The Silver Ladies of London

by Eames, Lesley

  As Grace was trying to do. ‘We had a start with Ruth inheriting the car. How did you start?’

  ‘No inheritance, but even as a boy I knew I’d have to work hard to break free of the pit.’

  ‘What did you do?’ Grace was intrigued.

  ‘I let it be known that if there were errands to be run in our village, I was the boy to run them. Shopping, carrying, sweeping, window washing, dog walking… Oh, and teaching a parrot to talk.’

  Grace laughed. ‘Successfully?’

  ‘Actually, Egbert could talk already, but his previous owner was a sailor with a sailor’s vocabulary. My job was to teach him to talk nicely. I failed with Egbert, but my other jobs were more successful. A few pennies here and there added up to a tidy sum by the time I was fourteen and leaving school. Not that I always asked to be paid in money. I washed vehicles for a car salesman in return for learning about engines, and I ran errands for an accountant in return for learning about business.’

  His enterprise impressed her. ‘Did you have enough to start your own business straight away?’

  ‘Not nearly enough. But I persuaded the salesman to take me on for a low wage on condition I could buy and sell my own vehicles. I started with an old motorbike. I restored it and sold it on at a profit, then bought another and another, working my way up to cars. It took a lot of cars and a lot of sacrifice before I could go it alone.’

  ‘But now you’re doing well.’

  ‘Pretty well.’

  They reached Silver Ladies and Owen passed the basket back. ‘It’s natural to worry, but have patience,’ he said. ‘Have faith in yourself too.’

  His circumstances were different, of course. He’d developed his business gradually and never overextended himself, while they were launching theirs suddenly with few resources behind them. Still, it was good to know Owen thought they were on the right track.

  ‘If it would help to talk again, I’ll be glad to share my thoughts,’ he offered.

  ‘You’re very kind.’

  ‘The business world can feel lonely. Besides, Silver Ladies interests me.’ He left her with another encouraging smile that took much of that loneliness away from her.

  *

  Johnnie Fitzpatrick phoned that evening just as Ruth was twirling around the room in excitement after hearing about their booking. Jenny blushed again as Grace passed her the phone.

  ‘You want to call on us tomorrow?’ Jenny looked at Grace, who nodded. ‘Yes, ten o’clock will be convenient.’

  ‘Who’s that?’ Ruth wanted to know.

  Jenny told her the story. ‘Nothing may come of it,’ she cautioned.

  ‘But it might!’ Ruth enthused.

  Ruth was right. Maybe their luck was about to turn.

  The next morning, Jenny tidied the office with nervous fuss as ten o’clock approached. ‘I don’t want to get anyone’s hopes up about whatever plan he’s got, but I do think the office should look professional.’

  ‘It’s already tidy,’ Lydia argued, and promptly knocked over the bottle of milk she’d just bought so they could offer their visitor tea.

  ‘I’ll go out for more,’ Grace offered, soothing an obviously anxious Jenny with a pat on the shoulder.

  She hastened into the mews only to stop as she heard a miaow of distress. Running to the street, she saw a group of boys poking sticks at a cat they’d backed into a corner. Jenkins.

  Grace burst into their midst. ‘Stop that this minute!’

  ‘We’re only playing, Miss.’ The boy was defensive. He knew he’d been doing wrong.

  ‘You’re torturing it.’ Empty tin cans had been tied to Jenkins with long, tangled strings. ‘Go away, you little horrors, or I’ll call the police.’

  She bent to help the hissing cat, but Jenkins raced across the road and leapt up a tree only to become trapped as the strings caught on the branches. If he jumped or fell, he might be strangled. But he was too high up for Grace to reach him.

  Running down the alley, she burst into Owen’s office. ‘Jenkins is stuck in a tree. He’s been tied up with string and—’

  ‘Show me,’ Owen said, getting up.

  ‘You may need a ladder.’

  ‘I’ll climb if I have to.’

  Jenkins was looking terrified when they reached him.

  ‘You’ll be free in a moment,’ Owen promised. He stripped off his jacket and turned to Grace. ‘Would you—?’

  She took it from him, finding it surprisingly warm from contact with his body.

