‘He was on holiday in Dorset.’ Daisy blushed. ‘I met him walking home from school one day.’
‘He’s quite delicious, isn’t he?’ Amy Nightingale began to paint her nails with scarlet varnish. ‘I’ve always had a weakness for dashing, handsome Scotsmen with red hair and emerald eyes.’
‘Leave him alone, you harridan,’ said Julia, and then she turned to Daisy. ‘Angel, don’t look so worried. I mean, a painted-up old tart like Amy here, against a fresh-faced little beauty – she wouldn’t stand a chance.’
‘I don’t know about that,’ purred Amy, smirking. ‘In my experience, most young men are more than happy to respond to smarter, older women who have seen a bit of life.’
Daisy looked at Amy, whose immaculately made-up face was striking if not beautiful, and she felt a tremor of unease.
She didn’t think Ewan would go after other women. But she hadn’t thought about what might happen if other women went after him.
Ewan thought he was in paradise.
He was doing what he’d always wanted and, even if he wouldn’t be playing Romeo for Mr and Mrs Curtis, he was sure one day his chance would come. He’d made some wonderful new friends, and – best of all – he was almost permanently in the company of the girl he loved.
Whenever they arrived in a new place, he and Daisy got the gazetteer from the public reference library and looked up all the Gowers and Rosenheims.
They checked electoral registers, and even knocked on doors, alarming several Gowers and Rosenheims, who were usually very nice about it, but who couldn’t help.
They never found a Phoebe Gower or Phoebe Rosenheim. ‘She might be in America,’ said Daisy, at the end of yet another fruitless afternoon, when everybody else was at the talkies, and they’d been annoying or perplexing various strangers.
‘We’ll be going there one day.’
‘We’ll never find her in America.’
‘We might, you never know.’ These days, Ewan was confident he could do anything. ‘Look on the bright side, eh? We’re doing well, we’re getting good reviews. So things are going our way.’
‘Nathan, I don’t think it’s goin’ to happen.’
Phoebe was sitting at the breakfast table in the newly-fitted-out apartment in the Lower East Side, drinking coffee and smoking Lucky Strikes. ‘I’m bein’ punished for givin’ Daisy up. I reckon God don’t want me to ’ave more children.’
‘My dear, it’s nothing to do with God.’
‘Well, it ain’t nothin’ to do with me. I told you I went to see doc, and all he said was keep on tryin’.’
‘So that’s what we’ll do.’ Nathan took Phoebe’s hand, and smiled his usual reassuring smile. ‘Phoebe, you’re still young. There’s plenty of time to have another child. Do you remember Sarah Goldman, Harry’s wife? She was nearly forty when she had her twins.’
‘I won’t see thirty-five again.’ Phoebe sighed. ‘I know you’re trying to cheer me up, but time is runnin’ out.’
‘We won’t give up just yet.’
‘I’d better go to work.’ Phoebe stood up and smoothed her smart, black dress over her hips. ‘We’re gettin’ a delivery of ostrich feathers this morning, an’ I want to check they haven’t sent me rubbish like they did the last time.’
‘Your shop is doing very well,’ said Nathan. ‘The country might be in a state of chaos, but it seems people still need hats. I was looking at your books last night. You’re going to make a handsome profit this year.’
‘That’s something, I suppose,’ said Phoebe, shrugging. ‘If I’m not goin’ to be a mother, I need something else to do.’
‘Phoebe, listen to me a moment.’ Nathan pulled her down on to his lap. ‘I’m not saying I don’t want children. Of course I do, it would be wonderful. But if it never happens, we mustn’t let it blight our lives.’
‘You’re far too good for me, you know that?’ Phoebe kissed his cheek and forced a smile. ‘I tell you what we’ll do. We’ll give it another couple of months, all right?’
‘All right, but then?’
‘If nothin’ happens, I’m goin’ back to England. I’m goin’ to find my daughter.’
‘Do you want me to come with you?’
‘No, I know you ’ate the place, an’ I can’t say I blame you. England ain’t done much for you, or me. But I gotta go.’ Phoebe looked anxiously at Nathan. ‘I promise I’ll come back. So don’t you go divorcin’ me?’
