Читать книгу A Christmas Gift - Ruby Jackson - Страница 7

As always the house was in darkness when Sally let herself in and locked the front door. She smiled. Did they really think she did not know they were lying awake? She longed to tell them about Sebastian. How would her father react when he heard that a real film star, who had appeared in a film actually shown by his projector, had driven his daughter home from London?

Next morning she woke up to the sorrowful realisation that she had grown up overnight. She knew that she was about to lie to her parents. Never before had it occurred to her to lie; it had never been necessary. Sally brushed her hair until her head ached but she felt no better about her deception. At the breakfast table Ernie was unimpressed by her tale, glad that his daughter had been delivered home safely, but only the arrival on his doorstep of the King or perhaps, Mr Churchill, the Prime Minister, would have impressed him.

‘And what about Mr Staines, love? Why didn’t he bring you home as he promised?’

No matter how hard she tried, Sally knew she was blushing. She prepared to lie, hoping that most of what she was about to say was the truth. ‘Mr Staines knows Ivor Novello, Dad, actually knows him. I was introduced to him.’ She held out her right hand. ‘Look at that hand. Ivor Novello shook it.’

Her father did not seem enthused by either the story or the hand and so Sally rattled on. ‘There was a party, and I was invited too but I knew you and Mum would worry. Sebastian was there, one of the cast, and he offered to drive me home.’

‘Very nice, I’m sure.’

‘It was kind, Ernie, wasn’t it?’ Elsie put a plate in front of Sally. ‘Eat up, pet. We didn’t expect you up for breakfast – thought you’d take advantage and have a nice, long lie-in. You can tell Dad and me all about the evening when we get back from church.’ She walked over to the stove and picked up the fat brown teapot. ‘I noticed you caught your evening cloak on a nail or tack; I’ll mend it and give it a good brush today.’

Sally had no remembrance of having snagged her beautiful cloak but she readily gave her mother permission to mend it. Elsie Brewer, like Daisy and Rose’s mother Flora Petrie, was an expert with a needle and thread.

‘I’ll have to hurry, Mum. I want to meet Daisy and Rose before church; they’ll want to hear everything.’

Sally was anxious not only to tell her friends everything that had happened the previous evening but also to ask for advice as to what to do. The thought of returning to the theatre and Elliott Staines made her feel physically ill.

‘You cannot let him spoil your career, Sally. Tell him hands off or your father will be there to see him.’

‘I haven’t told Dad, Daisy; that really would be the end of my career.’

The twins looked at her and then at each other. ‘Sam,’ they said together.

Sally was aghast. ‘I can’t tell Sam. Besides, where is he?’

‘No idea, but you could put a picture of him on your worktable or whatever you have in a theatre. He’d make two of your Elliott. Accept no more invitations – if he’s got the courage to ask you out – and mention Sebastian every so often. You know, a few words like, “You’ll never believe what Sebastian said about …” and mention any big name you can think of. He’ll stay clear, honest he will. He doesn’t want to offend the big boys.’

Deep inside, Sally hoped that she would see Sebastian again, but he had said nothing about keeping in touch. Meeting a gorgeous actor and being driven home by him was a fairy tale. Once upon a time she had believed in fairy tales but she was now quite grown up.

Sally kept her friends’ hints in mind when she returned to the theatre. Elliott, suffering from a headache, brought on, he insisted, by winter sun glinting at him through leaves, had remained at home.

‘He’s a martyr to it, poor lamb. I’m afraid it makes for more work for you, Sally dear. Will you read Elliott’s lines to Archie?’ the director asked.

Sally picked up the script. Reading lines was certainly a step up from typing out a new copy. The character being played by Elliott was – surprise, surprise – an ageing roué and Sally wondered if she dared try to change her voice. She could sound a little like a young man; an aged man was harder and her efforts might not be appreciated. Last time she had tried characterisation she had been told firmly, ‘Just read the bloody lines, love.’

It was the nearest Sally got to real acting that week and was not a bad way to spend an afternoon. Archie Everest, better known to theatregoers as Giles Wentworth, was what was termed ‘a reliable actor’ and he was certainly better than Elliott and a great deal quieter.

