The Glowing Hours

by Marina Oliver

  'You weren't exactly eager to see me when you were going out with Kitty Denver,' she pointed out sharply, and he had the grace to blush.

  'I – well, that was a mistake. She was so persistent,' he muttered.

  Nell laughed. 'Kitty was always enchanting when she wanted something, I don't suppose I can blame you. It must have seemed as though a fairy queen was condescending.'

  'Then you forgive me?' he asked eagerly.

  'There's nothing to forgive. You are as free as I am to have what friends you choose. I just don't want to be one of them.'

  'But, Nell, we got on so well when you were working at the factory. I thought you'd be happy to marry me. It's only since you began to get ideas above your station that you turned against me.'

  'No, that's not quite true. I began to know you better, Tom, and also I met other people, I saw what there could be to life. Surely you don't wish me back in the factory, living in a slum?'

  'You wouldn't have been spoilt then. But I wanted to take you out of it. I was improving myself, I'm getting to know a lot about the regulations on employment, I might begin to make that my speciality. But that isn't the main point. I thought if you didn't go to Paris I had a chance to get you back.'

  Nell looked at him suspiciously. 'You knew I was asked to go to Paris? How?'

  'I met Kitty and she told me,' he said impatiently. 'What does that matter?'

  'It matters if it was you who told Pa and persuaded him to make a fuss! You know a lot about employment rules, do you? More than Mr Bliss? It was odd how he suddenly produced the letters for our fathers to sign. Did you by any chance tell him he needed them?'

  'What if I did?' he blustered.

  'If you did, and if you told Pa, then you've wrecked my life, Tom Simmons, and I will never forgive you! Go away! I don't ever want to speak to you or see you again!'

  *

  'You are simply not good enough. I cannot think why Mr Bliss recommended you to us. Oh, you have a certain amount of competence, a natural ability, you move well, but you have not that extra something which we demand of all our dancers. You are mediocre.'

  Kitty was bright red with fury. She had never before had to endure this kind of criticism. She had thought herself so clever when she contrived to find Frank Bliss alone, tempted him into certain indiscretions, and then made use of his weakness. Her threat to expose him to Edwina had persuaded him to include her in the group he sent to Paris. She knew she was good when she bothered. She knew she had talent. And now, to be told by this obnoxious little man that he didn't want her with his dancers was an unbelievable insult. She opened her mouth to blast him with invective, but he forestalled her.

  'If you have no blemishes, then you could perhaps join the tableaux.'

  Kitty closed her mouth. She narrowed her eyes and thought rapidly. This would save her from the humiliation of being rejected. She could say she preferred it to the dancing. Besides, the dancing was proving much harder work than she had expected, even while just rehearsing. The girls in the tableaux just posed. 'You mean become a nude?' she asked cautiously.

  'We have a couple of vacancies to fill. You are pretty, and seem to have a good figure, but the nudes have to be utterly flawless. They must have no scars, no moles. Their figures must be superb, and their skin perfectly smooth. Do you think you might be suitable?'

  It would be galling to be inspected for flaws, but Kitty had confidence in her own body. She could endure that. And the tableaux she had seen had been graceful, nothing unpleasant about them. She would not be lowering herself except in the eyes of prissy old straightlaced spinsters, for whose opinion she didn't care a jot. 'I'm prepared to try it,' she said.

  *

  Gwyneth felt sick with anticipation. Years ago, when she had been dancing secretly in the small cove below the house, where she escaped from the censure of her father, she had tried to imagine what it would be like to be the centre of attention, admired by everyone as she danced. Then her dreams had been vague, uninformed. Sometimes she was dancing with an incredibly handsome man, in a ballroom where the ornate painted ceiling and elaborately carved pillars competed with the glitter of the gowns and the sparkling jewels. Everyone would stand back in astonishment, whispering excitedly about this wonderful new dancer who had miraculously appeared in their midst. Alternatively she was the prima ballerina astounding everyone by her skill in a remarkable new ballet.

