“That’s excellent news, thank you Lily. In that case, Miss Hopkins, welcome to our exquisite demi-monde.” With a last lingering look, he turned away. A few steps later, he paused, to turn back to Lilian. “On stage in ten minutes, yes, darling?”
“Whatever you say, Vernon.” Lilian touched her fingers to her painted lips and blew a kiss in Vernon’s direction. He winked in return and then returned to the back of the room, near the bar. Evelyn watched him go, thinking he was rather fascinating but also quite an unnerving presence in their group. She was actually rather glad he had not stayed, however much she was intrigued by him.
“Vernon never changes, does he?” James asked, a hint of annoyance in his voice.
“Can’t see why he should,” Lilian retorted.
“I think the word is incorrigible, James, darling,” Dorothy added. Evelyn was not sure whether she referred to Vernon or Lilian.
“What did he mean by demi-monde?” Evelyn asked, thinking of Vernon’s last words.
“It’s nonsense,” James replied dismissively. “It means half-world in French.”
“So typical of Vernon,” Lilian said, apparently enjoying James’s exasperation.
Dorothy smiled a seductive, knowing smile. “James is right, it does mean half-world, if you translate it literally. But it means a good deal more than that. It means a world that is not quite part of the respectable world you know. It means a world that admits our parents were wrong and there’s something more to strive for. It means that drink and fashion and making love are all important in the pursuit of draining what life has to offer, of living in all the ways that can be lived. It means looking for that something more that you know is there but can’t quite reach.” Dorothy concluded, still smiling, then licked her lips and winked at Evelyn.
Evelyn stared, transfixed, into Dorothy’s dark eyes, part entranced by the alluring words and part confused by their implications. These seemed like decent people, yet Dorothy’s words suggested something altogether deeper and more subversive was at play. Dorothy did not drop the eye contact and Evelyn wished she could question her further, try to understand what Dorothy was telling her.
“Oh, Dorothy, don’t tease!” Lilian exclaimed. Evelyn relaxed, and Dorothy turned her attention to the drinks, still on the tray where Vernon had deposited them. She handed the glasses around. Evelyn contemplated her own drink with consternation. Dorothy had placed a tall goblet in front of her, filled to the rim with sparkling clear liquid and ice. It was decorated with a slice of lime, a sprig of mint, and a bright red cherry. She caught a perfumed, dangerous aroma from the glass.
“Aren’t you going to try it, Evie?” Lilian asked, taking a sip of her own cocktail. Lilian’s drink was a startling yellow colour, in a conical glass with a long stem. Dorothy’s looked a lot like Lilian’s, and James’s a lot like her own, despite her having heard them order distinctly different cocktails. She wondered if she should’ve trusted Lilian to order for her. A glass of water would have been safer.
“Oh, of course I am,” she replied to Lilian, trying not to appear nervous. She picked up the cold glass and took a very small sip of the drink. The cold hit her first, followed by the bitter sting of lime, balanced quickly by the perfume of the gin. It was cool and refreshing as it slipped over her tongue and down her throat. Slowly, savouring the taste, she smiled.
“I think you ordered well, darling,” Dorothy told Lilian.
“I can always guess what someone will like,” Lilian replied. “It’s a gift I have.”
“Well, thank you,” Evelyn said, before taking a rather larger gulp of her drink.
“Don’t you think you should be heading for the stage now?” Dorothy said to Lilian. “You can’t always keep Vernon waiting. Besides, it looks like the band are about to be ready.”
“Yes, yes. You’re such a nag, Dorothy, dear. But you’re right, of course. It’s a hard life, being the star of the show. I’ll see you all later.”
“Break a leg,” James replied, as Lilian got to her feet with a swirl of beads and embroidery, making her way toward the low stage area in the centre of the cafe.
“We tease her, but she really is rather good,” Dorothy confided in Evelyn. “Just don’t ever let on that I said so.”
Evelyn turned to the stage, eagerly anticipating Lilian’s performance. As she waited, the perfume of the gin teased her taste buds and she reached for another cool sip.