‘Dad’s at the cinema, pet. Did you have a good day?’ When Sally arrived home she found her mother in the kitchen doing the family ironing.

Without Elliott’s presence, Sally’s day had been much better than she had expected. ‘Super, Mum, I had to read one of the parts. It was really interesting and Archie Everest is such a good actor. He gave me—’ She stopped in mid-sentence. ‘Oh, you’ve got my cloak. Where was the snag? I certainly don’t remember catching it but the theatre was so crowded.’

Elsie put down her iron. ‘Never mind the snag. Just guess what I found in the lining?’ She reached up to a shelf above the cooker where several commemorative cups sat and took down one she had bought when the family visited the Empire Exhibition in Glasgow the previous year.

‘Look.’ She held out her hand.

‘You’re joking, Mum. That must have come from a Christmas cracker.’

‘When did you ever see something like that in a cracker, love? I almost ironed over the top of it. There’s a hole in the right pocket of your cloak. I think it slipped through and one of the stones must have caught on the lining. Otherwise it could have ended anywhere, in a gutter, down a drain.’

Sally was still staring in awe at what appeared to be a gold ring set with three large red stones, each surrounded by tiny white sparkling stones.

‘Rubies and diamonds in real gold, Sally.’

Sally shook her head. ‘They can’t be real, Mum.’

‘The lady who gave that cloak to charity could afford rubies and diamonds. We’ll have to find her and give it back, love.’

Sally sat down at the table. ‘Rubies and diamonds. Gosh. If they’re real it must be worth a fortune.’

Elsie looked at the tiny diamond in her engagement ring. ‘Daddy saved up for four years for this, Sally. Forty pounds it cost. The insurance man said we’d need to insure it for …’ Elsie stopped as if the enormity of the amount was too shocking. ‘Near two hundred, love,’ she whispered, ‘and that’s for one diamond and there’s twelve in this ring. Put it on. You’ve got ever such lovely hands and I’d like to see it on before we go to the police station.’

Sally slipped the ring on to her right hand and admired both the ring and her carefully manicured nails. ‘Sets it off nicely, but, Mum, we’ll be quicker going tomorrow to the second-hand shop. I’ll go on my lunch break. They’ll know who brought in the cloak.’

Ernie would have liked to get rid of the ring straight away. ‘That’s worth a fortune, Sally, and I don’t want it in my house. What kind of woman doesn’t know she’s lost a valuable ring?’

Neither his wife nor his daughter had the slightest idea how to answer that question.

‘I’ll put it in the safe at the cinema. Be better there.’

‘But I won’t be able to get it from you and take it to the shop, Dad. No one knows it’s here. It’ll be safe for one night.’

As usual Sally had her way and next day, carrying her packed lunch, she took the ring back to the shop. Neither Maude nor Fedora was on duty. Sally deliberated about speaking to the sole person there today. She had a relationship of sorts with the other two women; she trusted them. Her mind went back and forth. Of course, this woman was bound to be honest or Fedora would not have hired her. Therefore she should tell her the story of the ring. But she could not help thinking that this situation was almost like something one would see in a film. She would hand over the ring and the woman and the ring would disappear.

Sally smiled at her own foolishness.

‘I bought the most beautiful evening cloak here,’ she started.

‘We don’t take back sold items.’

The words were uttered so forcibly that Sally’s original plan changed immediately. ‘I’m thrilled with the cape. I wanted, if possible, to thank the lady who donated it.’

‘We don’t discuss our sponsors but you can be assured that our quality items come from only the finest homes. We have actually dealt with a titled gentleman recently.’ She stopped abruptly as if she realised she was being too talkative.

‘Of course, but do thank him and his wife,’ said Sally with a beaming smile as she turned and hurried from the shop. She knew exactly who would know where any local aristocrat lived.

Petrie’s Groceries and Fine Teas had been dealing with every stratum of Dartford society for as long as Sally had known them. She waited only until her family and, she hoped, the Petrie family had eaten their evening meal before hurrying over to the familiar flat above the shop to speak to her friend Daisy, who worked full time in the grocery.

