Outside the room, Goldstein tried to persuade Pat to sing. ‘We will have a run-through and I will listen.’ Pat shook her head. She had not sung a Mozart aria since before she joined the Barnstormers. Of course, she had sung all those duets with William, but for her to stand alone … No, it was quite impossible.
Soon, Esther and Reuben returned from the first session buoyed up by the kind remarks from the guests. ‘General Eisenhower said he is really looking forward to hearing the arias later,’ said Esther.
‘What?’ Pat was appalled. ‘Who told him there would be arias?’
‘Somebody … I don’t know who he was … An American officer, I think.’
‘Well Pat, it looks like you are going to have to sing after all,’ said Goldstein, and he smiled smugly.
Faced with little choice, Pat warmed up her voice and ran through the two arias. What was it Mammy always said? ‘You can only do your best and don’t forget to smile.’
When the meal had been cleared away and the men had settled down with cigars and brandy, Reuben and Pat returned to the room. Pat stood with one hand resting on the piano and, as she faced the uniforms with rows of ribbons and pips, she saw Sir Basil Brooke raise an eyebrow in surprise. Reuben played the opening bars of ‘Dove Sono’ and Pat drew on all her experience as a performer to convey the unbearable sadness of the Countess in The Marriage of Figaro. At first she kept her eyes on the Giant’s Causeway on the wall in front of her, but soon she played the role to the audience. Eisenhower at one point closed his eyes and was listening intently. With the final note hanging in the air, Pat stepped back and bowed, then raised her head to warm applause and smiling faces.
The second piece, ‘Alleluia’, was livelier and more uplifting. Pat, with growing confidence, made good use of the acoustics. Reuben, too, added more to the overall sound that filled the room. At the end the guests stood to applaud and there were shouts of ‘Bravo!’ and to Pat’s amazement Eisenhower came over to her and shook her hand. ‘I really enjoyed that. Thank you so much.’
And as Pat left the room Sir Basil caught her eye and mouthed, ‘Well done.’
Chapter 14
‘Are you sure this dress looks all right? I think it might be a bit old for me.’
Peggy gave an exasperated sigh. ‘Look, Sheila, I wore this dress to the Floral Hall when I was your age. It’s not too old for you – it’s just a bit more sophisticated than you’re used to.’
Sheila frowned at herself in the mirror. She did like the pattern of pink rosebuds, but she was worried about the neckline. ‘It’s not too revealing, is it?’
‘Not at all, it’s a sweetheart neckline and the little cap sleeves are just lovely. Trust me – it’s a dress for dancing.’
‘Maybe it needs something around the neck and shoulders, like a scarf?’ suggested Pat.
Peggy dismissed the idea. ‘No, too fussy, but pearls might work,’ she said, and quickly found hers hanging over the dressing table mirror. ‘There now, how’s that?’ she asked as she fastened them round Sheila’s neck.
‘It looks better and I can wear my own pearl earrings. The ones from a couple of Christmases ago, when I had my hair cut short?’
‘Now, Pat, over to you for the makeup,’ said Peggy, ‘while I go and find Irene’s dancing shoes.’
As Pat made up her face, Sheila could feel the excitement building inside her – her first real dance and a proper date with Charles on her seventeenth birthday. Oh, they’d been on quite a few Sunday bike rides. They’d ride somewhere, find a bit of shelter from the wind or rain, eat the bloater sandwiches then cuddle and kiss for a while before setting off back home. When she had first suggested doing something else, he’d looked disappointed then begrudgingly said they could go to the pictures next time. They arrived halfway through In Which We Serve and stayed in their seats after the credits to watch the first half, mentally piecing together the two halves when they left. Knowing the ending somehow killed the drama – a bit like the date itself.
Sheila had been determined, therefore, that her birthday would not be a let-down. So when he asked what she would like to do to celebrate, she had told him she wanted to go dancing.
Makeup done, Sheila had just stepped into Irene’s dancing shoes when there was a knock at the front door. She could hear her mother’s voice inviting Charles inside. Sheila took one final look in the mirror and went to put on her coat.
