Fifteen minutes later she was outside once more, feeling even more depressed. Mr Van Damm was sorry, but he had no vacancies. He’d taken Greta’s new address and promised to write to her as soon as something came up, but she knew he wouldn’t. She was five years older than she’d been when she’d first arrived, and he was aware that she had a child, thanks to the theatre rumour mill.
Disconsolately, Greta stood outside the stage door and looked at the group of prostitutes chatting in the doorway on the other side of Archer Street. She recognised some of the faces that had been there when she’d worked at the Windmill. Greta had always looked down her nose at them, but had she really been any better than they were? After all, she had given herself to James for free but had performed the same function: she had satisfied a need his wife didn’t fulfil.
‘Greta! Greta, it is you, isn’t it?’
A hand was placed on her shoulder from behind. She heard the familiar voice and turned around.
‘Taffy!’ Her face lit up. ‘I mean . . . David.’ She chuckled despite herself.
‘I thought I saw you coming out of Mr Van Damm’s office so I dashed after you. What on earth are you doing here?’
‘I . . . well, actually, I was asking for my old job back.’
‘I see. Ma told me you’d left Owen a few months back, but we’d no idea where you’d gone. We’ve both been desperately worried about you and your little one. Look, have you got time for a cup of tea? We’ve got a lot to catch up on.’
Greta looked at her watch. It was ten to four. She still had a couple of hours before she needed to be home.
‘On one condition.’
‘Anything you say,’ he said with a smile.
‘That you won’t tell your mother, or anyone,’ she emphasised, ‘that you’ve seen me.’
‘It’s a deal.’ David offered Greta his elbow. She slipped her arm through his and they walked companionably down the road to a nearby café.
While he was busy ordering a pot of tea for two, Greta lit a cigarette and wondered how much David knew about her departure from Marchmont.
‘So, where have you been hiding since you arrived in London?’ he asked her.
‘Near where I used to live, actually. Cheska and I share a small flat.’
‘I see. I understand you left Owen because of his . . . problem.’
‘Yes. When Jonny died, he fell apart completely.’
‘I was so very sorry to hear about the little chap’s death. It must have been heartbreaking for you.’
‘It was . . . terrible.’ Greta felt a lump rise in her throat. ‘And when Owen became violent I didn’t really have any alternative. I feel very guilty about leaving him in his condition, but what else could I do?’
‘Well, for a start, you could have come to me when you arrived in London,’ he admonished her.
‘Oh, David, after all you’d done to help me, I couldn’t ask you again.’
‘You should have. From the sound of things, my uncle doesn’t know what day it is. Glenwilliam, the solicitor, telephoned me to say he’s had a fall after a particularly heavy drinking binge and is now confined to a wheelchair with a fractured pelvis.’
‘Oh God, how awful.’ Greta stared guiltily into her teacup. ‘I should have stayed, shouldn’t I?’
‘No, Greta. You did the right thing. From what Glenwilliam has said, you and Cheska had no choice but to leave. How have you survived money-wise?’
‘I have . . . had a job, until this morning, but there was a disagreement with my employer and I left. That’s why I was at the Windmill, to see if they could offer me anything.’
David studied Greta across the table. Although she was still as beautiful as he remembered, he saw that her eyes were red from crying and she looked exhausted. ‘Poor you. You really should have come and found me here. You know I would have helped.’
‘It’s awfully sweet of you to say that, but—’
‘You thought I’d be angry because you married my uncle,’ he finished for her.
‘Yes.’
‘Well, before we go any further, I want to say that I don’t hold what you did against you in the slightest. Although I wouldn’t presume to know what your feelings for Uncle Owen were.’
‘I didn’t love him, David, if that’s what you mean. I was desperate, and he was very kind to me in the beginning,’ she replied with brutal honesty. ‘Having said that, I think he was using me, too. I’ve realised since that Owen only married me because he wanted an heir for Marchmont.’
‘Sadly, I believe there’s some truth in what you say. The thought of passing Marchmont on to me when he died was never something he was keen on,’ said David with a wry laugh.
