‘If you’re sure?’ Margaret nodded. ‘Goodnight then.’
‘Goodnight.’ Margaret watched him turn and leave. ‘Oh, Anton? Would you ask Bert to send Bill up when he arrives, please?’
‘Yes. Goodnight.’
‘Goodnight.’ Margaret returned to the dressing room and closed the door. The two women listened as Anton Goldman walked along the corridor, his steps becoming fainter until there was no sound at all. Kat lit a cigarette and lay back on the chaise.
‘I’ll empty the water, so you can use the glass for your brandy,’ Margaret said. ‘Shan’t be a minute.’ When she returned Kat was asleep with her cigarette in her hand. Margaret took it and stubbed it out in an ashtray on the dressing table, before kneeling down and taking Kat’s hands. They were as cold as ice. She gently rubbed them; first one and then the other, but she couldn’t make them warm. She took off her coat and put it over the sleeping dancer. Her face looked like the Russian doll she kept on her dressing table for luck - round and white. Her hair, usually immaculate, was stuck to her head, lank and greasy. There was a pink spot in the middle of each cheek and dark circles under her eyes that made them look as if they’d been set too deeply in their sockets. Kat looked very poorly.
Margaret paced the floor. She didn’t know what to do. She thought about going down to the stage door and telephoning Bill, but she daren’t leave Kat. She looked at her watch. Bill would be here soon. Until then, all she could do was watch Kat sleep and hope she didn’t stop breathing.
Half an hour later, Bill arrived. ‘Kat’s ill,’ Margaret cried.
‘Good God!’ Bill said when he saw Kat. ‘Do you know what’s wrong with her?’ Margaret shook her head. ‘Kat? It’s Bill. Can you hear me, Kat? Can you open your eyes for me? Margaret, pass me that bucket and then go down and ask Bert to telephone for an ambulance.’
Margaret flew down the stairs while Bill, who was used to dealing with sick people, stayed with Kat.
On her return Kat, ghostly white and shivering, began to retch. ‘Sit up, Kat,’ Bill said, ‘or you’ll choke.’
Kat did as she was told and began to vomit.
Within fifteen minutes two ambulance men were carrying Kat down the stairs, strapped to a chair. Another five and they were lifting her into the back of an ambulance.
‘I’ll go with her,’ Margaret said.
‘She’ll be fine once they get her to hospital,’ Bill said. ‘Come on, you look all-in, let’s go home.’
‘No, I’m going with her. You go home – you’ve got an early start in the morning. I’ll be all right on my own.’
‘No you won’t. I’ll take you on the bike.’
Margaret opened her eyes with a start.
‘Hello sleepy head. I think it’s time I took you home,’ Bill said.
Margaret stood up and stretched. She slowly walked over to the window in the waiting room of the emergency department of St. Thomas’s Hospital and pulled back the blackout blind a fraction.
‘Careful, Margaret, you’ll let the light out.’
‘I won’t,’ Margaret said, yawning. ‘It’s lighter out there than it is in here.’
Bill stood up, but before he’d taken a step a doctor appeared. ‘Are you Miss Kaplinski’s friends? Was it you who brought her into the hospital?’
‘Yes,’ Margaret and Bill said in unison. ‘How is she?’
‘It’s good news. Your friend is still poorly, but you got her here in time. Another couple of hours and we might not have been able to save the baby.’
‘Baby?’ Margaret gasped. ‘Kat is having a baby?’
Margaret climbed onto the pillion seat of Bill’s motorbike. She held onto him as he slowly steered the powerful machine out of the hospital gates. Once they were on the road, Bill gave the bike some throttle and Margaret wriggled closer. She laid her head on her husband’s back. The leather of his motorbike coat felt cold on her face. She was too tired to care. Besides, she liked the smell, and being cold it might keep her awake.
Before they had travelled a mile, Margaret’s eyes began to grow heavy. Thanks to a pothole in the road she didn’t fall asleep. If she had, she might have fallen off the back of the bike. She tightened her grip around Bill’s waist and felt him lean back. He did that as a sign of affection. He did it in bed, before they went to sleep, and he was doing it now to let her know he was there and she was safe.
Margaret looked around. The streets were empty. It was too late for people to be going home after a night out, and too early for them to be going to work. She looked up at the sky. It was almost dawn but there was still a pale, almost transparent moon. On the south side of the river, black smoke drifted across a ruby sky; a reminder that the East End of London had been blitzed again.
