‘Don’t be silly, Mum,’ she said firmly. ‘You know you don’t want to start on that kind of life all over again. I’m sure Don thinks the world of you really. Why don’t you say you’re sorry — make up your quarrel and forget all about it?’
Although Una shrugged her shoulders dismissively, she must have taken Rosalind’s advice to heart in some measure because after that evening things improved slightly. Una and Don began to speak to each other again and, to Rosalind’s relief, the atmosphere in the house relaxed a little.
*
At Hallard’s store there was to be a grand Christmas fashion show and as usual Una was organising it; travelling up to Regent Street with Don each morning and returning with him in the evenings. Rosalind was glad. At least her mother had something other than Don’s intransigence over the house with which to occupy her mind. And one of the benefits was that Rosalind came home after school each day to an empty, blessedly peaceful house in which to get on with her homework.
As well as sending out the usual invitations the fashion show had been widely advertised and was to take place on 5 December. Anticipating a good attendance, it was to take place in the restaurant on the top floor of the Regent Street store. Una had been given carte blanche to engage any outside help she needed and had used an old contact from her theatrical days to find a professional scenic designer — a young man called Stuart Hamilton who, according to Una, had some really new and innovative ideas.
Once end of term exams were over at St Margaret’s the sixth form were free to take the odd day off and Una suggested that Rosalind might like to go along and help with the show preparations. At first she was reluctant.
‘I don’t know the first thing about fashion shows, Mum,’ she said. ‘I’ll only get in the way.’
‘No, you won’t. There’s heaps to do. Holding it in the restaurant means we have just a few hours to get everything ready. Every pair of hands is needed and you’re not doing anything else, are you?’
Rosalind had little choice in the matter. But when she arrived on the morning of the show she felt awkward and in the way. Everyone else seemed to know exactly what they were doing. There were florists, busy with their arrangements; hairdressers, snipping and teasing, buyers from the various fashion departments scurrying in and out of the lift pulling rails of garments behind them. Electricians balanced on top of ladders and carpenters hammered away. Even the lowliest junior assistant from the model gown department fetched and carried purposefully while Rosalind simply stood around, feeling inadequate and useless.
She was just wondering if anyone would miss her if she crept away when a voice startled her: ‘Hello. You’re looking a bit lost. Anything I can do?’
She turned to see a tall young man in jeans and an open-necked shirt looking at her. He had fair hair that flopped over his forehead and his grey eyes held a hint of indulgent amusement as he looked her over appraisingly.
She blushed and lifted her shoulders in a helpless gesture. ‘My mother — Mrs Blake — asked me to come along and help, but I just feel in the way.’
‘Hell let loose, isn’t it?’ he said sympathetically. His voice was soft with the merest hint of a Scottish accent. ‘It might all look chaotic but I can assure you that everyone knows what they’re doing. It’ll all come together beautifully by this afternoon.’
‘I’m sure it will. That’s why I feel in the way. It’s all so organised. I’m sure if I touch anything it will fall apart in my hands and ruin everything.’
‘Of course it wouldn’t. But I do know how you must feel.’ He smiled warmly and offered his hand. ‘I’m Stuart Hamilton. I designed the set.’ He pointed to the stage where sequin-scattered gauze was draped against a dark blue velvet backdrop.
‘It’s designed to resemble a moonlit frozen waterfall,’ he explained. ‘I’m just about to check and see if it works, so cross your fingers.’ He cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted above the hubbub to the electrician who was waiting somewhere out of sight to turn on the lights.
As the sharp blue and white beams flooded the stage the set came instantly and magically to life, so that it shimmered and sparkled like living frost.
Rosalind gasped with delight. ‘Oh! It’s lovely!’
‘I thought it was a good idea to keep it simple,’ Stuart said modestly. ‘Icicles and frost are so pretty aren’t they? No colours to clash with the clothes.’
‘No. You’re very clever.’
‘Not really. It’s just my job.’ He smiled into her eyes. ‘You know there is something you can do. It’d save my life right at this moment.’
‘Really? What’s that?’
