The Golden Chain

by Margaret James

  ‘Where do you suggest?’ he whispered back.

  ‘We could go to my parents’ place.’

  ‘But won’t your mother mind?’ Ewan could imagine what his own would say if he turned up with Sadie on his arm.

  ‘She’s away at her sister’s in Arbroath.’

  ‘What about your father?’

  ‘He’s gone to a meeting, where they’ll sit and put the world to rights until the small hours. He won’t come home tonight.’

  ‘It sounds to me, Red Sadie, as if I have no choice.’

  ‘I don’t believe you do.’

  Mungo and the others exchanged embarrassed or suggestive glances, then stole away into the night.

  ‘But how did you find me?’ Daisy asked, when the three of them had all got over being astonished, and were sitting in an expensive restaurant in the Strand.

  ‘It wasn’t easy, darlin’,’ admitted Phoebe. ‘I ’ad to trawl round all the ruddy digs in Birmin’ham before I found out where you’d stayed. Then, when they told me they thought you’d gone to London – well, I thought, talk about a needle in an ’aystack!

  ‘But then I pulled meself together, come down ’ere, an I ’ired a taxi by the day. I started goin’ round the theatres askin’ if they’d ’eard of you. I was close to givin’ up, I’ll tell you!

  ‘Then I saw this notice in the papers, all about your show, said it was good. The bloke had specially mentioned a Miss Denham in the chorus, and me old ’eart did a little flip. So then the doorman at my ’otel up west, he tells me yes, he knows the place. It’s maybe a bit rough, he says, but they has try-outs there, an’ sometimes stuff transfers to the West End.

  ‘You’re a naughty girl, you know. Why did you take so long to tell Rose and Alex where you’d gone? When I last spoke to Rose she said she’d heard from you at last, and I was to give you a good hidin’ for not writin’ for so long.’

  But Daisy wasn’t interested in Rose. She had her eyes still fixed on Phoebe’s face. She realised this must be the dark-haired woman who had haunted all those dreams.

  She had a real mother now, she thought, and it was wonderful. She’d never been so happy. It was as if she had come home.

  ‘Come on, love, drink up,’ encouraged Phoebe, making Daisy blink. ‘I mean, we’re celebratin’, ain’t we?’

  She motioned to the waiter to top up Daisy’s glass. She gazed around the restaurant. ‘Dear old London, eh?’ she sighed. ‘God, it seems like only yesterday that I was just a kid, an’ startin’ out meself. But the last time I was sittin’ ’ere – oh, it must’ve been seventeen or eighteen years ago.’

  ‘You used to come to this place, then?’ asked Jesse, looking at the polished woodwork, inlaid marble panelling and gilded chandeliers.

  ‘Yeah, a boyfriend used to bring me regular.’ Phoebe lit a cigarette. ‘I was on the stage meself, you know, in the varieties.’

  She launched into a long resumé of her many triumphs, boasting about the officers she had known, how they had wined and dined her and how marvellous it had been, all the parties, dances, all the fizz …

  ‘Where are you staying, Mrs Rosenheim?’ asked Jesse, when Phoebe finally took a break from showing off to drink some more champagne.

  ‘I got a suite in a hotel, in Piccadilly.’ Phoebe looked at Daisy. ‘What about you, love? You got good digs?’

  ‘Oh, yes, they’re fine.’ After all the tales of splendour, Daisy didn’t want to admit to living in a dump, that there were mousetraps everywhere, and damp ran down the walls. If the revue transfers to the West End, she thought, I’m going to find another place to stay.

  As the restaurant started closing, Jesse went into the Strand to try to find a taxi. Phoebe took Daisy’s hands, and then looked deep into her eyes. ‘You don’t mind me comin’ to see you, darlin’?’ she asked, anxiously. ‘Only you ain’t said much.’

  ‘I’m still trying to take it in.’ Daisy gazed at this stranger who said she was her mother, but who was more exciting, beautiful and glamorous than any mother Daisy had ever known.

  ‘Well, we’ll be better acquainted soon,’ said Phoebe, smiling happily. ‘When I gets you back home to the States, an’ takes you all around, I know we’re gonna have such fun!’

  ‘You want me to go home with you?’

  ‘Oh, love, of course I do,’ cried Phoebe. ‘I just can’t tell you ’ow I’ve dreamed about this moment, when I’d be reunited with my darlin’ little girl. I don’t ever want to let you go.’