Ron, the Petries’ youngest son, opened the door. ‘Well, if it isn’t Margaret Lockwood herself. How’s the world of bright lights, Maggie?’

Sally laughed. ‘The girls in, Ron?’

‘And where else would they be on a weeknight? Go on up. Rose is washing her hair but everyone else is in the front room listening to the wireless.’

A few minutes later, Daisy and Sally were in the kitchen, the door firmly shut against intruders.

‘Well, what do you think of that?’

Daisy gazed at the ring. She tentatively stretched out a hand towards it.

‘Try it on; it’ll be too big but watch how it sparkles.’

Daisy slipped it on and gazed in awe. It was much too big for her petite hand, but when she held it up the stones contrasted prettily with her green eyes and short dark hair. ‘Is it real? It can’t be real. It looks like something the Queen would have.’

‘Dad thinks it’s real and of course I have to return it. The owner must be frantic, poor woman. I would be, wouldn’t you?’

They were silent for a moment as they stood silently, just watching the stones sparkle as light hit them.

‘I want you to help me find the owner, Daisy, because she must be a customer.’

‘Sorry, Sally, our customers can’t afford diamonds and rubies. We sell cheese and porridge oats and tinned peas. Rich people don’t eat porridge.’

‘Perhaps they don’t, but they drink fine teas.’

The friends sank back in their chairs as this truth hit them.

‘You do some of the deliveries, Daisy.’

‘I can’t tell you customers’ names, Sally, and certainly not their addresses.’

Sally sighed and Daisy recognised it, for once, as a genuine note of unhappiness. Sally was capable of showing a whole host of feelings, one after the other.

‘I wish I could help but the business is built on trust.’

‘Golly, I’m not going to steal something. I want to give this back.’

‘Take it back to—’ began Daisy.

‘I did. That was the first idea but it didn’t feel right and I just have this strange feeling that it’s really important for me to return it in person.’

As with the sighs, Daisy was familiar with the feelings. ‘There’s the bathwater going. Rose is coming. Put the kettle on while I tell Mum we’ll bring the cocoa in to them.’

Sally did as she was bid. They had enacted this scenario countless times over the years: the twins with Sally and sometimes their friend Grace, drinking cocoa in the kitchen, discussing great secret matters while their parents and brothers remained out of the way. Rose, Daisy’s non-identical twin, wearing a well-worn pink fluffy dressing gown, which was a bit short with her height, and a very damp towel round her long, wet corn-coloured hair, joined them.

‘Hello, I thought I heard the door. You don’t mind if I dry my hair in here?’ She carried on as Sally agreed. ‘How was the first day back? Did you skewer the old toad?’

‘He’s ill.’

‘I bet. No doubt the gorgeous Sebastian warned him off. Are you seeing him again?’

‘Get in front of the fire, Rose. Mum’ll explode if she sees your hair dripping all over the floor.’ Daisy plonked down a chair for her sister. ‘Show her the ring while I make her some cocoa, Sally.’

The next few minutes were taken up with much trying on and oohing and aahing over the ring.

‘It has to belong to—’

‘Ouch, Daisy. That hurt. And what’s the harm in telling Sally? She’s hardly likely to burgle the place; she wants to take the ring back.’

‘Yes, and the way to do it is to return to the shop, speak to the Fedora lady and get her to contact them. Keep your dad happy by letting him put it in the safe, Sally. Fedora whoever will telephone them – they’re bound to have a telephone – and one careless owner will tell her to instruct you to bring it out. Who knows, maybe she loves theatre and you’ll become friends and she’ll help you in your career.’

‘You are silly, Daisy, but maybe that is the best way. I’ll handle it tomorrow.’

‘Phil and Ron will walk you home.’

‘What on earth for? They’ve never done it before.’

‘Because, Lady Griselda, thou art wearing the family jewels.’

‘Who’s the actress here, Daisy Petrie? But you’re right. I’m off and I’ll tell you what happens.’

Nothing ‘happened’ for several days and then one lunch hour, Maude was standing outside the shop waving frantically.

‘Has Fedora managed to talk to them?’

