A HANDFUL OF STARS An enthralling story of poverty, passion and survival: one of the Tyneside Sagas

by Trotter, Janet MacLeod

  Clara gazed out of the window at the guttering lights on the river. She was about to eat in a first-class restaurant for the very first time with some of Tyneside’s most well-to-do. It should be the most thrilling evening of her life — had begun as such. But seeing Frank had upset all that. Even with his fair hair ruffled and wearing a threadbare jacket, he had looked so handsome. It had stopped her breath to see him again. Their brief conversation had been tantalising and Vinnie had given her no chance to ask after all Frank’s family. She realised how much she missed sitting round the Lewises’ kitchen table talking about life.

  What if Frank took up Vinnie’s suggestion and left the area? She hated the idea. Not that she saw anything of him now. But at least she could imagine him a few streets away in Tenter Terrace and there was always the possibility of seeing him, of one day . . .

  Don’t be daft! Clara berated herself. There was never going to be such a day. Tonight, Frank had looked at her strangely, as if he hardly knew her. He would never feel the same way about her as she felt about him. She turned to Mabel and forced herself to make small talk.

  ‘Tell me about your family, Mrs Blake,’ Clara smiled. Women like her always wanted to talk about their husband and children.

  For the rest of the drive, her fellow passenger chattered non-stop about her two sons and Clara hardly had to say a word. When they arrived outside the Sandford Rooms, Vinnie was swift to claim her again.

  ‘You all right, lass?’ he asked her, linking arms.

  Clara nodded. ‘Bit nervous, that’s all.’

  ‘No need to be,’ Vinnie assured her, with a squeeze of the arm. ‘I’m here to look after you.’

  Chapter 19

  Things changed for Clara the night of the supper at the Sandford Rooms. She revelled in the sumptuous surroundings of the restaurant with its dark wood-panelled walls, chandeliers and deferential waiters. Her nervousness at dining with the Bell-Carrs and their friends was quickly dispelled by a glass of champagne and Vinnie’s encouragement. Seated between George Templeton and Ted Blake, with Vinnie, Cissie and Willa opposite, Clara found herself holding her own as the conversation ranged from boxing and films to politics and fashion.

  Never had she imagined she would dine in such a place or make people like Cissie Bell-Carr laugh at her anecdotes about life as a local reporter. As the evening wore on, she warmed to the brigadier’s vivacious Irish wife. In a strange way they were both outsiders and recognised the yearning in the other for fun and new experiences. Only Alastair Bell-Carr, sitting at the head of the table, left her cold. He was middle-aged and humourless, his manner haughty and condescending, especially to the women, and most of all to her. It seemed to annoy him that she had opinions and voiced them.

  ‘Where were you educated, Clara?’ he asked, interrupting one of her stories.

  She flushed but quipped back, ‘In a school, Brigadier. Even Byfell has them.’

  Cissie snorted with laughter. ‘Good answer.’

  Alastair scowled. ‘Journalism — odd choice for a young girl like you. Does your father approve?’

  Clara’s heart squeezed. ‘He doesn’t know. He died a year ago.’

  Alastair shot her a look as if she might be joking again. Vinnie intervened quickly.

  ‘Clara’s father was Harry Magee — champion welterweight in his day. And a war hero at sea.’

  ‘Bravo,’ said George Templeton.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ Cissie said in concern.

  Alastair blustered, ‘Yes, indeed. Sorry to hear it.’ His stony look belied his words. ‘But in these dire times of unemployment, I can’t approve of your taking a job from a man.’

  Clara would not let the comment pass. ‘And I can’t imagine many men wanting to write about steamed puddings and stain removal.’

  There was an awkward pause, and then Cissie laughed. ‘How right you are.’

  The conversation swiftly changed to cars and discussion of the new Austin Ten, soon to be launched. Clara exchanged looks with Vinnie across the table. Had she been too outspoken? He smiled back in reassurance.

  At the end of the evening, Vinnie dropped the Blakes off at their large terraced house on the outskirts of Byfell. He turned to Clara, who was sitting in the back seat.

  ‘Do you want to come back to Larch Avenue for a nightcap?’

  She hesitated. It had been a wonderful evening but she was tired and longed for bed.

  ‘No thanks. I have to be up early. Please just take me home.’

