Edward felt warmed by her delight. Although there was no one out there for him tonight, the joy in her face was infectious. ‘Tell Jim on the stage door to let him in,’ he said, wishing he had the nerve to hug her. ‘He’s bound to come round there.’
As Ellie ran up the stairs to take off her make-up and change, her head was reeling with conflicting emotions. The first night had exceeded her expectations and it was absolutely wonderful to think Mr Gilbert had seen it. Yet, besides being puzzled about how he came to be here when she hadn’t written for three years, his sudden appearance brought back a rush of painful memories. Could she really cope with a reunion tonight when she was exhausted and riddled with guilt and anxiety?
Bonny had shrugged off the events of last night. By the time they’d arrived back at Ellie’s room at ten this morning she was her usual cocky self, thinking of nothing more than how she was going to get through the day with a hangover.
It wasn’t so easy for Ellie. A curt little note from Charley was waiting for her on the mat. He said he’d called round several times on VE Day, and suggested rather sarcastically that if she was ‘free’ perhaps she could meet him at Lyons Corner House on Thursday at eleven. There was no good luck message for the show, although he knew full well it was opening tonight.
What was she going to say to him? Just the sharpness of the note suggested he knew she’d been out all night. What excuse could she possibly offer for not telephoning the fire station yesterday? Now, instead of going home to prepare herself for their meeting tomorrow, she had to slap on a brave face for Mr Gilbert.
The dressing-room was a further poignant reminder of the past. It looked exactly like the scenes Ellie remembered so well in the Empire: all the chorus girls talking at once, flinging down costumes, tossing headdresses carelessly in one direction, shoes kicked in another, a hot pungent smell of sweat, greasepaint and cheap scent – all that was missing was Polly battling to bring order from chaos. Ellie made her way into the corner, slipped silently out of her Quaker Girl dress and pulled on her old skirt and jumper.
‘You’re very quiet,’ Frances commented, her eyes shining like two lumps of jet, stage make-up streaked across her face from emotional tears. ‘You were marvellous, Ellie, everyone’s talking about you. Are you still feeling ill?’
‘A bit,’ Ellie lied. Everyone knew she’d been sick several times during the day and although she was over that now she was in no mood for chatter.
‘Ambrose reckons we’ll get rave reviews,’ Sally shouted from the doorway, peeling off her glittering costume at the same time. ‘We’ll be playing to a packed house every night soon and Mr Jameson has invited us all down to his club to celebrate.’
The noise level grew even higher, with cries of disappointment from some of the girls that they hadn’t thought to bring something smart to wear, shrieks of excited laughter and bursts of song.
‘Are you coming, Ellie?’ Bonny pushed her face through a rack of costumes. She had received two good-luck telegrams during the day, from her parents and from her Aunt Lydia. Jack had posted her a teddy bear wearing a tutu, and sent her a long, loving letter. All of them were planning to come and see the show in the next few days, yet Ellie thought she seemed remarkably indifferent to their loving support.
‘I can’t come,’ Ellie replied. She didn’t think she ever wanted another alcoholic drink again as long as she lived and even if Mr Gilbert only stayed to chat for a few minutes, she had no desire to spend another evening with Bonny for a while.
Bonny pouted. ‘But you must. We’ve got to celebrate.’
Ellie explained briefly about Mr Gilbert, adding that she wasn’t feeling well enough to meet up later and urging Bonny to go with the other girls.
Bonny’s peeved expression seemed to say that she didn’t like Ellie having other friends.
‘Come with me, Bonny,’ Frances piped up impulsively, sensing a prickly atmosphere. She thought Bonny had become marginally nicer since she’d palled up with Ellie, and was generous enough to want everyone to have a good time tonight.
Ellie stopped short on the stairs down to the stage door, stunned for a moment. Mr Gilbert was waiting by Jim the doorman’s desk and he really was accompanied by Miss Wilkins. She had never expected to see either of them again; she had tucked her memories of them both away, along with all the other people connected with her childhood, and drawn a curtain over them. But now, as she looked into their beaming, upturned faces, everything they had once meant to her came flooding back.
