by Nancy Revell
‘Aye,’ Jack nodded, ‘I guess they work on the premise that the older the memories, the more ingrained they are …’
As Jack’s voice trailed off, their attention was drawn to the sound of Miriam’s forced laughter as she regaled her guests with the same story he had heard a number of times about how he had dramatically resurfaced from his coma, grabbing hold of her hand and trying to speak incomprehensible words.
‘I think I’ll start rounding the guests up,’ Helen said. ‘It’s getting late. Why don’t you get yourself off to bed? You look tired.’
‘You’re right,’ Jack agreed. ‘It’s been a long old day, to say the least.’
As Helen watched her father make his excuses and say goodnight to his guests, she couldn’t shake the thought that it was odd Polly hadn’t said her father was with Arthur when she had bumped into her at the yard.
‘Are you all right there, Mrs Cromwell?’ Helen said loudly to one of the elderly guests, as she helped her out of her chair and guided her across the room.
And now she was thinking about it, Helen could only presume that her father must have ended up at the Elliots’ if they’d asked Polly to go to the yard with the message.
But why had her father simply not said he had been at the Elliots’? Helen mused as Mrs Cromwell leant heavily into her.
Perhaps, she rationalised, it was because he knew how much it hurt her that Polly had won Tommy’s heart, and he was saving her dented pride.
As the rest of the guests followed Mrs Cromwell’s lead and slowly filed into the hallway, Helen glanced up the stairs to see the back of her father disappearing into the spare room.
Mother will not be pleased, Helen thought with a little jolt of spiteful satisfaction.
Helen knew that her mother had been working hard at convincing her father that they had been some kind of modern-day Romeo and Juliet and had never spent a night apart, when in fact nothing could be further from the truth. Before the trip to America her parents had not spent a night together for as long as she could remember.
Helen turned her attention back to the guests, who were now all getting their hats and coats and saying their thank-yous and farewells.
As she stood at the front door alongside her mother, who, she noticed, was holding on to the thick oak door to support herself, she felt a surge of happiness at the thought that her father was going to get better. He would get his memory back. And she was going to help him. She’d seen a change in him already since getting back from Scotland. He seemed much more like his old self. And now he was chatting to Arthur that could only be a good thing. Couldn’t it?
Chapter Seven
Lily’s, West Lawn, Ashbrooke, Sunderland
‘Ma chère.’ Lily looked at Kate and started shooing her away with heavily jewelled hands that also sported a huge diamond engagement ring. ‘I know you’re itching to get on with your latest creation, so be gone! Allez!’
Lily, George and Kate had spent most of the afternoon following the christening at the Holme Café. It was owned by a Mrs E.H. Milburn and, as well as being a confectioner and caterer, also laid claim to being the cosiest café in town.
Kate was now fussing about, making a pot of tea in the huge kitchen of Lily’s – the magnificent turn-of-the-century terrace that overlooked the perfectly manicured grounds of Ashbrooke Cricket Club – otherwise known as the ‘Lords of the North’. There was no way this patch of greenery would be desecrated and converted into a huge allotment.
On the outside, the beautiful three-storey building owned by Lily was simply one of several residential houses in the most affluent area of the town. Inside, though, it was a thriving upmarket bordello that had been designed to emulate the cultural and artistic splendour of the French Renaissance – an impression Lily tried to enhance with her faux accent français.
‘Are you sure you don’t mind?’ Kate said, but as she asked the question she was already picking up her cup of tea and the latest copy of Vogue ready to depart to her bedroom-cum-studio on the top floor. ‘I don’t want to be rude, it’s just that Hope’s lovely broderie anglaise christening gown has given me an idea for this new dress I’m working on.’
Lily laughed. ‘Now why doesn’t that surprise me? You didn’t take your eyes off that baby once, and I know it wasn’t because of any deep-seated maternal yearnings.’
