by Ruby Jackson
‘Enjoy, poppet, sorry, got to fly,’ was all he had said as Connie quickly introduced Sally, but he had spoken to her and she would never forget it.
She wished she could forget Elliott’s closeness. His right hand strayed several times to her knee and when she had joked that she needed to pinch herself, she had not liked the tone of his voice when he said that he would be delighted to do the pinching. As the evening wore on she became more and more sure that she had made a dreadful mistake in accepting the older actor’s invitation. She almost wept as she realised that had she not accepted, one of the most famous men in the entire world of musical theatre would never have smiled at her or spoken to her.
The curtain went down. The theatre exploded with cheers and clapping and stamping feet as the audience stood up. Back came the cast, bowing modestly, kissing flowers that were thrown and often sending them back to the original thrower. It was wonderful, but at the back of Sally’s mind was a band of cold fear.
He’ll take me straight home, she told herself. He promised. Everything will be all right.
‘Come along, darling. We’re going backstage for drinkies.’
‘But it’s late, Elliott, and you said we’d leave after the performance.’
‘And we will, sweet child, but first we have to do the polite, you know. Must get rid of the black mark I earned. We’ll pop in on old Connie again – she is a darling, isn’t she? Can’t think of anyone else who would risk Ivor’s wrath just before a performance but then, she is so terribly fond of me. If he’s not too besieged, we’ll see darling Ivor and have some champers. Ever had champers, Sally B?’
Champagne was not something ever served in the Brewer house. How exciting. It was a dream … except for that niggle of worry. But, of course there would be no problem; they worked together. Elliott was merely being theatrical and silly.
‘I can’t stay long, Elliott. My parents will worry.’
‘You’re not a child, Sally. Silly girl. Here we are.’
Seeing that the great man’s dressing room was already packed full, Sally turned to leave but Elliott held her hand painfully and pulled her along behind him through the crowd.
The air rang with cries of ‘Dahling’, ‘Wonderful’, even ‘Mahvellous!!’ The practical Petrie twins would be amazed to learn that ‘Mahvellous’ and ‘Dahling’ were actual words, Sally thought.
‘Wherever did you find this perfect little peach, Staines?’
Sally heard the question and at the same time felt an arm going around her waist. ‘Stop that,’ she began, but she felt herself being pulled even closer to a large man in a scarlet evening jacket.
‘What a beauty,’ the voice continued as the man’s other hand began to rove over Sally’s back and down her hips. ‘Yum, yum, you can’t keep her to yourself.’
‘Let go of me,’ Sally, heedless of the fact that she was surrounded by many of the nation’s theatrical stars, hissed out the words, accompanying them with a sharp kick.
The hands dropped immediately but a well-known and heretofore much-admired face pressed itself closer to Sally’s. ‘Oh, I do like a little ingénue with a sparkle.’ One hand grasped Sally’s arm. ‘Go halves, Elliott darling, and I might just be able to …’
Sally looked up into the face of Conrad Blessington and, although she was frightened, angry and disappointed, she noted that the once so-handsome face had developed heavy jowls. There were dark shadows, not of illness, she thought, but of dissipation. Had the actor she had so admired always been as vulgar as the man holding her now?
Sally wrenched herself free and praying, first, that no one had paid any attention, and secondly, that she would not burst into tears, pushed her way past the two men and headed for the door. She gave thought to nothing but the need to get as far away from men like Elliott Staines and his friend as possible.
‘Why, there you are,’ said a voice. ‘I waited an age and had quite given up hope of seeing you this evening.’
A young man – and Sally was not so upset that she did not see that he was extremely handsome – was standing beside her and smiling at her as if they were old friends.
‘Bit of a crush, isn’t it, but super evening? Didn’t you think the last number was absolutely divine?’
Whoever he was, he gave her no chance to reply, not that she was capable of saying anything, but bundled her through the crowd – which parted for him – and out of the star’s dressing room.
