by Molly Green
Dora’s words spun through Ronnie’s head. Mind you take care of them. They’re a bit special.
‘Don’t worry, Ronnie, we’ll get them back and she’ll never need to know.’
The uniformed doorman sporting an Errol Flynn moustache was checking tickets. He looked up and smiled flirtatiously at Jess but when his gaze fell on Ronnie the smile faded. Fully aware of how she must look in her now tatty raincoat and Wellington boots by the side of her glamorous friend, she felt herself go red. Then something snapped. What right did he have to judge her? She tilted up her chin as she heard Jessica say:
‘My friend left something on the bus. Would it be possible to telephone the bus station to ask about it?’
The doorman glanced at Ronnie with a supercilious expression. ‘Ask for Mr Booth at the bar.’
Jessica gave him a curt nod. ‘Thank you.’ Taking Ronnie’s arm firmly she guided her inside.
‘Jess, I don’t want to go into the bar in my raincoat and boots. They’ll all be dancing and I’ll feel ridiculous.’
‘May’s dress is halfway down your legs so you can take your coat off,’ Jessica said. ‘It’ll be almost dark in there. No one will notice the boots. But I agree they’ll notice you in outdoor clothes. Let’s just ask someone where we go, and then we’ll find Mr Booth.’
Reluctantly, Ronnie followed Jess through a door marked Cloakroom. It was a large room with coat rails already getting full. There was plenty of chatter going on as a dozen girls were changing. Jessica peeled off her coat and hung it on a nearby hook under the watchful eye of the attendant.
‘Oh, Jess, look at you!’ Ronnie’s mouth opened in awe at the golden-haired beauty standing before her.
‘Am I okay?’ Jessica tossed her hair. ‘If I’m not, it’s the only gown I brought with me.’
She was dressed from head to foot in a soft green and Ronnie noticed for the first time her eyes were exactly the same colour. At the front of the dress the fabric draped across the neckline but when Jess turned around, Ronnie saw her creamy bare back with only a hint of material at the waist.
‘You look so sophisticated,’ Ronnie said, in awe. ‘Anyone looking at you would never dream you worked on the canals and ended up every evening like the rest of us – absolutely filthy.’ She grinned, then looked down at herself and pulled a face. ‘I can’t go in there like this.’
‘Yes, you can. Come on, off with that coat.’ Jessica suddenly grinned. ‘Do you remember what I said when I was trying to persuade you to come with me? I said, “… even if I have to drag you there on bare feet.” So that’s what I’m about to do now. Take off your boots.’
‘I can’t go in there without shoes,’ Ronnie protested. ‘I haven’t got stockings on underneath these socks. I don’t even own a pair.’ Strange … she felt a flash of disappointment that she wasn’t going to have an evening off the boat after all. She could hear the scuffling of dancing feet, the laughter and the music coming from behind a nearby closed door and she was curious to see what was going on.
‘Ronnie, we’ll find Mr Booth. Make a plan to collect the shoes which our nice conductor will have seen by now. Then stay a little while to listen to the music. You don’t have to dance. But we’ve come to listen to Jack Payne’s band. So let’s go in. Either that or we’ll have to turn around now without making the phone call and go back to the boat. Then you’ll have to confess to Dora, when you might not have to.’
Ronnie blew out her cheeks. She was no match for Jess in this mood.
‘All right, then,’ she said. ‘But I’m not going in barefoot. Let’s go straight to the bar and find Mr Booth.’ She gave Jess an imploring look. ‘But promise to stay with me. I don’t want to be left on my own – the laughing stock.’
Jessica hesitated. Then she nodded. ‘All right, I promise.’
The band was already well under way when another uniformed man held the door open for the two of them to go through. Ronnie saw his glance travel to her feet and his eyes widened in disbelief.
‘Forgotten your dancing pumps, love?’ he chortled.
Ronnie gave him a frosty look. What a rude man. Maman would want to know where his manners were.
‘It’s a long story,’ Jessica said coolly. ‘We wouldn’t want to bore you, so if you’d allow us to pass through.’
Conscious of several people’s eyebrows raising when they caught sight of her boots, and a few smothered sniggers, Ronnie gazed up at the high domed ceiling, determined not to allow anyone to think she was bothered, but hating every squeaky step as she followed Jess’s tall figure striding towards the bar, elbowing her way to the front, apologising profusely as she did so.