‘Ah, no,’ said Peggy, taking the coat from her. ‘You go down and I’ll bring the coat. First impressions count, you know. Better if he sees you looking all glamorous. That’s what he’ll always remember – not the dowdy coat.’
As they left, Martha couldn’t resist popping upstairs to watch them walk down the street. They were holding hands, and what a grand couple they made. Her first thought when she had opened the door to Charles was that he looked so prosperous in his Harris tweed overcoat. Well, they don’t come cheap. And by all accounts he was from a good family, albeit from County Armagh. Our Sheila might just land on her feet here, she told herself. A handsome man with good prospects – what more could she want?
The crowded bus emptied at Bellevue and the atmosphere was good-humoured as everyone made the steep climb up the steps to the gardens and on to the Floral Hall. It was an oddly shaped building and, as Sheila and Charles passed through the doors into the bright tangerine entrance hall to queue for the cloakroom, they marvelled at the modernity of it all. Having handed in their coats, they hurried into the dance hall and, although Peggy had described it to her, it surpassed what she had seen so far. It was like plunging into a dazzling deep blue and golden cave. The room, a complete circle, was edged with a thousand seats, with the dance floor in the middle and, above it, a glass dome.
Sheila never dreamt there could be such a place in Belfast; it must surely belong in some exotic foreign land. Yet here she was, glimpsing another world, and that wasn’t all. Here was Charles holding her hand, soon they’d be dancing, and it was her seventeenth birthday.
They managed to find seats at a table with two other couples. Charles went to the bar and came back with glasses of lemonade and while they sipped they listened to the band and watched the dancers for a while. ‘Come on,’ said Sheila, ‘let’s have a dance now.’
‘I’m not much of a dancer, you know,’ said Charles.
‘It doesn’t matter, as long as we can shuffle round the floor.’
It was a quickstep, quite lively. Charles seemed a bit unsure when he took her in his arms and she waited for him to catch the beat and lead her round the floor. He set off at a lurch and they almost collided with another couple. He tried again and managed to get going in a straight line. He caught her toes a couple of times; then she realised he wasn’t turning at all with the flow of dancers and soon he was cutting across other couples. They came inevitably to the edge of the floor, he stopped and attempted to go back the way they had come.
Sheila said, ‘Charles, we have to follow the other dancers in a circle round the floor.’
‘Can’t do that,’ he said.
‘What do you mean you can’t do it?’
‘Never learned,’ he said. ‘I warned you I’m not a dancer.’
‘Look, I’ll lead,’ said Sheila. ‘So just relax and I’ll guide us round and you try not to stand on anyone’s feet, especially mine.’
They made it back to the table and Charles looked a bit shamefaced. Sheila shook her head. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you can’t dance?’
He shrugged. ‘I thought I’d manage it when I got going. I didn’t think there’d be so many people. I’m a bit better at the waltz. I think.’
The girl sitting next to Sheila, who had clearly been listening to their conversation, gave her a nudge. ‘You could have a dance or two with my fella if you want. I don’t mind.’
‘Oh no, that’s all right, I’m fine—’
‘Ach, away on with ye. What’s the point of comin’ to a dance if you don’t get to dance?’ She laughed and turned to her partner. ‘J
amesy, give this wee girl a turn round the floor.’
‘No really, it doesn’t matter,’ Sheila protested, but Jamesy was already on his feet and holding out his hand. She turned to Charles who looked away. What was she to do? The band had changed tempo for the next dance – the jitterbug, her favourite. She let Jamesy lead her on to the floor and they went for it – the newest dance craze to cross the Atlantic. She’d learned how to do it at the American bases when she was singing and she was pretty sure that between them, she and Jamesy cut quite a rug.
She returned to the table flushed and laughing, and soon she was chatting to Sadie and Jamesy and their friends Albert and Doreen. Charles seemed happy enough to be in their company, but Sheila noticed that he hadn’t much to say. Later, when Sadie passed round a cigarette packet, Charles shook his head and said, ‘We don’t smoke.’
‘Are you sure you don’t want one? I work at Gallaher’s. Get them free, so I do. What about you, Sheila? Why don’t you try one?’