‘Sebastian Brady,’ he introduced himself. ‘I take it that I’m correct and you didn’t want to stay with those two old lechers?’
Sally looked up at him, into the perfect face that she and her friends had fallen in love with when he had made his film debut as a prefect in the film Goodbye, Mr Chips.
Sebastian Brady. What must he think of her? Wildly Sally groped for a handkerchief. The young actor pressed his own into her hand.
‘Where do you live?’
‘Dartford.’
‘Bloody hell. Oh, I do apologise. Has to be better than Portsmouth. Is there a late train?’
Sally blew her nose again. ‘I have no idea. Elliott drove us.’
‘So, no train ticket either?’
Tears started in Sally’s eyes. How foolish she felt.
‘You’ll have to trust me then. Straight off, I think you’re a lovely girl but my grandmother brought me up, she trusts, to be a gentleman. Come along. I’ve never been to Dartford. It’ll be good for me.’
‘You do know where it is?’
‘Not the slightest idea.’ He laughed at her worried expression. ‘But I do have a fabulous invention, Miss Expressive Face. It’s called a road map.’
‘Very funny.’
They laughed together. He drove her home and as he negotiated the route he chatted of this, that and everything in between. It was as if they had known each other for ever.
She was embarrassed to see the slightest chink of light through the blackout curtains in her parents’ bedroom.
‘Parents still awake, Sally? Don’t be embarrassed. Be grateful. If I still lived at home, Grandmamma would be sitting up in the library waiting.’
She would have liked to ask about his parents but was still too aware that he was an actual film star. Instead she thanked him sincerely for his kindness. Then they said goodbye. He watched her until she had disappeared into the house. Sally waved and assumed that she would never see him again.
TWO
As always the house was in darkness when Sally let herself in and locked the front door. She smiled. Did they really think she did not know they were lying awake? She longed to tell them about Sebastian. How would her father react when he heard that a real film star, who had appeared in a film actually shown by his projector, had driven his daughter home from London?
Next morning she woke up to the sorrowful realisation that she had grown up overnight. She knew that she was about to lie to her parents. Never before had it occurred to her to lie; it had never been necessary. Sally brushed her hair until her head ached but she felt no better about her deception. At the breakfast table Ernie was unimpressed by her tale, glad that his daughter had been delivered home safely, but only the arrival on his doorstep of the King or perhaps, Mr Churchill, the Prime Minister, would have impressed him.
‘And what about Mr Staines, love? Why didn’t he bring you home as he promised?’
No matter how hard she tried, Sally knew she was blushing. She prepared to lie, hoping that most of what she was about to say was the truth. ‘Mr Staines knows Ivor Novello, Dad, actually knows him. I was introduced to him.’ She held out her right hand. ‘Look at that hand. Ivor Novello shook it.’
Her father did not seem enthused by either the story or the hand and so Sally rattled on. ‘There was a party, and I was invited too but I knew you and Mum would worry. Sebastian was there, one of the cast, and he offered to drive me home.’
‘Very nice, I’m sure.’
‘It was kind, Ernie, wasn’t it?’ Elsie put a plate in front of Sally.
‘Eat up, pet. We didn’t expect you up for breakfast – thought you’d take advantage and have a nice, long lie-in. You can tell Dad and me all about the evening when we get back from church.’ She walked over to the stove and picked up the fat brown teapot. ‘I noticed you caught your evening cloak on a nail or tack; I’ll mend it and give it a good brush today.’
Sally had no remembrance of having snagged her beautiful cloak but she readily gave her mother permission to mend it. Elsie Brewer, like Daisy and Rose’s mother Flora Petrie, was an expert with a needle and thread.
‘I’ll have to hurry, Mum. I want to meet Daisy and Rose before church; they’ll want to hear everything.’
Sally was anxious not only to tell her friends everything that had happened the previous evening but also to ask for advice as to what to do. The thought of returning to the theatre and Elliott Staines made her feel physically ill.
‘You cannot let him spoil your career, Sally. Tell him hands off or your father will be there to see him.’