They looked so different. In her memory Mr Gilbert was a giant of a man, with rolled-up sleeves, smelling of wood shavings. Miss Wilkins had always had tightly drawn back hair, a hand-knitted cardigan and a lace-trimmed blouse. These two people looked so much smaller and very city-fied.
‘So it was you,’ Ellie said weakly. Mr Gilbert was only an inch or two taller than herself, wearing a grey suit with a fancy waistcoat beneath. Miss Wilkins had a Marcel perm and a brown velvet evening coat with a corsage of rosebuds pinned to it. They were both greyer, with more lines on their faces, yet in some strange way they looked younger.
‘Oh, Ellie.’ Miss Wilkins moved first, stepping forward and taking both her hands. ‘It’s been such a thrill. All the time I was watching you I could hardly believe you were the same girl I taught six years ago.’
A lump came up in Ellie’s throat; she could hear emotion crackling in Miss Wilkins’s voice, and sensed that her old teacher was reminded vividly of their last day together.
‘Did you like the show?’ Ellie didn’t want memories of that dreadful day and night to overshadow this reunion. She didn’t know whether she should kiss them, hug them, or shake hands and she was staggered that an undertaker and a schoolmistress from the depths of the country could suddenly metamorphose into two such sophisticated city people.
‘Like it?’ Mr Gilbert chuckled. ‘We loved it. Especially you. We just couldn’t get over how good you were.’
‘But how did you know I was in this show?’ Ellie asked, her feelings veering between delight, suspicion and confusion.
‘We didn’t, not until today.’ Miss Wilkins looked at Amos and then back to Ellie, brown eyes warm with pride and pleasure. ‘We were just walking down Charing Cross Road this afternoon and we saw your name on the poster outside. We were intending to go and see a play at the Criterion. But of course we changed our plans that very moment.’
*
Pleasure took the place of confusion as Ellie sat between them at a table in a little Soho restaurant. It was so strange to hear their soft Suffolk accents after a diet of harsh London ones, but somehow also very warming to see these two people through adult eyes and to find the good things she remembered about them still very much in place: Miss Wilkins’s empathy and warmth; Mr Gilbert’s quiet strength. They had believed in her when she was just another cockney kid, encouraged her and taught her so much. Their presence here tonight proved Ellie had been special to them too. That knowledge was truly comforting. But better still was to see the couple were more than mere friends now: the looks they exchanged, the way they touched each other’s hands as they chatted, all spoke of love and romance.
‘We’re going to be married.’ Mr Gilbert blushed and smiled, looking almost boyish. ‘How about that?’
‘I’m so happy for you.’ Ellie smiled at them both, warmed right down to her toes. ‘I can’t think of two people better suited. I wish you’d been married when I came to Bury St Edmunds!’
‘You were the reason we got to know each other again,’ Miss Wilkins said and there was a softness in her eyes which suggested she fully understood what Ellie meant. ‘We’d been friends as children, but after Grace went away I often called round to see Amos and one thing led to another.’
‘You started the change in my life, Ellie.’ Mr Gilbert’s grey eyes had so much more fire and life in them now, and there was no longer any similarity to his sister. ‘Dora accomplished the rest. I gave up the funeral business, sold the whole premises and bou
ght a small cottage with a couple of outhouses. Now I’m a carpenter.’
‘You should see the work he does,’ Miss Wilkins said proudly. ‘He’s made an exquisite table for Mrs Dunwoody and he’s got so many further orders. Right now he’s working on a round supper table for us, but we hope you’ll come down for the wedding and see it all for yourself.’
Ellie just listened. She wanted to ask about Miss Gilbert but couldn’t bring herself to. Perhaps Miss Wilkins understood: she gently stated that Grace had died eighteen months earlier following a stroke, and then quickly moved on to happier subjects.
