Triumph of the Shipyard Girls

by Nancy Revell

‘Well, that makes sense. You don’t want to wear the dress out, do you?’ She looked over at Rosie and forced a smile.

  ‘Now, let me give you the grand tour, ma chérie.’ She threw out her arm in the direction of a huge oak-panelled door that had been wedged open. ‘Come, let me show you where your sister spends hours hunched over her ledgers.

  ‘This,’ she said, walking into the room, ‘used to be the front reception room, but I decided I needed an office to do all the boring paperwork and correspondence that has to be done when one is a businesswoman.’

  Lily stood in the middle of the room and watched as Charlotte walked in and stared about her in wonder. There was the cherrywood desk – much bigger than she had expected – the floor-to-ceiling velvet curtains – gorgeous – a chaise longue that looked too beautiful to sit on, and the French marble mantelpiece. Amazing. It was just as Dorothy and Angie had described, only better.

  ‘Your big sister might have her nose to the grindstone most evenings,’ Lily winked at Charlotte, ‘but at least she is doing so in very plush – and, I hasten to add, very warm – surroundings.’

  Charlotte looked at the fire blazing away, then around at the magnificent room.

  Wait until she told Marjorie about this place! It was wonderful. So extravagant. So like Lily.

  Coming out of the office and back into the hallway, Charlotte looked up and couldn’t believe she hadn’t noticed the incredible fourteen-armed chandelier hanging from the ceiling.

  ‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’ Lily said, seeing Charlotte’s head tilt back and the look of amazement on her face. ‘Shipped over from Paris before the war, like so much of what you see.’ She sighed. ‘A reminder of a previous life.’

  Charlotte continued to gawp as she was shown into the kitchen. Even this was so unlike any kitchen she had ever seen before, with its long oak table, French armoire and huge pillar-box-red Aga.

  ‘Typically,’ Lily said, ‘it’s the kitchen where we all tend to gather.’

  She guided Charlotte back out into the hallway.

  ‘Although, this afternoon …’ she stopped outside a door at the end of the hallway ‘ … we are all in here.’

  She pushed the door open to reveal a room that made Charlotte feel as though she had stepped back in time. To the era of Louis XIV. It was all so French. Bow-legged, hand-carved furniture, vibrant gilt wallpaper, another chaise longue, another roaring fire.

  ‘Hi Charlie!’ Maisie and Vivian spoke in unison. They were standing next to a beautiful black baby grand, both smoking. Maisie’s cigarette was in a long ebony cigarette holder. She reminded Charlotte of a photograph she had once seen of a flapper looking incredibly sophisticated and glamorous. She just needed a feather boa and the image would be complete.

  The pair came over to give Charlotte a dainty kiss on both cheeks.

  ‘Welcome to our modest abode, hon,’ Vivian said in her best Mae West accent. She smiled and pinched Charlotte’s cheek affectionately.

  ‘But this is the best bit,’ Maisie said, taking Charlotte’s hand and walking her over to a three-tier cake stand taking centre stage on the coffee table, along with a china teapot and cups and saucers.

  ‘Wow!’ Charlotte’s eyes were out on stalks. ‘I’ve never seen such lovely cakes! Not even at Betty’s.’ She looked over at Rosie.

  ‘I know,’ Rosie said, smiling. ‘Come and sit down and I’ll pour the tea.’

  Charlotte did as she was told and sat down on one of the cushioned high-backed chairs, her eyes still darting about, enraptured by the whole decadent beauty of the place.

  Just then Kate came flying into the room.

  ‘Charlie!’ She flung her arms out, marched over to Charlotte and gave her a hug. ‘How lovely to see you! You’ve not been to the Maison Nouvelle for ages.’

  She gave Charlotte a quick once-over.

  ‘You’ll have to pop in when you get a minute. I’m sure we can get you fixed up with something a bit more …’ she looked guiltily over at Rosie ‘ … well, a bit more stylish.’

  ‘And where have you been?’ Lily had produced a fan and was cooling herself. She sat down in the chair furthest away from the fire and glared at Kate. ‘You’re always late,’ she admonished. ‘I hope that Alfie boy hasn’t been taking up your time.’

  Rosie looked at Kate, who had completely ignored Lily’s jibe. She still couldn’t work out if Kate was actually aware of Alfie’s infatuation with her, and if so, whether she was happy about it.

