A Promise Between Friends

by Carol Rivers

  ‘What!’ Debbie exclaimed. ‘My mum would have a fit if I wasn’t up to help her cook Sunday dinner. Rog gets me in at a decent hour, though. What time did you stumble in?’

  ‘We went dancing then had a drink,’ Ruby admitted cautiously, well aware of Debbie’s disapproval.

  ‘Don’t know what you see in Fortuno’s,’ Debbie countered. ‘It’s a dive.’

  ‘Yes, but I like it.’

  ‘I suppose you went with Kath and that idiot brother of hers?’ Debbie said accusingly as she dusted down her clean white overall. ‘You could do so much better.’

  Ruby thought it best to ignore this. Debbie could be really bitchy at times. She turned the poodle’s head, attempting to complete the pom-pom trim. ‘Stay still, Delilah. I don’t want to graze you.’ She shook the talcum powder over the curly white fur. ‘There, now, you’ll smell nice for your owner.’

  ‘So it’s a given you didn’t meet anyone?’ Debbie said, resuming their conversation.

  Ruby thought it safer not to mention her encounter with the mystery man. Not yet. After all, Saturday might turn out to be just a sweet memory.

  ‘As I said,’ Debbie harked on, ‘Kath Rigler won’t win you any friends, nor her brother.’

  Debbie had only met Kath and Bernie a few times but had taken an instant dislike. Ruby knew Debbie and her boyfriend moved in what they thought were classier circles. And perhaps that was true in a way. Debbie came from a good family, a dad with a nine-to-five job, a mum who only had to look after Debbie and her two younger twin brothers. The Wilsons had lived all their lives over Victoria Park way in a nice house. A world away from the slums that she and Pete and the Riglers had grown up in.

  Ruby distractedly brushed the dog hair from her overall. If only Kath were to find herself a boyfriend. She could be pretty if she did something with her lank black hair and beanpole figure. But Kath was nervous of men. With a father like Alf Rigler, no wonder! A violent drunk, he had knocked seven bells out of his two kids and timid wife. And God knew what else, Ruby reflected, that poor Kath was too ashamed to disclose.

  If only Kath could make new friends, Ruby thought wistfully. After twelve months of their living together like sardines in a can, Ruby had come to the conclusion they both needed to get out and about more.

  Suddenly there was a yelp and Ruby stared down at the trembling poodle. A red patch of blood had formed in the dog’s white fur.

  ‘You cut too close,’ Debbie accused as the little dog leaped from Ruby’s arms. ‘Mrs Freeman will kill you!’

  Heart in mouth, Ruby gave chase. How had she managed to injure it so badly? At the desk, movement came from a muddle of woolly blankets on the floor. Just as she was about to investigate, a black car pulled up outside the parlour. It was a flash, foreign-looking motor, but Ruby couldn’t see who was driving. Was it Laurence Dickens, the parlour’s owner? Perhaps he had bought himself a new car.

  ‘Perfect time to show up, Larry,’ she muttered, wondering why he’d called at this time of day. He never usually collected the takings till six.

  Then, to her relief, the car moved off again.

  Ruby looked down for the poodle, but the little dog was gone.

  ‘I’ve got her,’ she heard Debbie wailing. ‘Come and see.’

  Ruby hurried out to the back. Debbie was holding the poodle against her chest.

  ‘How bad is she hurt?’ Ruby dared not look.

  Debbie threw back her head and hooted. ‘It’s make-up, not blood! You must have spilled rouge on her. You was half asleep this morning when you did your face in the mirror.’

  Ruby sighed with relief. ‘Thank goodness. I had visions of old Mrs Freeman chewing my ear off.’

  ‘She would have, an’ all,’ Debbie agreed, hurriedly checking the time by the clock on the wall. ‘Look, we’d better get cracking. If you want to clear the mess in here, I’ll take Delilah outside and hose her. She’ll soon dry in the sun.’

  Ruby nodded gratefully. ‘Thanks, Debs.’

  Ruby began to clean up, wondering if the parlour would ever make it big and fulfil Larry’s dreams of matching the successes of the West End dog boutiques. When they first opened in the Commercial Road a year ago, Larry had promised they’d soon pull in the rich owners and make them a small fortune as it didn’t take much nous to trim the hair from a dog. But so far, his prediction had fallen short of its mark.