“Steady on with the gin, Evelyn!” came from James, at her side. For some reason, his tone rather annoyed her. If she wanted to swallow the whole of the cocktail in one go, surely that was her prerogative. She took another small sip, to make the point, then returned the glass to the table without looking at James. Just as she began to feel that she had perhaps been a little rude, Vernon was centre stage, Lilian at his side.
Vernon approached a device Evelyn had never seen. He bent his head slightly to speak into the metallic box on a stick and, miraculously, his voice echoed around the room, so much louder than its natural level. “Ladies and gentlemen, I hope you’re all having the most wonderful evening. It’s time for me to present one of the most rarefied beauties the Yellow Orchid can offer to you, my honoured patrons. Ready here in her glad rags to delight you with her top-notch warbling, I give you Miss Lilian Grainger.”
“How is he so loud?” Evelyn asked James, as Lilian stepped forward, nodding her gratitude for the ripple of applause.
“Vernon’s had the place equipped with all the latest developments, you might be sure of it. The microphone’s what makes it so loud—all the American singers are using them now. And thank goodness, since it means my dear sister doesn’t have to burst her lungs trying to project to the back of the room!”
Before Evelyn could reply, the band began to play. A broad-backed man in a black tuxedo ran his hands over the keys of the piano, playing an upbeat melody, supported by a tall man with a clarinet. Another man played a small set of drums. Quite suddenly, another tune merged seamlessly with the established flow of the music, as a young man with brown hair lifted the tone with his trumpet. The syncopated rhythm filled the cafe, sweeping Evelyn along. She could not help but tap a foot. The music was like nothing she had heard before, more jovial, more liberated than she’d ever heard a band play. Lilian’s red-lipped smile was broad as she stepped up to the microphone and waited for her moment to sing.
“If only I could fall in love…” The first line echoed into the room, jaunty and teasing. The song, it seemed, was not really about wanting to fall in love but a light humoured parody of those who did.
Lilian’s voice had a richness Evelyn had not expected. She swayed in time with the music, a constant swirl of sparkling, swinging beads and crystals. Her face came to life when she sang; now she was casting a flirty look at a man close to the stage, then she was winking conspiratorially with a woman to her right. She smiled into the microphone, sharing the exuberance of her performance with everyone in the room. Evelyn could not help but be captivated. Lilian, who seemed so breezy and shallow, connected with every word and emotion in the songs she sang, be they comic or sentimental.
After her opening number, Lilian sang two slower songs, both about lost loves and lingering memories. As she sang the last note of the second, she looked down at the floor, then raised her big green eyes to gaze into the distance as the tune trailed off quietly, and Evelyn could imagine she was dreaming of a true love, far away. Lost perhaps. It was not surprising really. Their generation was accustomed to loss. Caught in the emotion, Evelyn began to understand the sentiment Dorothy had expressed. Life had to be lived in the aftermath of so much loss. Only they, the young people, could understand that. Even if it did mean doing things their parents would not have dreamed of.
As if to prove the point, the next song was perhaps the most upbeat and full of life of any Lilian had performed so far. Apparently carried away with the music, as she sang, Lilian danced on the spot, stepping forwards and backwards, kicking her legs from the knees, moving her
hands. She was perfectly in time with the music, though it looked odd to Evelyn to see a woman dancing in such a risqué way, and on her own. To see a woman so filled with confidence in herself, dominating a room, was something she was unused to. It filled her with hope. She’d heard there was a spirit of anything goes in London, and now she started to believe it was true. What options would be open to her here?
Dorothy leaned over to speak to her. “How do you like our very own Ruth Etting then, darling?”
“Oh, I think she’s marvellous!” Evelyn replied.
Lilian was still dancing, the band playing an interlude in her song.
“Did they Charleston back home?” Dorothy asked.
“Charleston?”
Dorothy nodded her head towards Lilian. “That rather hotsy-totsy little jig she’s doing. Do you not dance in Devon?”