She spoke of neighbours in High Baxter Street and children Ellie had been at school with. She described the cottage Amos had bought so vividly that Ellie could picture it: sun streaming in through tiny windows, lovingly made furniture, colour and warmth, the sort of home two such selfless people deserved.
‘But enough of us.’ Miss Wilkins was suddenly reminded that Ellie hadn’t volunteered any information about how she’d lived before this show. ‘Now the last letter you wrote to Amos, you were working in a restaurant. How did you get this part? And how is your Aunt Marleen?’
Ellie hesitated, she didn’t want to spoil the evening by relating sad news, but there was no alternative.
‘I’m so very sorry,’ Amos said gruffly when she’d finished telling them, putting his big hand over Ellie’s. ‘We only met once, under difficult circumstances, but I know how much she meant to you. It explains too why I didn’t get replies to the letters I sent to Gray’s Mansions. You poor Londoners had such a terrible war.’
Ellie moved on to explain how she sang at the Blue Moon, came to meet Ambrose and then got her big chance.
‘The show’s going to run and run.’ Miss Wilkins had passion and belief in her voice. ‘You have a great talent, Ellie, and I’m proud to think I helped it along.’
‘I’m thrilled for you.’ Mr Gilbert smiled. ‘Dora and I have talked about you so often. We always thought you’d make it one day. We just didn’t expect it so soon.’
*
It was after twelve when Ellie waved goodbye to them as they went off in a taxi to their hotel in Bloomsbury, but the bubble of happiness they’d spun temporarily around her burst the moment she opened the door of her room.
The stolen clothes were lying on her bed, along with her torn green dress, and all at once she felt cheap, soiled and unworthy of the admiration Amos and Dora had shown her.
She swept the clothes to the floor angrily and burst into tears. It ought to have been the happiest night of her life, when all her sad memories were washed away by new beginnings, but instead she felt only shame and degradation.
Lyons Corner House was quiet, with no more than ten people on the ground floor and the assistants chatting behind the self-service counter. Charley was sitting at a table by the window, looking out towards Trafalgar Square, so deeply immersed in thought he didn’t even glance round as she came in through the door.
His shoulders were hunched, elbows on the table, a couple of newspapers before him, and judging by the cigarette smoke wreathed round him, he’d been there some time.
‘Hello Charley.’ Ellie managed little more than a whisper as she tapped his shoulder. ‘Am I late?’
He jumped up and although he attempted a smile it didn’t warm his eyes. ‘I got here early,’ he said, but even that sounded like a reproach. ‘I was reading the reviews, they’re good ones. I’ll get some tea. Would you like a cake?’
‘Just tea,’ she said and sat down.
He hesitated for a moment, looking down at her, but then turned and walked away to the counter.
Ellie’s stomach felt like someone was wringing it internally. She had been awake since six this morning, going over and over in her mind what she was going to say, but now she’d seen him it was all different. Her life was worth nothing without Charley. She didn’t even care enough to open the newspapers and read the reviews.
As she watched him shuffling sideways along the counter putting cups on the tray and then reaching for the pot of tea, she had a sudden, clear vision. She was standing on a dock, a stretch of grey choppy water between her and a huge liner. Charley was standing at the rail of the liner and as it slowly pulled away from the dock, his features slowly became indistinct.
‘Will you marry me?’
Ellie started. She’d been so immersed in her vision she hadn’t noticed he’d come back to the table. His proposal shocked her back into reality. ‘That’s a bit sudden,’ she said, thrown now, her prepared speech forgotten.
He said nothing, just placed the cups on the table, the milk jug and the teapot, then sat down. Ellie didn’t dare look at him. She picked up the milk and poured some into the cups.
‘Where were you on VE night?’ he asked and she was forced to meet his eyes. They were cold and suspicious, just the way they’d been the night she went out with Jimbo. ‘I went to your room half a dozen times and you didn’t come back.’
‘I went to a party with some of the girls.’ She shrugged her shoulders, hoping that would be enough of an explanation.
‘Why didn’t you phone the fire station, or even Mum’s house?’ he asked.