‘You must believe that I didn’t know anything about all this when he started courting me. I’m quite sure your mother left Marchmont because I was marrying him. I feel very bad about that, too.’
‘Well, I’ve always thought there was something Ma hasn’t told me about her relationship with my uncle. But if it makes you feel any better, she’s perfectly happy living with her sister in Gloucestershire.’
‘David, I’m so sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused you and your family. You were so kind to help me and I just seem to have brought disaster on you all. Oh dear, why do I always cry when I’m with you?’
‘I don’t know whether I should take it as a compliment or an insult. Here.’ He handed her his handkerchief. ‘Now, on to happier matters, when do I get to see this . . . now what would she be? Er—’ He scratched his head. ‘Cousin, I suppose. Do you think Cheska is “once removed”? I’ve always wanted to have a “removed” relative!’
Greta giggled and blew her nose. ‘David, you don’t know how good it is to see you.’
‘And you, Greta. So, what are you going to do for money now you’ve lost your job?’
‘Try and get another one, I suppose. Anyway, tell me, how are things for you?’
‘Very good, as a matter of fact. Next week is my last at the Windmill. I have my own radio show on the BBC, and next month I begin shooting my first major film, at Shepperton Studios. I have a very nice cameo role playing a hapless card sharp. Always was rubbish at Snap,’ he said with a grin.
‘My goodness, that’s wonderful.’
‘I can’t complain, certainly. Look, why don’t you bring Cheska to Sunday lunch at my apartment? I’d love to meet her. My agent’s coming, too. We’re celebrating my leaving the Windmill and starting the film.’
‘We’d love to come, if it isn’t too much trouble.’
‘No trouble at all.’ He scribbled his address down on a piece of paper. ‘It’s just round the corner from here. I’ve written my telephone number down, too. If you need anything, Greta, please call me. After all, we are family, in an odd sort of way.’
‘Thank you. I’ll see you on Sunday, then.’ Greta stood up. ‘I have to go now. Cheska’s childminder gets worried if I’m late.’
‘Of course. Goodbye.’
After paying the bill, David made his way across the road to the stage door. As he entered his dressing room, he realised he was whistling. He stared at his reflection in the mirror and saw a brightness in his eyes that had nothing to do with his blossoming career.
It was because of Greta.
Fate had sent her back to him when he’d thought she was lost to him forever.
And this time, he wouldn’t let her go.
On Sunday Greta dressed Cheska in her best blue dress and tied a matching ribbon into her blonde curls.
‘Who are we going to see, Mummy?’ her daughter asked as they left the flat.
‘Your Uncle David. He’s a famous comedian, which means he’s very funny. He’s about to be in a film.’
Cheska’s huge china-blue eyes were round with expectation as they climbed aboard the bus, eventually alighting at Seven Dials. They then walked along Floral Street to the address David had given Greta.
‘Come in, come in!’ David greeted them warmly at the door. He bent down and
looked into Cheska’s eyes. ‘Hello. I’m your cousin, David, possibly once removed . . .’ He winked at Greta. ‘But why don’t you call me Uncle? That’s a beautiful dolly. What’s her name?’
‘Polly,’ said Cheska shyly.
‘Polly the Dolly. It suits her very well. Do you know, you’re beautiful, just like your mummy.’ He stretched out his arms to Cheska and lifted her up into them. ‘Follow me,’ he said, and the three of them went into the bright, airy sitting room, where a middle-aged man sat, drinking a whisky.
‘This is my cousin, Cheska, and her mother, Greta. Greta, this is Leon Bronowski, my agent.’
The man stood up and held out his hand to Greta. ‘My pleasure,’ he said, in a faintly foreign accent.
David settled Cheska on the sofa and took Greta’s coat. ‘What can I get you both to drink?’
‘A gin would be lovely, and some squash, if you have it, for Cheska.’
He went into the kitchen to organise the drinks.