  He drove on down the High Street. The Lewises’ shop and flat — Clara’s old home — was in darkness. She looked away quickly. As they made their way towards Minto Street, Vinnie began to hum ‘On the Sunny Side of the Street’. Clara remembered her father whistling it. She leaned forward and put her hand on his shoulder.

  ‘Ta for sticking up for me about Dad,’ she said.

  ‘Was pleased to, lass,’ he said, glancing over his shoulder.

  ‘That brigadier’s a dry old stick,’ Clara mused. ‘Can’t imagine what Cissie sees in him.’

  ‘Money,’ Vinnie smiled. ‘Don’t women love that?’

  Clara snorted. ‘I heard it was Cissie’s family had the money; the Fitz Johns of Dublin. Protestant Irish brewers, Mr Jellicoe said.’

  ‘Power and influence then,’ Vinnie suggested, as he turned the car into her street. ‘I’m told he’s got the ear of certain peers and politicians. Did you know he gave donations to Mosley’s New Party? He writes for The Patriot too.’

  ‘The Patriot?’

  Vinnie said, ‘It’s a right-wing journal; pro the Empire, law and order, religion — that sort of thing. Some of it’s common sense, but other views are a bit extreme.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Keep all foreigners out — especially Jews and Communists.’

  ‘Why them?’

  Vinnie shrugged. ‘Some people think they’re trying to take over everything. In a conspiracy together to rule the world. Freemasons are in it too, apparently.’

  ‘To rule the world?’ Clara burst out laughing. ‘Is that what the brigadier thinks?’

  ‘Aye, I suppose.’ Vinnie laughed uncertainly. ‘He certainly has a bee in his bonnet about Jews — thinks they’re all secretly Bolsheviks.’

  Clara rolled her eyes. ‘So the brigadier’s mad as well as stuffy. Poor Cissie. You don’t believe all that conspiracy nonsense, do you?’

  Vinnie parked the car and turned to face her. ‘Do you ever stop asking questions, Miss Magee?’ he teased.

  ‘Why do you ask?’

  He was about to protest, then realised she was teasing him back. They both grinned. He reached over and took her hand. ‘You look beautiful tonight,’ he said softly. Peeling off her glove, he bent and kissed the palm of her hand. It sent delightful shivers through her. He kissed her wrist and the inside of her arm. Clara caught her breath. He met her look.

  ‘Can I take you out again, Clara?’

  She gulped and whispered, ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good.’ He smiled and let go of her hand.

  Her heart was still banging when she climbed out of the car and he walked her to the door. He did not attempt to kiss her again. Clara went to bed that night with a twist of dissatisfaction. Reluctantly, she took off her new dress and shoes in the confines of the tiny airless bedroom. They never opened the window because of the noise and soot from passing trains. Patience lay snoring gently, an empty sherry glass on the floor beside her.

  As Clara struggled to fall asleep on the hard mattress, her mind whirring with the events of the evening, she was struck by an uncomfortable thought. It was not just the glamour of the company and the restaurant that she had enjoyed; tonight had stirred up new feelings for Vinnie. She was flattered by his attention in front of the others, and felt gratitude at the way he had defended her from the arrogant brigadier. But there was more to it than that. When he had kissed her in the car she had felt a flare of desire. It was different from anything she had experienced before.

  *
**

  Vinnie’s courting of Clara was determined. He sent bouquets of flowers to the Tyne Times offices and took her to the cinema twice in one week. On the August bank holiday he drove her to Morpeth to watch their Olympic games and they rowed on the river. He took her to the music hall and the theatre. On the anniversary of Harry’s death, a huge bunch of chrysanthemums was delivered to Minto Street from Vinnie. Clara came home from work that Monday, having smothered her grief by keeping busy, and dissolved into tears at the gesture.

  ‘See what a good man he is,’ Patience said tearfully.

  It struck Clara that there was nothing from the Lewises, not even a note from her old friends. How quickly they had excluded her after the incident over Benny. It saddened her greatly that Reenie could so easily break off their friendship. Perhaps Frank had never passed on her message to his sister. He obviously had no thought for her on such a difficult day. Clara felt the first stirrings of resentment towards them. There they were, one happy close-knit family that did not need outsiders, living in a comfortable flat that by rights should still be Clara’s home. They had prospered in the Magees’ old shop while making out that they had done them a favour by taking on the lease. She understood for the first time why her mother had turned so bitter.

