by June Tate
Later that evening, the man from the estate agency came into the Solent Club and asked for Gloria. When she walked over to him, he smiled at her. ‘Are you free?’ he asked.
She couldn’t refuse him as she needed the money.
Once in the room he removed his tie and shirt then said, ‘I have a proposition.’
‘And what is that?’ she asked.
‘I’ll tell you after,’ he said as he removed his shirt and trousers.
Eventually, he lay beside her and said, ‘After you left my office this morning I thought I could solve your problem of finding a workshop. I have a nice flat on my books; it has a large front parlour that would be admirable for your needs.’
‘But I couldn’t afford a flat,’ she protested.
‘You wouldn’t have to. I’ll pay the rent, you can use the room and live there and I’ll be free to visit you when I want to. I’ll treat you well, give you money and look after you. What do you say?’
‘You don’t understand!’ Daisy retorted. ‘I want to give up this way of life. I want to be Daisy Gilbert, seamstress, not Gloria, whore!’
He chuckled quietly. ‘Daisy, so that’s your real name. I find that rather sweet and you wouldn’t be a whore, you’d be my mistress.’
She got off the bed and started dressing. Looking at her would-be benefactor she said, ‘Mistress? It’s just a different name. I’m sure you meant it kindly, but no thanks.’
‘If you change your mind, you know where to find me,’ he said and he too started to get dressed before paying for her services.
Sitting at the bar later, Daisy thought about the man’s offer, knowing that several of Flo’s girls would have jumped at the chance of being a man’s mistress as opposed to working in the club, but that wasn’t what she wanted. She wanted a normal life back. And that was no way to get it.
Sixteen
It was a further two weeks before Daisy heard any news about a room to rent, but one morning there was a letter on her mat from a newsagent saying he’d one advertised and she hurried off to see it.
The room was large and at the back of a shop with its own side entrance. It was in decent condition and large enough for her needs. The shopkeeper said it was surplus to his requirements and he would welcome a rental for its use. Daisy was thrilled as it was just what she was looking for.
They chatted about the going rate, but after her experiences, Daisy was now a hardened businesswoman and she managed to bargain for a better price than he was asking. Eventually they shook hands on the deal and she arranged to take it over a week hence.
As she walked away she felt as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. At last she could put the past behind her and get back to the work she loved, but there was a lot to be done, meantime.
She visited a place that sold second-hand treadle sewing machines and purchased two. She bought a long foldaway table and asked for it to be delivered when she opened and she then contacted Agnes.
The two girls met after Agnes finished work to plan the new venture.
‘You’ll have to give Madam a week’s notice,’ said Daisy, ‘and we may not have any work for a short time, but Mrs Portman said she’d come and bring her friends. I’ll get in touch with my private clients and meantime make a few things to show people when they call.’
‘Oh, Daisy,’ cried Agnes, ‘how exciting. I can hardly wait! It’ll give me great pleasure to leave London Road. I really hate it there now; the atmosphere is so bad in the workroom and Madam Evans seems so bad-tempered all the time. But then she’s lost business since you left.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that but that was her own fault,’ said Daisy. ‘She paid for her mistake.’
‘You can contact the ladies who have left her,’ Agnes suggested.
‘I don’t know where they live.’
‘I can get that information for you,’ said her friend with some glee. ‘I have my book of measurements and inside are the clients’ names and addresses. I’ll bring it round on Sunday if you like?’
‘That would be lovely,’ said Daisy with a broad smile. ‘After all it’s not like I’m pinching them from her if they’ve already left.’
‘Exactly!’
After the girls parted, Daisy rushed home to share the good news with her mother.
‘That’s wonderful news,’ said Vera. ‘When do you open?’
‘I take over the shop in a week’s time and Agnes will be joining me. She’s giving me addresses of some old clients and Mrs Portman in Brockenhurst said she’d come so I must let her know. Hopefully it won’t take too long until we start making money.’
‘I’m delighted for you, love,’ said her mother, but her enthusiasm was somewhat muted.
Knowing her mother as well as she did, Daisy was certain that Vera was remembering how she made her money which enabled her to do all this, but that was unfortunate and her mother would have to learn to accept the fact. Nothing was going to spoil her happiness at achieving her goal.
That evening at the club, Daisy spoke to Flo and told her she would be leaving at the end of the week. She decided to see the week out which would earn her a bit more money to go into the kitty. After all, she had nothing to lose now and it would be more money to buy materials for the new garments.
Flo Cummings was astonished at the news. ‘Why are you leaving?’ she asked.
‘I’m going back to my sewing, but this time I’m working for myself!’
This put Flo in a dilemma. Whatever she’d said to Daisy about not now being any different from the other girls, wasn’t strictly true. She was still of value to her, but on the other hand, she loved the clothes that Daisy had made for her and being a woman proud of her appearance she was torn between a business loss but a more personal gain.
‘Well this is a surprise,’ she told Daisy. ‘However your heart and soul was never in this game, but you are a superb seamstress; I wish you good luck. If I come to you, will you take me on as a client?’ She was uncertain of the response.
‘Why not, Flo,’ said Daisy, ‘after all as you’ve said to me many a time, business is business!’