  ‘Well, that was exciting,’ Jesse said, as he and Daisy sat on the last bus, alone on the top deck as all the lights of London winked at them.

  ‘I’ve never been so surprised in all my life.’ Daisy lay against him, her head upon his shoulder. ‘What do you make of Phoebe, Jesse? Do you think she’s nice?’

  ‘She’s lovely.’ Jesse nodded. ‘She’s very attractive, too. It’s obvious where you got your looks.’

  ‘But I don’t look anything like her, do I? She’s very dark, I’m very fair.’

  ‘You’re both very beautiful.’ Jesse kissed her sweetly, and then he kissed her passionately. Then he stopped, and Daisy found she wanted to be kissed again.

  She’d drunk too much champagne – far less than Jesse, and nothing like as much as Phoebe, but she wasn’t used to alcohol, and now she was thinking she shouldn’t have drunk any.

  She felt light-headed, tired but relaxed, and also – much to her embarrassment – she realised she was hungry for a man.

  She looked again at Jesse. He was so attractive, he was generous and kind, he’d looked after her so well since they’d arrived in London, and he said he loved her, and perhaps he even meant it? Why shouldn’t she sleep with him?

  Jesse stroked her forehead, ran his fingers through her hair, printed little butterfly kisses all along her jaw line. ‘Daisy?’ he whispered, softly.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘But, Jesse, you will be careful?’

  ‘I’ll be careful, sweetheart,’ promised Jesse. ‘I’ll look after you.’

  When he undressed, and she saw the scars across his back, the marks from all those beatings, she could have cried. Poor man, she thought, he’s had a really rotten deal in life. Now he deserves some love.

  He took his time, he didn’t hurt her, he didn’t frighten her, and although she sometimes got the feeling that he was performing, stepping back occasionally to gauge audience reaction, she was glad she’d done it. She was a woman now.

  ‘You were careful, weren’t you?’ she asked him anxiously, when he had finished.

  ‘Yes, I was careful,’ he said, yawning. ‘Good night, sweet dreams,’ he added, turning on to his side and going to sleep.

  Ewan woke up in a single bed under a skylight in a Glasgow tenement, somehow knowing where he was, but not remembering how he’d got there.

  Then he became aware of someone else in bed with him, someone soft and warm, and suddenly it all came hurtling back.

  He groaned and sat up carefully. He felt so sick, and hoped he wouldn’t actually throw up.

  On the way back to the tenement, Sadie had bought a bottle of cheap Scotch. He thought he must have drunk the lot, and how he was going to do a matinee this afternoon, he didn’t know. There was a glass of water on the night stand. He picked it up and sipped some gratefully.

  Sadie woke up now, and twisted round to look at him. ‘Good morning, Ewan,’ she began, and grinned. ‘How are you today?’

  ‘I’ve been much better.’ Ewan blinked and shut his eyes, for the harsh Glasgow dawn was blinding him. ‘What did I do last night?’

  ‘You tried to take advantage of me.’ Sadie giggled, and walked her fingers up his arm. ‘But you’d had far too much to drink. You look more sober now.’ She rubbed her foot against his leg. ‘Do you want to try to take advantage of me again?’
r />   Ewan could feel the softness of her, smell the musky scent of her, could feel himself responding.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, and took her in his arms. ‘I’d definitely like to try again.’

  Daisy wrote to Rose again, explaining about the revue, and saying she’d been really busy, telling Rose that she was with a company financed by a Mr Daniel Hanson. Mr Hanson was a very important, powerful impresario. Maybe Rose had heard of him?

  She sent Rose all her notices – three or four by now – and a programme with her name in it. She also said that she’d met Phoebe, but she didn’t go into detail.

  Phoebe had been to see the show at every opportunity, always sitting in the front row stalls. But when Daisy met her in a West End café after a matinee, and told her who was backing the revue, Phoebe suddenly went white. She looked as if she was about to faint.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Daisy cried, alarmed.

  ‘Mr Daniel Hanson.’ Phoebe shuddered convulsively, as if she had a fever. ‘I know him of old,’ she muttered, ‘from when I was in the varieties meself.’

  ‘We hardly ever see him,’ added Daisy.

  ‘Yeah, an’ you want to keep it that way, love,’ said Phoebe, as she groped in her bag for cigarettes.

  ‘Why, isn’t he very nice?’