Evelyn flushed a little. Dorothy’s tone was teasing but Evelyn did not like to be reminded that she was an outsider in this world she was rapidly growing to wish she was a part of. “Of course we dance. Only the military two-step isn’t quite like what Lilian’s doing.”
Dorothy laughed. “I think it’s marvellous she can do that and sing at the same time. A talented girl. Of course, when she’s edged, she’ll be bound to demonstrate even if she’s not onstage!”
Lilian’s song ended, and Vernon appeared onstage to offer her another cocktail, which he presented with showy gallantry, making a bow as he gave it to her. One or two of Lilian’s audience called out jokes. Lilian grinned mischievously at those who did, took a large swallow of her drink, and handed the glass back to Vernon, dismissing him with a brief wave of her hand, to even greater merriment on the part of those watching. Lilian clearly adored the attention and she knew how to keep it.
Now she spoke into the microphone, her voice unnaturally loud in the room. “You’re a simply top-hole audience. I need to thank Vernon Singleton for asking me to sing here again. He clearly recognises a good thing when he sees it, eh, Vernon?” There was a small cheer from the crowd, who seemed to respond to Lilian’s energy, loving her even when her vanity came to the fore. “For my last song, I’m going to sing a song that I think is the cat’s pyjamas. And I think it’s time you pushed some of those chairs out of the way and danced! When I finish, the band will keep playing. So sip your giggle water, take the hand of whoever’s near you, and dance!”
With her final word, the band struck up again, playing a song clearly written to be danced to. Bouncy and jovial, the words Lilian sang were secondary to the rhythm. And that rhythm spread around the room infectiously, with many couple sliding their chairs to the side and dancing. All of them danced the swivelling, twisting movements Lilian had been performing herself. Evelyn watched, fascinated.
“Don’t feel like a dance yourself?” Dorothy asked her.
“I wouldn’t know how.” Evelyn found she regretted the fact.
“It’s not hard to learn. Ask Lilian to show you. It really is super good fun.”
“I’m sure.” Evelyn wondered if she could make her joints move in the way the dancers were managing. She hoped so.
Dorothy had not finished. “You know, Evie, it’s funny, you being here really makes me see what a performance this all is. Our lives. There’s nothing we do that you can’t learn. How awfully shallow we all are! Isn’t it just shocking?”
“I suppose so.” Evelyn was not really sure how to respond to Dorothy, who seemed intent on offering philosophical interpretations of their day-to-day existence with rather alarming consistency. Evelyn had never known anyone to think so much about the way they lived their life as Dorothy seemed to.
Lilian’s song finished just as Evelyn drank the last of her cocktail, reluctant to drain the glass. It was difficult to say if the gin was affecting her, since she didn’t usually drink gin and she wasn’t really sure just how it was supposed to affect her. She was looking down at her empty glass and assessing if she felt anything different when Lilian returned to the table breathless, her face flushed pink, her skin damp with perspiration, and her eyes shining.
“Brava, my dear,” Dorothy said, without any great enthusiasm.
“Marvellous as ever, Lilian. Sometimes it surprises me you’re my sister.” This was James, whose praise did not sound wholly approving.
“Thank you, both.” Lilian beamed at them and turned to Evelyn. “Well, Evie, what did you think?”
“I found it extraordinary,” Evelyn said, before realising that Lilian might misunderstand. “I mean, you were wonderful, but I’ve never heard anything like it either, so it was also, well, enlightening, I suppose. I’d love to hear more.”
“Oh, you’ll have plenty of chances for that, don’t worry,” James said, good-naturedly. “She sings at every opportunity.”
“I don’t blame her. It must feel just wonderful to be up there, to have everyone in here watching you and dancing with you.”
“Oh and how! You just don’t know until you’ve tried it, Evie!” Lilian spoke loudly, clearly still filled with the energy of her performance.
“I don’t think I’ll ever try anything of the sort. I can’t perform.”
“Oh, fiddlesticks! Everyone can perform in some way. I bet you can sing.”
Evelyn was surprised Lilian didn’t view singing as a unique talent of her own. “Not really. I mean, I used to sing with a choir at my school, but that was years ago now, I was just a girl.”
