Goldstein thought for a moment. ‘Maybe I could put together a small group for such an evening, if I was sure that it might lead to shows for a wider audience. Can I suggest you call on me at my shop next week to discuss the matter?’
‘Splendid! I’m sure it will prove to be a mutually beneficial partnership,’ he said, and his hand on the back of the sofa touched Peggy’s shoulder and squeezed it.
The coffee and brandy arrived and soon the officers were entertaining the girls with stories about London during the Blitz. Then, when Goldstein spotted an acquaintance at the bar and went to talk to him, Archie suggested that it was very warm in the lounge and asked Peggy if she would care to step outside for some fresh air. She knew he had been over-attentive and had a tendency to touch but, perhaps because he was older, she found in him something charming and sophisticated.
She smiled demurely and looked up at him from under her lashes. ‘Maybe just for a few minutes.’
Outside, Archie took a gold cigarette case from his tunic pocket and flipped it open. ‘Can I offer you …?’
Peggy was about to tell him that she didn’t smoke, but something made her think that it would be unfriendly to refuse. Besides, she had seen so many films in which the leading man had offered a cigarette to a woman he had just met, and had always thought how romantic that was. She took a cigarette and held it to her lips. The lighter flared and she leaned towards the flame. Her cigarette glowed, and she stepped back and watched as the flame illuminated his face: dark eyes, thin moustache, strong jaw. He could have been a matinee idol.
‘I was very impressed by you tonight, Peggy. You’re very talented.’
‘Do you think so?’
‘Oh yes, my dear, I have an eye for these things, you know. I’m often at the West End theatres.’ He paused and tapped the side of his nose. ‘I’ve connections there.’
Peggy’s eyes widened. ‘Really?’
‘Oh yes, and I tell you, I know real stage presence when I see it and you have it in handfuls. Would I be right in saying that, even though you’re so young, you’re the force behind the Golden Sisters?’
Peggy was flattered. ‘Well, I’m actually twenty-one, but you’re right, I do organise most things, score the harmonies, run the rehearsals, decide on costume …’
Archie nodded knowingly. ‘I knew it. And am I also right in thinking that your boyfriend is very proud of you and perhaps a little possessive?’
Peggy was taken aback. ‘Oh, I don’t have a boyfriend.’
Archie took a step towards her and she found herself unable to meet his gaze, so embarrassed was she to admit such a thing. She felt his arms encircle her and draw her close, knew that he had kissed the top of her head. She closed her eyes and, wrapped in his strength, she was surprised at how her heart quickened.
Then suddenly she was released and she looked up into Archie Dewer’s smiling face. ‘You’re beautiful, Peggy,’ he said, ‘and very soon you will have someone to love you.’
Chapter 3
Goldstein was in an unusually good mood when he opened up the music shop the following morning. For a start there was his appointment at eleven with a family on the Malone Road interested in purchasing an upright piano for their daughter who, they explained, had shown considerable talent since she started having lessons. In Goldstein’s view, a house on the Malone Road was no place for an upright, whereas a baby grand would bring the family pleasure even if the child never played it.
Then there was the Northern Whig under his arm. The Grosvenor Hall concert had received a splendid review from the theatre critic who praised not only the quality of the performances, but the ‘inspired’ production and directing. Goldstein sipped his morning cup of tea and read sections of it aloud for the benefit of Peggy and Esther.
‘He even makes special mention of Pat’s solo performance: “deeply moving, not a dry eye in the house”. She’ll be delighted to hear that. You should buy a copy of the paper on the way home, Peggy, keep it for the scrapbook.’
Peggy said nothing.
Just before lunchtime, Peggy was up the stepladder searching for a box of gramophone needles when the shop bell rang. Esther was at the counter and Peggy heard her say, ‘Can I help you?’
‘Yes, I’m looking for Mr Goldstein.’ The voice was unmistakable. Peggy turned round quickly and the stepladder rocked; she tried to right herself and snatched at the shelf above her. She screamed as the ladder fell to the floor leaving her hanging by one hand, but there was nothing to grip. She closed her eyes as her fingers slipped off the front of the shelf.
