by Lesley Eames
‘Now you’re trying to blind me,’ Lydia grumbled.
Claudette silenced her with a liberal application of red lipstick. The result was sulky and dramatic.
‘You look sensational,’ Jenny told her earnestly.
‘I feel an idiot,’ Lydia sulked.
‘No touch,’ Claudette warned Lydia sharply.
They headed outside where Johnnie was fixing a camera to a tripod. ‘Very nice indeed,’ he approved warmly when he saw them, then he got to work explaining his vision for each of the photos.
Jenny was photographed in five different outfits in total and all of them were delicious. As well as the day dress, there was a gorgeous evening gown in dove grey, decorated with hundreds of silver bugle beads and worn with a feathered head band.
Next came a luscious black velvet evening coat with a design of red poppies appliquéd on the back. There was a travelling costume with another jaunty hat and finally a filmy dressing gown that Claudette called a negligée. Jenny felt a little awkward lying on the office sofa in that but it was perfectly decent and Johnnie soon put her at her ease.
The photography took hours, but, despite being a perfectionist, Johnnie was patience itself. Jenny worked hard to follow his directions and it worried her that Lydia was obviously bored. Yet when she suggested Lydia should smile, Claudette objected.
‘Non, non. My clothes are not for the milksop. My clothes are for the woman of spirit bold.’
Which was just as well, Jenny reflected, as Lydia continued to pout.
‘Is done,’ Claudette finally declared.
‘Hallelujah.’ Lydia wiped her lipstick onto the back of her hand and Jenny ran over to clean it off with a handkerchief before it could be transferred to Lydia’s clothes.
Claudette was keen to return to her shop, while Johnnie was eager to develop the photographs, so they packed up quickly and Lydia drove them home.
Jenny slumped onto the sofa. ‘I feel like a whirlwind rushed through our day.’
Grace smiled, but it was rather a flat smile.
Jenny sat up again, frowning. ‘Don’t you think the day went well?’
‘The clothes were beautiful. So were you and Lydia.’
‘But?’ Jenny probed.
Grace shook her head. ‘I’m probably wrong…’
‘Grace, please. You’re obviously having doubts.’
‘I’ve been thinking about the magazine. If I remember correctly, the fashion plates are drawn by artists and painted to show the colours of the clothes. They’re bright and cheerful.’
‘While Johnnie’s photographs will be black, white and grey, and so dull no one will notice them,’ Jenny finished, groaning. ‘I got carried away,’ she admitted. ‘And wasted a whole day in the process.’
‘We’ll still have some photos of the car to show,’ Grace comforted, but Jenny was vexed.
She was supposed to have an artistic eye but, stupidly, she’d been swept away by Johnnie’s charm. Not that she believed he’d deliberately wasted their time, but perhaps he’d thought too much about his own ambitions and not enough about the needs of Silver Ladies.
Jenny was disappointed in Johnnie Fitzpatrick as well as herself.
Twenty-five
‘Don’t be downhearted,’ Ruth urged Jenny after arriving home from work and hearing about Mr Fitzpatrick. It troubled Ruth to see her friend unhappy. ‘The magazine may not help us, but we weren’t relying on it anyway. The fact that we’ve got our first booking proves we can find customers in other ways.’ Unless the booking was a fluke, but Ruth refused to consider that possibility.
‘Ruth’s right,’ Lydia said. ‘We’ll get more bookings. We just need to be patient.’ She paused, thought about what she’d just said, and laughed with self-mockery. ‘Hark at me teaching patience. Wearing lipstick too. I don’t know what the world’s coming to.’
Ruth was relieved when Jenny smiled but still felt a little anxious about her.
Returning home from work the following night, Ruth was determined to try to cheer Jenny up again if necessary, but she walked into a very different atmosphere.
‘Come and look,’ Grace invited, eagerly.
Photographs were spread across the desk. Wonderful photographs. ‘Oh!’
‘I was wrong to think they might not stand out in a colourful magazine,’ Grace admitted.
‘No one could fail to notice them,’ Ruth agreed. ‘You look like movie stars.’
‘That’s exactly what Johnnie intended,’ Jenny told her, with a smile of satisfaction, ‘Stars of the silver screen.’