Kate was Rosie’s old school friend, who had been brought to the bordello after Rosie had seen her begging in a shop doorway. It had been an act of kindness that had ended up benefiting Lily and all the working girls as Kate had turned out to be a veritable genius with a needle and thread. It was a talent that Lily and Rosie could see should not go to waste and so they had set her up in town in a little shop called the Maison Nouvelle, next door to Mrs Milburn’s café on Holmeside. They had been able to kit the shop out with quite an array of fabrics and haberdashery thanks to Lily reimbursing the previous owner handsomely for his old stock.
The Maison Nouvelle, or ‘New House’, a name dreamed up by Lily, had just opened as a seamstress shop, but Kate’s dream was that it would one day be her own boutique, selling clothes that she had designed and made herself.
‘Yes, my dear,’ George agreed, taking out a very beautiful and ornate oval-shaped glass bottle of Rémy Martin Louis XIII cognac. ‘You get on with your dressmaking and leave Lily and me in peace.’ He winked at Kate. ‘We’ve got a wedding to talk about!’
Kate’s eyes widened. ‘That means a dress to be made!’
Lily, who was looking with more than a little surprise at the appearance on the table of the most expensive bottle of brandy she’d ever clapped eyes on, forced her attention back to Kate.
‘Non, ma chérie, I don’t think we’re at the stage of even thinking about wedding dresses,’ she said, scowling at George. ‘Never mind you making another one. I think you need a rest after all the time and effort that went into Bel’s, as well as into knocking up a rather spectacular mother-of-the-bride dress for Pearl!’
Kate looked thoughtful as she hurried out the kitchen, with her cup and saucer in one hand and magazine in the other.
‘George, that’s all that girl’s going to think about now! I can see it in her face!’
George took the glass stopper out of the bottle, which had a 24-carat-gold engraved plate around its neck, and poured out two glasses of cognac.
‘It’ll be good for her. Take her mind off everything else that’s happening at the moment.’
Lily sighed. Six days ago, Rosie had arrived at the bordello in a panic with news that her blasted copper ‘friend’ had found out about the business and Rosie’s part in it. There was a huge and very worrying question mark over whether or not he was going to grass them all up. From what George had found out about this DS Miller a while ago, the man was as clean as a whistle, so the chances were he was likely to be blowing the goddamned whistle on them all any time now.
As a result, Lily had immediately shut up shop. The girls had all been told to have a holiday for at least a week until they sorted out what was happening – some of them had been so worried they’d left town and gone to stay with friends and relatives living out in the sticks with the explanation that they were sick and tired of being bombed by Jerry.
Their clients had been informed there was a problem with the plumbing that was going to take a while to fix.
It had been suggested to Kate and Vivian, who lived at the bordello, that they make arrangements to move out for a while, but neither had wanted to.
Kate had been surprisingly unbothered by the threat of the boys in blue knocking on their door at any time, which Rosie had put down to the fact that in her previous life as a down-and-out she had become no stranger to the pull of her collar or a stay in the custody suite.
Vivian had put on a show of bravado and told them all in her Mae West drawl, ‘Well, I for one am willing to take my chances!’
Lily wasn’t sure if Vivian’s devil-may-care attitude was for real or, rather, due to the fact she didn�
�t really have anywhere else to go, having no desire to return to the Wirral, from where she hailed.
Their new girl, Maisie, who had been brought on-board to head up the new Gentlemen’s Club they were starting up next door, had gone to London for a week’s break. Maisie, who was of mixed heritage and had caused quite a stir, both with her stunning, exotic looks as well as her dreadful behaviour at Bel’s wedding, claimed the trip was so that she and her mother, Pearl, with whom she had only just been reunited, could get to know each other better. Lily, however, was pretty convinced that Maisie had definitely felt the long arm of the law previously and, unlike Kate, had no desire to feel it again.
‘So,’ Lily said, taking her glass of very expensive brandy from George, ‘did you really want to talk about the wedding? And why the Rémy? It really is far too special to drink, never mind be consumed around the kitchen table of all places.’
‘Why not?’ George said, leaning down to give Lily a kiss on the lips. ‘Why the hell not, my darling?’