‘At last. Come in and we’ll tell you. You’re a very lucky girl. Proves that doing the right thing is … the right thing.’

Sally looked at her watch and decided she had just enough time to speak to the ladies and still be at the theatre ready for rehearsal. ‘Very well, but I mustn’t be late.’

Maude ushered her into the shop.

‘Dear Sally,’ Fedora walked over from the counter where she had been making a display of donated hats and gloves. ‘I have some wonderful news for you.’

‘You’ve spoken to the owner?’

‘Two days ago and Sally, you are such a lucky young woman. The ring is yours.’ She stopped talking but her beaming smile told Sally how pleased she was.

‘Sorry, but this doesn’t make sense. I bought the cape …’

‘As far as the owner…the former owner is concerned, you also bought everything that was in the cloak, too. It’s yours, Sally, legally.’

‘What about his wife?’

Fedora reached a supplicating hand towards Maude. ‘Maudie, you tell her.’

‘It’s an age-old story. A young man buys a ring for his wife whom he loves. A year later she decides that she no longer loves him or anything he gave her. She walked out leaving almost everything behind, clothes, jewellery etcetera.’

‘But she probably didn’t know that the ring was in the lining.’

‘Trust me, Sally, she doesn’t care. As far as he is concerned the ring means nothing to him either. He values it at less than you paid for the cloak. He was surprisingly rude about that.’

‘That makes no sense. It’s obviously valuable.’

‘Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, young woman,’ Fedora said sternly. ‘As far as the shop is concerned, the subject is closed. Now you’d best hurry.’

Sally stood speechless. Even the words ‘thank you’ refused to come. She turned and almost ran from the shop. The ring was hers but did she want it? It meant heartache, at least for the husband. Would she think of his broken dream if she were to wear the ring?

Work, she decided. She would get to the theatre and forget the ring and her beautiful cloak; she would never wear it again.

Some of Fedora’s words ran around in her head as she hurried.

‘I should have gone through the pockets, I’ll admit that, but I couldn’t somehow. My dear Maude is … known to his family and it would have seemed somehow intrusive. I should have reminded her that I hadn’t done it. We usually go through everything, of course, just in case something’s been forgotten, but I’ve only ever found used bus tickets or soiled handkerchiefs – so unpleasant. I can’t tell you how sorry I am to have put you in an embarrassing position. I do wish I’d been in when you came back first, Sally.’ She stopped, obviously extremely perplexed. ‘I’ve never worked a day in my life until this damned war. Oh, do excuse my language but I made a silly mistake, which then involved you, and I do abhor feeling inadequate to a situation.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Still, it’s turned out fortunate for you. The jewels in the ring are real and the owner was adamant that an honest girl like you should have it. You’re a very lucky young lady and must be sure to insure it.’

Thinking about this as she returned to the theatre that afternoon, Sally sighed. Her parents would never allow her to keep the ring no matter what the owner had said.

‘Heat of the moment, Sally,’ her father said that evening. ‘People say things they don’t mean when they’re angry or upset. She’ll want it back. Give it to me and I’ll lock it away.’

London – and Dartford itself – were being blitzed by the German air force before Sally heard of the ring again, and by then she had been so busy that she had almost forgotten about it.

The country was experiencing the reality of war and the entire population of Britain was expected to pull together. Both younger Petrie brothers had joined the Forces. Rose and Daisy continued with their work but complained loudly that they were not doing enough. Grace and Sally took a first-aid class, and then one day, early in 1940, Grace, who had started a small vegetable garden in what passed for a garden behind her sister’s squalid little house, disappeared. Her friends were anxious about her, but they could only think that she had gone to join the war effort.

In the months that followed, appalling things happened in Europe and night after night that first summer of the war, Dartford residents, like Londoners, sought safety from the fighting that raged above and around them.