With her golden hair and stunning dress, Ronnie saw that Jessica immediately caught the attention of one of the barmen.
‘Good evening. Could you tell me where I might find Mr Booth?’
‘Sorry, love. He’s unwell today so he won’t be in. Can I help?’
‘I hope so.’ Jessica treated him to a smile. ‘I need to speak to someone urgently and wonder if I could use your phone.’
The barman shook his head. ‘Not allowed without his say-so, I’m afraid. And with such a crowd we’re needed behind the bar non-stop or else there’d be a rumpus.’
Jessica twisted round to Ronnie. ‘Did you hear that, Ronnie?’
Ronnie nodded.
‘We’ll do it tomorrow, first thing in the morning – all right?’ she added louder.
Ronnie nodded again. It was no good trying to make herself heard with all the background noise and a sultry brunette crooning on the microphone.
‘Well, now we’re here, what’ll you have?’
‘Um, just a lemonade or something,’ Ronnie muttered, the band drowning out her words.
‘Did you say lemonade?’ Jessica said. ‘It’s your birthday. You must have a proper drink to celebrate. What about some punch?’
‘All right,’ Ronnie said, feeling herself pulled into something beyond her grasp, but not wanting to draw attention to herself, though that seemed impossible with all the ceiling spotlights changing colour as they turned, picking out one area of the floor and then another. Eventually, the lights will pick me out, she thought miserably, and what a fool I shall look.
The barman poured two glasses and Jessica pointed to a table over the other side of the room. Ronnie’s heart sank. She would never be able to bring herself to walk across that enormous expanse of dance floor in her rubber boots. But when she looked through the chattering crowds she couldn’t see any other vacant seats except a few single spaces on the three-seater sofas lined up against two of the walls, all of which were occupied by courting couples who only had eyes for each other. She certainly wasn’t going to intrude on any of them.
‘I’m sorry, Jess, I can’t do it,’ she said miserably.
‘Well, we’ll have to stand here all night then,’ Jessica said, taking a gulp of the punch while watching the dancers.
Ronnie smoothed her dress, knowing full well it wouldn’t hang down any further and hide her boots. She’d really messed up poor Jess’s evening. She’d made it clear that Jess was not to leave her side, which meant her friend wouldn’t even be allowed to have a dance.
She picked up her glass and took a sip. It tasted of different fruits. ‘Thanks for this, Jess. It’s really refreshing.’ She took another sip. ‘Don’t take any notice of me. It’s not your fault. I want you to have fun.’
Out of the corner of her eye Ronnie saw a tall fair-haired officer in RAF uniform approach them. He was making directly for Jess. Ronnie smiled to herself and stepped back so he had a clear path to her friend. At the same moment she felt someone behind her trip over the heel of her boot.
‘Careful, young lady.’
She knew that voice! Her pulse racing, she swung away, desperate for him not to recognise her.
Oh, if she could only become invisible. It was too much. The last person she wanted to see her looking so ridiculous. Before he could say another word she’d pushed th
rough the dancers, clinging on to her glass and working her way to the other side where Jess had spotted the empty table. Just as she was about to take possession of one of the chairs and put her bag on the other to save it for Jess, a party of giggling girls deliberately flung themselves in front of her and plonked down.
‘Excuse me, but this is my table—’ Ronnie started.
‘Oh, my dear, aren’t we hoity-toity?’ one of them said, giving a horrible impersonation of Ronnie’s accent, eyeing her through heavily made-up lids.
‘Do you own the table, then?’ another challenged.
‘No, but—’
‘Sorry, no buts. Just clear off.’
Ronnie swallowed. She couldn’t just stand there. But she didn’t want to give up the table that she felt was rightfully hers.
One of the girls glanced at Ronnie’s feet and dug her friend in the ribs, pointedly jerking her head down. The friend followed her gaze.
‘Setting a new fashion trend, are we?’ she jeered, then collapsed into shrieking giggles.
Heat flooded Ronnie’s cheeks. She was about to turn away when a voice behind her said, ‘Can I help?’
Oh, no. Not Michael again.
He put his hand lightly on her arm. This time she couldn’t escape.