“Well then, perhaps I’ll give you singing lessons, darling. I love to teach.” Lilian seemed quite taken with her idea.
“Don’t believe her, Evelyn,” James warned. “I once watched her trying to teach our young cousins to speak French. She reduced two perfectly decent children to tantrums in less than half an hour.”
“Hush, brother dear. I’m not offering to teach her French and she’s not ten years old. This is entirely different.”
“That remains to be seen.”
Evelyn smiled, understanding that James was teasing his sister. Something about their relationship made her think of Edward, and a shock of loss and pain made her catch her breath.
“Anyway, you’re scaring Evie,” Lilian declared, glancing at Evelyn with something like concern in her expression. “How about we get more drinks?” She suited the action to the word, standing up and waving across the cafe. “Yoo-hoo, Vernon, dearest? Same again over here, please!”
Evelyn followed Lilian’s gaze and saw Vernon roll his eyes and give a wearied nod of acquiescence. She watched him disappear behind the bar, stopping briefly for a word with a group of people gathered close to the back of the cafe, where a door led through to what Evelyn supposed were the private rooms of the building. The three people laughed good-naturedly and one responded, although Evelyn could not hear what was said. However, her attention was drawn to the speaker. She leaned closer to Lilian, as she settled back in her chair, and gestured towards the back of the room. “Who is Vernon talking to?”
Both Lilian and Dorothy peered in the direction Evelyn indicated. They seemed delighted that Evelyn was showing curiosity in the people in the room. “Which one?” Lilian asked.
“The one who looks ever so much like Vernon. That’s why I’m asking.”
“Aha! You mean Jos, darling,” Dorothy told her.
“Of course. No wonder you’d notice her. She does look a lot like Vernon. They’re twins.”
“She’s his sister?” Evelyn was a little surprised since, from this distance, the person in question had seemed more likely to be Vernon’s brother. Her hair was short, not slicked back as her brother’s but certainly cropped in a masculine style. She was in white shirtsleeves and a light tweed waistcoat, a loose blue cravat at her neck. Evelyn did not express her surprise.
“Yes. Jos Singleton, who is eleven minutes older than Vernon. She’s an interesting one,” Lilian said.
“How so?” Evelyn was already interested, but there was something more implied in Lilian’s tone.
“Now, Lilian, be nice. Just because you’re
not her best friend, there’s really nothing wrong with Jos.” Dorothy smiled indulgently at Lilian, then turned her attention to Evelyn. “Jos is what you might call a free spirit. I rather admire her for it, honestly. She’s like her brother but with a little more integrity.”
“You really should give Vernon more credit,” Lilian protested.
“I’ve known him longer than you, darling,” Dorothy retorted.
“I don’t know why you’re always defending him, Lilian,” James put in. “And his sister’s just as bad, if you ask me. It’s not really cricket, is it?”
“I don’t think we did ask you,” Lilian replied.
“Oh now, James, darling, are you worried she’ll steal all the pretty girls away from you?” Dorothy teased.
Evelyn tried to follow their conversation but found herself growing ever more confused. She turned her gaze back to Jos and her two companions. One was a woman in a striking red dress, the fabric so sheer over her shoulders that the shadowy outlines of her collarbones and the valley between her breasts were visible. Although she was seated, Evelyn could see the glimmer of silver embroidery on the bodice of the dress. Her short chestnut hair was styled in immaculate waves and decorated with an ornate silver comb and red feathers. Her skin was strikingly pale, her lips coloured unnaturally red.
This striking woman was seated very close the person at her side. At first, Evelyn had assumed she was holding the arm of a man. The white tuxedo jacket, stiff-collared shirt, and black tie seemed to make it obvious. However, as she looked again, she realised she’d been mistaken. The shoulders were too narrow, the jawline too smooth. It was obvious when she looked directly at the woman’s face, she was certainly no man. And yet her attire was masculine in the extreme, far more immaculate and sharply tailored than Jos Singleton, a few feet away. In addition, her dark blond hair was cut in a severe short style.
Fragile Wings Page 8
