'Goodbye, Tom,' Kitty said sweetly as she stopped by Endersby's hotel. 'I won't see you again, I'm leaving Birmingham.'
'Where are you going?' he demanded, startled.
'To Paris,' she said with a brilliant smile. 'I'm going back into the dancing troupe, and we're going to dance at the Folies-Bergère.'
'What! In the – without any clothes on?' he gasped, appalled.
'Dancers wear clothes,' she corrected him gently. 'Nell's going too. Wish us luck!'
*
'I can't, Paul! Please don't ask me!'
He hadn't meant to, just yet, but she'd looked so delectable in the gorgeous dress he'd been suppressing the urge all evening. As he'd driven Nell home and they stopped outside her lodgings, the proposal came out of its own accord. It was no wonder she'd refused such an inept, gauche declaration. Why did he choose places where he was unable to take her in his arms and kiss her into acceptance?
Nell clenched her hands into fists, the nails biting into her palms, but she was unaware of the pain. She must not weaken, for both their sakes. And if he kept asking her she would, one day, she knew it. And he would regret it ever after, and she couldn't bear to make him unhappy.
'I'm sorry, Nell. I was a fool. Of course you want to go to Paris, it's a marvellous opportunity.'
She wanted to scream at him that it had nothing to do with Paris. What would she care about that, if she were suited to be his wife? How could anything compare with the joy of being married to him, provided always that he could never feel she had cheated him, caught him in some unwary moment that he would deplore for the rest of his life. She thought of the unknown Victoria who would have been such a perfect wife, with whom she could not compare. And she thought of her mother, old before her time with constant childbearing. She didn't want to marry, but she was beginning to understand the temptations that led girls into that trap.
He stepped out of the car. 'Come to me if ever you change your mind,' he said softly as he helped her out, and dropped a light kiss on her brow.
***
Chapter 20
'Mr Bliss, please.'
Patsy looked nervously at the young man on the doorstep. 'He ain't 'ere.'
'I have to see him or Mrs Bliss. Urgently. It's a legal matter.'
Patsy retreated, startled, and Tom followed her through into the hall. The strains of a dance tune played on a rather ancient gramophone came from the room to the right, accompanied by the thuds of dancers' feet pounding the bare boards.
'The class'll be over in a couple of minutes. Can yer wait?' she asked, and when he nodded led the way into a small office towards the back of the house.
Tom looked round, and nodded in reluctant approval. It was neat and businesslike, not at all like the shambles he had somehow expected a theatrical business to be. The table which served as a desk had several piles of papers – letters and bills, Tom saw on closer inspection – each pile held down by heavy paperweights. Two spikes held receipted bills and invoices, while a large ledger lying open was made up as far as the previous day. The inkwells in the heavy stand were full, and pens lay neatly beside them, divided into red and blue. A small pile of clean blotting paper stood handily by.
He wandered over to the wall on which was pinned a large timetable for the classes. Tom whistled in surprise when he saw how busy the school was. Next to it was another sheet of paper divided into columns, showing the bookings for each troupe, where they would be and when. Mentally he began to reckon how much the Blisses must be receiving in fees from students, and percentages from the working girls. He had just come to the conclusion that even though he did not know what they charged for each class, their income must be enviably large, when Edwina came into the room.
'May I help you?' she asked, seating herself behind the desk and waving him to the small wooden chair in front. 'Patsy tells me it is a legal matter. Do you represent the police or a solicitor?'
Faced with her air of confidence Tom stammered, coughed, and started again. 'Neither, precisely,' he managed. 'That is, I understand that you are sending some dancing girls to Paris?'
'Yes, we are.'
He struggled on. 'Are you aware that girls under the age of twenty-one have to have a document signed by their fathers, giving permission for them to work abroad?'
For a moment she stared at him. 'My husband is dealing with all that,' she said calmly. 'I am sure he will be obtaining the documents.'
'Nell, Nell Baxter, is she going?'