Johnnie, Ruth noticed. Not Mr Fitzpatrick. Disappointment in him had evaporated like early morning mist.
The photographs had a magical, luminous quality, with Jenny looking like an angel, Lydia looking like a haughty rebel and the car gleaming like a fantasy carriage in the background. They were the stuff of dreams, yet suggested that all a person had to do to join this exquisite world was to shop at Claudette’s and book travel with Silver Ladies.
For all their glamour, the photographs were sharp and clear. Every word and number on the Silver Ladies sign could be read. Surely this was the boost Silver Ladies needed?
‘Which photograph is going in the magazine?’ Ruth asked.
‘All of them,’ Jenny told her excitedly. ‘There’ll be a photograph every few pages. It was Johnnie’s idea so the ads will stick in readers’ minds.’
No wonder Claudette had no money left for fees.
‘Unfortunately, the magazine won’t be in the shops for another four weeks, but we won’t starve in the meantime because we’ve had another booking,’ Lydia said. ‘Tell her, Grace.’
‘We’re to collect Mr and Mrs Frobisher from their house in Chelsea, drive them to Richmond for a dinner, then return them home.’
‘We should celebrate,’ Ruth said.
‘We’ve every intention of celebrating,’ Jenny confirmed. ‘Johnnie’s treating us to an evening out on Saturday. He says we haven’t seen even a fraction of what London has to offer, so he’s buying us dinner, then taking us to something called a jazz club.’
‘All of us?’ Ruth hadn’t even met Johnnie Fitzpatrick.
‘As if we’d go anywhere without you!’
The day had brought a second surprise – a thank-you box from Claudette containing an assortment of items from her shop.
‘I’m going to make sure we all look incredible for our evening out,’ Jenny promised. ‘Do you mind if I use some of your aunt’s things too, Ruth? Bits of them anyway?’
‘I’m sure Aunt Vera wouldn’t mind what we did with them as long as we had fun.’
‘Fun is precisely what I have in mind.’
*
Ruth was touched by the care her friends showed when she arrived home from work on Saturday. Grace had the bath and towels waiting. Then Jenny dressed Ruth’s hair in a complicated bun and made her face up with a light application of cosmetics.
‘You really don’t need much,’ Jenny said. ‘You’ve got the clearest skin I’ve ever seen and your eyes are as dark and soft as pansies.’
Ruth was sure that wasn’t true.
‘Now for the dress,’ Jenny said, holding it up.
‘Jenny, it’s lovely!’ How kind Jenny was to have gone to so much effort on Ruth’s behalf. ‘Thank you so much.’
Jenny helped Ruth to step into it and fastened it up the back. ‘I chose emerald green because it’ll go so well with your auburn hair.’
The dress was cut lower than anything Ruth had worn before and left her arms bare, which felt strange but adventurous. Jenny must have spent an age on all the beading. She’d fashioned a headdress too, a band that glittered with matching beads and sat low on Ruth’s forehead.
‘You look gorgeous,’ Jenny declared, and Ruth smiled, grateful for the kindness but knowing Jenny, Lydia and Grace would all eclipse her in loveliness.
Jenny threw off her dressing gown and slipped into her own dress. Grace did the same and it took only a little naggi
ng to persuade Lydia to dress too.
They were lovely indeed. Jenny was celestial in ice blue and silver, Grace charming in lemon and Lydia dramatic in a black and gold dress that showed off her long limbs and slender neck.
When Johnnie arrived, Jenny shouted down to him from the office window. ‘Come up. It isn’t locked.’
Ruth was expecting a handsome young gentleman but Johnnie Fitzpatrick was beautiful. Yet, far from being too angelic to be true, he was very much alive, with kind eyes and a cheerful smile.
‘My word,’ he said. ‘Four beauties. I’m going to be the envy of every man in London.’
Lydia’s snort told him he was talking flattering nonsense, but Johnnie only grinned and said, ‘It’s true.’
He came forward to Ruth. ‘I’m Johnnie Fitzpatrick. You must be Ruth.’ He took her hand but instead of shaking it, he raised it to his lips. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you.’
How charming he was, how different to anyone Ruth had met before.