Sheila had always thought women who smoked looked self-assured and she often thought she would try one sometime, so why not now? Without a look at Charles she took the cigarette and put it to her lips. Between them, Jamesy and Albert made sure Sheila got plenty of dances. Of course, every time there was a waltz she tried to get Charles on to the floor, but each time he refused. Then out of the blue he took her hand and whispered, ‘Come with me.’
He led her away from the dance floor, through the tangerine entrance hall, and out into the night. ‘Where are we going?’ she asked. ‘What about my coat?’
‘Hush,’ he said and they went down the steps towards the gardens at the front of the hall. By the light of the half moon, Sheila could make out shimmering water, a path and benches where couples, having escaped the dance hall, were kissing and courting. Charles pulled her on to a bench under the shadow of a tree and wrapped his arms around her. ‘I’ll keep you warm,’ he said and kissed her fiercely, holding her so tight she could hardly breathe. She pulled away from him. ‘Charles—’
‘I’m sorry, Sheila, I couldn’t stand it any longer, watching you dancing with those strangers. I had to take you away so that we could be alone.’
‘It’s just dancing, Charles, it doesn’t mean anything. It’s just a bit of fun.’
‘I know, I know,’ he said, ‘but I want to have you to myself. There now, rest your head against my shoulder.’
Sheila relaxed into the cradle of his arms and closed her eyes. He traced the outline of the little cap sleeves on her dress. ‘I think of you when I play my cello,’ he told her and his voice soothed her. His finger played across the sweetheart neckline as he hummed a melody and she felt herself drifting. ‘Some nights I dream I play you,’ he said, and bent his head and kissed her softly. ‘Sheila … open your eyes.’
She could barely see his face in the shadows, but she could hear the intensity in his voice. ‘My darling,’ he said. ‘Will you marry me?’
Sheila couldn’t sleep. Her head was full of images, sounds and sensations: the loud music; the crowds of people; the company of strangers. But most of all it was Charles’ touch – trailing his fingers over her skin, his mouth on hers – that stopped her heart and made her sit bolt upright in bed. Then his words would come again: ‘Some nights I dream I play you.’ Strange words to thrill her. Then the panic would begin. She had gone to the Floral Hall to have some fun and had come home with a proposal of marriage. She hadn’t known what to say to him, but Charles had been so understanding. ‘I know you’re only seventeen and I want you to take your time and think about it. I love you so much and I think maybe you love me too?’ His voice lifted in expectation, but she couldn’t say the words he wanted to hear. ‘Of course, we couldn’t marry right away,’ he hurried on. ‘We’d wait until the war is over and I qualify as a teacher.’
It was still dark when she heard her mother creeping downstairs to get the range going. It was Sunday morning so she would let them have a lie-in until it was time to get ready for church. Sheila thought about going down to tell her mother about Charles’ proposal, but something stopped her. She looked across at Peggy fast asleep, then got up and went into Pat’s bedroom, sat on the bed and shook her gently.
Pat shrugged her off. ‘Go away,’ she said. ‘I’m asleep.’
‘I need to talk to you,’ Sheila whispered.
Pat opened one eye. ‘It’d better be important; waking me up at this hour on a Sunday.’ She turned over and propped herself on one elbow.
‘It’s about Charles,’ said Sheila and she told Pat about the proposal, leaving out the kissing and courting in the gardens, of course.
‘Do you love him?’
The same question she had been asking herself all night. ‘I think I do.’
‘But you’re not sure?’
‘Yes, yes, I do love him.’ There, she’d said it. ‘I was just taken by surprise.’
‘Has he said he loves you?’
‘Yes.’
‘And did you believe him?’
Sheila thought about his fierce kisses and his desire to have her all to himself. ‘Yes, yes, I’m sure he loves me.’
‘Go back to bed for now,’ said Pat. ‘Don’t say anything to Mammy or Peggy just yet. We’ll have our breakfast and go to church as usual; that’ll give you a bit of time to think. Then when we come home, the four of us could talk about it. What do you think?’
Sheila nodded. ‘Could you tell Mammy? I don’t want …’
‘That’s fine, I’ll explain to begin with, but then you’ll need to speak up for yourself. It’s your future we’re talking about after all.’