'What is that to you? I really think you should tell me your name and by what authority you are here before I discuss particular girls with you.'
Tom glowered at her. 'Nell's father is a friend of the family,' he said finally, stretching the truth considerably. 'I believe you may not know that she has a father. He – since the tragedy he has moved in with his son, and you may not know his present address. But you still need his permission before Nell can go abroad, and as her friend I hoped to save possible trouble if she hadn't told you, or you thought she had no parents.'
'My husband will have it all under control, Mr – you still haven't told me your name.'
'Simmons,' Tom muttered. He'd hoped to leave without disclosing who he was, in case it got back to Nell's ears that he had interfered, but Mrs Bliss so clearly expected it he didn't know how to refuse to answer her.
She rose and moved to the door. 'Thank you for your concern, Mr Simmons. Now I must ask you to excuse me, there is another class waiting. Goodbye.'
He was glad to leave, taking time only to lay the sheet of paper with Mr Baxter's name and address on it down on the desk. Edwina stared after him, a frown on her face. She hoped Frank knew about these signatures. He hadn't mentioned them, but surely he would know? She would have to tell him, for she sensed that Mr Simmons could mean big trouble.
*
Nell sat on the bed and looked in despair at the clothes spread about her. What on earth would she need for Paris? Was it worth taking all her party dresses? She wouldn't feel at all like parties, she would be missing Paul too much. She had seen him on almost every occasion she had worn one of these dresses, and each time she saw them she recalled everything they had talked about. She sighed. It was foolish to allow her thoughts to dwell on Paul. She must forget him. She must remember that she didn't want to marry. She must, when she thought of him and felt that overwhelming sense of longing, remind herself of the disaster it would be for him to marry a girl like her. She would take all her new clothes. She would welcome parties and make herself so busy she would, in time, forget what she had lost.
Before she could change her mind she began to pack her clothes into the trunk. She and Gwyneth had both bought large trunks. 'I shall buy lots and lots of clothes, so even if they are not full going they certainly will be when I come back,' Gwyneth had declared excitedly.
They still had a few days before setting off, and Nell had borrowed a book about Paris from the municipal library. She puzzled over the rather small street map until she found the Place Pigalle, then traced the way from there to the theatre, and round to the Rue Saulnier where, Edwina had told them, the stage door was. At the back of the book there was a list of useful phrases, and she and Gwyneth giggled as they tried out the strange words in the phonetic spelling provided.
On Wednesday Frank called them together. Gwyneth and Nell looked startled to see Kitty, for they had not known she was to be included.
'Darlings, how divine to see you again, and how absolutely scrumptious fun it will be to dance together again!'
'I thought you'd given up stage dancing,' Gwyneth said curtly. The memory of the fiasco on the occasion when Kitty had seduced away the drummer was still fresh, still hurtful to her professional pride.
Kitty laughed. 'Oh, yes, I had, but I was so bored! I would never have expected it, I thought I would relish my freedom, but I missed it all. So I decided to come back, and Mr Bliss was an angel, he let me join this troupe.' She flashed a brilliant smile towards Frank, and he turned away hastily, fu
mbling with a sheaf of papers.
'Girls, may I have your attention please,' he said briskly. 'I have here forms which you must ask your parents to sign. If you are under twenty-one, that is. To be specific, your fathers have to sign them to say they permit you to work abroad. Will you each take one and bring it back tomorrow. If your fathers live outside Birmingham, will you please send the forms today with a letter asking for them to be returned at once. That should take no more than two days, so I will collect them here on Friday before you leave on Saturday.'
'I never thought I'd be pleased to be so old,' Kitty said cheerfully. 'How fortunate, as my mother is unavailable and heaven knows where my unknown father is!'
Nell and Gwyneth were looking at one another in consternation. 'What can we do?' Gwyneth demanded as they walked the short distance to their rooms. 'It would be quite useless asking my father, and yours would refuse just to spite you.'