Moving on, Johnnie kissed Grace’s hand, and then, with a special warmth in his eyes, Jenny’s. No wonder. Jenny was a fairy tale princess to his fairy tale prince.
Reaching Lydia, he laughed. ‘Dare I risk a kiss?’
‘Not unless you want to be slapped.’
He laughed. ‘I have a taxi waiting.’
‘I can drive,’ Lydia said.
‘Tonight we’re going to have fun. You won’t want to risk damaging the Silver Lady or unsuspecting pedestrians if you get a little squiffy.’
Lydia looked ready to argue until Grace said, ‘You may not feel like getting squiffy now but who knows how you’ll feel later? You’ve worked hard. You deserve to relax a little. We all do.’
The taxi took them to a side street off Piccadilly where Johnnie gestured towards a restaurant: Jean Jacques.
There were heavy red drapes in the windows and a hint of glowing lights within. A man in a black suit welcomed them respectfully, handed their wraps to a junior, then led them through the restaurant. Ruth’s eyes widened at the sight of crisp white cloths, sparkling glasses and gleaming silverware, all bathed in intimate light from the chandeliers that hung from the ceiling. It was far grander than Arleigh Court. Far grander than anywhere Ruth had seen before.
They reached their table and, unsurprisingly, Johnnie sat next to Jenny. ‘Champagne?’ he offered.
‘We’ll be perfectly happy with something less luxurious,’ Grace told him.
‘You think I’m being extravagant. You’re right. But I feel in my bones that the photographs are going to lead to a lot of work for both of us. Besides, today is my birthday and my grandmother sent me a ridiculously generous cheque with strict instructions to spend it enjoying myself. She’s a wonderful old lady who completely supports my choice of career. She thinks my father’s a stuffy old bore, though he means well enough.’
The champagne was deliciously fizzy, though even a few sips made Ruth’s head swim. How glamorous the other diners were. How refined their voices sounded as her ears picked up snatches of their conversations.
‘Darling Bunny felt such a fool…’
‘We’re motoring down to the Carfaxes next week…’
‘A party at Claridge’s? How heavenly!’
Ruth wondered what they’d make of four servants from Ruston sharing their restaurant – though to be fair, Johnnie had a refined voice and he wasn’t snobbish at all.
Menus were brought and orders placed for lobster, duck and grilled rump steaks, which all proved to be delicious.
‘The evening isn’t over yet,’ Johnnie said once they left the restaurant.
He shepherded them across the road and down steps to a basement. An electric sign announced that this was the Velvet Slipper Club. Music burst out at them the moment Johnnie opened the door.
The lighting in Jean Jacques had been subtle, but here it was dark and atmospheric except for the spotlights which lit up a band at the end of the room. Ruth had never seen a band like it. Never heard one like it either. And she’d certainly never seen dancing like this. Julia Arleigh had a gramophone player and played dance records her mother disapproved of, but this music was shockingly intimate. The female singer’s voice was deep and throaty, and as for the way people were dancing… Some girls had snaked their arms around their partner’s necks and some men had placed their hands low on the girls’ backs. Eunice would have fifty fits.
Ruth only realised she was standing with her mouth open when Grace tugged her into a seat and leaned close to murmur, ‘What an adventure this place is.’
Johnnie ordered Martinis and the waiter brought them in shallow, wide-rimmed glasses.
‘What’s in a Martini?’ Jenny asked.
‘Gin, vermouth and bitters,’ Johnnie told her.
Gin! Eunice really would think they were on the road to ruin but Ruth tasted it and decided she liked it. A lot.
The band suddenly changed rhythm, picking up a faster beat and more dancers flocked onto the floor to shake their shoulders with abandon. A few girls even kicked their legs up. Had the club not been so dark, Ruth was sure they’d be showing the tops of their stockings!
‘Would you do me the honour of dancing?’ Johnnie asked Grace who was tapping her foot in time to the music.
‘Love to.’
They wound their way to the dance floor. Grace looked round at the other dancers, then shrugged and began to move. She danced with enthusiasm, but, like everything about Grace, her movements were neat and pleasing.
When they returned, laughing and breathless, Johnnie looked at Lydia.
‘Not a chance,’ she told him, though her eyes gleamed with wicked glee at the outrageousness of the place.