  Not that Ruby really minded. Laurence Dickens was a great boss. He’d chosen her from a long list of hopefuls. The wage was disappointing, but he let her and Debbie run the parlour as they liked. He was all right, was Larry. As employers went, he was one in a million.

  Glancing out of the parlour’s window she saw the black car again. It drove slowly past and Ruby hurried to take a closer look.

  By the time she opened the front door and stood on the pavement, the vehicle had disappeared.

  ‘Any sign of Mrs Freeman?’ Debbie asked an hour later, now minus her heels and plodding about the back yard in wellingtons. Sliding a spade under the excrement, she shovelled the muck into the battered dustbin.

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘Good. Delilah’s still damp.’

  The sharp September breeze blew across the yard and Ruby pulled a face. ‘What a stink!’

  ‘The bin’s full. Didn’t have a chance to clear up on Saturday before we left. One sniff of this and Larry would faint.’

  ‘For someone who owns a poodle parlour, it’s weird,’ Ruby mused curiously. ‘Larry don’t like dogs. Or cats. Or anything with feathers.’

  Debbie chuckled. ‘Bonkers, eh? You’d think after his mum passed away, he’d sell up. But no. He simply got rid of all the livestock she kept, decorated through – and then hired us to run it as a poodle parlour.’

  Ruby frowned thoughtfully. ‘I didn’t know his mum kept livestock here.’

  Debbie jerked her head towards the brick wall and adjoining building. ‘Len, the greengrocer next door, told me the old biddy dyed knackered-out greyhounds a different colour, so she could sell them to race under another name. She even trapped wild birds and kept them in cages. He said she’d sell anything with a heartbeat. If anyone had offered a good price for Larry she’d probably have taken it.’

  ‘Poor Larry. No wonder he flogged everything when she died.’

  ‘What Len objected to was the stink of the animals as it drifted over the wall. She wasn’t exactly known for her hygienic standards.’

  Ruby shuddered at the horror story. ‘Not like Larry, then?’

  ‘No, Larry even carries a lady’s lace hanky to blow his nose with.’

  ‘Yeah, he’s dead fussy about his looks,’ Ruby agreed.

  Debbie raised an eyebrow. ‘We’re more or less running the business for him, you know. Not making millions, but enough to cover the overheads and for them to trot off abroad every year.’

  ‘Don’t blame ’em.’ Ruby shrugged. ‘I like Stuart. He’s always got a smile.’

  ‘And more!’ Debbie snorted. ‘He’s a dish.’

  Ruby thought of Larry’s boyfriend who breezed in occasionally to flatter and charm. Tall, dark and exotically handsome, he’d be snatched up by any girl if he was available. Stuart must have been a real catch for Larry who was nothing out of the ordinary. Short and plump and in his early thirties, he was already losing his hair.

  ‘You off soon?’ Debbie removed her wellingtons and slipped on her shoes at the back door.

  ‘I’m going to have me hair done at two.’

  ‘No rush, love. Larry never calls till late, so take your time. And I’ve only got the Pekinese to trim.’ Debbie smiled, her blue eyes twinkling. ‘By the way, there was someone trawling past us in a blooming great car this morning. It stopped, then moved off and must have gone around the block as it came back again.’

  ‘Did you see who was driving?’

  ‘No, why?’

  ‘I saw it too. Just now. Thought it might be Larry. But it wasn’t.’

  Debbie frowned. ‘Here, it ain’
t Bernie, is it? Up to his old tricks again, following you.’

  Ruby despaired at the thought. Bernie had once or twice tried to meet her from work until she’d told him in no uncertain terms to get lost. ‘He don’t have expensive wheels like that,’ Ruby dismissed. ‘His car is a rust bucket.’

  ‘Well then, it might be Jack the Ripper for all we know.’ Debbie laughed at her own joke. ‘Watching two pretty girls and waiting for his chance to strike.’

  But Ruby didn’t find the joke funny. ‘Don’t say that. It’s scary.’

  ‘On the other hand it could be a posh geezer sussing us out,’ Debbie remarked with a teasing grin. ‘Some good-looking chancer with hidden assets.’

  Ruby frowned. ‘You’d better not let Rog hear you saying that.’

  ‘Why not? We’re not hitched yet.’

  ‘As good as.’

  Debbie tapped the side of her nose. ‘A girl’s got to have some fun occasionally.’