‘I won’t divorce you,’ Nathan promised. ‘You’re my life.’
Daisy had just come in. Ewan had walked her home as usual, told her she’d been excellent this evening, and that she’d made him proud. They’d spent a pleasant hour saying goodnight.
So she was tired but happy.
Julia and Amy looked anything but happy. They hadn’t had a curtain call, and none of their regular gentlemen who followed the company from town to town had sent them flowers or chocolates tonight. They were busy grumbling, drinking gin and getting maudlin.
‘So when I got divorced, my parents said they didn’t want to know me any more. It was just as well I could my earn my living on the stage,’ Amy Nightingale was saying, in a cut-glass accent which Daisy thought was probably authentic, even though Amy used a range of other accents too, and might decide to be a Scouser in the morning.
‘Daisy, you wouldn’t know it, but our Amy used to be a swell,’ said Julia, pouring out another glass of gin. ‘She was married to an honourable.’
‘Who had a string of mistresses, so I had an affair, but he found out.’
‘So it was the divorce court for old Amy, who ended up with nothing. She’d be beggin’ in the streets if Alfred Curtis hadn’t come along.’
‘The woman always loses everything.’ Amy stared into her empty glass. ‘You watch young Fraser, Daisy May.’
‘Yeah, don’t you get too serious with Ewan.’
‘We’ve met his kind before.’
‘Good-looking boys, they’re always trouble.’
They were wrong, thought Daisy. Someone as sweet as Ewan couldn’t be trouble if he tried. But she didn’t argue. She just said goodnight and went to bed.
Amy and Julia started to reorganise her wardrobe. They lent her clothes which Ewan often said he didn’t like because they made her look too old.
‘He means you’ll start attracting other men,’ said Julia, as she buttoned Daisy into a very flattering black jacket with a smart fur collar that set off her blonde hair.
‘You ought to get a permanent wave, you know,’ continued Amy. ‘It would make you look grown up. You need to get your ears pierced, too. We’ll do it with a needle and a cork. Then you can wear my rhinestone earrings. This old chain you always wear – it’s very plain, you know. I think you need a bit of sparkle.’
Daisy heard Rose’s voice inside her head saying rhinestone earrings would look vulgar, permanent waves were common, and using corks and needles would lead to septicaemia …
‘No matinee today,’ said Ewan, as he and Daisy shrugged into their coats after a morning read-through in the back room of a pub in Scarborough. ‘What would you like to do?’
‘She can’t do anything with you, she’s under age – and anyway, she’s going to the talkies,’ Julia told him, smirking. ‘So you run along, and go and play with the other boys.’
‘Did you hear Alfred telling Mr Morgan that Daisy will be playing his girlfriend in the new three-acter?’ Amy purred, grinning like a cat and running her scarlet nails down Ewan’s chest.
‘So Daisy will be kissing him,’ said Julia.
‘On the mouth,’ said Amy.
‘I won’t mean it, Ewan,’ said Daisy hurriedly.
‘I know you won’t,’ said Ewan, who wasn’t bothered about Bryn Morgan. ‘Anyway, ladies,’ he continued, ‘I have news for you. Mr Morg
an’s leaving us. He’s going to do some concert parties, and he’s got a season in Torquay.’
‘How do you know?’ Julia demanded.
‘More to the point, why didn’t we?’ Amy scowled and narrowed her mascaraed eyes suspiciously.
‘Bryn told George this morning. George told Frank and me. Bryn will be telling Mr and Mrs Curtis later on today. George says they’ll have fits.’
‘He’s right, they will,’ said Amy.
‘Daisy, shall you and I go for a walk along the prom?’ suggested Ewan
‘Yes, that would be lovely.’ She tucked her arm through his and smiled at him.
‘You told me you wanted see a talkie, Daisy May,’ said Julia, frowning.
‘I’ve changed my mind. I can see a talkie any time.’
‘Come on, darling.’ Amy took Julia by the arm, her crimson nails like spots of blood on Julia’s pale sleeve. ‘Let these babies go and have their walkies. You and me, we’ll find some grown-up fun.’
‘What a pair of harpies.’ Ewan watched Amy and Julia saunter off, arm in arm and sniggering. ‘I can’t stand spiteful women.’