Archie Dewer caught her in his outstretched arms and held her fast. She opened her eyes and there he was, laughing at her. She struggled to be free, but he carried her away from the ladder and the fallen boxes and set her down in the middle of the shop. ‘My, my Peggy, do you throw yourself into the arms of all your customers?’ She was about to protest at his presumption, but he had turned away to pick up the bouquet of white, long-stemmed roses he had dropped in his rush to reach her as she fell. ‘These are for you,’ he said with a flourish.
Peggy could feel the deepest of blushes spreading across her chest and upwards to the roots of her hair. ‘Thank you … thank you.’ She was covered in confusion. ‘I mean for catching me.’
‘You’re welcome.’
‘Oh, and for the roses. Thank you.’
‘You’re welcome.’
Peggy tried to regain her composure. ‘Er, this is Esther, Mr Goldstein’s niece.’
‘A pleasure to meet you,’ said Archie and shook her hand. ‘And Mr Goldstein is … where, exactly?’
‘Oh, he’s out,’ said Peggy. ‘He’ll probably be back in an hour or so.’
‘Good, I’ll have some lunch and call back later.’ He turned to go, then hesitated. ‘I say, would you care to join me?’
Peggy excused herself to collect her coat from the office, and nodded to Esther to follow her. ‘Best not to tell your uncle I’ve gone to lunch with Archie. I don’t think he likes him very much.’ She quickly refreshed her makeup and brushed her hair, then checked the seams on her stockings and turned up the collar on her fuchsia blouse. ‘How do I look?’
‘Elegant as always,’ said Esther.
The Carlton Restaurant was quite the most stylish place to have lunch in Belfast. It had been only marginally affected by rationing in that two courses were served instead of the three available pre-war. Peggy had never eaten there in her life. Nor had she experienced the feeling of superiority she had as she came into the dining room on the arm of her distinguished-looking companion. Of course, the uniform helped. She could tell it was no standard issue, but had been tailored to fit the major’s large frame and the coloured ribbons on his chest told of his no doubt illustrious military career.
Seeing the major again in daylight and across the table, she assessed his looks. His skin had a tanned appearance, as though he had spent some time overseas. There was grey in his dark hair, but she liked that. A few lines around his eyes, yes, but they were beautiful brown eyes and maybe the lines were because he smiled so much.
Archie looked up from the menu and caught her staring at him. She blushed again.
‘Shall I order for us?’ he said, and Peggy nodded.
The table d’hôte lunch was roast beef followed by apple tart and was by far the best meal Peggy had ever eaten. Even better was the company – she had never known such sparkling conversation.
They were still chatting as they walked back up Royal Avenue.
‘You actually saw Duke Ellington perform?’ Peggy said in amazement.
‘Yes, back in thirty-three at the Palladium – astonishing sound.’
Suddenly someone stepped out in front of them and there was a flash.
‘What the hell?’ shouted Archie. ‘Damned street photographers!’ He grabbed the man and pushed him away. Then, as if nothing had happened, he turned to Peggy. ‘As I remember, the singer was a young woman called Ivie Anderson, lovely voice.’
&n
bsp; They were almost at the music shop when Peggy stopped. ‘It’s probably best if I go in first and you follow me in a minute. I’m not sure Mr Goldstein would approve of me having a leisurely lunch at the Carlton.’
Goldstein had just finished serving a customer when she came in.
‘Oh, you’re back,’ said Peggy brightly. ‘Did you manage to sell the baby grand?’
The look on his face told her that he hadn’t. ‘Where have you been?’ he asked. ‘Esther and I have been rushed off our feet.’
‘I’m sorry, I met a friend in Woolworths who was at the concert. They were telling me how much they enjoyed it and we got chatting, you know?’
‘I do know, in fact I saw you with your friend. Not in Woolworths, as it happens, but in the Carlton, enjoying the roast beef.’
Peggy blanched. ‘You saw me?’