  One Sunday in September, Vinnie collected all the Magees and took them for lunch at Larch Avenue. There were huge Yorkshire puddings for Jimmy and generous glasses of sherry for Patience. Afterwards, they all crammed in the car with Vinnie and Dolly and drove to Whitley Bay for a walk along the promenade.

  With a pang, Clara noticed that the Cafe Cairo was closed and boarded up. How distant that holiday trip with Reenie seemed when she and Benny had splashed in the sea and they had danced to Frank’s band. She experienced a fresh wave of longing that took her quite by surprise. She thought she had successfully put Frank out of her thoughts these past weeks.

  ‘Isn’t that where Frank Lewis used to play, Clara?’ Jimmy asked unexpectedly.

  Clara was startled, as if her brother had read her thoughts. ‘Y-yes, it was. I danced there once.’ She knew she was blushing.

  Patience gave her a warning look. Clara’s mother was frightened she would come out with the tale about skipping the end of the Watts wedding and Benny soaking her in the sea. She hated any reference to Benny in front of Vinnie.

  ‘I haven’t seen Frank Lewis around for a while,’ Dolly commented. ‘Not since you had that chat with him, Vinnie. Did he go down to London?’

  Clara held her breath.

  ‘No.’ Vinnie watched her as he answered. ‘Didn’t seem interested in my offer.’ He paused. ‘He’s gone abroad instead.’

  ‘Abroad!’ Clara exclaimed. ‘Where?’

  ‘Germany.’

  Patience huffed. ‘Well, that’s no surprise. A leopard can’t change its spots.’

  ‘Meaning?’ Clara demanded.

  ‘Once a Leizmann, always a Leizmann.’ Patience was dismissive. ‘With any luck they’ll all go back where they belong.’

  Clara turned her back on her mother in annoyance. ‘Has he gone for long, Vinnie?’

  Vinnie shrugged. ‘Well, he’s nothing to rush back for, has he? That left-wing bookstall of his was a lame duck and he’s never really liked being a barber.’ He smiled at her. ‘No, he’s gone with his violin and his girlfriend — that teacher he always talked about — Lillian, isn’t it?’

  Clara went crimson. ‘How do you know all this?’

  ‘Oscar told me — last time I was having a trim.’

  She stared at him in disbelief. ‘You mean you still go to Lewis’s for your haircut?’

  Vinnie said, ‘Once a fortnight. Why shouldn’t I? No one cuts hair as neat as Oscar — or gives such a close shave.’

  Clara was dumbfounded. She could only imagine what Benny must think of Vinnie’s patronage.

  ‘You’re too kind by half,’ Patience told Vinnie. ‘Those people tried to blacken your name over the arrest of that lad and you still give them your custom. You’re a true gentleman.’

  Dolly peered at Clara. ‘Something wrong? Looks like you need a sit down. Vinnie,’ she ordered, ‘we’ll have ice creams all round.’

  ‘Champion!’ Jimmy cried with all the enthusiasm of a small boy.

  ‘Come on, lad,’ Vinnie said, ‘you help me carry. Ladies, take a seat.’

  Later, Clara was still plagued by the news of Frank’s departure. She had to find out for herself. Perhaps he had only gone on holiday. Lillian’s term would be starting again and she would have to come back. She thought about going to the hospital where Reenie worked. But they might not let her see her on duty. She could go round to the shop and have her hair done as brazenly as Vinnie, but her courage failed her. What would she say after all these months of silence? Then she suddenly thought of Max. She had given up cleaning for him shortly after Benny’s arrest. Jellicoe had given her an unexpected wage increase and she had been quick to stop the daily chore. Both she and Max kept such long working hours that they seldom saw each other. She knew he had a weakness for strawberry jam and one evening knocked at the downstairs flat with a jar.

  ‘Hello, stranger!’ He beamed and welcomed her in. Papers were scattered all over the room.

  ‘Max, the place is a tip,’ she chided. ‘You promised me you’d get another daily.’

  ‘I know exactly where everything is since you left me,’ he insisted, turfing a pile of files off a chair. ‘And the papers keep the dust down.’

  Clara laughed and sat down. He boiled up a pan of coffee and they drank out of chipped enamel mugs, chatting about their work.

  ‘So you’re moving in exalted circles these days,’ he said dryly. ‘You do know the Bell-Carrs are incorrigible fascists?’

  ‘Is that bad?’ Clara asked with a teasing smile.