The little theatre decided to put on a revue in an attempt to brighten the lives of the community. Sally was given a starring role, both singing and dancing. Her only claim to being a dancer was that, before she was old enough to go to school, she had attended a Tiny Tots dancing class in the church hall. Her part in the dance class’s production was as ‘Special Fairy Guard’, and she had stood to attention for the entire performance. It was years before she discovered that the teachers had told her distressed parents that their lovely daughter did not know her right foot from her left. Luckily Elliott – who was minding his P’s and Q’s – and a middle-aged actress, Marguerite du Bois (real name, Maggie Wood), who had, at one time, been quite well known, had years of experience of being what they called ‘hoofers’. They had coached Sally when the small troupe had put on entertainments over the Christmas period.

‘You’ll be fine, Sally. I’ll go over the routines with you,’ offered Maggie. ‘Heck, I choreographed most of them and, in that dim and distant past, Elliott was a beautiful mover. I know, hard to believe, but it’s true. Come on, show me what you did at Tiny Tots.’

As yet, apart from standing well, Sally did not have much of a repertoire but she was graceful and elegant and worked hard. She began to enjoy herself as Maggie encouraged her and congratulated her on definite improvement.

‘Listen to the music, Sally. It will tell you what to do.’

Sally listened and she learned.

She was not too happy with one of the outfits she was expected to wear. The shorts were definitely the shortest ones she had ever worn. She tried to picture her father’s face.

‘My father will have a fit, Maggie, and while I’m talking about costume, the dress for the waltz is cut much too low.’

‘Take it up with Wardrobe, lovey.’

‘I am Wardrobe.’

‘Then fix it but don’t blame me when Elliott sees – or rather doesn’t see.’

Sally took the offending gown home and after uttering a few choice words, Elsie agreed to rework the top. ‘And don’t let your father see it till I’m finished or you’ll be out of that theatre before you can say …’ She could not think of what to say but Sally understood her perfectly.

So did Elliott, and as opening night drew closer, Sally blossomed.

Sebastian Brady sent her a ‘Break a Leg’ card, perhaps not the best choice to send someone dancing on stage for the first time, but Sally was thrilled and wondered how he had known. He enlightened her when he came backstage to see her after the last performance of the revue.

‘The world of the theatre is surprisingly small, Sally. We keep an eye on one another. I didn’t manage to see you in your first show – was involved in a war film – but I do read the reviews, as, of course, do others more important than I. You’re gathering good press. The frock in the last number was a tad virginal but I must say that the skirt was perfect for movement. How are you enjoying the work?’

‘Even appearing in a Shakespeare play seems such a long way off.’ Sally looked at him through the dressing-table mirror. He was real, though as tall, dark and handsome as any fairy-tale prince. His presence was not a figment of her imagination. She hadn’t seen him since he’d brought her home from that ghastly after-show party, but she’d thought of him often. But had he come especially to see her or was he merely on his way somewhere else? She leaned forward to study her face closely as she wiped off the greasepaint, and suddenly he was standing behind her, cotton wool in his hand.

‘You’re not stripping down the old door in the hall, darling. Gently. Rubbing on the delicate skin under the eyes like that will lift the make-up, yes, but it will stretch the skin.’ He smiled into her mirrored eyes naughtily. ‘You don’t really want to look like old Maggie years before your time, do you?’

She said nothing, every atom of her being signalling furiously that it was aware of his presence. And he knew how she felt; somehow she could tell. What was he going to do? Was he another Elliott? Somehow, for one crazy moment, she did not care.

Sebastian finished the gentle cleaning and stood back. ‘There, that’s better. And now, is there a hostelry in this town that will give us a pot of tea and a sandwich? I want to discuss a new project with you and then I really must tootle back up to town. Haven’t quite used all my petrol coupons, thank God. No idea how I’ll exist when they run out. I shall have to emulate the hobos during the American Depression.’ He looked at her, sadly shaking his head. ‘You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you? Didn’t you do any American history or lit?’

‘Of course: the Civil War, the War of Independence, and I’ve just finished reading Gone with the Wind.’

He laughed. ‘Read backstage, Sally, not just plays, but novels by writers from all over the world, and read history. Now, if you’re coming for a cup of char, change your frock, although you’d be a sensation walking into the Copper Kettle or whatever in that.’

He went off and Sally changed into a white silk cowl-necked sweater and black trousers, thrust her feet into high-heeled black sandals, grabbed her jacket and her handbag, and turned off the lights.