‘You and Major Dewer, a man twice your age, there for all the world to see. I nearly choked on my dinner. What were you thinking of? What would your mother say if she knew?’
At that moment, the shop bell rang and Archie strolled into the shop, his hand outstretched as he greeted Goldstein. ‘Glad to see you again, sir. I wonder if now is a good time to discuss the supper show in the officers’ mess?’
Goldstein turned puce with anger, but said nothing. Archie looked at Peggy, who gave a quick shake of the head. ‘Perhaps now is not a good time, Mr Goldstein.’ Archie turned to go.
‘Wait. Follow me,’ said Goldstein, and disappeared into his office. Archie glanced at the girls again and, with a bemused shrug of his broad shoulders, turned and followed Goldstein. The raised voices lasted a good five minutes, followed by half an hour of comparative silence, before Archie emerged from the office and, without a backward glance, marched with full military bearing across the shop, stopping only to open the door and to close it gently behind him. Peggy had opened her mouth to speak but thought better of it.
Within a few minutes Goldstein emerged and Peggy, who was expecting another telling off, was surprised at the smug expression on his face. ‘I have come to an arrangement with the major,’ he explained. ‘A small group will perform at a dinner in the officers’ mess before Christmas.’ He handed Peggy a piece of paper. ‘I want you to contact the performers I have chosen and ask them to attend a rehearsal on Sunday.’ He walked back to his office, then turned and added, ‘We have also agreed that in the New Year the full company will take part in a series of concerts at various camps.’
Peggy glanced at the scrap of paper and breathed a sigh of relief – the Golden Sisters were on the list. She would get the chance to see Archie Dewer again.
Pat stared up at the gable end and noted how it bulged, as if at any moment it would collapse into the rubble at its base. A tin street sign hung from the wall by a single screw and she tilted her head to read ‘Eliza Street’. Frankie Reilly lived here with his parents; now all she had to do was find him. The idea had come to her the previous night as she lay awake worrying about the evacuated children who had returned to the bombed areas. In the end she asked herself, ‘What would William do?’ Her clever, caring William who had worked tirelessly in the Ministry of Public Security worried all the time about the safety of the people of Belfast and the lack of anti-aircraft guns and searchlights and shelters. His words came back to her. ‘I have to be out there to see for myself what’s going on. Then I can do something about it.’ Yes, that was the answer – she needed to see what was going on. She had been involved in bringing them back into the city and knew their names, their ages and where they lived. Now she would see for herself whether they were safe and she would begin with Frankie Reilly.
Beyond the gable end, every house bore the scars of the bombing. Some were missing slates; some had no roofs at all, only charred timbers. But if the flapping clothes on makeshift washing lines were to be believed, the ground floors were still inhabited. There were craters here and there exposing bits of shattered pipes and towards the end of the road there was a standpipe where a woman in a headscarf and wearing a man’s overcoat that was far too big for her, was filling a bucket with water.
‘Hello,’ said Pat, ‘I’m looking for number fourteen – the Reilly family?’
‘Are you now?’
‘Do you know which house that is?’
‘Are you from the bru? For if ye are, ye’ll find no men round here have any work.’
‘No, I’m not from the unemployment bureau.’ Pat realised that anyone who looked like they’d come from the authorities would get nowhere asking questions. ‘No, no, I’m from the church.’ A white fib could do no harm. ‘I’m just seeing if there’s anything we can do for the family now that Frankie has come home.’
The woman looked Pat up and down and must have taken her at her word. ‘Just down there on the left, green door, windies boarded up.’
There was no answer to her knock, but she heard the excited shouts of children coming from an alleyway at the end of the row of houses. There she found half a dozen boys playing a frantic game of football with a rolled-up bundle of rags. At that moment, a boy kicked the ball high in the air over the head of the goalkeeper and Pat, standing behind him, jumped up and caught it.
‘It’s a goal!’ shouted the striker.
‘No it isn’t, she saved it.’
‘She’s not in your team, ye eejit.’
