As she passed Simpsons Confectionery a Thornton’s poster caught her eye, reminding her of the chocolates left at the stage door by American servicemen. She felt a warm blush on her cheeks. She had quite a few American admirers. They were harmless enough. Most of them were very young. Some, like so many British servicemen, didn’t look old enough to go to war. She passed a newspaper stand. “AT LAST THE YANKS ARE HERE” and “IKE WILL SHOW HITLER”. Almost every week for the last two and a half years the newspapers had reported on the US situation. One week the Americans were on their way to help Britain, the next the war in Europe was nothing to do with them. But since the Japanese attack on the US naval base at Pearl Harbour in December 1941 the country was slowly becoming flooded with American servicemen. Margot stifled a giggle. They didn’t leave flowers like the English stage door Johnnies, they left silk stockings, chocolate and sweets, which they called candy. The girls preferred stockings to flowers. The American boys – GIs, they were called – could be a bit loud and sometimes made cheeky comments during the show, but they were harmless, and they were very generous.
Margot was miles away when she felt someone touch her arm.
‘Excuse me, Miss Dudley, can I have your autograph, please?’
Margot turned to see a young woman standing at her side. ‘Yes, of course. What’s your name?’
‘Doreen. Doreen Adams.’ The girl dove into her shopping basket and brought out a programme.
‘Oh, you’ve seen the show. Did you enjoy it?’
‘Yes,’ the young woman gushed. ‘You’re my favourite. Well, you and Miss Jewel. She’s very beautiful, isn’t she?’ the girl said with a sigh that was almost a swoon.
‘Yes, she is. She’s very nice too.’ Margot took a pen from her handbag. ‘To Doreen, best wishes, Margot Dudley. There you are,’ she said, returning the programme.
‘Thank you ever so much.’ The young woman made no attempt to leave.
‘Was there something else?’
‘Well.’ She cleared her throat. ‘I was wondering if you’d take the programme and ask Miss Jewel to sign it for me. I’d go to the theatre and ask her myself, but I’ve got to meet my mother at Lyons Corner House. She doesn’t like it if I keep her waiting.’
‘Of course I will. I’ll ask her as soon as she comes in. I’ll leave it for you to collect at the stage door. Will that be all right?’
‘Oh yes.’ The excited young woman handed over her programme, said goodbye, and skipped off.
Margot turned, dropped the programme into her bag, and walked in the opposite direction. Who would have thought it? Me, Margot Dudley, signing autographs. It wasn’t the first time, of course. Every night there were at least a dozen people at the stage door with their programmes. And each time she wrote her name was as exciting as the first time. “Dreamer”, they used to call me at school. “Margaret is a bright girl if only she concentrated.” “Margaret could do better.” The head mistress wrote that, or something similar, on her school report every year. Well, Miss ‘Pinky’ Pinkerton, I think you would agree that I have now done better!
Margot looked at her wristwatch – it was almost six. If she didn’t get a move on she’d be late for tea with Nancy. Tonight was a big night. Nancy was performing a new song at the end of the show – a love song that had been written specially for her – and it was beautiful. Most shows ended with an uplifting number which was meant to distract the audience from the death and destruction going on all around them. That wouldn’t be the case tonight. Tonight there wouldn’t be a dry eye in the house.
Nancy had taken Margot under her wing, helped her and given her confidence when she took over from Kat – as she had when she took over from Goldie. Margot smiled, remembering how Nancy and Lena had helped her to learn Kat’s routines and dances so that when Richard Smiley auditioned her she was good enough to get the job and take over Kat’s roles. Now, with no sign of the war ending, there were fewer classical dances and more comedy acts and sketches, which were more fun.
Margot couldn’t remember a time when she’d been happier. She loved the hustle and bustle of London. She loved the apartment, she loved Bill, and she loved her job. Life was perfect. Or as perfect as it could be considering the country was at war and the city she lived in was bombed every night. Grateful that she lived in the West End, not the East End, she turned into Bedford Street and quickened her step.