‘Brrrrrrrrrrr, it’s freezing,’ Margaret said when they arrived home. ‘I’m so tired I could sleep for a week.’
‘Go and put your nightie on while I make us a cup of cocoa,’ Bill said.
‘Thank you. You are a wonderful husband. But be quick. I hate going to bed on my own,’ she said through chattering teeth. Jumping up and down on the spot, Margaret took off her clothes, dropped them on the armchair, and pulled on her nightgown. ‘That’s better,’ she said, putting her arms down the sleeves of her dressing gown and wrapping it tightly around her.
‘This’ll warm you up.’ Bill put a cup of cocoa on Margaret’s bedside table. ‘And cuddle that,’ he said, handing her a hot water bottle.
‘I’d rather cuddle you.’
‘That can be arranged,’ he said, sitting on the bed next to her.
With the bottle in her lap and both hands clasped firmly round the cup, Margaret sipped her hot cocoa. ‘Poor Kat. It’s almost too much to take in.’
‘It is,’ Bill agreed. ‘Did you know she was expecting?’
‘No. I don’t think anyone did. They probably wouldn’t tell me anyway.’
‘Is she engaged, or courting?’
‘She doesn’t wear an engagement ring, but she’s got a gentleman friend. He’s old and posh. Well-to-do, if you know what I mean.’
‘How do you know? Have you met him?’
‘Good Lord, no! Kat wouldn’t introduce him to the likes of me. And I wouldn’t dare speak to him unless she did.’ Margaret thought for a moment. ‘He’s a cold fish according to Betsy. I heard the girls talking about him once. They said he was a politician. He must be rich, because he sends Kat flowers almost every night – and they’re not from the market.’
‘What, with everything rationed?’
‘Yes, and he picks her up after the show in a chauffeur-driven car.’ Margaret laughed. ‘You should see Kat rushing around on the nights she sees him. Don’t think he likes to be kept waiting.’
‘So if she’s got a boyfriend with plenty of money, why are you looking worried?’
‘Because I think he’s married.’
Bill clicked his tongue. ‘Come on,’ he said, taking Margaret’s empty cup and putting it on the dresser. ‘We’ll talk about it tomorrow. Let’s get some sleep.’
Margaret let her arms drop down by her sides, and her dressing gown slid from her slender body onto the chair to join the rest of her clothes. Then she crawled into bed and pushed the hot water bottle to the bottom by her feet. ‘Turn over, Bill, so I can spoon,’ she said. And although he was half asleep, Bill turned, and Margaret snuggled up to him.
CHAPTER FIVE
Margaret bumped into George and Betsy coming out of Lyons Corner House. She walked with them along the Strand, turning into Bedford Street, and then Maiden Lane. As they arrived at the Prince Albert Theatre stage door they were met by Natalie and Anton Goldman. Seconds later Bert appeared, followed by Miss Lesley, Mrs Horton, and the rest of the backstage staff.
‘Wonder what’s going on?’ Betsy whispered.
George shrugged. ‘No idea.’
Anton Goldman cleared his throat, but before he had time to speak two black cabs pulled up on the opposite side of the road. Nancy got out of one and Ka
t the other. When both women had joined the gathering, Anton acknowledged them with a smile and continued. ‘Last night during the bombing of the East End, part of the water filtration plant at the sewage works was hit, and it’s possible that some of the main pipes were damaged. The Water Board has closed the theatre while they investigate. So I’m afraid tonight’s show has been cancelled.’
‘How long will we be dark?’ George asked.
‘One night, possibly two--’
‘Two?’ But we’re nowhere near the sewage plant. It’s miles away in Lambeth, or Greenwich, or somewhere.’
‘It’s a precaution in case the pipes across the river are cracked. Tomorrow there’s a full inspection and if the pipes haven’t been damaged we’ll be open at night as usual.’
‘Huh!’ Kat flicked the air. ‘What harm can a little water do?’
‘It isn’t water,’ Nancy said, ‘it’s sewage.’
Kat grimaced and covered her nose. ‘You mean--?’
‘Yes, it could get very smelly,’ Betsy laughed.