Lily looked up at the man she had only just recently agreed to marry, and kissed him back.
‘You’re worried, aren’t you? About Rosie and me being carted off and banged up in some grotty police cell?’
George sat down and sighed heavily. His normally bright and cheerful demeanour seemed to have deserted him.
‘I am, actually,’ he said. ‘It makes me feel ill thinking about you both in such abhorrent circumstances …’ He took a swig of his brandy. ‘But I did want to talk to you about getting married. I think we should do it as soon as possible.’ He scrutinised his lover’s face for a reaction.
‘Well,’ Lily forced a laugh, ‘if it wasn’t for my age, I think we’d have people talking!’
George took hold of Lily’s hand, the one proudly wearing the diamond ring he had presented her with at Bel’s wedding reception.
‘I just think it would be more advantageous …’ he paused, ‘… should the worst happen.’
Lily looked at George, and though she was loath to admit it, the chances were that as a married woman and one whose husband was also a highly decorated war veteran, as well as a man of high-standing in respectable society, she would, indeed, be treated with more care.
‘Well, we were going to wait until the spring,’ Lily pondered, ‘you know how this awful northern weather plays havoc with my hair. You just need to step out the door and that’s it – an hour’s worth of curling, coiffuring and spraying, and in the time it takes you to walk down the front path, your barnet’s left looking like you’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards.’ Lily lapsed momentarily back into her east London twang. ‘It’s the one real downside of living up here.’ Lily spoke her thoughts before taking another sip of her Rémy and savouring it for a moment.
‘Well, I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve organised an announcement to go in The Times next week,’ George said. ‘Make it official.’
Lily was just about to express her surprise when they both heard the front door open and Rosie’s voice sounding out down the hallway.
‘Helloooo! Anyone home?’
Lily turned to George. ‘Someone sounds incredibly bright and breezy, all things considered.’
Raising her voice, Lily shouted out towards the kitchen door, which had been left slightly ajar. ‘Rosie, ma chère, we’re in here!’
A second later Rosie burst into the kitchen.
‘Goodness,’ she said, ‘I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the house being so empty. It’s awful!’
Lily and George watched captivated as Rosie, whom they loved as though she were their own flesh and blood, strode over to the sink and filled a glass with water from the tap.
She took a long drink before turning round, pulling a seat out and joining them at the large wooden kitchen table.
‘Are you all right?’ Lily asked, noticing that the make-up Rosie had put on for the christening earlier that day had come off, and that she had changed into her favourite cream-coloured slacks, which Kate had made for her a while ago. ‘You look a little … well, how would the French put it? Un peu folle?’
Rosie laughed out loud. ‘A little mad? I don’t know about that, Lily, but I do come bearing good news for a change.’ She took another glug of her water. ‘I came here as soon as I could to tell you – it’s the least I could do after what I’ve put everyone through.’
Lily and George were still staring at a flushed-faced Rosie. They rarely saw her without a light layer of foundation, which they knew she wore to hide her scars rather than for reasons of vanity.
‘He’s not going to report us!’ Rosie declared.
Both Lily and George gave a jolt of surprise. Neither needed to ask who ‘he’ was.
‘Really?’ George said, shocked. ‘How can you be sure?’
Lily was looking at Rosie. Scrutinising her. She didn’t have to ask. She already knew. She had seen that look on many a girl’s face in the past.
‘I’m guessing you’ve seen him – today?’ she ventured. ‘Sometime between you leaving the Elliots’ and coming here?’
‘Yes,’ Rosie said, forcing herself to calm down. She had said her farewells to Peter and then rushed to get ready in order to come straight to the bordello and tell Lily the news. She had felt such dreadful guilt that she had put everyone’s livelihoods in jeopardy.
After she’d given her savings to Gloria so that Charlotte’s school fees could be paid, Rosie had been prepared for the possibility that she could well be sent to prison, but the guilt that she might cause the same to happen to Lily, and possibly the other girls too, was crushing.
