she handed over George’s uniform in exchange for her thick olive-green woollen coat.
‘Gosh,’ Quentin said, brushing back a mop of hair that was the same colour as Angie’s. ‘Nothing quite so exciting.’
‘So, what yer deein’?’ Angie persisted.
‘Well,’ Quentin shuffled on the spot, ‘just staying in. Listening to the King’s speech. That sort of thing. Chicken sandwich …’
‘Yer jokin’?’ Angie seemed intrigued. Didn’t posh people with names like Quentin have five-course nosh-ups on Christmas Day?
‘Right, best get a move on,’ Dorothy said, handing Angie the uniform back so she could put on her own coat and stop herself from turning blue. Red and blue also did not go.
‘Good evening, Quentin,’ Dorothy said, again in a voice of aristocracy-cum-royalty.
‘See yer,’ Angie said. ‘And happy Christmas!’
Her Yuletide cheer was met by a smile that spread across the entire width of Quentin’s pale but not unhandsome face.
‘Yes, I’ll say … Merry, merry Christmas!’ he shouted back.
He was still standing on the same spot when Angie and Dorothy turned the corner at the bottom of their street.
It took the pair twenty minutes to get to Lily’s.
They were both trembling with cold and nerves by the time they reached the front door.
Dorothy’s shaking had been exacerbated by nearly going head over heels on black ice a few times.
‘You knock!’ Dor said.
‘No, you knock!’ Angie said.
Dorothy took a deep breath and raised the brass knocker.
They both jumped back when the door opened on the second knock.
Lily had been waiting.
‘Mes chers!’ Lily opened the door wide. ‘Entrez! Entrez! Come in, come in!’
She gestured for them to enter the house.
Dorothy took a deep breath and stepped over the threshold.
Angie followed, her arm now aching from carrying the uniform, which was heavier than it looked.
Both Dorothy and Angie stood stock-still and gazed in awe at the huge Christmas tree in the hallway, at the magnificent chandelier, the polished parquet flooring and the wide, sweeping staircase.
As soon as Angie was in and the door shut behind her, Lily reached over and took the uniform from her.
‘Ahh, merci, merci beaucoup!’ she said, unzipping the front of the clothes bag and having a quick look.
‘I’ll just go and put this somewhere safe,’ she said. ‘Go into the office and see Rosie. She was just about to leave. It being Christmas Eve and all that.’
‘Dorothy … Angie,’ Rosie welcomed them both as she opened the door to her office. ‘Come in! Thanks so much for bringing the uniform over. It’s been crazy today. I’ve got to get off in a minute and see Charlotte. Not fair to leave her on her own on Christmas Eve.’
Dorothy smiled as she walked into the office, trying her hardest to appear as though this was the most normal thing ever – popping into a bordello to drop something off for a friend!
Angie followed Dorothy, openly gawping at the sheer opulence of Rosie’s ‘other’ workplace. The floor-to-ceiling velvet curtains, the beautiful desk, the roaring fire, the chaise longue, the oriental rug … Everything. It was amazing. Beautiful and so stylish.
Just then, the doorbell went.
Rosie sighed and looked at her watch.
‘The clients should know to use the back.’
By the time she had walked across the office, Lily had already reached the front door.
‘You should be using the back entrance!’ Lily reprimanded, looking down at the suited man standing on the doorstep. ‘Sorry, but I’m going to have to insist you go around the back.’ She looked nervously at her neighbours to her left and right.
‘No, honestly—’ the man started to say.
‘Oh, all right then, come on in.’ Lily waved her hand impatiently. ‘Chop-chop!’
A
s soon as he was over the threshold, he too stared about the hallway in disbelief.
It was even more impressive than Peter had told him.
‘The girls are in the back.’ Lily turned around to see George coming out of the parlour. The sound of Bing Crosby’s ‘White Christmas’, along with a stream of cigar smoke and perfume, escaped into the hallway.
‘George will introduce you.’ Lily’s impatience was undisguised.
‘Sorry, I think there’s been a misunderstanding,’ the man said.
He looked at Dorothy and Angie standing in the front room.
And then at Rosie.
She was exactly as Peter had described.
He’d been too late to catch her at the yard and knew by this time she’d be at the bordello.
‘I’ve actually come to see Rosie,’ he said, walking into the office.
‘Well, she doesn’t work here as such,’ Lily said, following him. ‘Not any longer.’
Toby looked at Dorothy and Angie and then back again at Rosie.
He stepped forward and put his hand out.
‘Mrs Miller, I’m Toby, Peter’s friend.’
Everyone fell silent, all thinking the same thoughts.
No, please, God. No.
Not Peter. Not now.
‘Oh God!’ Dorothy couldn’t help herself.
Toby looked at her, then back at Rosie, who was standing there, mute. Her face full of fear.
‘No,’ he said, his face full of apologies. ‘No, it’s not bad news. Not at all.’
Rosie looked about her. All of a sudden, she felt faint.
She walked back to her desk and sat down.
‘That’s good to hear,’ she heard herself say.
Lily hurried over to the decanter of brandy, sloshed a good measure into a glass, took a quick slug herself and then handed it to Rosie.
‘George, can you get everyone a drink, please? I think we all need one.’
Lily turned to Toby.
‘Why didn’t you say who you were in the first place?’ She moved to the side of the desk and pulled out the top drawer to retrieve her Gauloises.
Toby opened his mouth to speak.
‘So, Peter’s all right?’ Lily asked, casting a look at Rosie, who had gone as white as a sheet.