‘And,’ Anton called above the banter, ‘if water, or any other liquid, gets into electric wiring it would be very dangerous. So, ladies, tell Bert what you want from your dressing rooms and he’ll get it for you. Have a well-deserved night off. Thank you.’
Bert, Mrs Horton and Miss Lesley went into the theatre while the girls said goodnight to Natalie and Anton Goldman.
Margaret watched the lads from stage management leave, discussing which pub they were going to. She wished she could go to a pub, but--
‘What about you, Margaret? What are you going to do?’ Nancy asked. ‘Margaret?’
‘Sorry, I was miles away. I’ll wait for Bill, I suppose.’ It was times like this she wished her friend Jenny still worked at the theatre so she could travel home with her.
‘You can’t wait out here for four or five hours.’ George looked up at the sky. ‘Not a cloud in sight; perfect bombing weather. The streets are too dangerous, Margaret.’
‘I suppose I could go down to the ambulance station at Tommy’s and wait for him.’
‘I have a better idea,’ Nancy said. ‘Come to the club with Betsy, George, and me?’
Margaret had wanted to go to the Prince Albert Club since she first came to London, but Bill wouldn’t take her. The girls were always talking about the fun they had there, how good the band was, and how they had danced till all hours. She was desperate to go, wanted to say yes. ‘What about Bill?’
Nancy handed Margaret her coat and handbag. ‘Bert’s staying until eleven, in case the sewage people telephone.’ Nancy turned to the stage doorman. ‘You’ll tell Bill where Margaret is when he gets here, won’t you, Bert?’
‘Of course, Miss.’
Nancy kissed Bert on the cheek. ‘You’re a pal.’
‘I can’t go to a smart club dressed like this,’ Margaret said, putting on her coat.
Nancy put her arm around Margaret’s shoulder. ‘You look lovely, Margaret, you always do. Ladies?’ she called. ‘Margaret’s dressed perfectly all right for the club, isn’t she?’
‘Fine!’ and ‘Good Lord, yes,’ came the replies.
Margaret turned at the sound of a black cab pulling up. ‘Come on, Margaret. Shake a leg,’ George shouted, climbing into the back of the cab behind Betsy. ‘I’m dying for a drink.’
‘It doesn’t feel right going without Bill. What will people think, a married woman on her own, without her husband?’
‘Who cares what people think?’ George shouted.
‘No one will think anything, because no one will know. Besides,’ Nancy said, ‘you won’t be on your own, you’ll be with us.’
Kat lifted her cigarette in its silver holder to her lips. ‘The club will be closed if you do not make up your mind soon, Margaret!’
Margaret closed her eyes, screwed up her face and shouted, ‘Yes! I’m coming.’
Betsy laughed and George said, ‘Come on then, we mustn’t keep the Tsarina waiting.’
Kat shot George a hurt look. ‘The Tsarina is going home, if Bert will call her a taxi.’
Margaret saw in Nancy’s face that she had also noticed Kat’s reaction to George’s snipe. ‘Are you sure you won’t come, Kat?’ Nancy said. ‘We can squeeze up. There’s room...’
‘Thank you, but no. I will see you tomorrow.’ Kat put her hand on Margaret’s arm and smiled. ‘Have fun.’
‘I will.’
‘We’ll look after her,’ Nancy said.
‘Come on, Margaret. We’re all dying of thirst,’ George said, pulling Margaret into the waiting taxi. ‘She’ll have fun all right. We’ll have a couple of drinks at the bar--’
‘You couldn’t stop at a couple if your life depended on it, George,’ Betsy teased, and received a tickling for her cheek.
The Prince Albert Club on Long Acre was owned by Anton Goldman and managed by Nancy’s fiancé, Salvatore Russo, who Margaret had never met, but had seen several times when he’d been waiting for Nancy at the stage door. Unlike its neighbour the Club Royal, which the girls said attracted gangsters and black market racketeers, the Prince Albert was where the who’s who of London society dined after they’d been to, or appeared in, a West End show.