  ‘Fatal,’ Max cried. ‘Bell-Carr writes poisonous articles in all the right-wing journals. He’s a member of the Imperial Fascist League. God help people like me if his kind ever get into power.’

  ‘Cos you’re a Bolshie?’ Clara said in mock horror.

  ‘And Jewish.’

  ‘Are you?’ Clara had never thought about it.

  ‘Non-practising. But that doesn’t matter to bigots like Bell-Carr. He’d have us all done away with.’

  ‘I’ll put in a good word for you when the time comes,’ Clara joked.

  ‘It’s no laughing matter.’ Max was serious. ‘Look what’s happening in Germany with Hitler’s National Socialists. They’re vitriolic against the Left, openly anti-Semitic and gaining ground all the time.’

  Clara saw her chance. ‘I heard Frank Lewis was over there this summer.’

  Max nodded. ‘There was a trip organised by the WEA — youth-hostelling. It was Lillian’s idea. Quite a few of them went.’

  ‘Oh, so it was just a holiday?’ Clara asked, feeling a flare of relief.

  ‘It was for most of them. But Frank’s stayed on.’

  ‘Why?’ Clara asked in dismay. Max shot her a look. ‘It’s just I didn’t know,’ she said hastily.

  ‘Grown too grand to speak to the Lewises these days?’

  ‘We had a falling out after Benny’s arrest,’ Clara admitted awkwardly. Max nodded as if he knew. ‘Tell me about Frank,’ she urged.

  ‘He’s decided to live with his Uncle Heinrich for a while.’ Max sighed. ‘He’s a trade union leader and Frank feels he needs his support. It’s a crucial time for democracy in Germany.’

  ‘But why Frank?’ Clara questioned. ‘He’s more English than German.’

  Max gave an impatient sigh. ‘It’s not a matter of petty nationalism. Socialism is international. He’s there to help his comrades, not because they’re German but because they’re fellow workers. And they need all the help they can get to fight off attacks from the Nazis.’

  Clara felt heavy-hearted at the news. For all his passion on the subject, she did not see why Frank should get mixed up in German politics. They had enough problems here in Britain. Unemployment and bankrupt
cies were still on the rise. Why not stay and fight the injustice here? But Frank had made up his mind to live abroad.

  ‘So Lillian didn’t stay?’ Clara forced herself to ask.

  Max gave her his searching lawyer’s look. ‘No, but she’s working a term’s notice. She intends to join him again. I assume they’ll marry out there . . .’

  ‘Marry?’ Clara’s question came out as a croak.

  ‘That’s what Lillian says,’ Max said. Clara glanced away from his shrewd eyes. She felt leaden at the news. But why be so surprised? she asked herself bleakly. The teacher was far more suited to him than she was. They both had a passionate belief in an international cause that Clara did not share. Her love for Frank had always been one-sided. He thought so little of her that he did not even think to say goodbye. It was time she grew up and stopped hankering after the impossible, Clara told herself harshly. She must put Frank from her mind once and for all.

  She got up quickly to go in case Max saw the tears stinging her eyes. He put a gentle hand on her shoulder.

  ‘Good luck with your work, comrade,’ he said with an affectionate smile, ‘and be careful what company you keep.’

  She managed a laugh because she thought he was joking.

  ***

  Clara threw herself into her work once more and allowed Vinnie to run her social life. They went to the theatre with the Blakes, dined out with the Templetons and Bell-Carrs, went dancing and to the premieres of new films. Clara’s favourite was a sentimental musical, Goodnight Vienna, about a shopgirl courted by a wealthy man. Vinnie teased her that it was about the two of them and would break into Jack Buchanan songs from the film at the slightest opportunity. What he lacked in tunefulness he made up for in gusto.

  It was after the romantic musical that Vinnie first kissed her on the lips. He drove them home via Jesmond Dene and parked under dark autumnal trees. He reached across and pulled her towards him, tilting her face and brushing her mouth with a tickling kiss. His fingers stroked her face and neck. Clara’s heart drummed hard as she leaned closer, searching for his lips again. Vinnie’s fingers went into her hair and gripped the back of her head. He kissed her hard, opening his mouth, and she responded. They devoured each other with kisses, both hungry to explore the other. Clara put her hands round his face, feeling the smoothness of his jaw, running her fingers through his short hair, enjoying the scrape of his moustache on her skin.