The boys stopped kicking their ball. One picked it up and the other came towards her.
‘We ain’t doin’ nothin’ wrong Missus. It’s me bruvver Alf’s ball.’
‘I know you’re not,’ Margot said, smiling. ‘I just want to ask you something. If you live around here you might be able to help me. If you don’t--’
‘We do. Go on Missus, what do you want to know?’
‘A friend of mine used to live here, but she lost her home this week in an air raid. Do you know which houses were bombed?’
‘That’s easy. None of ‘em. We ain’t bin bombed this week. It were too foggy at the weekend.’ The boy put his dirty finger to his mouth and frowned thoughtfully. ‘Gerry was Stepney way last night, Dulwich the night before, Bethnal Green one night this week and the docks the other. We don’t know the exact places ‘cause we ain’t bin to ‘em, but we know near enough where the bombs was fallin’, which direction like.’
‘And you’re sure?’
‘Wot?’
‘That this area hasn’t been bombed for a week?’
‘Ye-ah!’ The boy looked shocked that Margot could doubt him. ‘Me and our Alf ‘ave got all the places and times of the bombin’s written down in a book wot a Yank give us. The aeroplanes too. Do you want ‘im to fetch it, so as you can see for yaself?’
‘There’s no need, I believe you. Thank you for your help. Here are two sixpences,’ she said, placing two small silver coins into the boy’s grubby hand. ‘One for you and one for Alf.’
‘Thank you, Missus.’ The boy held out his hand to show Alf the bounty. ‘Reckon Gerry ain’t gunna waste bombs on somewhere what’s already bin flattened.’ With that the boy ran off to join his brother, who was still holding the football.
Leaving the bus at Lancaster Place, Margot crossed the Strand and walked down to the theatre. The windows in the doors and the glass in the poster cabinets were smeared with a fine film of grease. Dust had settled in the corners like snowdrifts and the sills were thick with what looked to Margot like ash. With so much traffic going up and down the Strand there was bound to be dirt. And if there was no one to clean them… Apart from being laced in a film of London grime, the theatre looked much the same as it always had. In the glass cases on either side of the door there were posters saying Opening Soon. Margot wondered when that would be.
Leaning heavily on her stick, she made her way to Maiden Lane and the stage door. It was open. She looked inside. There was a gaping hole where Bert’s office used to be. She took a step forward, but stopped at the sound of voices. Two men were joking and laughing, as if nothing had happened. Her hands were shaking and her heart hammered in her chest. She turned away, steadied herself on the doorframe, and focused on the road. A shuddering breath escaped her throat. She was looking at the place where Bert and Nancy were killed. There was nothing to see.
In a daze she walked to the spot. The road looked the same as it had before. She walked on to the pavement on the far side and sat down. There was no trace of that day left. Nothing to show for her tragic loss. The only evidence that anything had happened on that terrible, terrible day was a couple of ill-fitting kerbstones. Grief took hold of her as it had then, and she began to tremble.
‘Are you all right, Miss?’ a young man asked.
‘What?’ Margot looked up from the pavement.
‘Let me help you,’ he said, kneeling down beside her and taking her hands in his. ‘It’s dangerous to sit so close to the road,’ he continued, helping Margot to her feet.
‘Thank you.’ The young man picked up her stick. She took it and smiled. ‘You must think I’m a fool,’ she said. ‘I have no idea why I… One minute I was crossing the road from the theatre,’ Margot looked across at the Albert’s stage door, ‘and the next…’ Tears filled her eyes.
‘Can I walk with you to wherever it is you’re going, Miss Dudley?’ the young man asked, holding Margot’s elbow to support her.
Margot looked at him. ‘Do I know you?’
‘No. But I know you. Mostly from the newspapers, but I brought my mum to see you in a show last year, on her birthday. Well,’ he said, a shy blush spreading across his cheeks, ‘I’d better go.’
‘What’s your name?’
‘Harry. Harry Ward.’
‘Thank you for helping me, Harry. When the theatre re-opens come to the stage door and ask for me, or tell--’ Margot swallowed hard, ‘tell the stage doorman when you and your mum would like to see a show, say you’re my guests, and I’ll leave complimentary tickets for you at the box office.’