Margaret felt the butterflies of excitement flying around in her stomach as she waited to enter the club. George rang the bell and within seconds the door opened and the doorman welcomed the party into a dimly lit entrance lobby. Once the street door was closed and the blackout curtains were back in place, the doorman switched on the lights. Margaret looked around in amazement as she took off her coat and gave it to the cloakroom attendant. Smiling her thanks she followed the girls across the maroon and gold entrance lobby to the restaurant, where they were met by the Maître d’ who pointed to what looked to Margaret like the only unoccupied table in the place. It was on the edge of the dance floor. Margaret gasped. Entering the restaurant was like stepping into another world, a bright modern world. Men in dinner jackets and women in evening gowns or dresses that were the height of fashion were eating, talking, laughing. Each table had its own table lamp, but all around the room bright wall lights designed to look like half-moons shone upwards. In the ceiling, right in the middle above the dance floor, was a huge mirror-ball. And on the table reserved for the Prince Albert Theatre Company, there were two bottles of champagne in buckets filled with crushed ice and six long-stemmed glasses.
‘Sit next to me, Margaret,’ Nancy said, as Salvatore pulled out a chair.
‘Thank you.’ Margaret blushed. Biting her bottom lip she scrunched up her shoulders and smiled at Nancy.
Nancy returned the smile, making her feel very special. Nancy was the kindest, most beautiful, elegant person. She could sing and dance better than anyone, and she had taken a shine to Margaret. Nancy’s handsome Italian fiancé, who Margaret had first thought was a bit of a spiv, clearly adored her. She felt the colour rise in her cheeks again when Salvatore sat down on the other side of Nancy, kissed her hand and looked lovingly into her eyes. Margaret looked away.
The Prince Albert Club was what Margaret’s dad would have called select. It was select all right. Nancy said lots of film stars went there, and sometimes minor royalty. Looking around the room Margaret spotted high-ranking military men, wealthy-looking business men, and some beautiful young women who were so glamorous, Margaret thought they had to be starlets.
Margaret sipped her champagne. She thought she’d feel out of her depth in a night club surrounded by goodness knows who. Instead, she loved every minute of it. She felt a twinge of guilt, because she was experiencing it without Bill, but then night clubs didn’t really interest him. He would rather have a pint of beer in a local pub. Not that they went to a local pub in London. Leaning back and relaxing into her seat, Margaret put her glass to her lips. It was empty.
Salvatore beckoned a young waiter who was standing just a few feet away holding a bottle of champagne. ‘See that the ladies get whatever they want.’
The waiter nodded and
immediately refilled Margaret’s glass. Salvatore bent down and whispered in Nancy’s ear. Margaret watched Nancy look up and smile lovingly before he left. He returned a little later in the evening. He rested his hand gently on Nancy’s shoulder. ‘The diners are asking if someone from the theatre is going to sing tonight.’
‘Sorry, but I’ve had a teeny-weeny bit too much to drink, darling,’ George said.
‘Me too,’ giggled Betsy.
‘What about you, Margaret?’ Nancy said with a wink. ‘You know the songs in the show.’
Margaret choked. ‘Me?’
‘Why not? You have a lovely voice,’ Nancy said. ‘We’d like to hear you sing, wouldn’t we, ladies?’
‘Margaret, Margaret, give us a song!’ George and Betsy chanted. ‘Come on, Margaret,’ Nancy said, ‘show them what you’re made of.’
At that moment George and Betsy stood up and began to applaud her.
Margaret’s mouth fell open. ‘What are you doing, George? Sit down, Betsy!’
Nancy leaned forward and whispered in Margaret’s ear, ‘If you won’t sing for them, will you sing for me?’
George and Betsy pulled Margaret to her feet and pushed her forward. ‘All right, I will,’ she said, looking over her shoulder at Nancy. Everyone was clapping as she walked across the dance floor. She felt so small, and the floor seemed so big.
As she approached the stage the bandleader put out his hand. Margaret took it and, like a real starlet, stepped up with her head held high. ‘What’s your name?’ he whispered.
She opened her mouth to answer, but her mind went into a spin. When she was a child she’d learned monologues and songs and dances, which she performed to her long-suffering family. She’d called herself all manner of names, mostly those of famous actresses that she’d seen in films at Lowarth Picture House. Sometimes she was Myrna Dudley, or Greta Dudley. A favourite was Mae, another Marlene, but mostly she called herself Margot, a shortened version of Margaret. ‘Margot Dudley.’ The bandleader whispered into her ear again. She replied, ‘“They Can’t Take This…” I mean, “That… Away From Me”.’
Applause (The Dudley Sisters Quartet Book 2) Page 6