  She had never seen herself as a chorus girl, in a show where girls clad only in discreetly glued patches and almost transparent body stockings were arranged in tasteful, and sometimes excrutiatingly difficult-to-hold, poses alongside or paraded draped in provocative or minimal costumes. She had at first been shocked at the reality of this near-nudity. It was very different from what she had imagined, but then she chided herself for being naive. She hadn't forced herself to think of the practicality, preferring to ignore it and concentrate instead on the dancing and the marvellous settings and costumes she'd heard about, and had very soon become accustomed both to wearing revealing costumes herself and mingling with bevies of nude beauties backstage.

  It was very different from Cinderella, she thought, grinning at the memory of her youthful fantasies. Ballrooms were not in the least as she'd envisaged them, and when they were crowded the possibility of anyone, however brilliant, being able to move freely through the throng and display their expertise, was remote. Ballet was out of her reach, she had started serious dancing far too late. But stage dancing of the sort she now did was immensely satisfying. Mastering any skill and performing it to the best of her ability had a fascination she hadn't previously understood. The steps were simple enough, not at all complicated. The effect came largely from the timing, and the fabulous, gloriously imaginative costumes. If only she could gather together a group of girls and experiment with more difficult steps!

  First, she reminded herself, she had to prove she could hold her place in the Folies line. It had been too difficult for Kitty, but the older girl seemed happier with her less demanding role. For Gwyneth the professionalism of her new colleagues and teachers had been a revelation, and she gloried in it. It took ten months to devise and prepare for a new show, she'd been told, and everything, down to the last sequin on over a thousand individually designed costumes, had to be exactly right. Monsieur Derval and his team were perfectionists of a sort she had never before encountered.

  'Ready?' the stage manager asked, and Gwyneth tensed. She forced herself to breath deeply, to relax. And then they were on stage.

  'Wasn't it fantastic?' Bertha asked as they climbed for the final time, out of breath, up several flights of stairs to their dressing rooms.

  'This is the best revue yet,' one of the old hands told them. 'The Baron de Meyer actually came to photograph us. They say the sequence "The Chastity Belt" was the best we've ever done.'

  'Some people prefer "The Perpetual Adoration",' another put in.

  'It's all utterly marvellous! And I didn't freeze with terror,' Gwyneth said with relief.

  'I'm exhausted. Are you coming back to the hostel?' Bertha asked.

  'I ought to wait for Kitty. You go on.'

  Kitty was grumbling when Gwyneth went to find her, but quietly. 'My feet are perpetually stretched,' she complained as they went towards the stage door. 'I have to reach out so hard and make sure I touch that ledge all the time. I know I shall get cramp and have to move.'

  'Don't the straps you're tied with help?'

  'They just cut into me,' Kitty said petulantly. Then they passed through the stage door and she halted so abruptly that Gwyneth bumped into her. 'Just look at that!'

  Outside, in the narrow street, a row of large and expensive motor cars waited. In the light of the gas lamps they could see a solitary man in each. Some were young, but the majority were well past middle age. Many puffed at huge cigars, and one even sipped at a glass of champagne, the bottle propped up on the dashboard.

  'Come on!' Gwyneth urged, embarrassed. 'They'll think you're looking for someone.
'

  'If anyone with a car like that is looking for me, I might accept an invitation,' Kitty replied with a laugh. 'I've never seen so many expensive cars all together, not even outside the Ritz!'

  ***

  Chapter 21

  Touring on her own was far less enjoyable than when she was with Gwyneth. Nell even missed Kitty, forgiving her for throwing them out and recalling only the fun she had been. She made friends with some of the other girls in her troupe, but it wasn't the same. Besides, she was by far the best dancer and did the solo spots, so there was a certain amount of jealousy. She was thankful to be working hard over Christmas, but after the end of the Pantomime season there was a gap in bookings. Some of the girls found work with other troupes, a few left to take other jobs, and a few had to be dismissed. Nell had several offers to join other troupes, but as most of them were likely to be going abroad it was impossible to accept. Frank Bliss had no suitable vacancies, because Nell insisted she would not take the place of any girl he dismissed in order to make room for her.

  'Why don't we ask Nell to teach for us?' Edwina asked.