Worse still, if Kate had also been arrested and implicated in any of the bordello’s wrongdoings, Rosie would never have been able to forgive herself. Kate had done nothing to deserve any of the suffering she had been subjected to her entire life, and if Rosie had caused her any more, well, she wouldn’t be able to live with herself.
‘Yes, I did,’ Rosie started to explain. ‘He was waiting for me when I came back from the christening.’ She paused, unsure what to say next.
George stepped in. ‘I’m guessing you both sat down and talked things through?’
Lily’s eyes never once left Rosie’s face and she saw her relief at not having to go into too much detail about what had been said – or, more importantly, what had occurred.
‘Yes, yes, we did, George,’ Rosie said, still all of aflutter. ‘We sat down and talked and he told me that he would not tell anyone about the bordello.’
Rosie looked at Lily and George and realised they were not totally convinced.
‘He promised,’ she stressed, looking at both their faces, still fixed on her.
Lily sat up straight. ‘Was this before – or after …?’ She didn’t say the words, but they all knew what Lily was implying.
Rosie opened her mouth but nothing came out. She knew she had to tell the truth, that Lily was owed the truth.
‘After,’ Rosie finally admitted.
There was an awkward pause.
‘I thought you would be relieved – happy?’ Rosie implored. ‘I ran all the way here … It means you don’t have to worry any more. We can get the girls back. Tell the clients the plumbing’s sorted … Put Kate’s mind at rest.’
Lily let out a burst of laughter. ‘The only thing on Kate’s mind at the moment is the latest design she’s working on!’
George looked at Rosie’s crestfallen face. He got up and gave her a hug.
‘Well, I think it’s marvellous news,’ he said. ‘Bloody marvellous! I, for one, am massively pleased. And I have to admit – exceedingly relieved.’ He walked over to the cupboard and retrieved another crystal tumbler, sloshed a good measure of the expensive Rémy into the glass and handed it to Rosie.
‘A toast!’ he declared, a wide smile on his face as he looked at Rosie. He raised his glass, throwing a look of reprimand in Lily’s direction.
‘Here’s to a brighter future!’ he said. ‘In all ways. This damnable war included!’
<
br /> The three chinked glasses and drank in silence for a moment.
‘This is great news, ma chère,’ Lily said, trying to soften the hardness in her voice. ‘It really is. And everyone is going to be over the moon and, like George says, “massively relieved”. They really are. I really am … But,’ she hesitated, trying to choose her words carefully, ‘I hope you haven’t done anything you didn’t want to do just to get us out of this scrape. Something you may not have done otherwise?’
‘No!’ Rosie was shocked, which she knew was absurd. After all, she had been a working girl herself until relatively recently. But that had always been an open transaction. Money in exchange for a service. There had never been deceit involved.
‘I didn’t think so,’ Lily admitted. ‘I just needed to check.’
‘So, I’m taking it that you and your detective will be continuing to see each other?’ George asked tentatively.
‘Yes,’ Rosie said. Her heart, which had been so full of love and joy, felt as if it had been punctured by Lily’s insinuation. ‘I’m seeing him tomorrow after he’s finished work.’
‘Well, that all sounds jolly good,’ George said, looking at Lily. ‘Doesn’t it?’
‘Mm.’ Lily didn’t sound convinced. ‘Just be careful, Rosie. Watch your back. Make sure you can trust this Peter one hundred per cent.’
Just then the front door went again. They could hear the stomp of heels across the parquet flooring before the kitchen door swung open.
‘Oh, thank the Lord for that!’
It was Vivian. She was still wearing her long, beige-coloured woollen coat, but on seeing everyone sat around the kitchen table, she immediately undid the belt and shrugged it off, revealing a rather stunning knee-length burgundy dress with a plunging neckline.
‘I thought I might be coming home to a house full of boys in blue!’
‘Is that why you’re wearing your best dress?’ Lily asked, looking at her head girl, who, it had been said more than once, looked more like Mae West than Mae West herself.
