‘But I couldn’t think of leaving Miss Tilly,’ interrupted Maisie. ‘She’s been so good to me over the past six years.’
‘I fully appreciate your feelings, Mrs Clifton. Indeed, I would have been disappointed if that had not been your immediate response. Loyalty is a trait I greatly admire. However, you must not only consider your own future, but also your son’s, should he take up the offer of a choral scholarship to St Bede’s.’
Maisie was speechless.
When Maisie finished work that evening, she found Eddie sitting in his car outside the tea shop waiting for her. She noticed that he didn’t jump out to open the passenger door this time.
‘So, where are you taking me?’ she asked as she climbed in beside him.
‘It’s a surprise,’ said Eddie as he pressed the starter, ‘but I don’t think you’ll be disappointed.’
He pushed the gear lever into first, and headed towards a part of the city that Maisie hadn’t visited before. A few minutes later, he drove into a side alley and came to a halt outside a large oak door below a neon sign that announced in glowing red letters, EDDIE’S NIGHTCLUB.
‘This is yours?’ asked Maisie.
‘Every square inch,’ said Eddie proudly. ‘Come inside and see for yourself.’ He leapt out of the car, opened the front door and led Maisie inside. ‘This used to be a granary,’ he explained as he took her down a narrow wooden staircase. ‘But now that ships can no longer sail this far up the river, the company’s had to move, so I was able to pick up their lease for a very reasonable price.’
Maisie entered a large, dimly lit room. It was some time before her eyes had adjusted well enough to take it all in. There were half a dozen men sitting on high leather stools drinking at the bar, and almost as many waitresses fluttering around them. The wall behind the bar consisted of a vast mirror, giving the impression the room was far larger than it actually was. At the centre was a dance floor, surrounded by plush velvet banquettes that would just about seat two people. At the far end was a small stage with a piano, double bass, a set of drums and several music stands.
Eddie took a seat at the bar. Looking around the room he said, ‘This is why I’ve been spending so much time in America. Speakeasies like this are springing up all over New York and Chicago, and they’re making a fortune.’ He lit a cigar. ‘And I promise you, there won’t be anything else like this in Bristol, that’s for sure.’
‘That’s for sure,’ Maisie repeated as she joined him at the bar, but didn’t attempt to climb up on to one of the high stools.
‘What’s your poison, doll?’ said Eddie, in what he imagined to be an American accent.
‘I don’t drink,’ Maisie reminded him.
‘That’s one of the reasons I chose you.’
‘Chose me?’
‘Sure. You’d be the ideal person to take charge of the cocktail waitresses. Not only would I pay you six pounds a week, but if the place takes off, the tips alone would be more than you could ever hope to earn at Tilly’s.’
‘And would I be expected to dress like that?’ asked Maisie, pointing to one of the waitresses who was wearing an off-the-shoulder red blouse and a tight-fitting black skirt that barely covered her knees. It amused Maisie that they were the same colours as the St Bede’s uniform.
‘Why not? You’re a great-lookin’ broad, and the punters will pay good money to be served by someone like you. You’ll get the odd proposition, of course, but I feel sure you can handle that.’
‘What’s the point of a dance floor if it’s a men-only club?’
‘Another idea I picked up from the States,’ said Eddie. ‘If you want to dance with one of the cocktail waitresses, it’ll cost you.’
‘And what else does that cost include?’
‘That’s up to them,’ said Eddie with a shrug of the shoulders. ‘So long as it doesn’t take place on the premises, nothing to do with me,’ he added, laughing a little too loudly. Maisie didn’t laugh. ‘So what do you think?’ he asked.
‘I think I’d better be getting home,’ said Maisie. ‘I didn’t have time to let Harry know I’d be late.’
‘Whatever you say, honey,’ said Eddie. He draped an arm around her shoulder and led her out of the bar and back up the stairs.
As he drove her to Still House Lane, he told Maisie about his plans for the future. ‘I’ve already got my eye on a second site,’ he said excitedly, ‘so the sky’s the limit.’