  Frank eyed her thoughtfully. Deep down he knew that his venture would not have been the success it was without Edwina. She was good at devising routines, and had an excellent eye for costumes, knowing what was just right. She had also taken over much of the paperwork. But she had only been able to spare the time for this when he engaged another teacher to do the simple work, and teach the ballroom dancing classes. That had been the beginning of her emancipation, and he had mixed feelings. Nevertheless he respected her judgement.

  'It would be a waste for Nell to teach,' he said now.

  'It would if it were something permanent. But if we don't use her she will eventually leave us. It might be only a few weeks before there is a suitable vacancy, you know girls leave all the time. Miss Carstairs wants to have a holiday, Nell could take her classes, and it would be sensible for us to take a break while times are slack.'

  And so Nell found herself training the new students, being in complete charge when Edwina was away. Edwina insisted she had an appropriate salary, more even than she had earned as a dancer. She was busy and beginning to look forward once more.

  *

  'Are you coming back to the hostel?' Gwyneth asked, as she and Kitty prepared to leave the theatre.

  'Not tonight, Josephine! Remember that man we met at the party on Sunday? The one who was an Austrian Baron, or Count or something? I'm going to supper with him.'

  'You don't know him,' Gwyneth warned.

  'Of course I do. I met him in perfectly respectable circumstances, at one of the best houses in Paris, in the Rue du Faubourg Saint Honoré. Besides, I can take care of myself.'

  That was probably true, Gwyneth thought, and shrugged. She wasn't Kitty's keeper, thank goodness, and if Kitty wanted to be foolish and take risks that was her choice. She knew that several of the girls had found admirers, and she had received many invitations, of varying sorts, herself. Occasionally she went to a party, but she resolutely refused all invitations to intimate little suppers or weekends in the country chateaux which all the men who haunted the Folies seemed to own. She'd only ever been tempted by one man. If Paul Mandeville had shown the slightest interest in her, she thought as she left Kitty and, smilingly shaking her head at an importunate young man, walked back to the hostel, she could have contemplated giving up dancing. He had eyes only for Nell, and no one else could distract her from the joy and satisfaction of what she was doing now.

  *

  'I wants ter see yer boss!'

  'He's busy,' Pasty said crossly. She was fed up with this job, answering the door all day long.

  'Tell 'im it's Nell's Pa.'

  Patsy shrugged. Why should she have the bother of arguing with callers? Let Mr Bliss send them away. Silently she gestured to him to come in, and opened the door of the office. Then she went upstairs where she knew Mr Bliss was indulging in an after-dinner brandy.

  'So I put 'im in the office,' she said and slid behind the door before he could give her any other instructions.

  Frank suddenly recollected that there was a large sum of money in the drawer of his desk, and from what he'd seen of Mr Baxter he wouldn't trust him not to investigate and help himself to anything which tempted him. He went swiftly downstairs.

  Mr Baxter was slumped in the more comfortable chair behind the desk. He sat up when Frank entered, but did not offer to rise. Short of physically heaving him out, and that, Frank judged, would be an impossibility for anyone as slight as he was, Frank must either stand or sit in the smaller chair. He chose to stand. At least then he could look down on Mr Baxter.

  'Well? What do you want? I'm an exceedingly busy man.'

  'I wants me rights!'

  'What does that mean?'

  'You give me daughter a job at this 'ere prance shop.'

  'Nell teaches at my academy of dance, yes! But I employ her, not you. So what is your business with me?'

  'I wants 'er wages.'

  Frank stared, incredulous. 'You want me to give Nell's money, money she has earned, to you?'

  'That's what I said.'

  'That's monstrous!'

  'No it ain't. What's 'er done fer us, 'cept cause trouble? 'Er owes me. I used ter get 'er wages when 'er worked fer old man Forster, so why not now?'

  'I am not responsible for what her previous employer did, but while Nell works for me I will give her the wages she earns. Now please leave, Mr Baxter, we have nothing more to discuss.'

  'Oh, ain't we? We gorra lot ter bleedin' discuss! I ain't leavin' till yer does what I want!'

  Frank crossed to lift the telephone and began to wind it. 'If you don't go, I'll call the police,' he said calmly, though he felt anything but calm. 'Operator? Is that the operator? Good, please can you – '

  'I'm goin', yer poncy little twat!' Mr Baxter said hurriedly, heaving himself out of the chair. 'But you ain't 'eard the last on it. I'll mek sure I get me rights!'