Throughout Pat’s explanation about the proposal, Sheila didn’t look anyone in the eye, but sat twisting her fingers in her lap. When Pat finished, the girls instinctively waited for their mother to speak first.
‘Hmm,’ was all Martha said and she continued to stare at her youngest daughter, noticing the flush of embarrassment on her neck. The first time she had met Charles Turner, Martha had taken to him – hadn’t he good manners and, by all accounts, good prospects? She had dared to hope that Charles might take an interest in Sheila, but this sudden proposal was unexpected, unsettling. She was only seventeen after all.
‘Do you think he really meant to propose?’ she said, ‘or was it something he just came out with … in the heat of the moment?’ Almost at once Martha regretted her choice of words. Sheila’s face turned bright red and Martha herself flushed.
‘He meant it all right,’ said Sheila, ‘but he said he didn’t want an answer right away, he wanted me to think about it carefully, said I should talk to my family.’
‘I see’ – Martha paused again – ‘and it would be a long engagement?’
‘Yes, we’ll both be working at the Academy and saving up. It’ll take him a while to qualify so it could be three years.’
‘Are you sure you really love him?’ asked Peggy. ‘Don’t forget all those other boys out there that you haven’t met. You could find someone else – someone even better.’ The others looked at her, unsure of her point. ‘What I mean is, you haven’t known him that long to be sure he’s the one.’
‘I’ve known him six months. Irene hardly knew Sandy at all when she married him,’ said Sheila.
Martha wasn’t sure that helped the argument. ‘What do you think, Pat?’
‘I think Charles Turner is a nice boy, but in the end, Sheila, it’s you who has to decide whether or not to marry him.’
Peggy didn’t know what to think about Sheila’s proposal. On the one hand, she wanted her little sister to be happy, but on the other she was worried that Sheila was far too young to properly judge whether Charles was the one for her. Sheila had no experience of men and their slippery ways. Mammy might think he was a good catch, but she didn’t know much about the modern man either. Anyway, it would be foolish of any daughter to marry on the recommendation of their mother.
When Peggy arrived at work on Monday, she discussed her misgivings with Esther while the
y dusted every instrument and wireless in the shop. ‘If she loves him she should marry him,’ said Esther. ‘I tell you, I wouldn’t hesitate for a moment if Reuben asked me to marry him.’
‘But what about all the other men out there? He might not be the best of the bunch and then you’re stuck with him.’
‘It’s funny, isn’t it,’ said Esther. ‘Irene’s married, Pat’s engaged, and soon Sheila will be too. Just think, it could end up with just you and your mother.’ Peggy turned, duster in hand, to stare at Esther who was busy polishing a flute, and delivered a quick smack to the back of her head.
Mr Goldstein was in his office on the telephone, organising several Barnstormers’ concerts for the newly arrived British Army regiments. He wandered into the shop mid-morning and informed them that he was expecting someone to discuss the arrangements. He gave them a stern look and told them the visitor must be shown into the office immediately.
Peggy had just put the latest Glenn Miller on the gramophone and was humming along to the music when the door opened and there stood Archie Dewer, smiling broadly.
‘Ah, Peggy, Esther – my favourite shop girls.’
Esther giggled and Peggy glared at him. ‘You’ve got a nerve coming in here,’ she said.
‘Not at all – I’m expected I believe.’
‘Of course,’ said Esther. ‘My uncle says you’re to go straight in.’
But instead of going to the office, Archie crossed the shop in a couple of strides to Peggy and whispered in her ear. She ignored him, but he just laughed and headed for Goldstein’s office.
At dinnertime, Peggy said she didn’t feel so well and would go for a walk to clear her head. The Café Royal was packed when she went in, with a mixture of businessmen, wealthy women with their shopping and army officers. She saw him immediately, towards the back, smiling and waving at her as though they were the best of friends. The table was small and very close to other diners, no doubt chosen so that she wouldn’t dare to say what she wanted to say to him. He stood up and bent to kiss her cheek, but she turned away and sat down. Sitting opposite him, her first thought was that he was more handsome than ever; then she noticed there were extra pips on his shoulders.
A Song in my Heart Page 11