‘Rustle up some coffee. I wouldn’t mind betting there are a few dry throats around gasping for a cup.’
Glad to have something to do, Rosalind turned towards the kitchen. ‘Of course. I should have thought. I’ll get something organised.’
When she came back from the kitchen with a borrowed trolley and coffee, tea and biscuits for everyone she found herself on the receiving end of smiles of gratitude. She found Una at the back of the restaurant, in earnest conversation with Stuart. She was using the voice she reserved for people she wanted to impress.
‘Rosalind, I’d like you to meet my friend, Stuart Hamilton,’ she said sweetly, simpering up at the young man. ‘You’re not going to believe it, Stuart, but this is my daughter.’
‘We’ve already met.’ He took a cup from the trolley. ‘What a thoughtful idea to lay on coffee for us all. I’m sure we’re all dying for a cup.’
Rosalind blushed, grateful to him for pretending the idea had been hers.
Una looked from one to the other. ‘Stuart is a freelance scenic designer,’ she said.
He laughed. ‘The term ‘freelance’ is a bit of a euphemism. It’s just another way of saying I’m out of work.’
Una swept his modesty aside. ‘Not for long, I’m sure. Hasn’t he done a wonderful job for us, Rossie?’
‘Super. When the lights were on just now it looked like something out of a fairytale.’
‘I know. None of those garish reds and greens usually associated with Christmas events,’ Una said with satisfaction. ‘I hope Stuart will be able to do this again for us. Though I’m sure some West End producer will have snapped him up by then.’
‘Much as I’d like to work for you again, Mrs Blake, I hope you’re right.’ Stuart looked at his watch. ‘Well, I think I’ve done about all I can for the moment. What about a spot of lunch?’
Una shook her head. ‘Not for me. Lunch is out of the question, I’m afraid. As soon as I’m satisfied that everything is done here, I’ve got to find time to change and get my face and hair done. I shall be busy right up until we open the doors.’
He looked at Rosalind. ‘What about you then? Will you join me?’
‘Me?' Rosalind was taken aback. ‘Oh, well …’
‘Come on, I hate eating alone,’ he said persuasively. ‘You have to eat something and with your mother so busy …’ He smiled. ‘Nothing fancy. A glass of wine and a sandwich is what I usually have.’
Sitting in the small pub that Stuart took her to, at the back of the store in Argyle Street, Rosalind felt tongue-tied and awkward. She’d never been out with a member of the opposite sex before. At least not alone like this. At the bar, she’d tried to pay for her own lunch and been overcome with embarrassment when he’d insisted on paying. Now she sat listening to him telling her about the flat in Earls Court he shared with an old school friend called Julian Travers; his art school training and the way his career had been disrupted when he was called up for his National Service.
‘Didn’t you like being in the army?’ she asked, feeling stupid.
He raised an eyebrow at her. ‘It was a terrible waste of time, frustrating too.’ He leaned towards her. ‘I actually missed getting a marvellous job because of it — to do the costumes and sets for a production of Romeo and Juliet at Stratford.’
‘Stratford on Avon?’ Rosalind asked, impressed.<
br />
He cleared his throat. ‘Ah — well, no. Stratford East as a matter of fact. But it would have been a marvellous shop window for me.’ He put the last of his beef sandwich into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. ‘Still, maybe the big break will come eventually.’
Rosalind sipped at her glass of red wine. She found it rather acid, but would have died rather than admit it. ‘What does your flat-mate — er — Julian do?’ she asked. ‘Is he a designer too?’
He shook his head. ‘No. He’s a playwright, though he works for a firm of solicitors in the daytime. He’s enormously talented. As a matter of fact he’s writing a musical play, with the help of a musician chum of ours. The three of us are hoping to work on it together.’
‘Did you know that my mother was in the theatre before she worked at Hallard’s?’ she asked him.
‘Una?’ He looked at her over the rim of his wine glass, his eyes widening with surprise. ‘No kidding? She never mentioned that.’
‘She gave it all up some time ago.’
‘Why did she do that?’
‘To bring me up basically,’ Rosalind said. ‘She and my father had a singing act, you see. They separated — divorced. Una got custody of me. I was quite small at the time.’