  ‘Well, it wouldn’t matter if he was taking up Kate’s time, would it?’ Rosie glared at Lily.

  George coughed and, with the aid of his walking stick, eased himself down into the chair next to Lily’s.

  ‘This is amazing,’ Charlotte said, looking at Lily before continuing to stare around the room.

  ‘Merci, ma chère, one does one’s best.’ Lily looked like the cat that had just got the cream.

  ‘Oh, chocolate cake!’ Kate said, looking at the selection of cakes on the porcelain stand.

  ‘Apparently, it’s eggless,’ Lily said, ‘but I was reassured it tastes just as nice. Rosie told me it was our guest’s favourite.’

  ‘It is! Thank you,’ Charlotte said.

  ‘Vivian, would you do the honours, please?’ Lily snapped her fan shut and pointed it at the tea and cakes. ‘Merci beaucoup.’

  ‘De rien,’ Vivian replied, although she still made the words sound American rather than French. She got up and started putting slices of cake onto plates and handing them out.

  ‘So, Charlotte,’ Lily said, settling herself into her chair, ‘tell us all about the Sunderland Church High School. Rosie tells me there’s no boys there?’

  Rosie glowered at Lily. ‘You know fullwell no boys go there. You were, after all, the one to tell Charlie all about the school, remember?’

  Lily took a sip of tea and waved away a plate with a slice of Victoria sponge on it.

  ‘I love it there,’ Charlotte said. ‘Much better than Runcorn. And I get to go home every night.’

  ‘No more beastly dormitories and bullies,’ Lily said.

  Charlotte nodded as she took a big bite of cake, savouring the taste of the chocolate.

  Lily looked at Charlotte. She had been allowed to visit her home – at long last. Lily had wanted to meet Charlotte the moment Rosie had told her about her little sister who was, to all intents and purposes, hidden away at some stuffy school in the middle of nowhere.

  That seemed a long time ago.

  Finally, everything had come right.

  ‘I’ve waited so long,’ Lily mused.

  Everyone looked at her.

  ‘Waited so long for what?’ Charlotte asked.

  ‘Dearie me, did I say that aloud?’ Lily looked around. ‘So long for you to come to visit me here – I was most definitely last on the list.’

  ‘Well, you know what they say, darling,’ George said, taking a puff of his cigar, ‘better late than not at all.’

  ‘And leave the best till last,’ Charlotte chipped in, taking another big bite of her cake.

  For the next hour everyone chatted away. Lily told Charlotte about her various business interests and George explained how they dabbled in the stock market, as well as about their decision to take a gamble investing in property. Charlotte listened, fascinated, asking lots of questions and declaring that she wanted to study economics when she went to university.

  Rosie saw Charlotte drinking up every word Lily uttered. If Lily suggested she study Swahili, she’d probably demand the school give her lessons. And, likewise, Lily’s attention was focused solely on Charlotte. Rosie had always been able to see through Lily’s brash exterior – the care and compassion she felt for her girls was transparent – but this was the first time she had glimpsed Lily’s maternal side.

  Maisie put on a record called ‘Stormy Weather’ and informed Charlotte that the singer was Lena Horne, adding that, in her opinion, she would have much more fun if she studied music and the arts.

  Charl
otte’s fascination with Lily was almost rivalled by the intense curiosity she had for Maisie and Vivian. She had never met two women who were so glamorous and so beautiful. She’d certainly never met a woman who was mixed race. She still found it hard to believe that Pearl was Maisie’s mother – and Bel her sister. They were all so completely different.

  By the time a second pot of tea had been made and consumed, Charlotte plucked up the courage to ask Vivian where in America she came from.

  Everyone had a good chuckle.

  ‘Oh, sweet pea, I hate to disappoint,’ Vivian drawled. ‘But my origins are closer to home. A hundred and seventy miles closer to home.’

  ‘She’s from Liverpool,’ Maisie informed.

  ‘The Wirral, to be exact.’ Vivian gave Maisie a mock scowl. ‘You southerners have no geographical knowledge of anywhere outside of Greater London.’

  Knowing that Charlotte was curious as to what they both did for a living, Maisie managed to weave into the conversation that she and Vivian ran the Gentlemen’s Club next door. When Charlotte asked exactly what a gentlemen’s club was, Vivian laughed loudly and explained it was where old men with lots of money went to escape their nagging wives.