  Owen studied the tree, then climbed it expertly. Reaching Jenkins, he paused to make soothing sounds, then took a penknife from his pocket and severed the strings. ‘Free,’ Owen told him, scooping him up and stroking him. Then he tucked Jenkins under his arm and climbed down again, presenting the cat to Grace so she could stroke him too.

  ‘It’s good to see you safe, Jenkins,’ Grace told him.

  ‘Jenkins and I are in your debt,’ Owen said. ‘Might I repay you by taking you to tea, Miss Lavenham?’

  ‘With Jenkins?’ Grace smiled.

  ‘I think Jenkins will be better off at home. But we could talk about business and you could satisfy my curiosity about what brought four young women to London to set up Silver Ladies. If you wouldn’t consider it an intrusion into your private affairs?’

  ‘Not at all.’ Grace would very much like to sit down with Owen for a longer conversation.

  ‘Excellent. When would—’ He broke off as Grace gasped. ‘You look as if you’ve just remembered you should be elsewhere.’

  ‘I have. I should,’ she blurted, suddenly remembering the milk.

  ‘Then we’ll make our arrangements another time. Thank you again, Miss Lavenham. Say thank you too, Jenkins.’ Owen waved Jenkins’s paw and, smiling, Grace dashed away to buy the milk.

  It was just before ten when she returned to the office.

  ‘Move them!’ Jenny was urging, having just discovered Lydia’s boots under the sofa.

  A knock sounded on the downstairs door. As Jenny went to answer it, Lydia reached for the boots, then banged the soles together. ‘Maybe I should keep these handy, so I can chase this Fitzpatrick fellow away if he turns out to be a con man.’ Holding them up, she advanced on Grace in mock attack. Grace ducked away, laughing.

  ‘The Silver Ladies are happy ladies,’ someone said from the door.

  Grace recovered her customary calm. ‘Mr Fitzpatrick, I assume.’

  He bowed, then looked to Jenny to make the introductions.

  Grace didn’t miss the spark that passed between them, and no wonder. Johnnie Fitzpatrick had the same ability to bring sunshine into a room that Jenny had.

  But his eyes were intelligent and his handshake firm. Grace liked him.

  He moved on to Lydia, who simply lobbed the boots in the direction of the living quarters so she could shake his hand.

  ‘I see you’re a woman to be reckoned with, Miss Grey,’ he smiled. Then he glanced around at the silvery furniture and sparkling gauze. ‘This is wonderful.’

  Grace invited him to sit and they arranged themselves around the desk, Lydia choosing to lounge against a wall instead of sitting in a chair.

  ‘Thank you for seeing me,’ he said. ‘I have an idea that might help Silver Ladies but let me be honest.’

  ‘Always the best way,’ Grace approved.

  ‘My idea could help my business too. I’m a photographer. A commercial photographer. That means—’

  ‘You take photographs for advertisements and displays?’ Grace guessed.

  ‘Exactly, though at this stage in my career, I’ll take whatever work I can get. Like you, I’m just starting out and I’ve got a lot to prove – to clients, to myself and to my family. I’m not the black sheep precisely. I’m the only child of loving parents. But they’re unhappy with the path I’ve chosen. My father is a solicitor with a good practice in the south. He expected me to follow in his footsteps and I did try the law for a while but it wasn’t for me. Now he wonders why he both
ered investing so heavily in my education if all I want to do is take snaps. Those are his words. I’m telling you this so you’ll understand when I say I’ve a lot to prove.’

  Grace had already guessed his background was prosperous. He spoke in clear-cut tones and the tailoring of his clothes was beautiful. Despite the differences in their upbringings, Grace understood his urge to succeed in a path of his choosing because she shared it.

  ‘I may not be the most successful photographer in London – yet – but I must be one of the keenest and I promise to do the best job possible,’ he continued.

  ‘What is the job?’ Grace enquired.

  ‘I’m just coming to it.’

  He really did have the loveliest smile, an opinion shared by Jenny judging from the warm way she was watching him.

  ‘I’ve been commissioned to take photographs to advertise a dress shop. I’ve already taken some photos which are competent enough. But I want photos that dazzle. When I heard about the silver car and lady chauffeurs, I thought they might be the very thing I’m looking for.’

  ‘Goodness,’ Jenny said.

  Grace was excited too but determined to stay anchored. ‘Could you tell us more about the dress shop? And where the photographs would appear?’