‘They’re all right,’ said Daisy. ‘They’re very kind to me. They just like making mischief. Actually, Amy’s got her eye on you.’
‘God, you must be joking!’ Ewan was horrified.
‘No I’m not, she thinks you’re very handsome, and she’s always pointing out most men like older women.’
‘She’s wrong,’ said Ewan, firmly. ‘The woman should be younger than the man. Daisy, do you find other men attractive?’
‘No.’ Daisy put one arm round Ewan’s waist and pushed her hand into his trouser pocket. ‘I don’t want anyone but you.’
‘I was thinking, Daisy – if I’m lucky, I might get Bryn Morgan’s roles. It might be me who’s kissing you on stage.’
‘Let’s get some practice, then.’
‘Have you written to your mother lately?’ Daisy asked him half an hour later, as they strolled along the promenade.
‘Yes, I wrote last week. I got a postcard in reply. So she must be speaking to me again.’
‘Where is she, still in Dorset?’
‘No, she’s gone back to Scotland. Daisy, do you think Mrs Denham has forgiven you?’
‘I don’t know. But I hope she has, I hope she’s not still cross or worrying. I write home often. I send them cuttings, programmes, handbills, postcards for the twins. I tell them where I’m going, what I’m doing. I remind them you’re looking after me.’
‘Then she shouldn’t be worrying at all.’
Chapter Eight
Daisy had noticed Julia wasn’t well, but Amy told her not to worry. Julia was a moody cow who had her ups and downs, and she’d snap out of it.
But there were downs and there was hitting rock bottom, Daisy thought, and since they’d left Scarborough Julia had been missing cues, getting on stage with seconds to spare or even seconds late, and making Alfred Curtis tear his hair out or what remained of it. She was drinking gin from thermos flasks and smoking like a pot bank.
Then, one Sunday morning, Daisy caught her coming out of the bathroom at their digs, as green as Banquo’s ghost, and carrying a mysterious parcel wrapped in pages from the Daily Sketch.
‘Goodness, what’s the matter?’ she demanded. ‘Julia, you look awful! Why don’t you go back to bed? I’ll make you some toast.’
‘I couldn’t eat any toast, and for God’s sake keep your blooming voice down, Fairy Fay. I don’t want that hideous old bag who owns the place up here.’
Julia glanced over the banisters to see if anybody was lurking in the hall. ‘Do you know if she’s gone to church, or to her coven, with the other witches?’
‘She had her prayer book, so she must have gone to morning service. She won’t be back for ages. Julia, do you need – ’
‘I need a fag,’ said Julia. She thrust the parcel into Daisy’s hands. ‘Do me a little favour, love? Go and shove that in the dustbin, eh? Make sure you push it right down to the bottom, so the cat can’t get it.’
‘Yes, of course, but what – ’
‘You know that chap I picked up in the pub in Wolverhampton, a couple of months ago? The one with the cheeky grin and Oxford bags and Brylcreemed hair?’ Julia scrabbled in the pocket of her dressing gown, found her cigarettes and lit one, drawing greedily. ‘Well, the bugger got me up the duff.’
She tottered back into her bedroom and sank down on her bed. ‘But now I’ve dealt with it, so everything is tickety-boo again. Be a little angel and don’t say anything to Lady Muck, or any of the others? I don’t think I could stand a flipping chorus of I-told-you-so.’
‘I won’t say anything.’ Daisy could almost feel the parcel writhing in her hands. Although she knew she must be just imagining movement, it was certainly still warm.
She shuddered as she realised she could have been a parcel, if her natural mother hadn’t been too – what, too ignorant, too religious? She hurried off down the stairs and did what Julia had asked, still shuddering. She slammed the lid back on the bin.
‘What’s up with Fanny Anne this morning?’ When Daisy went back into the house, she found Amy at the breakfast table, smoking and eating kippers and feeding titbits to the cat.
‘She – she’s not feeling well. She’s going to stay in bed this morning.’
‘I saw you sneaking something to the bin. She wants to watch it. She takes too many chances, does our Fanny Anne. If I’ve told her once, I’ve told her half a million times. She needs to make the blighters use a thing. But her religion says you can’t, or something daft like that.’