Flo Cummings burst out laughing. Whatever Daisy might think, these past months had made her a shrewd woman, so it hadn’t all been a waste, even though she really wasn’t cut out to be a whore.
‘Let me know where you are and when you open and I’ll be round.’
‘I’d better warn you, Flo, I’ll be expensive!’ said Daisy with a sly smile, which only brought forth more laughter.
‘I wouldn’t expect anything else,’ laughed Flo. ‘You’ll do all right, girl. You’re made of the right stuff and have the talent to go with it.’
Daisy then went over to Harry and told him she’d be leaving and why. The barman beamed from ear to ear and he gave her a big hug. ‘That’s the best news I’ve had for a long time, girl. I couldn’t be happier for you if you were my own daughter.’
At the Manor House in Brockenhurst, the atmosphere was completely different. Grace Portman stood by the large window, holding a telegram in her hand, staring across the vast grounds, yet seeing nothing. Her mother, visiting for the day, bustled into the room.
‘The vicar has left a note about the church bazaar,’ she said, ‘and he wants you to get in touch with him before the weekend.’
Grace didn’t move. ‘Hugh’s dead!’ she exclaimed.
Victoria Hargreaves stared at the rigid back of her daughter and asked, ‘What do you mean, he’s dead?’
Turning round to face her mother, she held out the telegram. ‘He’s dead, killed on active duty.’
Her mother took the telegram and read it. Then enfolding Grace in her arms she said, ‘Oh, darling, I am so sorry.’
But Grace didn’t cry. She strode angrily across the room. ‘Stupid fool! That’s typical of Hugh, so gung-ho about everything. He couldn’t wait to go to the front with his men. I wanted a baby but all he would say was, “We’ll wait until the war is over, darling, then we’ll start a family”. He
wouldn’t be moved on the subject – and now it’s too Woody late!’
And the tears began to flow.
‘I longed for children. Had we had one at least I’d have something of his to hold. Now there is nothing. Nothing!’
Victoria poured a glass of brandy from the side table and gave it to Grace. ‘Here drink this, you’re in shock and it will do you good.’ But her mind was racing. There would be a funeral to arrange … but would her son-in-law’s body be sent home she wondered? She’d ring her husband and ask him to come over. Grace would need all the help she could get to help her through this terrible time.
The news of Daisy’s departure soon spread among the clientele of the Solent Club and she was kept busy during her last few days. But this time as she took each man to her bed, she counted every penny equating it to another roll of cloth or a batch of patterns to be bought for her new business.
The more gentlemanly of her punters voiced their regret at her leaving, but some took delight in using her and treating her like a meal to be devoured, greedily. She smothered the hate in her heart for such men and counted the pennies. But deep down she despised and regretted what she had become.
When at last she said goodbye, the girls who had been furious at her for taking some of their punters were more than pleased to see her go, but dear Harry was quite emotional about her leaving.
‘I wished you had never come here in the first place, love, but I’m really going to miss you. I’ll call in and see you from time to time, if that’s all right with you. Just to make sure you’re alive and kicking.’
She gave him the address of her workshop and said, ‘You come any time you like. I shall miss you too, so make sure you call in often.’
As she walked home, there was a definite spring in her step. From this moment her past would be put behind her. Once again she would be Daisy Gilbert, seamstress. How great that felt. She only wished she knew where Steven was so she could tell him her good news. He was the only man she would remember. He had been so kind and thoughtful when he paid all that money to take her virginity. He had made love to her with great tenderness and she had felt safe in his arms … after that didn’t really bear thinking about.
As she rounded a corner, she collided with a man. It was so unexpected, she screamed in fright.
‘It’s all right, Gloria, it’s only me.’
As she looked into the cold eyes of Bert Croucher, her legs began to shake.
‘I hear you’re leaving the Solent Club?’
‘Yes that’s right,’ she said, trying not to show her fear.
‘Shame,’ he said. ‘I really wanted to be with you, but Flo wouldn’t let me. Don’t suppose you and I can come to some arrangement?’
Daisy’s stomach turned at the thought. ‘Sorry, Mr Croucher, but those days are behind me now,’ and she tried to walk past him, but he caught her by the arm.
‘If you change your mind, call into the shop.’
She pulled her arm away. ‘I am no longer in that business,’ she said and hurried away. She wanted to run, but she could feel his gaze following her so just walked quickly, hardly daring to breathe until she reached her house and let herself in. Once safe in the confines of her home, she leaned against the wall until her limbs stopped shaking.
‘You all right, Daisy?’ called her mother from the kitchen.
‘Yes, I’m fine,’ she answered as she took off her coat. She sat in the chair and lit a cigarette, a habit she had acquired when working. It used to calm her down and she really needed calming after her encounter with the butcher.
‘You look a bit pale, are you sure you’re all right?’ asked Vera as she walked into the living room.
‘Yes, Mum. I’ve been rushing that’s all.’
‘I’ll make you a cup of cocoa before you go to bed. I expect you’re looking forward to your new business?’