‘So she gave up her career? What a sacrifice. She must be a very devoted mother.’
‘Mmm.’ Rosalind looked into her glass and said nothing.
‘And then she married Mr Blake. The general manager at Hallard’s?’
‘That’s right.’
‘And your father — do you still see him?’
‘I used to. But he and his new singing partner have gone to Australia. He writes though. I had an airmail letter last week to say they’ve arrived safely and have their first booking.’
‘You must miss him.’
‘I do. He did ask me to go with him, but I decided not to.’
‘I can’t blame you, with a wonderful mother like yours. I’m sure she would have been devastated to lose you. Does she miss being on the stage?’
‘I think so — now and again. Sometimes she talks about going back to it. That’s why she loves doing these shows. It’s the closest she gets to working in the theatre nowadays.’
‘You know, now that you mention it, a lot of things fit about Una,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘She’s obviously been a very beautiful woman in her time. And that voice of hers … so musical. It’s the voice of a singer.’ He leaned towards her and looked at her with eyes that seemed to melt into hers. ‘But what about you, Rosalind? You haven’t mentioned yourself. What do you do?’
Suddenly her mouth dried and her hands became clammy. She put down her glass, afraid that it might slip through her fingers. ‘I’m still — studying,’ she said, feeling her cheeks burn. Saying that she was still at school sounded so silly. Odd, she had never been ashamed of the fact before.
‘Studying? You’re a student then?’
‘Yes. Well — no, not exactly. Not at college.’ She lowered her eyes. ‘I’m taking my A levels actually. I want to go on and study hotel management.’
‘Hotel management. Really?’ He was looking at her as though she were the most fascinating person he had ever met and she was acutely conscious of the fact that her hair needed trimming and there was a hateful spot coming on her chin. Even at this moment she could feel it shining like a beacon. ‘What made you choose a career like that with your background?’
‘I don’t know really. It’s something I’ve wanted ever since I can remember. When I was little and my parents were touring I used to join them in the school holidays. The hotels and boarding houses where we stayed were always so dreary.’ She laughed self-consciously. ‘I suppose I’ve always believed I could do better.’ She pushed nervously at the bridge of her glasses, wishing she’d taken Freda’s advice and seen the optician about having a pair of the new contact lenses fitted.
He was nodding understandingly. ‘Believing. That’s the key word, isn’t it? If you think positively you can make anything come true. I used to feel like you when my parents took me to the pantomime at Christmas. In the little border town where we lived, up near Berwick, we only got small touring companies and the sets were no more than tatty backdrops and curtains. I used to go home and draw designs for the sets as I’d like to have seen them: enchanted forests, castles and majestic ballrooms. I’d actually build them in miniature out of old shoe boxes, and work out how to light them to make them look real.’
‘You must have had a natural talent,’ Rosalind said shyly.
He smiled ruefully. ‘I only wish there was some kind producer who’d share your confidence in my ability.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Heavens, look at the time. We’d better be getting back to Hallard’s if we want to be there for the opening.’
The restaurant was almost full when they arrived. As there was nothing more for Stuart to do he sat with Rosalind at the back and watched with her as the gilt chairs gradually filled up and the assembly of elegant women filled the rows set out in a horseshoe around the catwalk. The atmosphere heightened as the excited, high-pitched chatter of the audience mingled with the soft music of the hired string quartet. On the stroke of two-thirty the curtains parted to reveal Stuart’s setting and Una herself stepped out into the spotlight to open the show. She had changed out of her slacks and sweater into an elegant black velvet suit trimmed with sequins and jet beads that picked up the light glamorously as she moved. The senior stylist from the hairdressing salon on the fourth floor had swept her hair up and secured it to one side with a diamante clip. When she had made the opening introduction Stuart nudged Rosalind.
‘Your mother’s really terrific, isn’t she? It’s easy to see that this is her line of work,’ he said. ‘That voice of hers reaches every corner of the room effortlessly. And she looks an absolute knock-out.’