As she approached Maiden Lane, Margot heard the explosion. She began to run, but an ear-shattering second explosion stopped her in her tracks. It was close. She looked around. Nothing. She looked up at the roof of the bookshop opposite the theatre. The impact of the bomb had cracked the ornate pillars of the Juliet balcony on the third floor. As if in slow motion they began to sway. It was as if they couldn't make up their mind whether or not to fall. Suddenly flames filled the window between the pillars. Red hot and smoking, they licked at the window frame until, distorted and grotesquely misshapen, it gave way. Frozen with fear, Margot watched as the window blew out, showering Maiden Lane with shards of shattered glass. She brought her focus back to the Lane. There was a taxi parked outside the theatre. Bert came running out. Margot screamed and waved hysterically. ‘Bert! Go back inside!’ She looked up at the bookshop’s roof again. The pillars had started to buckle. ‘Bert!’ she screamed. ‘Bert!’ Get back! The roof! It’s going to come down!’
Bert couldn’t have heard her because he kept running. Seconds later the pillars crashed to the ground. Huge lumps of masonry landed on top of the taxi, the impact crushing it until the windows bowed and burst out. Several large lumps of brick and mortar fell on the bonnet. One bounced, flew through the air and hit Bert on the side of his head. The old doorman’s body jerked and for a second he stood perfectly still. Then he closed his eyes and slid to the ground.
‘No!’ Margot screamed. ‘No!’
In her haste to get to him, Margot stumbled and fell. ‘Damn!’ Her right leg became entangled in steel wire sticking out of a block of plaster. She ripped it from her ankle, tearing the flesh and exposing the bone. Slates were falling, hitting the ground, splintering, and cutting her already bleeding legs. She didn’t care. ‘Bert!’ she screamed, and she dropped to her knees to help the old man. ‘Bert?’ He wasn’t moving. A large lump of plaster lay on his chest. Margot knew not to move it; it could cause internal bleeding. Blood flowed from his right temple. She couldn’t bear it. Where was everybody? She got to her feet. ‘Help! Someone help!’
She could hear hammering coming from the stage door. She didn’t want to leave Bert, but she needed to get him help. She ran to the door and pushed. It was stuck. She pushed again and again until finally it gave way and Mrs Horton, followed by Miss Lesley, came running out.
‘It’s Bert,’ Margot said to Miss Lesley. ‘I think he’s dead.’
‘What about Nancy?’ Mrs Horton asked.
‘Nancy?’ Margot turned towards the taxi. ‘No, no, no. No!’ she screamed. ‘Please God, no!’ Her beloved friend was in the passenger seat. She had been there all the time. Margot ran to her. Most of the glass in the window had gone. Nancy was leaning on what was left. Her arm hung from her shoulder at a strange angle. Margot knelt until her face was level with Nancy’s and pulled on the door, cutting her hands on what remained of the window, but the door wouldn’t open. ‘Oh Nancy.’ Margot stroked her hair. It was sticky, reddish-brown and matted with blood. Her face was white, translucent like alabaster, and her eyes were staring and sightless. There was a trickle of blood at the corner of her mouth and another on the lobe of her ear.
Margot opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came. The pain in her throat was excruciating and threatened to choke her. She looked into the unseeing eyes of her friend and fell to her knees. Somewhere deep inside her the pain rose and strangled screams burst from her. ‘Get her out! Get her out! Get her out! She’s stuck. Nancy’s stuck inside. Won’t somebody help her?’
Bill, suddenly at Margot’s side, tried to pull her from the taxi.
‘Bill? Why-- how--?
’
‘I was on my way to Tommy’s when I heard the explosion.’
‘You’ll help Nancy, won’t you, Bill? You’ll help her?’
‘Of course I will, love, but you must let go of the door. Come on, sweetheart, the ambulance and fire brigade are here now. If we move away they’ll be able to get Nancy out of the taxi.’
Margot shook her head vigorously and gripped the door even harder. The man standing beside Bill was holding a pair of cutters. ‘You be careful!’ she said. ‘Don’t hurt her!’
The fireman turned to Bill. ‘Get her out of here, will you, mate?’
‘Come on, sweetheart. There’s nothing you can do here.’
‘I’m not leaving. I’m staying with Nancy. She’ll need me when--’
Bill put his arms round her and held her tightly from behind, so she was unable to move. ‘Nancy’s gone, love,’ he whispered. ‘There’s nothing you can do for her. Come away now and let the fireman do his job.’ Margot shook her head and tried to break free. Bill tightened his grip. ‘She’s gone, Margot!’ he said, firmly. ‘She’s gone!’