Daisy smiled. ‘Not half! I can’t wait until the morning. My sewing machines arrive, and the patterns and material. Agnes and I’ll clean the place and then the next day we can start making a few garments. I’ll write to my old clients and the ones that have left Madam Evans, then I’ll write to Mrs Portman and tell her the good news. She promised to bring me lots of trade.’
But when Daisy’s letter arrived at the Manor House, it was put aside with others from people who had written to Grace with their sympathy at her loss. She’d opened one or two but couldn’t face the others and they had been put to one side – Daisy’s among them.
Seventeen
Daisy and Agnes worked all day long, washing down walls and paintwork, scrubbing floors and arranging the sewing machines in the best place and putting the table up, ready to start cutting out garments the following day. Then Daisy sat and wrote letters to various clients, stopping to mail them on the way home. Tomorrow the sewing would begin.
The next two weeks passed quickly as Agnes and Daisy worked non-stop, making garments for display. Despite advertising in the local paper and writing to her previous clients, orders were slow coming in and Daisy began to worry. She’d budgeted carefully. She had enough money to pay Agnes’ wages and the rent for the premises for three months, but after that if they didn’t have much business – she was in trouble.
One or two of her private clients called and ordered something, but she’d heard nothing from Grace Portman, which was a surprise. Grace had been so enthusiastic about her starting up and Daisy had relied on her promise of customers.
Grace had been occupied. The army had sent the body of her husband home and she and her parents had a funeral to arrange. Clara Portman, her mother-in-law, a controlling woman, had tried to take over the arrangements, but Grace would have none of it.
‘I’m more than capable of arranging my own husband’s funeral,’ she informed her, sharply. There was no love lost between the two women.
Clara had not been pleased at her son’s choice of bride. At the time of their engagement she’d said to Charles her husband, ‘The girl may be good looking, but she’s strictly middle class!’ She had hoped that Hugh would choose one of the daughters of her lady friends who came from the upper echelon of society, not a mere general practitioner’s daughter! And the fact that her daughter-in-law had a rod of steel running through her, enough to show her independence and run her own life, had not sat well with Clara Portman and now she was pushed out of arranging the funeral.
Hugh was buried at the local church with full military honours, his coffin draped with the Union Jack with his hat and medals on the coffin beside Grace’s flowers. On seeing this Clara was infuriated.
‘Our flowers were put with all the others, not on the coffin where they should be!’ she complained to her husband, who remained silent at her outburst. Charles Portman liked his daughter-in-law and was secretly full of admiration for the way Grace handled his difficult wife.
Giles Bentley walked up to Grace as she left the church. ‘I’m so terribly sorry for your loss, Grace.’ And he tucked his arm through hers. ‘If there is anything I can do, you only have to ask you know.’
His closeness was comforting. Giles was an easy man to be with. He seemed to have a capacity to be there at the right time, quiet and yet with a presence.
‘You can come to my rescue at the wake,’ said Grace. ‘I’m dreading it.’
‘I’ll come to the rescue when I think you need it, will that do?’
‘That would be wonderful.’
The Manor House dining room held a splendid buffet with which to feed the mourners. The cook had worked extremely hard to do her late employer proud and Clara, prepared to be critical as she walked into the room after the funeral, had to admit that the buffet was excellent.
Grace coped well with the guests, and Giles, as promised, stepped in to rescue her from overzealous mourners, but as the time wore on she wished they would all go home, including her mother-in-law. She said as much to Giles, so he walked her through the crowd and out into the garden. He fetched her a glass of sherry and they both sat down at the
top of the steps leading to the garden.
‘Here, drink this,’ he said. ‘It will do you good. Everyone will be going soon and then you can breathe. You’ve done very well; Hugh would be proud of you.’
‘And you have been my knight in shining armour, coming to my rescue. Honestly some people are so depressing. I know it’s a funeral but …’
He chuckled softly. ‘Ah well, some do like to play Uriah Heap at such times. It’s like a drama to them.’
‘But I wanted them to tell me about Hugh when he was alive – to share their memories and some did of course, but so many were full of doom and gloom. One woman came up to me like a black widow spider and in a sad voice asked me how I was feeling. I said I was fine as long as no one asked me! Thankfully you honed in on those and came to my rescue.’
‘I could always tell by the expression on their faces,’ he explained.
Grace drank the sherry and stood up. ‘I’d better go and play my part,’ she said. And he let her go.
Her own mother, Victoria, came over to her and asked, ‘How are you holding up, darling?’
‘I’ve really had enough; I just wish everyone would go. If I have to listen to Clara much longer there may be another funeral to arrange! She keeps telling me what to do with my life now that I’m a widow and how the responsibility of running Manor House and all that goes with it is too much for me. Dear God! Who does she think has been running it since Hugh went away?’
‘Ah well, dear, Clara wants to get her fingers in the pie again. You be careful she doesn’t want to move back in and take over.’
‘Over my dead body! Oh Lord, what a terrible thing to say, today of all days! She hated moving out when we got married, she wanted to remain the lady of the manor, but it was Hugh’s father’s decision for Hugh to take over and run the estate when he retired. He said he wanted to enjoy what was left of his years. I bet the old trout gave him a hard time over that decision.’