Amy leaned back and blew a perfect smoke ring. ‘You want to watch it too, young Daisy May. I’ve seen the way your Ewan looks at you, his eyes undressing you, tongue hanging out. He’d have you in the pudding club as quick as winking. Then, of course, he would blame you.’
Amy watched as Daisy put the kettle on. ‘I’ll have another cup,’ she said, ‘and if you’re going back upstairs, make sure that trollop hasn’t left the evidence in the bathroom.’
‘Evidence?’ said Daisy.
‘Yeah, like knitting needles, messy towels. We don’t want the landlady to find them, the old bag would throw us out, and anyway I want to have a bath.’
Bryn Morgan’s concert party offer was too good to refuse. He needed to leave the company even earlier than expected, making Alfred Curtis curse and say he’d never again employ a Welshman. There’d be penalty clauses in all contracts from now on.
‘Alfred’s been on the telephone all week,’ said Amy, as the ladies got made up and ready for a matinee in Stoke. ‘He can’t find anyone at all, so Mrs C was telling me. Of course, there are the usual drunks and layabouts, people with one leg or half a brain that no one wants to work with any more. But everyone who’s any good appears to have a job.’
‘I reckon he’s going to have to promote your boyfriend,’ Julia told Daisy. ‘So you two will be kissing in the spotlight after all. Alfred’s got someone coming along tomorrow,’ she added, as she lit a cigarette. ‘I heard him telling Mrs C – name’s Jessie something.’
‘Why do we need another girl?’ Amy rolled on her stockings. ‘What’s the old devil up to now?’
‘Maybe he’s bought a play with a few decent roles for women?’ Julia slicked on lipstick. ‘It would make a pleasant change.’
‘It would make for more rehearsals, too. Daisy, love,’ said Amy, ‘lend me your number 5, and pay attention when I’m on this afternoon. I’ve got a bit of a sore throat, so I might be indisposed this evening, and you’ll have to go on as Sarah Drew.’
Daisy was working hard at understudying, and at being a useful member of the company.
That evening, she was very tired after two performances in which she’d played a dozen little parts
in a half-empty theatre, something which always left the cast low and dispirited.
‘Nobody’s got any money in the Potteries, they’re all on the dole,’ said Julia, creaming off her eye paint. ‘I dunno why Alfred took these lousy bookings, anyway.’
‘The premises are cheap,’ said Amy, scowling round the dressing room in which the paint was flaking and which smelled of ancient sweat and tomcats. ‘Come on, girls, let’s go and have a drink or several, try to drown our sorrows.’
‘See what we can find,’ said Julia, winking.
‘All right, miss holy innocent, don’t look at us like that,’ said Amy, catching Daisy’s eye. ‘We can’t keep ourselves in gin and knickers on what that skinflint pays us, and a girl needs company now and then, in any case.’
‘That bloke who kept me in drink and fags last night, he was a proper gentleman,’ added Julia, smugly. ‘A travelling salesman, so he said, and it might be true, he had a case of samples.’
‘I bet he’s married, though,’ said Amy. ‘He had that look about him. You can always tell.’
‘Married, single – as long as he’s a man, he’ll do for me,’ said Julia, smirking. ‘If he’s in the saloon bar of the Lamb and Flag tonight, I’m getting off with him. He should be worth a few more gin and tonics, and something else as well. But if he turns out to be a very naughty boy, I could always threaten to tell his wife.’
‘I think I’ll go home,’ said Daisy, yawning. ‘I need to write to Mum and Dad before I go to bed.’
‘Oh, don’t be such a little goody two shoes.’ Julia had at last re-done her make-up, and now she checked her lipstick one last time. ‘Come and have a gin with us. It’s time you learned to drink.’
Daisy had a dandelion and burdock, which tasted very unpleasant and medicinal, then told Amy she was going home.
Amy wouldn’t be going back just yet. Julia was wrapped around her salesman, and Ewan was rather obviously reluctant to tear himself away from beer and darts. But he said Daisy couldn’t go home alone.
‘I’ll be all right,’ she said. ‘I’ll get the bus, there’s one in fifteen minutes from the station.’
The Golden Chain Page 9