‘Did you first spot David at the Windmill, Mr Bronowski?’ Greta asked as she sat down.
‘Please, call me Leon. And the answer is yes. He’s a very talented young man and will go far, I think. He tells me you used to work there with him?’
‘Yes, although it feels like a lifetime ago now.’
‘It’s a rare breeding ground for new talent. There are many ladies in the chorus who have gone on to become successful film actresses. That was your intention too, I presume?’
‘The arrival of Cheska rather stopped me in my tracks, but of course I had dreamed of it. Doesn’t every girl?’
Leon nodded thoughtfully as he studied Cheska. ‘Of course.’
Their host came back with two glasses.
‘Thank you. Here’s to you, David. Well done. You must be very excited about the film.’ Greta raised her glass.
‘I am. But it’s all down to Leon. If it weren’t for him, I’d probably still be slaving away at the Windmill, looking for my first big break. Now, excuse me whilst I see to the lamb.’
Shortly afterwards, David served up a very palatable roast, which the four of them ate at the table in a corner of the sitting room. Greta felt a glow of pride as she watched Cheska sit quietly as David and Leon discussed the latest showbusiness gossip.
As they drank their coffee after the meal, Leon’s glance fell once more on the child, who had left the table and was sitting cross-legged by the fire, looking through her favourite picture book, Grimms’ Fairy Tales, which Greta had brought with her.
‘Is she always this good?’ he asked.
‘Most of the time. She has her moments, as all children do.’
‘She’s very beautiful. She reminds me of a cherub with that golden cloud of curls and those wonderful eyes,’ mused Leon. ‘Have you ever thought of putting her into films?’
‘No. Surely she’s too young?’
‘How old is she?’
‘Just four.’
‘Well, Greta, the reason I ask is that the director of the film David is making at Shepperton is searching for a child to play the part of the heroine’s daughter. It isn’t a big role, just two or three scenes. Cheska looks like Jane Fuller, who is playing the part of the mother.’
‘Jane Fuller’s very beautiful,’ said Greta.
‘You know, Leon, you’re right,’ agreed David.
All three of them gazed down at Cheska, who looked up and gave them a sweet smile.
‘How would you feel, Greta, if I mentioned to the director that I knew a little girl who might be right for the part?’
‘I really don’t know.’ Greta looked at David. ‘What do you think?’
‘Well, if Cheska did get the part, her Uncle David would be there on set to keep an eye on her, wouldn’t he, sweetheart?’ he winked at the little girl.
‘Think about it, Greta. I’m sure I’d be able to secure you a position as her chaperone. The pay is good, and you’d be able to make sure she was well cared for. Of course, all this really depends on whether Charles Day, the director, thinks she’s suitable. And in any case, he may already have chosen a child. Time is running short.’
‘Well, I suppose it won’t do any harm for this man to see Cheska. I presume she’d be paid, too? Not that it’s that important, of course,’ Greta added quickly.
‘Absolutely. Why don’t I give Charles a call in the morning? See if he’s cast the part yet? If he hasn’t, I’ll fix up an appointment for the two of you to go and meet him.’
‘Yes, why not?’ agreed Greta.
‘Here’s my card. Give me a call around noon tomorrow and I should have some news. Now, I’m sorry to leave such delightful company so soon but, unfortunately, I have to go to the Dorchester to meet another of my clients.’ Leon rose from the table. ‘The luncheon was excellent, as always, David.’ He went across to Cheska and knelt down next to her. He held out his hand and she took it solemnly. ‘Goodbye,’ he said.
‘Goodbye, sir,’ she replied.
Leon stood up and chuckled. ‘She could melt the hardest heart. I think you just might have a little star on your hands, Greta. Goodbye, all.’
Greta and David took the dirty dishes into the small kitchen. David washed, while Greta and Cheska dried. They went back into the sitting room and Cheska climbed onto David’s knee at his beckoning, stuck her thumb in her mouth and promptly fell asleep.