‘The sky’s the limit,’ Maisie repeated, as they drew up outside No. 27.
Maisie jumped out of the car and walked quickly to the front door.
‘So will you need a few days to think it over?’ said Eddie, chasing after her.
‘No, thank you, Eddie,’ said Maisie without hesitation. ‘I’ve already made up my mind,’ she added, taking a key out of her handbag.
Eddie grinned and put an arm around her. ‘I didn’t think it would be a difficult decision for you to make.’
Maisie removed the arm, smiled sweetly and said, ‘It’s kind of you to consider me, honey, but I think I’ll stick to serving coffee.’ She opened her front door before adding, ‘But thanks for asking.’
‘Anything you say, doll, but if you change your mind, my door is always open.’
Maisie closed the door behind her.
14
MAISIE FINALLY SETTLED ON the one person she felt she could seek advice from. She decided to turn up at the docks unannounced and hope he’d be around when she knocked on his door.
She didn’t tell either Stan or Harry who she was visiting. One of them would try to stop her, while the other would feel she’d betrayed a confidence.
Maisie waited until her day off, and once she had dropped Harry at school, she took a tram to the dockyard. She had chosen her time carefully: late morning, when he was still likely to be in his office, while Stan would be fully occupied loading or unloading cargo at the other end of the dock.
Maisie told the man on the gate that she’d come to apply for a job as a cleaner. He pointed indifferently towards the redbrick building and still didn’t remember her.
As she walked towards Barrington House, Maisie looked up at the windows on the fifth floor and wondered which office was his. She recalled her encounter with Mrs Nettles, and the way she had been shown the door the moment she mentioned her name. Now Maisie not only had a job she enjoyed and where she was respected, but she’d had two other offers in the past few days. She didn’t give Mrs Nettles another thought as she walked straight past the building and continued along the quayside.
Maisie didn’t slacken her pace until she could see his home. She found it hard to believe that anyone could possibly live in a railway carriage, and began to wonder if she’d made a dreadful mistake. Had Harry’s stories of a dining room, a bedroom and even a library, been exaggerated? ‘You can’t stop now you’ve come this far, Maisie Clifton,’ she told herself, and knocked boldly on the carriage door.
‘Come in, Mrs Clifton,’ said a gentle voice.
Maisie opened the door to find an old man sitting in a comfortable seat, with books and other possessions scattered around him. She was surprised how clean the carriage was, and realized that, despite Stan’s claims, it was she, and not Old Jack, who lived in third class. Stan had perpetuated a myth that had been ignored when viewed through the eyes of an unprejudiced child.
Old Jack immediately rose from his place and beckoned her towards the seat opposite. ‘You’ll have come to see me about young Harry, no doubt.’
‘Yes, Mr Tar,’ she replied.
‘Let me guess,’ he said. ‘You can’t make up your mind whether he should go to St Bede’s, or remain at Merrywood Elementary.’
‘How could you possibly know that?’ asked Maisie.
‘Because I’ve been considering the same problem for the past month,’ said Old Jack.
‘So what do you think he should do?’
‘I think that despite the many difficulties he will undoubtedly face at St Bede’s, if he doesn?
??t take this opportunity, he could well spend the rest of his life regretting it.’
‘Perhaps he won’t win a scholarship and the decision will be taken out of our hands.’
‘The decision was taken out of our hands,’ said Old Jack, ‘the moment Mr Frobisher heard young Harry sing. But I have a feeling that wasn’t the only reason you came to see me.’
Maisie was beginning to understand why Harry admired this man so much. ‘You’re quite right, Mr Tar, I need your advice on another matter.’
‘Your son calls me Jack, except when he’s cross with me, then he calls me Old Jack.’
Maisie smiled. ‘I’ve been worried that even if he did win a scholarship, I wasn’t earning enough for Harry to have all the little extras that the other boys at a school like St Bede’s take for granted. But fortunately I’ve just been offered another job, which would mean more money.’