‘No!’ Margot cried. ‘Please, Bill,’ she begged, ‘say it isn’t true.’
Bill prized her hands from the door of the taxi and Margot spun round. She beat her fists against his chest and Bill held her until she wore herself out, emotionally and physically. With her head resting on his shoulder and her body limp and moulded to his body, Bill looked down at her tear-stained face.
A minute later he was carrying Margot to the ambulance. ‘Emergency,’ he said. ‘My wife has lost consciousness.’
The headlines read FANS KEEP ALL NIGHT VIGIL OUTSIDE HOSPITAL.
‘Can she hear me?’ Bill asked.
‘We can’t be sure in cases like your wife’s.’
Bill? I can hear you, Margot wanted to say, but only tears came. Bill sounded concerned, worried. She could feel his hand on her arm. Another man was speaking, but she didn’t recognise his voice. She didn’t know who he was, and she didn’t care. They were talking about her as if she wasn’t in the room.
The other man said, ‘It’s shock. We’ve given her a thorough medical and apart from the cuts on her hands and legs – and of course her ankle – there’s nothing physically wrong.’
Her mouth was dry. She was thirsty. She tried to lick her lips.
‘Doctor? My wife moved,’ Bill said, stroking Margot’s hair. ‘She tried to open her mouth.’
‘Bill?’
‘I’m here, love.’
Margot felt wet cotton wool on her lips. She tried to suck the moisture from it. ‘Bill,’ she said again, opening her eyes, and then closing them against the light.
She heard a rustle of fabric and what sounded like curtains being drawn. ‘It’s a lovely day,’ a cheery female with a Southern Irish accent said, ‘but the sun’s shining directly into your eyes, and we don’t want that now, do we?’ When Margot opened her eyes again, the blinds were closed.
‘Where am I?’
‘You’re in hospital, sweetheart.’
‘Hospital?’
‘Yes. But there’s nothing to worry about,’ Bill said, dabbing gently at her tears.
Margot tried to sit up. ‘Here, let me.’ The Irish nurse helped Margot to lean forward and slipped a pillow behind her back.
‘Thank you.’ Margot closed her eyes. The small amount of effort had tired her.
Bill pulled up a chair and sat beside the bed. He thanked the nurse as she left.
Margot opened her eyes at the sound of Bill’s voice, smiled, and closed them again. When she woke, Bill was still there, his hand on her arm.
Margot tried to move, but couldn’t. ‘My legs feel numb. They’re stiff. And my right ankle hurts. What’s the matter with my legs, Bill?’
‘They’re bandaged. There’s nothing to worry about. You got tangled up in some rusty wire and they were cut pretty badly.’
What little colour there was in Margot’s face drained away.
‘They’re on the mend,’ Bill said.
‘Doctor says when he’s finished with you,’ the nurse said, returning with fresh water, ‘you won’t even have scars.’
‘Scars?’ Margot looked at the raised quilt over her legs. ‘What’s the matter with my ankle?’
‘Badly sprained,’ the nurse said. ‘But it will be as good as new in no time. Right! Let me know if you want anything.’ She plumped up Margot’s pillows. ‘I’m only outside, at the nurse’s station.’
Margot watched the nurse leave the room. Then she turned to Bill. Tears filled her eyes. ‘Nancy’s dead, isn’t she?’
Bill nodded. ‘I’m so sorry, Margot. There was nothing anyone could do…’
‘How’s Salvatore? Have you seen him?’
‘Yes. He’s been in to see you every day since--’
Exhausted, Margot closed her eyes. She was asleep in seconds.
She had no idea how long she’d been asleep. The sun was no longer on the window, so an hour, maybe two, had passed. Bill was speaking quietly to someone. She opened her eyes to see Salvatore standing in the doorway. He was shaking Bill’s hand. Was he leaving? She didn’t want him to leave. ‘Salvatore? Don’t go.’ Margot pushed herself up to a more comfortable position and motioned to the chair at the side of the bed.
‘Dear Margot, I am sorry we woke you.’ Salvatore came to her and sat in the chair. Bill stood behind him.
‘You didn’t.’ Margot choked back her tears. She wouldn’t cry in front of Nancy’s fiancé. His loss was far greater than hers. She would be brave for him, and for Nancy.
‘How have you been?’ she asked, and then said immediately, ‘Sorry, that was a stupid question, forgive me.’