‘It doesn’t matter, she still saved it. Well done, missus.’
Pat handed the ball back to the smiling boy. ‘Do you know Frankie Reilly?’ she asked.
‘Aye, I do,’ he said.
‘And where would I find him, do you know?’
‘He’s right in front of ye.’ He laughed.
Frankie was a sturdy boy, with a healthy colour to his skin, and his clothes were decent enough. Then Pat looked beyond him to where his friends waited to resume their game and she was struck by the contrast. They looked, as her mother would say, like a good feed would kill them – gaunt and pasty-looking, their clothes threadbare.
‘Will you take me to your mother?’ asked Pat.
He hesitated, the laughter gone. ‘Am I in trouble?’
‘No, not at all.’
He kicked the rag ball in the air to his friends and nodded for Pat to follow him.
‘Why are you not at school?’ asked Pat.
‘Sure, none of the boys round here go very often and I’ve been helping Mammy since I came back. I’ve a new sister now, you know.’ He pushed open a gate and led her through the backyard into his house.
It was freezing inside and dimly lit. There was no fire in the grate and the only light came from the lower half of a sash window, the upper part having been replaced with cardboard. A woman sat in an armchair, her eyes closed, a baby asleep in a drawer on the floor at her feet.
‘Mammy, wake up, there’s a woman here to see you.’
Mrs Reilly opened her eyes and at the sight of a stranger in the room she jumped up.
‘It’s all right, don’t get up,’ said Pat.
‘I’m sorry, I was just … haven’t been getting much sleep with the baby. Are you from the education? Frankie’s not long back and I’ve been meaning to send him to school but—’
‘Don’t worry, I’m not from the Education Committee,’ said Pat, and she introduced herself and explained that she worked at Stormont and had been involved in bringing the evacuated children home. ‘I’m just visiting some families to see how the children have settled in now they’re back.’
Mrs Reilly swept her hand round the room. ‘This is hardly the sort of place you could settle in to, is it? But Frankie’s glad to be home, aren’t you son?’ She ruffled his hair. ‘And I’m glad he’s home too, for I sorely missed him.’
‘He’s looking well,’ said Pat.
‘Aye, he is, but …’ She sighed.
‘But what?’
‘How long will that last? He’s been well fed and cared for by the family that took him in. To tell you the truth, I couldn’t believe the size of him when he came home. How long�
�s it going to be before the weight starts dropping off him? We haven’t the money …’ She shook her head. ‘Sure, we’re living hand to mouth for God’s sake. And would you look at this place. How long is it since we were bombed and the landlord’s never set foot here? The roof’s gone, we’ve no running water and we only light a bit of a fire at night to cook our tea. I tell you, I wish to God Frankie had stayed in the country.’
In the murky late afternoon, Pat caught the bus home and through the rain-splattered windows she saw the grey streets and buildings and the grey people going about their miserable lives. And she thought of the mothers like Mrs Reilly all over the city who needed help, and the knowledge that there was none to be had made her shake her head in despair.
Pat was soaked when she got in, but the kitchen was warm and her mother helped her out of her wet coat and handed her a towel to dry her hair. ‘You’re home early, aren’t you?’
‘I was out of the office this afternoon visiting a bombed area near the Markets. Oh Mammy, you wouldn’t believe how some people are living.’ She told her about Frankie and his family. ‘It would break your heart, so it would. And the worst of it is, there’s nothing being done to help them.’
‘Was that not what your department was supposed to be doing?’
‘There’s no money for anything, sure. Nothing has happened in all the time I was away working with the Americans. The evacuees are home now and what have they come back to? Bomb sites and living in one room. What hope have those children got?’ She slumped into the armchair next to the range.
Martha hated to see Pat so despondent, but today she knew she had something to put a smile on her face.
‘I’ve something to cheer you up,’ she said and reached for a letter propped behind the clock on the mantelpiece.
Pat recognised Tony’s handwriting right away and looked heavenward. ‘Thanks be to God.’
A Song in my Heart Page 3