  'No, thank you, I don't want to make a call,' Frank said as the front door banged. Shaking, he replaced the receiver. He needed another brandy.

  *

  'They're from Timothy. He's in Paris,' Gwyneth said excitedly as she read the note accompanying the huge bouquet of flowers. 'He wants to take me to supper after the show.'

  'Timothy? Here? I didn't know he was coming to Paris,' Kitty said with a frown.

  'He doesn't explain why, it's quite short. Perhaps he's visiting friends.'

  Kitty was thoughtful. 'Perhaps. I must go and change now – though change is hardly the word when all I do is undress!'

  Gwyneth laughed. 'Hardly. But it must take a lot of time sticking those patches on in just the right places!'

  'Painful, too, when you pull them off again!' Kitty replied. 'At least I don't have dozens of changes like you do. I don't know how you manage, running up and down hundreds of stairs every night,' she added, and with a cheerful wave went along to her own dressing room.

  How nice it would be to see someone from home, Gwyneth was thinking as she changed into her street clothes afterwards. Nell wrote every week, and she sometimes had letters from the other girls they'd danced with, but none of them ever mentioned Paul, and she craved news of him. She could ask Timothy in a casual manner about both Paul and Andrew, and it would not seem odd.

  She assumed Kitty was supping with one of her admirers. The Austrian Baron had been largely supplanted by an Italian Prince, though he was still good enough for Kitty when the Prince was unavailable. At the moment the Prince's attractions were being tested against those of an exiled Russian Count, but Gwyneth cynically judged that if it were a question of marriage, Kitty would prefer the title of Princess to either of the others, even though Italian princes were two a penny.

  She emerged through the stage door and looked round for Timothy. She saw him eventually in a car parked at the end of the street. He obviously hadn't been aware of the parking problems in the Rue Saulnier, and come early enough. She began t
o walk towards him, taking no notice of the tapping heels behind her. There were dozens of girls emerging from the stage door, going home or walking to meet their escorts.

  'Gwyneth! Lovely to see you again! And Kitty, too.'

  Gwyneth swung round, to find Kitty flinging herself with abandon into Timothy's rather surprised embrace. Kitty couldn't have stopped to take off the cache-sexe, she thought with a mixture of irritation and amusement. Presumably she calculated that even if she succeeded in muscling in on Gwyneth's supper invitation, she would not succeed in detatching Timothy from her tonight.

  'It's so nice of you to take us out for supper,' Kitty said, tucking her arm into Timothy's.

  Gwyneth glanced over her shoulder to see the Baron, looking offended, retreating backwards. Kitty must have decided that the loss of him was worth the chance of trying her luck with Timothy once more. There was nothing Timothy could do. When they reached the restaurant there was a discreet shuffle as the table he had booked was hastily relaid for three, and then they were seated, in an almost totally screened alcove, with a waiter who had difficulty in concealing his amusement as he took their order.

  *

  'Would there be a Mr Bliss in this establishment, or is the name a cheap ruse to entrap the unwary?'

  The voice boomed through the hall and echoed up the stairwell. Patsy glanced nervously behind her and Nell, coming down the stairs, gave her a reassuring smile.

  'Can I help?' she asked, coming forward. 'Both Mr and Mrs Bliss are away for a few days.'

  'And who might you be, miss?'

  'I teach here.' Nell spoke curtly. She took an instant dislike to this man, with his bristling black moustache, aggressively jutting eyebrows, and loud voice. Then she realised that behind him, peering round at her rather like an inquisitive bird, was a tall, slender woman.

  'Then you can give me the information I seek.'

  He marched in, and Nell, despite herself, found herself backing along the hall. If she hadn't she'd have been mown down. She resisted the temptation to show him into the office, though. Such bad manners would be punished and he needed taking down a peg or two. Making him stand in the hall while he stated his business might serve. As the woman, whom Nell had forgotten, came in nervously behind him Nell felt a moment's doubt but she suppressed it. A woman attached to such a man must put up with any hostility he aroused. She must be used to it anyway.