‘Thank you, Miss Dudley,’ Harry Ward said, beaming. ‘Mum’ll love that.’
Margot watched her young helper walk away, and after one last longing look at the Prince Albert Theatre’s stage door, she set off in the same direction.
As she approached the Church of St. Saviour she heard organ music and a choir singing. She limped down the steps that she had fallen down in 1940, when she first came to the theatre, and saw the door was open. Quietly she slipped into a pew at the back of the church and listened to the Gloria.
Except for a new door, which had elaborate brass hinges, the outside of the building was unremarkable to look at. Tall and narrow, it looked as if it had been crammed in between the other buildings on the lane as an afterthought. Except for the large crucifix, the vestibule was dark and plain. But the interior was magnificent. The walls were covered in colourful tapestries and gilt-framed paintings. The wooden pews were relatively simple, but the pulpit was elaborately carved. Beyond the choir stalls the ornate altar was decorated with silver candlesticks and vases of flowers. In the middle beneath the east window was an ornate silver cross. Margot closed her eyes and was calmed by the fragrant scents of lavender furniture polish and incense.
She sat in the beautiful church listening to the choir rehearse for some time and wondering what she should do about Jenny. She had been furious with her the night she arrived home from ENSA and saw how she looked at Bill. And now, after finding out that the house she said she lived in hadn’t been bombed, she wanted to go home and throw her out, challenge her in front of Bill and show him what a conniving liar Jenny was, as well as a potential husband stealer. Margot went over and over what she should do and decided that, since Jenny was studying to be a First Aid Nursing Yeomanry driver – and was bound to pass their first aid exam because according to Bill she was brilliant – she’d be leaving Tommy's in the not too distant future.
The real reason Margot decided not to tell Bill about Jenny while he was working with her was in case she ‘accidentally on purpose’ let slip to him that Margot didn’t want children until she’d achieved her ambition. She wished she’d never confided in Jenny, but she had, so-- No. She wouldn’t confront her. There was a much better way to control the lying little bitch.
Margot kicked off her shoes. She shouldn’t have gone out, at least not in high heels. ‘Is that you, Bill?’ she called, hearing the door open. Throwing her shoes in the bottom of the wardrobe, she slipped her feet into her slippers.
‘It’s me – Jenny. Bill’s locking the bike. How are you feeling today? Better?’
‘Much. You?’
‘Me?’ Jenny’s cheeks flushed. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘Well, with you losing your home in the blitz. I wondered if you were still upset about it. It must have been terrible for you. If you want to talk about it,’ Margot said, ‘I’m always here. They say talking helps. So let me help you, Jenny. Tell me how you felt when you arrived home this week and found the house you lived in had been bombed? It was this week, wasn’t it?’ Jenny didn’t answer. ‘Or was it last week, or last month?’
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Jenny said, wringing her hands nervously.
‘Oh, didn’t I say? I went to Tudor Avenue today.’ Jenny shot her a frightened look. ‘There haven’t been any bombs dropped on Tudor or Wolsey for almost a week. So where were you living before you gave Bill the sob-story about losing your home?’
‘With my sister,’ she whispered.
Margot hobbled into the kitchen. Jenny followed. ‘Are you going to tell Bill?’
‘No.’ Jenny sighed with relief. ‘You are, if you don’t go and see your sister tomorrow and ask her to take you back.’ Margot turned and faced her. ‘Any reason why she wouldn’t?’ Jenny shook her head. ‘Good. Then you can come back here before you go down to the ambulance station and give Bill and me the good news.’
‘If I do, will you promise not to tell Bill?’
‘I won’t tell him if you stay away from him. Bill’s my husband, Jenny. I know he’s your friend, and your partner on the ambulances, but he’s married to me.’ Jenny began to cry. Margot thought about putting her arms around her, but there was something about her tears that didn’t ring true. ‘Even when we were usherettes you flirted with him when you thought I wasn’t around. You pretended it was so he’d put a good word in for you at the ambulance station, but I knew it was more than that.’ Margot paused. ‘You’re in love with him, aren’t you?’
‘In love? Of course I’m not,’ Jenny protested. ‘Bill and I are friends. He’s my best friend.’
‘Stop lying! I’ve seen the way you look at him!’