‘Ronnie, I thought it was you. Why don’t you come and sit with us? We’re just a few tables away.’
Who’s ‘us’?
‘I’m with Jess,’ Ronnie muttered.
‘That’s all right – I met her on the boat that time.’ He gave her a knowing grin. ‘There are a couple of empty chairs at our table. Do come and join us – both of you. I’m with my sister and a friend.’
Ronnie felt she’d been put on a spot. She peered over the floor at the couples dancing, hoping to catch Jess’s eye and let her know where she was sitting, but when she spotted the tall figure firmly held in the arms of the fair-haired officer, she could tell her friend was miles away.
‘I should go with him,’ the first girl giggled. ‘He must be special if he can put up with his girlfriend wearing rubber boots at a posh dance.’
Ronnie glared at her, which made the girl giggle even louder. She had no choice but to follow Michael to a nearby table where two women sat chatting. They both stopped talking as she and Michael approached.
Both looked wide-eyed as they caught sight of Ronnie’s boots but one woman, her shining brown hair pulled back in a victory roll, and with an animated expression, quickly regained her composure. The other, a raven-haired beauty, raised an amused eyebrow, and a mocking smile hovered over her lips as she fixed her gaze on Michael.
Ronnie hesitated. She knew instinctively that she didn’t want to spend time with this woman. And from the way she was ogling Michael, this one was patently not the sister.
She’s too old for him, was her immediate thought. She must be thirty, if a day. Ronnie gave an inward shrug. Why should she care?
‘Can I introduce a friend of mine, Ronnie Linfoot,’ Michael said. He glanced at Ronnie. ‘This is my sister, Kathleen—’ he gestured towards the young woman with the victory roll and she smiled warmly and held out her hand. ‘And this is Penelope,’ he went on, ‘a friend of ours.’
‘Oh, how funny. I live on a boat that’s your namesake,’ Ronnie blurted out, her nerves jangling as she attempted to stifle a sudden chortle. By Penelope’s glare the woman obviously didn’t find her remark in the least bit amusing, though Kathleen’s lips twitched upwards.
‘Really,’ Penelope said languorously as she picked up a silver cigarette holder and popped a cigarette into the small cavity. ‘One of the boat girls. I’ve heard of them.’ She looked down her nose.
‘I bet it’s jolly hard work,’ ventured Kathleen.
‘But not really for proper women, I wouldn’t think,’ Penelope said sweetly, ‘carting a load of coal or flour or whatever you have to carry back and forth, ruining your nails.’ She casually inspected her own beautifully manicured and varnished red … well, ‘claws’ was the only word Ronnie could think of. ‘I wondered why you were wearing those rubber boots.’ She smiled, but it didn’t reach her ice-blue eyes. ‘Well, now I see.’
Ronnie forced herself not to put her hands behind her back, feeling like a stupid schoolgirl who’d been caught in a prank as Michael glanced at her feet. He looked up and winked at her.
‘I must say, Ronnie, you look very fetching in that dress … and the colour suits you to a T.’
She gave him a sharp look. Was he mocking her? Then she saw his warm smile and twinkling eyes. She felt the tension leave her stomach – until a spark of inquisitiveness flashed across Penelope’s face.
‘So, Ronnie … or should that really be Veronica?’ she said.
‘No, it’s not Veronica, but the French version – Véronique.’ Ronnie made sure she gave the ‘r’ the full French roll.
‘How delightful.’ Penelope threw her head back with a throaty laugh. ‘And how very sophisticated.’ She stared pointedly at Ronnie’s Wellingtons again, then the heavily made-up eyes stared at Ronnie. ‘So how do you know Michael?’
‘Oh, the sarge and I were carrying out a routine inspection on the canals,’ Michael said casually before Ronnie could think of an answer.
She breathed out, thankful he hadn’t mentioned anything about Margaret having had a fatal accident. She couldn’t have borne it in front of this woman who didn’t look as though she could ever muster a grain of sympathy. Kathleen looked so much friendlier with the same twinkle in her eyes as her brother’s. Ronnie wondered what Kathleen could possibly have in common with this Penelope.