‘Yes.’ Rosalind felt plain and clumsy as she watched her mother step gracefully aside to make way for the first model to step on to the catwalk. Listening to her rich, resonant voice and seeing her move in that stylish and elegant way made Rosalind feel hopelessly inadequate. She’d never be as attractive as Una if she lived to be a hundred. Physically, she took after her father, whose handsome features seemed to her to sit uneasily on a feminine countenance.
Almost as though he could read her thoughts, Stuart reached for her hand and gave it a small comforting squeeze. ‘I don’t know when you’re free, but I’d like to see you again some time, Rosalind,’ he whispered.
She turned to stare at him in astonishment. Had she heard him right? Surely he hadn’t said he wanted to see her again? Not her. ‘Sorry. What — er …’ She cleared her throat. ‘What did you say?’
He laughed gently. ‘I said, I’d like to see you again. You look shocked. Is it such an appalling prospect?’
She was grateful for the subdued lighting as she felt hot colour suffuse her face. ‘No! I mean, no, it isn’t appalling — not at all.’
‘So — you’d like to? To see me, I mean?’
‘Yes.’ She swallowed hard. ‘When?’
He shrugged. ‘What about tomorrow evening? I’m not doing anything. Are you?’
‘No. That would be lov — er — very nice. Thank you.’
He slipped out of his chair and bent to whisper in her ear. ‘I’ve got to go now. I’ll come and pick you up tomorrow around seven, all right?’
‘Yes — fine.’ As he began to walk away she suddenly remembered that she hadn’t given him her address. She half rose from her seat, then sat down again, biting her lip. It would look as though she were running after him. Besides, he could always get it from the phone book if he really intended to come. She couldn’t believe that he would actually turn up. She sank low in her chair, her cheeks burning and her heart beating fast. She was shaken by the way he had made her feel. What could a young man as stunningly attractive as Stuart possibly see in her?
When she told her mother that he had asked her for a date, Una stared at her incredulously. ‘He asked you out? I do
hope you didn’t push yourself at him,’ she said unflatteringly. ‘Young men don’t like girls who make the first move, you know.’
‘I didn’t,’ Rosalind said. ‘He’s picking me up at home tomorrow evening.’
‘Where’s he taking you?’
‘I don’t know. He didn’t say.’
‘Well, if he suggests going back to his flat you say no, do you hear me?’ In Una’s book there was only one feasible reason for a boy like Stuart to ask a girl like Rosalind out. After all, what could possibly attract him to a plain girl with whom he had nothing in common? She looked at her daughter curiously. ‘What did you talk about when he took you to lunch?’
Rosalind shrugged. ‘He told me about his training and his National Service. He said that his flat-mate, Julian, is writing a musical play and he’s hoping to design the sets and costumes for it.’
Una’s eyes sharpened with interest. ‘Did he now? Any chance of having it put on?’
‘I don’t think they’ve got that far,’ Rosalind said.
*
Stuart arrived on time, having driven out to Stanmore in his flatmate’s car, borrowed specially for the occasion. Rosalind saw him from behind the curtains of her bedroom window where she’d been watching and was inordinately relieved that he had, after all, known where she lived. She had been ready for three-quarters of an hour; wearing a new dress she’d bought that morning with some of her weekend job money. She’d washed her hair and applied a little make-up. The effect was hardly dramatic, but it was the best she could do. When she saw Stuart getting out of the smart little red Mini car her heart began to drum with excitement. She’d been so afraid that even if he knew the address he might not turn up. She’d even mentioned her fear to her mother that morning. Una had laughed dismissively.
‘Oh, he’ll turn up all right,’ she said. ‘He’ll be wanting to work with Hallard’s again. I don’t think he’d have the bare-faced cheek to come back and ask me for work if he’d stood you up.’
Rosalind reached the top of the stairs just in time to see Una already opening the front door. She too seemed to have dressed for the occasion. She wore tight-fitting black slacks and a white angora sweater. Her wrists jangled with chunky bracelets and Rosalind could see even from this distance that she was wearing her false eyelashes. As she watched, her mother embraced Stuart warmly.
The Lost Daughters: A moving saga of womanhood Page 15