  ‘Mr Daniel Hanson is a bugger, ’scuse my French. I walked out with ’im once, durin’ the war years.’ Now, with hands that were still shaking, Phoebe lit a cigarette, inhaled. ‘When I got caught with you, ’e threatened to make me sorry I’d been born. ’E wasn’t your dad, you see – thank God for that – an’ ’e didn’t want to think another fella had been interferin’ with ’is girl.’

  ‘I see,’ said Daisy, feeling a bit sick herself.

  ‘’E ran vice rings, Dan did, ’e ’ad people’s legs broke if they didn’t do what he said, or if they upset ’im. The police was in ’is pocket. They still are, I dare say.’

  Phoebe shook her head, she grimaced in disgust, but then she smiled. ‘Rest day tomorrow, ain’t it? I thought we could go up Oxford Street, an’ buy you somethin’ nice. The boyfriend can come along as well, that’s if ’e’s got nothin’ else to do. I likes to ’ave a bloke to carry all me bags, especially if he’s kinda cute like yours! Daisy, ’ave you thought any more about that stuff I said?’

  ‘You mean, go to America with you?’

  ‘Yeah, it’s time we got to know each other better, don’t you reckon?’ Phoebe picked up the silver teapot, poured out more Earl Grey. She snapped her fingers to the waitress for more cakes. ‘You’re so talented, you could do so well. You could be on Broadway. I can already see your name in lights! My Nathan, he could help you. He’s a big shot now. He’s got connections.’

  ‘In the theatre?’ Daisy asked, thinking that’s the first I’ve heard of it.

  ‘My Nathan’s got connections everywhere.’ Phoebe spread her hands. ‘America’s not like Britain, where you has to know your place. Look at me and Nathan – we come to New York City without a penny to our names, but we worked an’ worked an’ worked, an’ now we’re doin swell.’

  ‘I’d miss my parents, though.’

  ‘Darlin’, you’re forgettin’ I’m your mother.’ Phoebe’s dark eyes narrowed, but then she smiled graciously. ‘Rose and Alex and the kids – yeah, they could visit. We’d be glad to see ’em, show ’em a bit of life.’

  ‘I’ll think about it,’ Daisy promised, tempted.

  ‘Britain’s all washed up,’ continued Phoebe. ‘It’s a mess. Darlin’, look around you. It’s all dirt and gloom and misery, not like in the States.’

  ‘You don’t have unemployment and depression in the States?’

  ‘Oh, sure, we got some problems,’ said Phoebe, airily. ‘The Crash affected everyone, an’ that I can’t deny. But things is on the up.’

  Phoebe covered Daisy’s hand with hers, gave it a gentle squeeze. ‘It’s the land of opportunity, the good old USA. Listen, I was a kid from the East End. I ’ad no education, but I knew ’ow to graft. So now I wears fur coats, I got a business, I ’as a dozen girls workin’ for me. I couldn’ve done that ’ere. There ain’t the will, the energy, the sparkle here in England.

  ‘Daisy, I knows people, lots of people, not little fish like Daniel bloody Hanson. I knows the ones who matter.’

  ‘Phoebe – ’

  ‘Mum,’ said Phoebe. ‘I’d like you to call me Mum, my darlin’. Or maybe Mommy, eh?’

  ‘As I said, I’ll have to think about it.’

  ‘Well, don’t you take too long, my love.’ Phoebe lit another cigarette. ‘I’m goin’ ’ome next Saturday. I want you to come with me, an’ before you says it, yeah, I know – you’re very fond of Jesse. But ’e could tag along. I’ll even pay ’is fare. Your understudies’ll be glad to take your places in the show.’

  ‘But we have contracts.’

  ‘Oh, sweet’eart, tear ’em up,’ said Phoebe, grandly. ‘Now, about tomorrow, where we gonna meet, at my ’otel? Listen,’ she added urgently, ‘I got to get you away from Daniel and his henchmen. People like that, they ain’t no good to you. I don’t think even Dan’s long, slippery fingers could reach you in the States.’

  The following morning, Jesse said he didn’t feel like traipsing round the shops. He thought he’d pulled a tendon in his foot, and it was rather painful. Maybe he should rest it.

  ‘You go, and have real swell time,’ he said.

  ‘Well, all right. I’ll bring you something nice,’ said Daisy, buttoning up her jacket and smoothing the lapels, and blessing Amy for her kindness.