  ‘Well, I don’t know about you all,’ George declared. ‘But I’ve drunk enough tea to sink a ship.’ He got up and went over to the drinks cabinet. ‘Anyone fancy joining me in a little tipple?’

  Maisie and Vivian declined.

  ‘We’ve got our dates this evening,’ Vivian drawled.

  Charlotte had a brief image of seeing them on Christmas Eve when they had been with two Admiralty officers.

  ‘Actually,’ Charlotte said. ‘I’ve also drunk enough tea to sink a ship. Do you mind if I use your toilet, please?’

  ‘Of course, ma chère, when nature calls … It’s upstairs. Second on the left.’ Lily waved her hand up towards the ceiling.

  ‘Go with her, Kate, s’il vous plaît.’ Lily looked over to Kate, who was flicking through a copy of Vogue. ‘We don’t want our guest getting lost.’

  Lily looked over at George, now taking the top from the decanter.

  ‘And yes please, my dear, I shall partake in a “little tipple” too.’ Lily sparked up a Gauloise, feeling celebratory. Her high tea had been a resounding success. Charlotte had seen the bordello, her curiosity was now satiated, and all her unasked questions had been answered.

  ‘Be back in a jiffy,’ Charlotte said, as she and Kate left the smoky warmth of the parlour.

  As they walked up the first flight of stairs, Kate looked at Charlotte in her drab daywear. The girl needed a little help in the wardrobe department and she was the one to give it.

  ‘I’ve got a pattern for a skirt that I think might suit you,’ she said. ‘Let me get a picture of it and see if you like it.’ Kate hurried up to her attic room, which was now more dressmaker’s studio than bedroom.

  Charlotte used the bathroom, washed her hands with lavender soap and gawped at the bidet and the huge roll-top bath.

  When she came out, though, Kate had still not come back down.

  She stood looking at the long landing.

  There seemed to be a lot of rooms.

  She did a quick count.

  Six.

  Presumably all bedrooms.

  She wondered why Lily didn’t have more lodgers.

  She certainly had the room.

  I wonder what they’re like inside. Bet you they’re as magnificent as the rest of the house.

  Charlotte took two steps along the landing and stood outside the door to the nearest bedroom.

  She looked down at the round brass doorknob.

  It was so shiny she could see a distorted reflection of herself in it.

  She put her hand on it – obliterating her image.

  She knew she shouldn’t. It was rude to snoop around someone’s house, wasn’t it?

  But still.

  Turning it gently, she opened the door just enough so that she could pop her head through the gap.

  Just a little peek.

  It wasn’t really being nosy, was it?

  ‘Found it!’ Kate’s voice sounded out as she hurried back down the stairs.

  Charlotte jumped and quickly pulled the door shut.

  ‘I knew I had it somewhere!’ Kate said, waving the paper packaging of the pattern, which had a picture of a woman posing in a chic-looking skirt.

  Two minutes later the pair were back downstairs and had rejoined the tea party.

  Chapter Twenty

  Harrogate

  1936

  ‘So, what I plan to do,’ Rosie explained, ‘is get Charlotte a place at the Runcorn School for Girls.’

  Rosie and Mrs Rainer were standing in the kitchen watching Charlotte and Mr Rainer in the chicken coop at the bottom of the garden.

  ‘That sounds like an excellent idea,’ Mrs Rainer said.

  She hesitated.

  ‘I’ve heard it’s meant to have a good name for itself. And from what I’ve seen with my own eyes, its pupils always appear very well behaved whenever I see them out in town.’

  She put her teacup back on the saucer.

  ‘And it’s apparently had some quite famous alumni.’

  There was that word again.

  Seeing Rosie’s blank look, Mrs Rainer explained, ‘Former pupils.’

  ‘Really?’ Rosie was curious.

  Mrs Rainer rattled off a few names, none of which Rosie recognised.

  ‘Although,’ Mrs Rainer looked at Rosie, ‘I would assume, because of its high standing, it would be quite costly to send Charlotte there.’

  ‘Mam and Dad had a little bit put away,’ Rosie explained. ‘I think it was money Mam’s parents left her when they died. I don’t think they spent much of it. Mam always said it was our “rainy day” money. And, well, I guess, that rainy day has come.’