‘I haven’t told Dad, Daisy; that really would be the end of my career.’
The twins looked at her and then at each other. ‘Sam,’ they said together.
Sally was aghast. ‘I can’t tell Sam. Besides, where is he?’
‘No idea, but you could put a picture of him on your worktable or whatever you have in a theatre. He’d make two of your Elliott. Accept no more invitations – if he’s got the courage to ask you out – and mention Sebastian every so often. You know, a few words like, “You’ll never believe what Sebastian said about …” and mention any big name you can think of. He’ll stay clear, honest he will. He doesn’t want to offend the big boys.’
Deep inside, Sally hoped that she would see Sebastian again, but he had said nothing about keeping in touch. Meeting a gorgeous actor and being driven home by him was a fairy tale. Once upon a time she had believed in fairy tales but she was now quite grown up.
Sally kept her friends’ hints in mind when she returned to the theatre. Elliott, suffering from a headache, brought on, he insisted, by winter sun glinting at him through leaves, had remained at home.
‘He’s a martyr to it, poor lamb. I’m afraid it makes for more work for you, Sally dear. Will you read Elliott’s lines to Archie?’ the director asked.
Sally picked up the script. Reading lines was certainly a step up from typing out a new copy. The character being played by Elliott was – surprise, surprise – an ageing roué and Sally wondered if she dared try to change her voice. She could sound a little like a young man; an aged man was harder and her efforts might not be appreciated. Last time she had tried characterisation she had been told firmly, ‘Just read the bloody lines, love.’
It was the nearest Sally got to real acting that week and was not a bad way to spend an afternoon. Archie Everest, better known to theatregoers as Giles Wentworth, was what was termed ‘a reliable actor’ and he was certainly better than Elliott and a great deal quieter.
‘Dad’s at the cinema, pet. Did you have a good day?’ When Sally arrived home she found her mother in the kitchen doing the family ironing.
Without Elliott’s presence, Sally’s day had been much better than she had expected. ‘Super, Mum, I had to read one of the parts. It was really interesting and Archie Everest is such a good actor. He gave me—’ She stopped in mid-sentence. ‘Oh, you’ve got my cloak. Where was the snag? I certainly don’t remember catching it but the theatre was so crowded.’
Elsie put down her iron. ‘Never mind the snag. Just guess what I found in the lining?’ She reached up to a shelf above the cooker where several commemorative cups sat and took down one she had bought when the family visited the Empire Exhibition in Glasgow the previous year.
‘Look.’ She held out her hand.
‘You’re joking, Mum. That must have come from a Christmas cracker.’
‘When did you ever see something like that in a cracker, love? I almost ironed over the top of it. There’s a hole in the right pocket of your cloak. I think it slipped through and one of the stones must have caught on the lining. Otherwise it could have ended anywhere, in a gutter, down a drain.’
Sally was still staring in awe at what appeared to be a gold ring set with three large red stones, each surrounded by tiny white sparkling stones.
‘Rubies and diamonds in real gold, Sally.’
Sally shook her head. ‘They can’t be real, Mum.’
‘The lady who gave that cloak to charity could afford rubies and diamonds. We’ll have to find her and give it back, love.’
Sally sat down at the table. ‘Rubies and diamonds. Gosh. If they’re real it must be worth a fortune.’
Elsie looked at the tiny diamond in her engagement ring. ‘Daddy saved up for four years for this, Sally. Forty pounds it cost. The insurance man said we’d need to insure it for …’ Elsie stopped as if the enormity of the amount was too shocking. ‘Near two hundred, love,’ she whispered, ‘and that’s for one diamond and there’s twelve in this ring. Put it on. You’ve got ever such lovely hands and I’d like to see it on before we go to the police station.’
Sally slipped the ring on to her right hand and admired both the ring and her carefully manicured nails. ‘Sets it off nicely, but, Mum, we’ll be quicker going tomorrow to the second-hand shop. I’ll go on my lunch break. They’ll know who brought in the cloak.’