‘And you’re worried about how Miss Tilly will react when you tell her you’re thinking of leaving?’
‘You know Miss Tilly?’
‘No, but Harry has spoken of her many times. She’s clearly from the same mould as Miss Monday, and let me assure you, that’s a limited edition. There’s no need for you to concern yourself.’
‘I don’t understand,’ said Maisie.
‘Allow me to explain,’ said Old Jack. ‘Miss Monday has already invested a great deal of her time and expertise in making sure that Harry not only wins a scholarship to St Bede’s but, far more important, goes on to prove himself worthy of it. My bet is that she will have discussed every possible eventuality with her closest friend, who just happens to be Miss Tilly. So when you tell her about the new job, you may well find it doesn’t come as a complete surprise.’
‘Thank you, Jack,’ said Maisie. ‘How lucky Harry is to have you as a friend. The father he never knew,’ she said softly.
‘That is the nicest compliment I’ve received for a good many years,’ said Old Jack. ‘I’m only sorry that he lost his father in such tragic circumstances.’
‘Do you know how my husband died?’
‘Yes, I do,’ replied Old Jack. Aware that he should never had raised the subject, he quickly added, ‘But only because Harry told me.’
‘What did he tell you?’ asked Maisie anxiously.
‘That his father was killed in the war.’
‘But you know that’s not true,’ said Maisie.
‘Yes, I do,’ said Old Jack. ‘And I suspect Harry also knows his father couldn’t have died in the war.’
‘Then why doesn’t he say so?’
‘He probably thinks there’s something you don’t want to tell him.’
‘But I don’t know the truth myself,’ admitted Maisie.
Old Jack didn’t comment.
Maisie walked slowly home; one question answered, another still unresolved. Even so, she wasn’t in any doubt that Old Jack could be added to the list of people who knew the truth about what had happened to her husband.
Old Jack turned out to be right about Miss Tilly, because when Maisie told her about Mr Frampton’s offer, she couldn’t have been more supportive and understanding.
‘We’ll all miss you,’ she said, ‘and frankly the Royal is lucky to have you.’
‘How can I begin to thank you for all you’ve done for me over the years?’ said Maisie.
‘It’s Harry who should be thanking you,’ said Miss Tilly, ‘and I suspect it will only be a matter of time before he realizes that.’
Maisie started her new job a month later, and it didn’t take her long to discover why the Palm Court was never more than a third full.
The waitresses regarded their work simply as a job, unlike Miss Tilly, who considered it to be a vocation. They never bothered to remember the customers’ names, or their favourite tables. Worse, the coffee was often cold by the time it was served, and the cakes were left to go stale until someone bought them. Maisie wasn’t surprised they didn’t get any tips; they didn’t deserve them.
After another month, she began to realize just how much Miss Tilly had taught her.
After three months, Maisie had replaced five of the seven waitresses, without having to recruit anyone from Tilly’s. She had also ordered smart new uniforms for all her staff, along with new plates, cups and saucers and, even more important, changed her coffee supplier and her cake-maker. That was something she was willing to steal from Miss Tilly.
‘You’re costing me a lot of money, Maisie,’ said Mr Frampton when another stack of bills landed on his desk. Try not to forget what I said about return on investment.’
‘Give me another six months, Mr Frampton, and you’ll see the results.’
Although Maisie worked night and day, she always found time to drop Harry off at school in the morning and pick him up in the afternoon. But she warned Mr Frampton that there would be one day when she wouldn’t be on time for work.
When she told him why, he gave her the whole day off.
Just before they left the house, Maisie checked herself in the mirror. She was dressed in her Sunday best but not going to church. She smiled down at her son, who looked so smart in his new red and black school uniform. Even so, she felt a little self-conscious as they waited at the tram stop.
‘Two to Park Street,’ she told the clippie when the No. 11 pulled away. She was unable to hide her pride when she noticed him taking a closer look at Harry. It only convinced Maisie that she had made the right decision.