Jenny broke down. ‘Please don’t tell him. I’m begging you, Margot. If you tell him he won’t work with me, and I won’t get the first aid experience I need for the nursing yeomanry exam. I’ll never be overfriendly again, I promise. Please Margot, I’m sorry.’
‘Sorry I’ve caught you out in a pack of lies,’ Margot said, throwing down the tea towel and walking away. ‘And stop crying! It’s too late for tears.’ Margot’s patience was wearing thin. ‘All right! I won’t tell him. But you must promise me that this-- this obsession you have with Bill stops now!’
Jenny nodded. ‘Thank you, Margot. Can you ever forgive me? Please say you can.’
The bombed out houses in the East End, the gaping hole where Bert’s office used to be, the curb stone on Maiden Lane, the boy who helped her and the choir at St. Saviour’s singing the Gloria flashed through her mind. ‘I forgive you,’ she said, ‘but if you ever--’
‘I won’t. I know now that Bill’s kindness and friendship was just that. Can we still be friends?’ Jenny asked.
‘I can hear Bill. Go and wash your face. Splash cold water on your eyes so he doesn’t know you’ve been crying. Supper’s in ten minutes.’
Christmas 1941 was the first Margot and Bill spent in their new apartment. Bill brought home a Christmas tree and Margot made lots of decorations out of shiny paper and offcuts of fabric. And thanks to Natalie and Anton Goldman, they had a chicken for their Christmas dinner.
Margot put on the wireless, tuned it to hear the King’s Speech and sat down next to Bill. She put her feet on his and picked up her glass. ‘Mmmm, this sherry has gone to my head,’ she cooed. Bill leaned forward, kissed her and laughed. ‘What a perfect day,’ she said, snuggling up to him. She hadn’t told Bill about Jenny’s lies at the time and now, after two months, it was too late. Jenny was right, they did have to work together – and their jobs were extremely important. Anyway, Margot trusted Bill completely. She knew he hadn’t done anything to encourage Jenny. She looked up at her husband’s kind face. He did like Jenny, but not in that way. He respected her for the work she did, which was very different.
Bill topped up her glass and Margot relaxed with her head on the back of the settee. If Jenny hadn’t gone back to live with her sister when she did, she thought, I’d have told Bill about her lies and dragged her out of my home by her hair. Margot drained her glass.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Margot had kept the promises she made to Bill when she thought ENSA didn’t want her – to be a proper wife, keep the house spotless and cook dinner every night – and she’d enjoyed doing it. But now her ankle had healed and the nightmares were a thing of the past, she had become restless. Being a housewife wasn’t enough. She was bored.
Margot flopped onto the settee and picked up a magazine. She flicked through it, found nothing interesting, and dropped it onto the occasional table. She pulled her legs up to her chin and hugged her knees. What next? She looked at the clock on the mantle. Almost time to start supper. When Bill left for the MoD in the mornings Margot counted the hours until he came back. She loved that the two of them were able to sit down and have supper together. But then he went out to Tommy’s and she was on her own again until ten or eleven o’clock at night – worrying that he would be caught in a raid, injured or killed.
She pushed herself off the settee, went over to the sideboard and picked up the letter from George and Betsy. Reading it again, she took a pen and a writing pad from the drawer and wrote a reply.
Bill had reservations about Margot going out on tour again – he didn’t think she was fit enough – but Margot bamboozled him as always. ‘The timing is perfect,’ she said, as they sat down to supper. ‘I spoke to Natalie today and she said there’s such a shortage of timber and other building materials that the reopening of the theatre has had to be postponed until the end of April. Oh Bill,’ she went on, ‘you don’t really mind, do you? I mean, it’s only for a few weeks and George and Betsy are desperate for me to join them.’ Margot whipped Bill’s plate away the second he put down his knife and fork. ‘I’m going to pack,’ she said, putting the dishes in the kitchen sink with a clatter. ‘I’ll wash up later.’ Bill opened his mouth to speak, but Margot didn’t give him a chance. Dashing from the kitchen to the bedroom she stopped to plant a kiss on his cheek. ‘Thank you, love. I knew you’d understand.’