  ‘Something expensive,’ Jesse added. ‘Gentleman’s cologne, perhaps, from some exclusive little shop in Regent Street or Piccadilly. The old girl can afford it.’

  ‘I’ll see what I can do.’ Daisy kissed him, smiled and waved her fingers. ‘You be good,’ she said.

  ‘I shall. I’ll lie in bed and read the paper.’

  ‘Blimey, Daisy, where do you get your clothes?’ demanded Phoebe. She tweaked the collar of Daisy’s jacket, testing the quality of the fabric, and finding it wasn’t up to her exacting expectations. ‘We’d better get you somethin’ decent, if you’re comin’ ’ome with me.’

  So Daisy and Phoebe started shopping, and spent a fortune. They didn’t have time for lunch, but by three o’clock they were so tired they got a taxi back to Piccadilly, and went to have afternoon tea at Fortnum’s where, as Phoebe put it, they might stick their noses in the air, but they did a decent cup of char.

  ‘I been to see you nearly twenty times,’ said Phoebe, tucking her arm through Daisy’s as they made their way upstairs. ‘You gets better an’ better every day.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Daisy said, wishing that Phoebe wouldn’t cling so tightly, but not wanting to hurt her mother’s feelings by seeming to shake her off.

  ‘But,’ continued Phoebe artlessly, ‘I bet Rose an’ Alex has been to see you far more times than I ’ave?’

  ‘No, actually, they haven’t,’ Daisy said. ‘It’s the farm, you see. They don’t have much in the way of help, so they don’t have the time to get away.’

  ‘Daisy, if my little girl was on the London stage, an’ if I was anythin’ like a proper mother ought to be, I’d make the flippin’ time to get away!’

  At the entrance to the restaurant, Phoebe caught the eye of the head waiter, who came smartly up and led them to a table by a window. He pulled out both their chairs and got them comfortably seated, then handed them their menus with a flourish.

  A waitress came up then and fussed around them, making sure they had fresh napkins, finger bowls and cutlery. So many servants, Daisy thought – it was like being in India again.

  ‘But then that’s Rose all over,’ added Phoebe, pulling off her fine kid gloves. ‘She gets obsessed with things, does Rose. My sister always said so. Rose ’as go
t a one track mind, Maria used to say. Right now, it’s ’er flippin’ chickens is occupyin’ ’er time, an’ she ain’t got a moment for anythin’ or anybody else – not even for you, my darlin’ girl. But never mind, my lovely daughter, your real mommy loves you, an’ she wants to see your show.’

  Phoebe scanned the menu. ‘So, angel, what d’you want today? Some little sandwiches, and some of them French fancies what that fat woman’s eatin’ over there? They looks tasty, don’t they? Them, an’ ’alf a dozen little scones, with Devon clotted cream?’

  ‘Mmm, delicious,’ Daisy said, slipping off her jacket. She wished Phoebe would shut up for just one minute. Or at any rate, not talk about poor Rose in that nasty, supercilious way.

  ‘That’s what we’ll ’ave, then.’ Phoebe summoned the waiter, gave her order, and sent him on his way. ‘You thought any more about goin’ to the States with me?’ she demanded, as the waitress set out fine bone china and lit the little spirit stove which would warm their scones. ‘Just for an ’oliday at first. But if you like it, you could settle down permanent with me, in my apartment.’

  ‘What about Mr Rosenheim?’ asked Daisy.

  ‘What about ’im?’

  ‘Well, I’m not his daughter.’

  ‘But you’re mine, an’ he loves me, an’ so he’d make you welcome.’ Phoebe smiled. ‘He’s lovely, is my Nathan. You’d like him, he’d like you.’

  ‘I’m sure I’d like him, Phoebe, but you haven’t said very much about him.’

  ‘Mommy,’ corrected Phoebe.

  ‘Where did you meet him?’ Daisy asked.

  ‘My Nathan?’ Phoebe grinned. ‘I’ve known ’im all my life. Nathan was the boy next door, back in the old East End. I was always goin’ to marry ’im.’

  ‘But he’d make me welcome?’

  ‘Daisy, sweet’eart, ’e can’t wait to meet you, ’e’s told me so ’imself. I ’ad a wire yesterday, in fact. So, darlin’, what d’you say?’

  ‘Give me another day or two to think,’ said Daisy, glad to see the waitress coming over, pushing a little gilded trolley laden with plates of delicate little sandwiches and cakes, and all the other things they’d have for tea.