  ‘The dress shop is Claudette’s in Kensington. Small, but exclusive. The magazine is Twentieth-Century Woman.’

  ‘Julia Arleigh takes that magazine,’ Jenny said.

  Grace had recognised the name too. ‘I sense there’s a catch.’

  Johnnie Fitzpatrick grinned. ‘There wouldn’t be a fee. Claudette is advertising because her sales are down. I’m making no charge because I want to get my name known. It could do the same for Silver Ladies.’

  ‘How would people know the car belonged to Silver Ladies?’ Grace asked. ‘How would they know it’s for hire?’

  ‘I’d include a credit to Silver Ladies in the ads. I could even include the Silver Ladies sign in the photographs. There’s something I should make clear, though. I need to sell this new idea to Claudette. She’s already approved the earlier photographs and she’s a little bit cross with me for messing her around. But if the car’s as beautiful as I imagine…?’

  Lydia pushed away from the wall. ‘I’ll show you.’

  Johnnie’s eyes gleamed when he saw the car. He would have reached out to touch the sparkling bonnet had Lydia not frozen him with a glare.

  ‘No finger-marks,’ he guessed. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘When would the advertisements appear?’ Grace asked.

  Silver Ladies needed business soon.

  ‘That’s something else I should make clear. The magazine won’t be out until late September but it’s ready to go to press and the editor was hopping mad when I told him we might be making changes. He won’t wait more than a day or two. He won’t actually promise to wait at all. Could you see Claudette today?’

  ‘We might,’ Grace said, ‘if you’ll agree to provide us with photos we could use to promote our business generally. But is there anything else you need to make clear first?’

  Johnnie grinned again. ‘Nothing at all.’

  ‘We can’t leave the office unattended, so I’ll stay here,’ Grace offered.

  ‘I can stay,’ Jenny said, but it was clear to Grace that she was being self-sacrificing and really wanted to go.

  ‘Your artistic eye might be needed,’ Grace pointed out. ‘And Lydia will need to drive the car as I assume Claudette will want to see it?’

  ‘It’ll be the best way to convince her,’ Johnnie confirmed.

  Grace waved them off, hoping she wasn’t waving them off on a wild goose chase.

  Twenty-four

  Jenny found Claudette to be French and formidable.

  A tall, middle-aged woman clad severely in black, she looked round as they entered her shop and her lips tightened. ‘Madam will excuse me,’ she told her customer, and marched up to Johnnie. ‘I tell you no, Mr Feetzpatrick. There is no more money for models.’

  ‘No one’s asking for money. Trust me, Claudette. I’ll make your advertisements stand out like fireworks at dead of night.’

  ‘The thing is done.’

  ‘I spoke to the editor. I asked him to wait.’

  ‘Without my permission?’

  Jenny thought Claudette might explode, but Johnnie smiled and after a moment she sighed and tapped his cheek like an aunt ticking off a favourite nephew.

  ‘Time is money. You do not have the head for business, Johnnie.’

  ‘On the contrary, new photographs will help all of our businesses. Come and see the car.’

  Claudette sighed as he led to the window, but the sigh ended abruptly when she saw the car.

  ‘Like a fairy tale, isn’t she?’ Johnnie beamed. ‘What do you say to featuring her in the advertisements?’

  ‘I say go up the stairs. A shop is no place to talk the business when there are customers.’

  ‘You’re a darling,’ Johnnie told her.

  He took them up to a sitting room, furnished with elegant sofas, side tables and mirrors.

  Lydia threw herself onto a sofa. ‘I hope this isn’t going to be a waste of effort.’

  Jenny knew Lydia was tetchy because she was desperate for Silver Ladies to succeed, but would Johnnie understand that?

  ‘It won’t be,’ he promised.

  How nice he was. Jenny was far more taken with his sweetness than his good looks, glorious though they were.

  Claudette didn’t keep them waiting long. She looked Jenny up and down like a farmer selecting sheep at the market. ‘What do you say in England? A raving beauty? Yes, that is it. You will wear the dresses.’

  ‘Dresses?’ Jenny asked.

  ‘My dresses,’ Claudette told her. ‘Did you no hear? There is not the money for the models.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘You.’ Claudette turned to Lydia. ‘Up!’