  Ruby laughed though she still felt unsettled. There weren’t many cars around like the one that had waited outside the parlour. Why should anyone want to stare in if they weren’t a dog owner? And if they were, why hadn’t they brought in their pet?

  ‘How do you fancy coming out with me and Rog next Saturday?’ Debbie enquired. ‘Bring your boyfriend too. We’ll make it a foursome.’

  Ruby pulled a face. ‘You know I’m not seeing anyone.’

  ‘In that case, come on your own.’

  ‘It’s Kath’s birthday,’ Ruby said with a shrug. ‘We’re going to a pub up Hoxton way.’

  Debbie wrinkled her nose. ‘Hoxton’s not my cup of tea, I’m afraid.’

  ‘I can’t cancel, Debbie. Not at the last minute.’

  ‘Please yourself.’ Debbie glanced in the big mirror, flicking her blonde fringe with her long painted nails. ‘But you’ll be missing out. We’re off to the Manor, in Hampstead.’

  ‘The Manor?’ Ruby repeated incredulously. ‘The new club everyone’s talking about? But it’s membership only.’

  Debbie nodded, a smug look on her face. ‘Rog sold the manager an insurance policy. In return Rog got complimentary tickets to the club. Rog said the place is loaded with antiques and old paintings, not like your usual grungy venue. There’s a good cabaret and dancing too. So, as I say, you’ll be missing a good night out.’

  Ruby was sorely tempted. Compared to sitting in a dingy, stuffy pub eating fish and chips, it was no contest. ‘How much would I have to pay on entry?’

  ‘Told you, it’s free.’

  Ruby felt a real thrill. The Manor was said to be very high class and memberships were like gold dust.

  Debbie lifted her big blue eyes. ‘Wouldn’t offer if I wasn’t sure. Anyway, it’s up to you.’ She raised her neat eyebrows.

  Ruby hesitated then quickly nodded. ‘Okay, I’ll come.’

  ‘What will you tell Kath?’

  ‘Dunno yet.’

  Debbie looked satisfied. ‘We’ll pick you up about nine. You can stay at my place if you like. That is, if you don’t mind kipping with me.’

  ‘What about Rog?’

  ‘Blimey, I never take him back home, except for a quick cuppa. Don’t want him getting the third degree from Dad. Even though we’re engaged and I am twenty-one!’

  ‘I forgot, you’re a big girl now.’

  ‘Big enough,’ Debbie added with a rueful smile. ‘Anyway, my parents could sleep through an earthquake. The twins, Desmond and Derek, are only ten. Mum and Dad are knackered out before their heads hit the pillow. But I warn you, two little ruffians running around the place means you won’t get a lie-in.’

  Ruby shrugged. ‘Okay. But don’t call for me at the bedsit. I’ll meet you at the Bricklayer’s.’

  ‘Blimey, you are in a bad way,’ Debbie responded drily. ‘You was always going on about how your life would be different if you left home. But now you’ve got a ball and chain round your ankle in the form of the Riglers.’

  ‘No, I have not,’ Ruby disagreed at once. ‘But I don’t like to break a promise.’

  All the same, there was a grain of truth in Debbie’s assumption. When Ruby had first started work at Larry’s after Pete’s death, moving in to Kath’s bedsit had felt liberating even though the room was tiny. Life at home in the prefab had become depressing. Her mum kept the place as a shrine to Pete; his room and all his belongings were exactly as he had left them. The doctor said it was her mum’s way of grieving and she would pull out of it. But time had passed and even her dad had given up trying, preferring the normality of work in the docks and his social club. Even so, Ruby still felt guilty about leaving home.

  ‘So what are you wearing on Saturday?’ Ruby asked, changing the subject.

  ‘A brand-new dress,’ Debbie boasted. ‘An off-the-shoulder cocktail gown.’

  ‘Was it pricey?’

  Debbie beamed smugly. ‘Rog isn’t short of a few bob. I think I deserve looking after.’

  ‘I might catch a bus up to Oxford Street on Saturday afternoon after work,’ Ruby decided. ‘I’ve got a bit put by.’ She hadn’t of course. But the rent could wait another week. She would never again have another chance like this to go to the Manor.

  Chapter Three

  Ruby gazed around at the sophisticated interior of the Manor. Whoever had lived here once, if they didn’t live here now, must surely have been gentry.