When they reached their stop, Harry refused to let his mum carry his suitcase. Maisie held on to his hand as they walked slowly up the hill towards the school, not sure which one of them was more nervous. She couldn’t take her eyes off the hansom cabs and chauffeur-driven cars that were dropping off other boys for their first day of term. She only hoped that Harry would be able to find at least one friend among them. After all, some of the nannies were better dressed than she was.
Harry began to slow down as they got nearer the school gates. Maisie could sense his discomfort - or was it just fear of the unknown?
‘I’ll leave you now,’ she said, and bent down to kiss him. ‘Good luck, Harry. Make us all proud of you.’
‘Goodbye, Mum.’
As she watched him walk away, Maisie noticed that someone else appeared to be taking an interest in Harry Clifton.
15
MAISIE WOULD NEVER FORGET the first time she had to turn away a customer.
‘I’m sure there will be a table available in a few minutes, sir.’
She prided herself on the fact that once a customer had paid the bill, her staff could clear the table, replace the cloth and have it re-laid and ready for the next guest within five minutes.
The Palm Court quickly became so popular that Maisie had to keep a couple of tables permanently reserved, just in case one of her regulars turned up unexpectedly.
She was a little embarrassed that some of her old customers from Tilly’s had begun to migrate to the Palm Court, not least dear old Mr Craddick, who remembered Harry from his paper round. She considered it an even greater compliment when Miss Tilly herself began to drop in for a morning coffee.
‘Just checking on the opposition,’ she said. ‘By the way, Maisie, this coffee is superb.’
‘So it should be,’ Maisie replied. ‘It’s yours.’
Eddie Atkins also came in from time to time, and if the size of his cigars, not to mention his waistline, was anything to go by, the sky must still have been the limit. Although he was friendly, he never asked Maisie out, but he did regularly remind her that his door was always open.
Not that Maisie didn’t have a string of admirers she occasionally allowed to take her out in the evening, maybe to dinner at a fashionable restaurant, sometimes a visit to the Old Vic or the cinema, especially if a Greta Garbo film was playing. But when they parted at the end of the evening, she allowed none of them more than a peck on the cheek before returning home. At least, not until she met Patrick Casey, who proved that the charm of the Irish was not just a
cliche.
When Patrick first walked into the Palm Court, hers wasn’t the only head that turned to take a closer look. He was a shade over six foot, with wavy dark hair and the build of an athlete. That would have been enough for most women, but it was the smile that captivated Maisie, as, she suspected, it had many others.
Patrick told her he was in finance, but then Eddie had said he was in the entertainment business. His work brought him to Bristol once or twice a month, when Maisie would allow him to take her to dinner, the theatre or the cinema, and occasionally she even broke her golden rule, and didn’t take the last tram back to Still House Lane.
She wouldn’t have been surprised to discover that Patrick had a wife and half a dozen offspring back at home in Cork, although he swore, hand on heart, that he was a bachelor.
Whenever Mr Holcombe dropped into the Palm Court, Maisie would guide him to a table in the far corner of the room that was partly obscured by a large pillar and was shunned by her regulars. But its privacy allowed her to bring him up to date on how Harry was getting on.
Today, he seemed more interested in the future than the past, and asked, ‘Have you decided what Harry will do once he leaves St Bede’s?’
‘I haven’t given it much thought,’ Maisie admitted. ‘After all, it’s not for some time.’
‘It’s soon enough,’ said Mr Holcombe, ‘and I can’t believe you’ll want him to return to Merrywood Elementary.’
‘No, I don’t,’ said Maisie firmly, ‘but what choice is there?’
‘Harry says he’d like to go to Bristol Grammar School, but if he fails to win a scholarship, he’s worried that you won’t be able to afford the fees.’
‘That won’t be a problem,’ Maisie assured him. ‘With my present pay, combined with the tips, no one need know his mother is a waitress.’