'Forge their signatures,' a voice behind them said cheerfully. 'No one will ask.'
'We can't do that, Kitty,' Gwyneth said in exasperation, turning round. 'It's probably illegal.'
'Pooh! What on earth does a piffling little thing like that matter? Look, you two, I've wanted to apologise for my utterly evil temper, and say I'm sorry I threw you out of The Firs. Can we be friends again? And if you don't want to forge the silly signatures I'll do them for you.'
Instinctively Gwyneth shook her head. 'If that's what I have to do, I will, but I'll do it myself, Kitty. I couldn't ask you in case you got into trouble.'
'The offer is there if you need it. Now, please say you forgive me, and we'll go and have dinner together to celebrate. I planned this, and in the hope you would be kind I've already booked a table at Endersby's.'
They were dubious, but it would be churlish to refuse. And they would have to work together in Paris. In the end it was an enjoyable evening since Kitty put herself out to be charming. Nell was so tired when she got back to her room that she put off the decision about whether she would risk going to ask Pa for his signature or do as Gwyneth had decided, and forge it herself.
Early the following day, before it was properly light, she was woken by a fierce hammering on the door of the house. Startled, she heard the landlady go to open it, grumbling that some folk hadn't the consideration to leave decent people in peace at six o'clock in the morning.
'I wants me daughter!' a loud voice announced, and Nell shrank down under the blankets. How on earth had Pa discovered where she was living?
He blustered his way into the house, and Nell knew she could not hide from him. She scrambled out of bed and into her sensible woollen dressing gown. No satin ones for her, she thought ruefully. Then she opened the door and looked at her father.
'What's this I hears about you goin' ter bleedin' Paris ter sit about on the stage in yer birthday suit?' he shouted. Nell's heart sank. He would never understand. But before she could reply he started again. 'I'm not 'avin' it, see! I'm goin' ter see that 'orrible pimp what's corruptin' me daughter, an' I'll tell 'im what ter do with 'is dratted dancin' classes! I won't 'ave me blessed Emily's precious memory soiled by lettin' 'er poor child be dragged in ter a sink of iniquity!'
'Pa, listen – ' Nell began, but he gave her a look of triumph and turned to thrust his way past the indignant landlady and out into the street. Nell went back into her room and sank down onto the bed. The dream was over. She would not be going to Paris.
*
Gwyneth looked round at the girls. They were a varied bunch, dark and blonde, even a couple of redheads, and of widely differing heights. Clearly there was no attempt to have a matching troupe like the Bliss dancers or the American ones like the Ziegfield girls, who, it was said, were even measured to ensure they matched in every detail. It must be true that Monsieur Derval selected the girls for personality rather than looks. She hoped she would meet his very exacting standards. She wished vehemently that Nell was there. It had been hard leaving her behind, so despondent. It seemed as though nothing could go right for her at the moment. First there had been the fire, and the deaths of most of her family, leaving the least attractive ones alive from what Gwyneth could tell. Hastily she caught at her wayward thoughts. It was wicked to wish anyone dead. Just as it was wicked to forge her father's permission for her to work in Paris, the voice of conscience whispered. Gwyneth thrust it away. That action hadn't hurt anyone. She concentrated on the rehearsal about to begin in a basement room at the theatre.
First there were exercises, then simple steps practised alone. Then the girls were divided into small groups, matched for height, and each practised in turn. This was when the stage director really pounced on any sign of awkwardness. A girl who was not in time, or didn't kick precisely the same height as the others, or moved without the amount of grace required, was told of her faults in a loud, caustic tone. Not understanding French, Gwyneth found, was no advantage. He was as fluent with damning epithets in English as French, and many of the girls were English.
When they were finally asked to form a single line Gwyneth wondered how they would manage. There were over twice as many dancers as she was used to. They were at that point matched for height, the tallest in the centre, and she was half way down one side, between Kitty and Bertha, a girl from Liverpool. With several new girls joining the line the first few attempts were ragged, and their instructor seemed about to tear out his hair. He screamed imprecations at them, faulted almost every step, and only after several hours of the most intensive practising Gwyneth had ever experienced declared that there was no more he could do that day to make such a motley crew into anything like a respectable chorus line.