Greta sat on the rug and watched him looking down fondly at her daughter. The wine she’d had with lunch, combined with the humidity of the day, had made her feel sleepy and relaxed. She yawned and stretched like a cat, feeling unusually peaceful. ‘It’s a lovely place you have here, David. No one would think it was right in the centre of London.’ She looked at him askance when he didn’t reply.
‘Sorry, Greta, I was in another world. What did you say?’
‘Nothing important. Just how peaceful it is here.’
‘Yes it is, isn’t it, although I’m thinking of moving. I’ve got some money in my bank account and my accountant has advised me to invest it in property. This place is only rented. I might look for somewhere on the outskirts of London. Growing up at Marchmont has given me a yearning for more space outside my front door.’
‘If I had any money I’d buy a big apartment in Mayfair with two pillars outside and a flight of steps leading up to the front door,’ said Greta dreamily, thinking of James’s house. ‘Now, I’m afraid I should be getting Cheska home and into the bath.’
‘Let me drive you, Greta. Cheska’s tired,’ David suggested as the child opened her eyes sleepily.
‘If you’re sure, that would be lovely.’
‘Do you want to come in for coffee?’ asked Greta when they pulled up outside her lodgings fifteen minutes later. ‘I’m afraid it’s not very luxurious.’
‘No, thanks. I have to go through the script for tomorrow night’s show. Do listen, if you can.’
‘Of course I will,’ she said, too ashamed to admit that she couldn’t afford a radio set. ‘Come on, darling,’ she added to Cheska.
‘Goodnight, Cheska.’ David bent down and planted a kiss on her cheek.
‘Goodnight, Uncle David. Thank you for the nice food.’
‘Any time, sweetheart. You were a pleasure to have as a guest. Call me when you know whether she and I will be working together,’ he added to Greta.
‘I will, and thank you, David. I haven’t enjoyed myself so much for ages.’
‘Remember: any problems, you know where I am.’
She nodded gratefully and disappeared inside.
15
The following day at noon Greta telephoned Leon’s office from a phone box. She had spent much of the previous night wondering whether it was right to allow Cheska to appear in a film at such a young age. However, if Cheska did get the job, she’d be able to spend much more time with her daughter than if she were out at work. And she knew how well films could pay.
‘Greta, thank you for calling,’ said Leon. ‘I’ve fixed up for you and Cheska to meet Charles Day, the
director, at ten o’clock tomorrow morning. If you give me your address, I’ll send my driver round at nine to take you to Shepperton Studios. It’s quite a trek by public transport.’
‘That’s awfully kind of you, Leon.’
‘Think nothing of it, my dear. And can I contact you at home when I’ve heard? They’ll make a quick decision because filming starts so soon.’
‘You’ll have to take my neighbour’s number. I don’t have a telephone at the moment.’
‘Right.’ Leon jotted down Mabel’s number and the address of the house. ‘If all goes well, I think you can allow yourself the luxury of having a telephone installed. You’ll need it. Put Cheska in the dress she wore on Sunday and tell her to break a leg.’
Greta hung up with a shiver of excitement. Cheska was standing patiently, waiting for her mother to finish the conversation. She swung her daughter up into her arms and hugged her.
‘How would you like to go and have our tea at Lyons Corner House?’
‘Yes please, Mummy!’ said Cheska, her eyes lighting up.
Greta was up bright and early in the morning. While Cheska slept, she washed and styled her own hair, then dressed in her best work suit. She went to wake Cheska, then made her breakfast and put her in the blue dress.
‘Where are we going, Mummy?’ Cheska had picked up on her mother’s excitement and the fact she was in her best frock once again.
The doorbell rang.
‘We’re going in a car to see a nice man. He might want to put you in a film, darling.’
‘Like Shirley Temple?’
‘Yes, darling.’
They climbed into the back of a big black car, Cheska’s eyes widening at the sight of its soft leather interior. As it drove through the streets of London and out into the leafy Surrey suburbs, the little girl listened as Greta told her she had to be on her very best behaviour.
The Angel Tree Page 14