Salvatore shook his head. ‘Not stupid, Margot. You could never be stupid.’ He didn’t speak for a minute. Then he said, ‘The light in my world has gone out. It is as if the last five years were make-believe. As if I was living in a beautiful and loving dream that turned into a dark and lonely nightmare.’ Tears spilt onto his cheeks.
Margot laid her bandaged hand on Salvatore’s arm and at the same time Bill squeezed his shoulder. Salvatore half turned to acknowledge the gesture. ‘I am like a machine. I get up as soon as it is light, and I walk the streets until it is time to go to work. When I finish at one, two o’clock in the morning, I go back to my apartment. The apartment where my beautiful Nancy and I were going to live when we married.’ Salvatore buried his head in his hands and wept.
Margot didn’t know what to say. It was Bill who broke the silence. Looking at Margot, he said, ‘Never having lost anyone I love, I can only imagine how you must be feeling. If there is anything I can do, my friend, anything at all...’
Margot looked at Bill, fighting to hold back the tears.
Salvatore nodded. ‘Thank you, Bill. Everyone says once the funeral is over, there is closure. I don’t want closure. I want my beautiful Nancy.’
Margot spoke softly. ‘When is Nancy’s funeral?’
Salvatore took a short sharp breath and put his hands up to his face. He turned to Bill.
‘What? Salvatore? Bill? What aren’t you telling me?’
‘The doctors said you weren’t well enough to go to Nancy’s funeral,’ Bill said, ‘and I agreed.’
Margot shot him a fierce look. ‘Are you telling me I’ve missed Nancy’s funeral?’
‘Margot, the doctors were right. Bill was right. You were too ill to attend,’ Salvatore said.
‘When was it?’ Margot asked, looking straight ahead.
‘Yesterday.’
‘I see. I’d like you both to leave now.’
Salvatore stood up and moved away. Bill took his place. He bent down and kissed her. ‘Get some rest, sweetheart. I’ll be back in the morning.’
‘Good. You can bring my black suit and black court shoes with you.’
‘Court shoes? What for? You can’t wear heels. You can’t walk in slippers, so how--’
‘High heels, low heels, I don’t care. There’s a pai
r of flat shoes somewhere. Bring them if you like.’ Margot looked squarely into Bill’s eyes. ‘I am going to Nancy’s grave tomorrow. I won’t stay long. I’ll come straight back. But I am going, and that is that!’
Salvatore’s smile told Margot that he understood her need to see her friend’s grave. ‘Goodbye, Margot. I will see you soon.’
A little later, Bill was despatched with a list, promising to call on her hairdresser on the way home and arrange for her to go to the hospital and wash and set Margot’s hair.
No sooner had Bill gone than Betsy and George arrived, followed by the doctor and nurse.
‘Did you see Bill on your way out?’
‘Yes. He’s worried that you’re not up to--’ George looked at the doctor. ‘So are we, aren’t we, Bets?’
‘Nothing to worry about, ladies,’ the doctor said, cutting in on the conversation. ‘A couple of weeks and Miss Dudley will be on her feet and dancing the light fantastic.’
‘Did you hear that, Margot?’ George asked. ‘A couple of weeks.’
‘I’m going to Nancy’s grave tomorrow and that’s all there is to it.’
The doctor spun round. ‘I’m afraid you are not going anywhere tomorrow!’
‘Yes I am. I am going to the grave of my friend – with or without your permission.’
The doctor picked up Margot’s notes and flicked through them. ‘It seems the patients are running the hospitals these days.’ He handed the notes to the nurse and looked down at Margot. ‘If anything goes wrong with your ankle and you’re not able to dance again, don’t come crying to me.’ He shot a look at the nurse, who nodded in agreement, and he left the room.
‘Doctor’s right, you know,’ the nurse said. ‘You could undo all the work he’s done. You could end up crippled for the rest of your life, if you’re not careful.’
‘Then I’ll be careful.’
‘You’ll have to go in a wheelchair.’
Margot wrinkled her nose and frowned.
With her hands on her hips, the nurse stood her ground. ‘If you want to leave the hospital, Miss Dudley, we can’t legally stop you. But doctor won’t let you out of this room unless you’re in a wheelchair. It’s up to you!’
Applause (The Dudley Sisters Saga Book 2) Page 15