  ‘Well, like I said, I think it’s an excellent idea.’

  Rosie could tell that, as she’d expected, Mrs Rainer was relieved she would not have to look after Charlotte full-time, but she understood. She didn’t blame her. She was getting on. Mrs Rainer had always been her mam’s ‘old’ friend. She wouldn’t want to be running about after an energetic eight-year-old day in, day out. On top of which, Charlotte could be a handful. As the younger child, she’d been given much more leeway than Rosie growing up and had used it to her full advantage.

  ‘So, if Charlotte can just come and stay with you during the holidays?’ Rosie asked.

  ‘Of course she can, my dear. We’d love to have her.’

  ‘Obviously I’ll come and visit her as much as I can,’ Rosie said.

  Their attention was caught by Charlotte charging down the garden path.

  She burst into the kitchen, her face full of wonder.

  In her cupped hands there was a single white egg.

  Charlotte’s excitement about the freshly laid egg and the chickens scratching around in Mr and Mrs Rainer’s back garden waned somewhat when Rosie sat her down and explained that she was going to remain with the Rainers for a little while, until she was able to start at the Runcorn School for Girls.

  Charlotte cried and cried when Rosie told her that she had to go back to Sunderland but would come and visit as much as she could. As Charlotte continued crying, Rosie told her that she had to be brave.

  ‘I don’t want you to be a crybaby when I’ve gone, do you hear?’ Rosie said. She felt cruel saying it, but she knew Charlotte had to harden up if she was to survive on her own.

  ‘I’ll visit you as much as I can,’ she said, trying to reassure her. ‘And we can write to each other all the time. Every day if you want to.’

  Rosie took hold of her sister’s hand.

  ‘I’ll always be here for you. Always. You remember that, all right?’

  Rosie pulled her close and gave her a cuddle.

  ‘You still up for a trip to Betty’s before I go back?’

  Charlotte nodded through the tears.

  Thankfully, the trip into Harroga
te town centre distracted Charlotte and cheered her up a little. As did their arrival at Betty’s Café. Neither of them had seen the like. Their mam had taken them to the tea rooms in Binns, but even that didn’t compare to this Aladdin’s cave of all things scrumptious. But, despite the splendour, and the delicious cake, it was Rosie who had to fight the overwhelming urge to cry like a baby as she felt her heart breaking, knowing she had to leave her little sister behind.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Friday 5 February

  ‘Georgina, please come in!’

  Helen stood up and strode across her office, hand stretched out.

  ‘Sorry for sounding so informal, but I’m afraid I don’t know your surname?’ Helen took her visitor’s hand and shook it. It was cold and felt fragile.

  ‘It’s Pickering,’ Georgina said. There was nothing fragile about her voice, though. ‘But, please, call me Georgina. I’m rather averse to being called Miss.’

  Helen guessed Georgina Pickering could have been no more than twenty, although she dressed like someone much older.

  ‘Oh,’ Helen said, pulling out the chair in front of her desk for Georgina to sit in. ‘I didn’t realise you are related to Mr Pickering?’

  ‘Yes, I’m his daughter,’ Georgina said, sitting on the proffered chair and putting her handbag on the floor. As she did so, she noticed a marmalade-coloured tomcat eyeing her from its basket next to the heater.

  ‘Well, that’s a surprise.’ Helen went over to the tea tray that had, as usual, been placed on top of one of the tall steel cabinets. She poured them each a cup. ‘My mother just presumed you were Mr Pickering’s secretary.’ Helen handed Georgina her tea.

  ‘Don’t worry, it’s a common assumption,’ Georgina said, taking a sip, then putting the cup and saucer down.

  ‘Forgive me if I sound like I’m in any way doubting your abilities,’ Helen said, ‘but I assumed, as the firm is called Pickering & Sons, that I would be dealing with either your father or your brothers?’

  Georgina gave a smile that in no way reached her eyes.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘I’ve become quite used to people casting aspersions about my “abilities” to do the job because of my gender. One becomes used to it after a while.’ Georgina looked about the office. ‘I’m sure it’s something you yourself have had to endure – and probably still have to – being a woman in what is intrinsically a man’s world?’ Georgina knew she was being a little precocious, possibly bordering on a tad out of turn, but she didn’t care. She hadn’t liked Mrs Crawford and was doubtful she would like her daughter much more.