‘Ruth?’ Johnnie asked, and she got up shyly.
‘I’ve no idea what to do,’ she confessed, feeling nervous but excited too...
‘The beauty of this sort of dancing is that people can do what they like.’ He led her onto the dance floor, his hand warm around her fingers, then turned her to face him. ‘You’ll be fine,’ he said, and, oddly, Ruth believed him.
Holding her hands, he swung her lightly from side to side. Ruth caught the rhythm and moved from foot to foot.
‘Knew you could do it.’ Johnnie released her hands to throw his arms to his sides and shake his shoulders. ‘It’s called the shimmy,’ he yelled.
A nearby girl kicked her legs up.
‘That’s the Charleston,’ Johnnie said. ‘It’s a new dance from America.’
Ruth gave her shoulders an experimental shake. What fun it was. She was sorry when the song ended and Johnnie led her back to the table.
‘Jenny?’ Johnnie invited, his eyes aglow with the pleasure of having saved the best until last.
No wonder. There was a special kind of magic in the way Jenny looked at him too. She glided onto the floor with him, taking to the dance as though she’d been doing it all her life. How lovely she looked with her golden hair and shimmering dress. How happy too.
Glowing with warmth, Ruth looked from Jenny to Grace and then to Lydia, thrilled to see that they were all enjoying themselves.
Lydia saw her watching and grinned. ‘All right, I admit it,’ she said. ‘An evening like this isn’t completely tedious.’
Ruth laughed. It was much too soon to be certain she’d done the right thing in bringing her friends to London, but surely the signs were promising? Ruth would never forget Victor Rabley and the treachery he’d forced from her, but perhaps Silver Ladies would become the silver lining to that cloud.
Twenty-six
‘That was good,’ Lydia said, after Jenny had driven the Silver Lady around the block.
Lydia had begun teaching Jenny and Grace to drive as soon as they’d finished painting Shepherds Mews. Neither had Lydia’s instinct for motors but both were careful and competent.
‘When will we know we’re ready to drive out alone?’ Jenny asked.
‘I’ll tell you when you’re ready. You don’t need to pass a test. You just need to
pay five bob each for a licence.’
It made sense for Silver Ladies to have more than one driver. Lydia had no intention of absenting herself to visit her father no matter how many times it was suggested and she was rarely ill, but it was only sensible to prepare for the possibility of her being unable to drive on occasion or to want a day off.
There were five bookings in the diary now, spread over the next few weeks, with the first booking scheduled for the coming Thursday. Business was picking up but they still needed more customers.
‘We should deliver more business cards,’ Jenny said, so they drove around London for an hour. Jenny was cheerful as she’d been to the cinema with Johnnie Fitzpatrick on the previous evening. She spent more time describing his virtues than Mary Pickford’s exploits, then realised what she was doing and blushed. ‘Sorry, I’m being boring.’
‘It’s fine.’ Romance didn’t appeal to Lydia at all, but if it made Jenny happy…
They were driving along Oxford Street and Selfridges was coming up. The woman with the provocative hips came into Lydia’s mind uninvited, though she was probably nothing like the Celia of today.
Irritated, Lydia pushed her out again and cast her mind forward to Thursday when she was due to drive their first customers, a Mr and Mrs Frobisher. She was determined to drive perfectly, though she was glad Jenny was coming along to help. Jenny always knew the right thing to say to people. Lydia never did.
*
‘You look wonderful,’ Grace told them, as they prepared to set out on the booking. ‘So does the car.’
Lydia had polished it and checked it numerous times.
Reaching Chelsea, Jenny helped Mrs Frobisher into the Silver Lady, while Mr Frobisher lingered on the pavement, admiring the car.
‘I can see why you took a fancy to it, m’dear,’ he told his wife. ‘It’s a beauty. But really, Winifred. Gels!’
Gels? Lydia supposed he meant girls.
As if suddenly afraid a neighbour might spot him being driven by gels, he climbed into the car.
Lydia breathed out slowly, reminding herself that cars were her passion and she should relish being able to drive tonight. She drove off smoothly, but Jenny gasped two minutes later when they reached the scene of an accident involving three vehicles. Clearly, there would be no way through for Lydia.