  Wooden beams criss-crossed overhead and the walls were papered in thick, embossed wallpaper. A huge log fire sparkled and crackled in a hearth that held a pair of ancient bellows, blackened metal tongs and a fringe of horse brasses. Just like she’d seen on the films.

  ‘Well, what do you think?’ Debbie enquired, raising her eyebrows as they stood in the grand entrance.

  ‘It’s stunning!’ Ruby stared at the plushly carpeted staircase. Beneath, a set of impressive double doors was thrown open to the lower floor. She could hear music and laughter. Her eyes widened when she saw the formally dressed men and elegant women in evening gowns. Was her new dress going to stand out like a sore thumb?

  ‘Quite a sight, isn’t it?’ Rog peered round Debbie, his blue eyes full of salesman’s confidence. ‘With the manager of this place as my client I clinched my bonus for the month.’

  ‘Rog, you are clever,’ Debbie flattered, clinging to his arm. ‘Do you think my dress looks all right?’

  In answer, Rog bent and kissed her full on the lips. A little embarrassed, Ruby made her excuses. ‘I think I’ll find the cloakrooms.’

  ‘I could do with a drink.’ Debbie pulled Rog’s sleeve. ‘Let’s find the bar.’

  ‘Meet you there,’ Rog called over his shoulder as they walked away arm in arm.

  Ruby saw a member of staff by the staircase. She was wearing a figure-hugging black blouse and skirt, and a pair of white gloves, and greeting the visitors with a polite smile. Ruby waited for her turn.

  ‘Can you direct me to the cloakrooms, please.’

  ‘The Powder Room is upstairs, madam,’ the girl told her politely. ‘Turn right down the hall and second left.’

  Ruby thanked her, though by the time she reached the top of the staircase she had forgotten the instructions. There were so many things to see. The carpet she trod on was luxuriously thick. She felt as if she was walking on air. The walls were covered in huge oil paintings with ornate gilt frames. There was even a suit of armour. She stared, fascinated, at the shining metal. Had someone really worn this cumbersome suit for battle?

  By the time she reached the end of the hall, she was lost. Unfortunately she opened the first door she came to and at once realized her mistake.

  A smooth green-baize table filled the room. Groups of distinguished-looking older men wearing formal evening suits were talking around it.

  Ruby felt like dying on the spot. Her cheeks burned as she stood, gawping at her surprised audience. Words of apology tumbled from her lips.

  ‘The other direction, my dear,’ one of the men said in a deep, somewhat amused tone. ‘Would you care f
or an escort?’

  Ruby shook her head firmly. ‘Oh no! No, thank you,’ she mumbled, and backed away, closing the door softly. Why hadn’t she read the sign on the door, Billiard Room?

  She turned back to the hall. Most of the oil paintings were of aristocratic-looking men and women.

  There were also paintings of nudes. Ruby couldn’t help staring at the well-endowed, naked young males and full-breasted girls. She had to tear away her eyes. The Manor certainly was surprising!

  She passed the Library and the Study and finally arrived at the Powder Room.

  She gasped as she entered the lavish, exquisitely decorated room, lined with gilt-edged mirrors on apricot and blue walls, not a rust-spot between them. Fragile paper tissues, fluffy white towels, squares and ovals of pastel-coloured soaps and even a scented spray stood on the marbled tops. The floor was carpeted in thick blue pile, to match the four velvet chairs in a small annexe to her right. She cautiously pushed open the white door of a cubicle and took another gasp. The toilet was an apricot wonder, with a golden chain hanging from the gilt-embossed cistern above.

  This was just heaven!

  A few minutes later Ruby was studying her appearance in the full-length mirror.

  Though she wasn’t as tall as she would have liked to be, the beige chiffon gown showed off her full bust and small waist of which she was very proud. The purchase of the dress had cleaned her out. But the sacrifice was worth it.

  Suddenly the door opened and two women entered. They glanced briefly at Ruby and without acknowledging her took their places at the row of mirrors.

  Ruby sat in the little annexe on one of the blue velvet chairs. The women continued to converse in cut-glass accents, as they studied their reflections and attended to their make-up. When eventually they left, Ruby thought about the places the women had mentioned; the Champs-Élysées in France, the basilicas of Venice, Rome’s Vatican City. They had bought fashions from world-famous designers, eaten at sumptuous restaurants, spoiled by their rich husbands who had flown them to all corners of the earth.