Ernie would have liked to get rid of the ring straight away. ‘That’s worth a fortune, Sally, and I don’t want it in my house. What kind of woman doesn’t know she’s lost a valuable ring?’
Neither his wife nor his daughter had the slightest idea how to answer that question.
‘I’ll put it in the safe at the cinema. Be better there.’
‘But I won’t be able to get it from you and take it to the shop, Dad. No one knows it’s here. It’ll be safe for one night.’
As usual Sally had her way and next day, carrying her packed lunch, she took the ring back to the shop. Neither Maude nor Fedora was on duty. Sally deliberated about speaking to the sole person there today. She had a relationship of sorts with the other two women; she trusted them. Her mind went back and forth. Of course, this woman was bound to be honest or Fedora would not have hired her. Therefore she should tell her the story of the ring. But she could not help thinking that this situation was almost like something one would see in a film. She would hand over the ring and the woman and the ring would disappear.
Sally smiled at her own foolishness.
‘I bought the most beautiful evening cloak here,’ she started.
‘We don’t take back sold items.’
The words were uttered so forcibly that Sally’s original plan changed immediately. ‘I’m thrilled with the cape. I wanted, if possible, to thank the lady who donated it.’
‘We don’t discuss our sponsors but you can be assured that our quality items come from only the finest homes. We have actually dealt with a titled gentleman recently.’ She stopped abruptly as if she realised she was being too talkative.
‘Of course, but do thank him and his wife,’ said Sally with a beaming smile as she turned and hurried from the shop. She knew exactly who would know where any local aristocrat lived.
Petrie’s Groceries and Fine Teas had been dealing with every stratum of Dartford society for as long as Sally had known them. She waited only until her family and, she hoped, the Petrie family had eaten their evening meal before hurrying over to the familiar flat above the shop to speak to her friend Daisy, who worked full time in the grocery.
Ron, the Petries’ youngest son, opened the door. ‘Well, if it isn’t Margaret Lockwood herself. How’s the world of bright lights, Maggie?’
Sally laughed. ‘The girls in, Ron?’
‘And where else would they be on a weeknight? Go on up. Rose is washing her hair but everyone else is in the front room listening to the wireless.’
A few minutes later, Daisy and Sally were in the kitchen, the door firmly shut against intruders.
‘Well, wha
t do you think of that?’
Daisy gazed at the ring. She tentatively stretched out a hand towards it.
‘Try it on; it’ll be too big but watch how it sparkles.’
Daisy slipped it on and gazed in awe. It was much too big for her petite hand, but when she held it up the stones contrasted prettily with her green eyes and short dark hair. ‘Is it real? It can’t be real. It looks like something the Queen would have.’
‘Dad thinks it’s real and of course I have to return it. The owner must be frantic, poor woman. I would be, wouldn’t you?’
They were silent for a moment as they stood silently, just watching the stones sparkle as light hit them.
‘I want you to help me find the owner, Daisy, because she must be a customer.’
‘Sorry, Sally, our customers can’t afford diamonds and rubies. We sell cheese and porridge oats and tinned peas. Rich people don’t eat porridge.’
‘Perhaps they don’t, but they drink fine teas.’
The friends sank back in their chairs as this truth hit them.
‘You do some of the deliveries, Daisy.’
‘I can’t tell you customers’ names, Sally, and certainly not their addresses.’
Sally sighed and Daisy recognised it, for once, as a genuine note of unhappiness. Sally was capable of showing a whole host of feelings, one after the other.
‘I wish I could help but the business is built on trust.’
‘Golly, I’m not going to steal something. I want to give this back.’
‘Take it back to—’ began Daisy.
‘I did. That was the first idea but it didn’t feel right and I just have this strange feeling that it’s really important for me to return it in person.’
As with the sighs, Daisy was familiar with the feelings. ‘There’s the bathwater going. Rose is coming. Put the kettle on while I tell Mum we’ll bring the cocoa in to them.’