Fascinated, Ronnie watched as Penelope waved her cigarette in Michael’s direction. He didn’t appear to notice and she wanted to hug him for it. Then she remembered how he’d held her in his arms when he’d had to tell her Margaret had died. A warmth crept up her neck.
‘Michael …?’
‘What? Oh, sorry, Penelope.’
Ronnie watched, fascinated, as Michael felt in his pocket and produced a lighter. He flicked it on. Penelope leaned forward, cupping her hand possessively around Michael’s as she did so, then inhaling deeply before she finally dropped her hand from his and briefly closed her eyes in seeming bliss. What a show-off. Penelope was doing this whole pantomime on purpose, Ronnie was certain, to let her see how close she and Michael were. Well, the show was all in vain, as far as Ronnie was concerned. The woman could have him.
Nevertheless, she was relieved to see Jess rush over and break whatever spell Penelope seemed to have woven around herself.
‘There you are, Ronnie. I wondered where you’d got to. Have you had a dance yet? You must … on your birthday. It’s a lovely sprung floor – just dreamy.’ Jessica drew breath. ‘Anyway, then I saw you with Constable Scott.’ She beamed at him. ‘What are the chances of that?’
‘Oh, Michael … please,’ he said, springing to his feet and extending his hand. ‘Hello, Jessica. I should be asking you and Ronnie the same question. I was visiting my family in Oxford and Kath told me she and Penelope had tickets for tonight so Penelope managed to wangle an extra one for me.’
I bet she did. Ronnie forced herself to keep her expression neutral.
Michael quickly introduced his sister and Penelope to Jessica. Ronnie noticed Penelope’s eyes narrow a fraction as her gaze lingered on Jess, who took the seat Michael pulled out.
Serves her right to have a bit of competition, Ronnie thought, aware she was being childish.
‘Do sit down, Ronnie,’ Michael said. He cocked his ear and Ronnie noticed the band had changed tempo. ‘Better still, as it’s your special day, may I ask you for a dance?’
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Ronnie stared at Michael’s smiling face. Why on earth had he asked her to dance? He’d seen her boots. Was he laughing at her expense?
‘What a scream your Ronnie was,’ she imagined Penelope saying to Michael afterwards. ‘She must have known you were only joking. Fancy saying yes and clodding around the floor in th
ose rubber boots.’
Ronnie glanced at Kathleen, who gave her a gentle nod. Penelope stared at her, a challenge in those cold eyes. Something snapped. She’d bloody well take him up on his offer. Whether he meant to humiliate her or not, she’d carry it through with as much dignity as she could muster.
She looked directly at Michael. ‘Only trouble is’ – she began, deliberately hesitating so Penelope would think she was about to decline – ‘the last time I tried a quickstep my partner hadn’t got a clue and trod all over me.’
‘That must be the reason why she’s wearing protection on her feet tonight,’ Penelope said, looking round the table and smirking.
Ronnie was gratified that no one seemed to be taking any notice of the woman.
‘Well, you won’t have to worry about that with me,’ Michael said, smiling broadly. ‘I’m no Fred Astaire but my mother proudly framed my Beginners’ Dancing Certificate.’
‘In that case I’ll just take my boots off.’ She couldn’t resist a sidelong glance at Penelope who sent Michael a look of utter astonishment, then tapped the cigarette stub into the ashtray so vehemently that little puffs of ash floated in the air. Ronnie fought a gurgle of laughter as she sat on the chair and bent to take off her left boot.
‘You show ’em, Ronnie,’ Jessica grinned.
‘Here, let me,’ Michael said.
Ronnie hesitated, but only for a split second. Aware of Penelope’s malevolent gaze, she obediently extended her leg. Michael firmly took hold and pulled each boot off, placing them together at her side. She felt his fingertips briefly touch her skin above her ankles as he removed her socks. For some reason she couldn’t comprehend, the small gesture sent a quiver of excitement through her.
‘Right then, are you ready?’
‘Yes.’ She took his hand and tiptoed towards the dance floor, careful not to put her bare feet in the way of some enthusiastic couple not looking where they were treading.
From the first few steps she could tell that Michael was an accomplished dancer. She’d never managed a proper quickstep in her life so had scant experience to compare, but giving no more thought to Penelope and Wellington boots, she urged herself to concentrate. So much so that she felt her back stiffen.