  ‘I’m just the driver,’ Lydia said.

  ‘Up, I say!’

  Lydia got up and glowered when Claudette took hold of her chin, turning her head this way and that.

  ‘The camera will adore.’

  ‘Did you no hear?’ Lydia mocked. ‘I’m just the driver.’

  ‘Just so.’

  ‘My idea for the photographs is to feature Jenny as a passenger and you as the chauffeur,’ Johnnie explained to Lydia.

  Jenny saw Lydia’s mouth open to protest at being assigned the role of model and nudged her sharply. ‘If it helps Silver Ladies…’

  ‘I’ll take the photographs at Silver Ladies itself,’ Johnnie continued. ‘It’s so atmospheric there. So different from what you see in the usual fashion plates. We can pick up my equipment on the way.’

  ‘If we’re going back to Silver Ladies, Grace can be the chauffeur in the photographs,’ Lydia suggested.

  Claudette’s finger almost stabbed her. ‘You are chauffeur.’

  Lydia folded her arms in a huff and Claudette went off to gather whatever she needed. They’d have to be kept out of the living quarters, Jenny decided. What a shock they’d be to someone whose home was as elegant as this.

  ‘Come!’ Claudette shouted from downstairs.

  Jenny was handed a number of outfits hidden under cotton covers while Lydia was directed to carry a box. Johnnie and Claudette carried other boxes and they loaded everything into the car.

  Johnnie had rooms in Bloomsbury. ‘Attic bedroom, dark room in the cellar,’ he told them.

  He went inside for his equipment, which they held on their laps.

  Grace took Claudette’s invasion with her usual calm common sense. ‘Welcome to Silver Ladies.’

  ‘I’ll be outside setting up some lights,’ Johnnie said, once the introductions had been made.

  ‘The room for dressing?’ Claudette asked.

  Jenny shook her head at Grace in warning.

  ‘I can help Jenny to change,’ Grace said. ‘Do sit down. You’ll find the sofa comfortable.’

  ‘To dress is an art!’ Claudette de
clared. She threw open the door to the living quarters and Jenny braced herself for an exclamation of disgust. Claudette gave a Gallic shrug instead. ‘We all ’ave to start somewhere.’ She began to lay the things she’d brought on the beds, gesturing to Jenny’s Silver Ladies uniform. ‘Off!’

  It didn’t appear to occur to her to offer Jenny privacy as she stripped to her underwear.

  Whisking her into a chair, Claudette covered her with a cape.

  ‘Eyes shut!’ she commanded, and got to work with her box of cosmetics. ‘Bien,’ Claudette finally said.

  Jenny was desperate to see how she looked but didn’t want to risk a ticking-off. Claudette helped her into a day dress in pale blue silk, which Jenny knew would suit her fair hair and blue eyes perfectly, then brushed her hair and placed a blue hat on her head. A flick of a finger directed Jenny to put on matching shoes.

  ‘Now the nails,’ Claudette commanded, and Jenny sat so Claudette could paint the middle of her fingernails, leaving the tips and half-moons bare, according to prevailing fashion. ‘Is enough!’ she declared. ‘The chauffeur?’

  ‘I’ll fetch her,’ Jenny said.

  She went out to the office and Grace’s eyes widened. ‘You look lovely, Jenny.’

  ‘Claudette wants Lydia now.’

  ‘To wear cosmetics?’

  Jenny giggled, then called to Lydia down in the garage.

  Lydia trudged upstairs. ‘What?’

  ‘Claudette wants you.’

  ‘I hope she doesn’t think she’s going to put all that muck on my face.’

  Claudette did think that. She pushed Lydia into a chair, almost garrotted her with the cape and bent over to pluck her eyebrows.

  ‘Ouch, that hurts!’

  ‘You are like bébé,’ Claudette told her.

  Fortunately, minimal plucking was required as nature had already shaped Lydia’s eyebrows beautifully. Not that Lydia could have cared less about such things. Next, Claudette dusted Lydia’s face with pale powder, creating a cloud in the process.

  ‘Are you trying to choke me?’ Lydia objected.

  Ignoring her, Claudette added rouge. Then she outlined Lydia’s grey eyes with kohl and dipped a small brush in water before smoothing it across a cake of black mascara and applying it to Lydia’s eyelashes.