Waterloo Bridge was closed. Margot heard the taxi driver curse as he pulled into the traffic. Cutting in front of the car behind, he put his foot down and drove down the Strand and along Whitehall. When Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament came into view he swung the taxi onto Westminster Bridge. A few minutes later they were at Waterloo Station.
‘We’ve got less than ten minutes, Margot,’ Bill said. He paid for the taxi and followed Margot onto the concourse. ‘I’ll get your ticket,’ he shouted. ‘You make your way to the train.’
On the platform outside a second class carriage she watched a crowd of young American airmen talking to a group of girls. Someone shouted, ‘OK men! Let’s go!’ Immediately the young men and women fell into each other’s arms, hugging and kissing, until the man barked again. ‘I said now! Next stop Southampton!’ The Americans dragged themselves away, leaving the girls on the platform consoling each other and crying. She looked up to where the orders had come from and caught the eye of a tall, fair haired airman standing in the doorway. He smiled and saluted. Margot smiled back and felt her cheeks redden. Looking away, she wondered if they would be at the ENSA concerts.
‘Margot,’ Bill called, interrupting her thoughts. He opened the door of a first class carriage, which was next to the one the Americans had filed into, and leapt in with her suitcase. He checked the ticket and then the number on the door. ‘This is it,’ he said, sliding back the door of the compartment. Margot watched as he stood her case against the seat, end-on to the window. ‘No need to put it up,’ he said, indicating the overhead rack. ‘Doesn’t look as if you’ll be sharing the compartment.’
Suddenly a whistle blew. ‘Better leave!’ Bill said, squeezing past her. At the door he kissed her passionately. ‘I’d got used to having you at home.’
Margot reached up and kissed him, Eskimo style. ‘I’ll be back before you know it,’ she said, and she kissed him properly.
Bill stroked her hair and looked into her eyes. ‘Take care of yourself.’
‘I will. I promise.’ The train clunked and hissed as steam was released, and Bill jumped off. He slammed the door and jogged along with the train as it slowly chugged south.
‘Don’t overwork your ankle,’ he shouted. ‘Put it up as often as you can.’
‘I will,’ Margot shouted back. She waved until Bill had disappeared in a cloud of steam. After pushing up the window she returned to the compartment, closed the
door, and made herself comfortable in the seat next to the window.
While the train sped past the smoke-stained terraced houses and cobbled back yards of South London, Margot read a magazine. Once in Surrey she looked out of the window. Bright sunlight flickered through budding trees, settling on daffodils and tulips in full bloom. The sun reflected on the train’s window and she put her hand up to shade her eyes. In the distance a lake shimmered as the wind created ripples on its surface that looked like dancers under spotlights. Margot closed her eyes.
Somewhere far away, or maybe she was dreaming, she heard wood sliding against wood followed by a click, and a light breeze brushed her ankles. She opened her eyes.
‘Excuse me, Miss?’ The young officer who was in charge of the American airmen was standing in the doorway of her compartment. ‘I’m sorry to wake you, but the carriage,’ he said, pointing along the corridor, ‘that I reserved for my men and me has one too few seats. Would it be OK if I sat in here?’
‘Of course.’ She could hardly say no, sitting on her own in an empty carriage. ‘Oh, but it’s first class.’ The airman looked disappointed. ‘I won’t tell if you don’t,’ she joked.
‘Thank you.’ The young airman took a newspaper from his kit bag, and then swung it up onto the overhead rack. Sitting down with the paper on his lap, he took a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. ‘Would you like a smoke?’
‘I don’t, thank you,’ Margot said, and began to laugh.
‘What?’ Shaking his head, he started to laugh with her. ‘Come on, give?’
Still laughing, she pointed to the no smoking sign on the door. ‘I won’t tell if you don’t.’
‘I can wait.’ Returning the cigarettes to his pocket, the airman picked up his newspaper and Margot picked up her magazine. They sat in silence reading for some time, but as Margot had read most of the articles earlier she became bored and looked out of the window again. She watched the towns and villages of Surrey go by in the distance. With the sun warm on her face she closed her eyes, but opened them almost immediately when the train rattled into a tunnel. Startled by the sudden contrast of brightness to darkness, she jumped. Dark outside, the train’s window became a mirror and she could see the airman’s face reflected in it. He was looking at her.
Applause (The Dudley Sisters Quartet Book 2) Page 21