Gwyneth thought she would never reach the hostel. She and Kitty were sharing a room with two other English girls, and they all flopped down on their beds and moaned in agony.
'I cannot endure this!' Kitty declared. 'I've never been so exhausted in my life!'
'He's a slave-driver!' Sophie, from Bradford, agreed.
'They told me it was hard, but I didn't know what they meant!' This was the fourth girl, Betty, from Manchester.
'And we have to start again tomorrow,' Gwyneth groaned.
'What will it be like when we have performances as well as just rehearsals?'
'Unbearable! God, I need a drink,' Kitty exclaimed, and reached over to her night table where she had assembled an array of bottles and a cocktail shaker. 'Anyone else want a White Lady? No lemon or ice, so it will be strong – just what I need. So long as they never run out of drink I'll survive!'
*
'I chose the wrong time again. Though I wonder if any time is the right one,' Paul confided, his tone dispirited.
'You might stand a chance now she's alone in Birmingham,' Richard said encouragingly. 'Marigold said she was devastated when that dreadful father refused to let her go with the others.'
They were in Paul's library, sipping brandy after dinner. They dined together occasionally, when Marigold was on duty at the hotel, or away inspecting one of the other hotels they owned.
'I don't want her to accept me because there's no other option,' Paul said, shaking his head.
'Has she indicated she likes you?'
'That's what makes it so damnable. She has said she does. At first she was shy, uncertain, but natural and friendly. I thought I had a chance. She says she doesn't want to marry, she wants to dance.'
'She's very young. But now she's been prevented from going to Paris perhaps she'll change her mind.'
Paul sighed. 'I wish I thought so. The second reason was that she was unsuitable, from the wrong background. How can I overcome that?'
'People said the same about us. I was rich, Marigold's father was a miner. But I can't imagine marriage to anyone else.'
'Nell is the right girl for me, the only girl,' Paul said quietly, and glanced up at the portrait.
Richard watched him then suddenly sat up. 'Has she seen that?' he demanded.
'The portrait? Of Victoria? She came here once with Marigold, but how could she kno
w who it is?'
'She might have heard how you keep a portrait of your dead fiancée in your room. She might believe you still want her, and she could never compete.'
Paul laughed, a harsh sound. 'Have I ever told you why I keep it here? Guilt.'
'Guilt?' Richard looked startled. 'You don't mean you blame yourself over her death? It was a riding accident, wasn't it? I know you were there, but you weren't involved in any way? Had you perhaps had an argument? Do you think that made her reckless?'
'We were always having arguments. As it happens we hadn't, that day, so it's not what you think. I was young, infatuated, and she was very lovely. But within weeks of becoming engaged I knew it was a mistake. The families were both so pleased I couldn't face jilting her, though I suspect that in the end I would not have been able to go through with it. No, my guilt stems from the relief I felt when she died. Her tragedy was my escape. When I first saw her injuries I knew that if she lived she'd be a cripple, and how could I have deserted her then? I've felt guilty ever since.'
'My dear fellow, how appalling for you. But it's been years now, surely you can forgive yourself for very natural feelings? If you got rid of that portrait you could go to Nell without reserve. Then she couldn't help knowing you loved her.'
*
'Nell, wait for me.'
She turned, and sighed. It was bad enough being here in Birmingham when the others were experiencing the pinnacle of excitement at what was the most famous music hall in the world, without having Tom pestering her.
'Tom, it's no use. I've told you every day this week, I don't want to go out with you.'
'Nell, dear, I can understand your disappointment at not going to Paris, but won't you spend a little time with me? After all, in a few weeks you'll be traipsing all over the country again, touring in these wretched shows, and I won't see you at all.'
The Glowing Hours Page 27