‘I thought you’d be too busy to speak to me.’
‘You didn’t even think of me,’ he spat at her suddenly. ‘That’s what really hurts, Ellie. You were out having fun and I never even crossed your mind. It isn’t your career that’s the problem. It’s because you just don’t care enough.’
‘I wish that was true,’ she whispered, tears welling up in her eyes. ‘I do care, Charley, far more than you’ll ever know.’
‘Do you know what happened to us firemen that night?’ His voice rose, his face contorted with anger. ‘People shouted abuse at us because we put out fires they’d started. A woman actually spat on me and said we were killjoys. Back in the Blitz they said we were heroes. People’s memories are short, aren’t they? And yours is shorter than anyone’s.’
‘It’s not, Charley,’ she pleaded with him, wishing she could find something to take away the hurt in his eyes. ‘I haven’t forgotten anything, not how you dug out Marleen, or the way you came to the hospital and took me home. Or any of the good times back in Coburgh Street.’
‘That’s not love, that’s merely gratitude,’ he said bitterly. ‘I’m not good enough for you, am I?’
Ellie thought she’d worked out all his counter arguments in advance, but this was one thing that hadn’t even crossed her mind. Now, with so much guilt inside her, it was unbearable. ‘I’m not good enough for you,’ she said brokenly. ‘I couldn’t make you happy.’
‘You wouldn’t have to make me happy. I’d be happy just to have you by my side. Marry me and come to Australia. If you can’t do that then there’s nothing more to say to one another.’
Ellie closed her eyes. It was so tempting to agree: that tight, suspicious expression would vanish from his face, he would sweep her back to Coburgh Street, she would be welcomed by Annie, everything would be wonderful again and all the preparations for the wedding and immigration would banish her guilt.
She opened her eyes again. He was looking at her with challenge in his eyes, daring her to stall.
An honest, open face, a man who would never lie to her. How could she even consider accepting his proposal without first telling him the truth about her?
‘I can’t, Charley,’ she began. ‘I –’ she stopped suddenly.
‘Go on,’ he prompted. ‘Why can’t you?’
The truth was there on the tip of her tongue, but all at once she knew it would wound him too badly. She must let him keep his pride intact. It was bad enough to let him believe she was turning him down for a life on the stage. But it was kinder than admitting she’d been with another man.
‘Because I can’t give up my career,’ she said in a low voice, fighting against breaking down. ‘I don’t want to go to Australia.’
He stood up, gripping the edge of the table until his knuckles turned white. ‘Well that
’s it then,’ he said, and she saw tears well up in his eyes. ‘I’d like to wish you luck, but I can’t. I’ll just say goodbye.’
Ellie watched him rush out of the door, forcing herself to stay in her seat and not run after him. The show meant nothing now. She would give anything to turn the clock back forty-eight hours and instead of going out with Bonny, be making her way over to Coburgh Street to spend the day with Annie until Charley came home.
Marleen was wrong. Men weren’t ten a penny, not like Charley. She would never love anyone like she loved him, and he’d gone for good now, believing she preferred bright lights to him.
‘I don’t understand,’ Bonny said again. She had come round to Stacey Passage to call for Ellie and found her lying on her bed sobbing her heart out. It had taken some time to get the entire story, and although she’d heard it clearly enough, Bonny was baffled about Ellie’s reasoning.
‘Because I couldn’t do anything else,’ Ellie sobbed.
Since Bonny had joined Ambrose’s dancing troupe, she had pushed Jack into the background. She met him when she needed love and affection, stalled him when there were more exciting things happening. She believed she loved him, no other man excited her so much, but she never felt any guilt about picking him up and dropping him as the mood took her. He would be in the army for some time yet; she would consider him more seriously once he was demobbed.
Until today she had assumed Ellie was the same way about Charley. She hadn’t quite grasped that Ellie had a different conception of love, and a very different moral code to her own.
Now, seeing Ellie so terribly upset, Bonny felt a surge of unexpected tenderness. She put her arms round her, cradling her, and this instinctive reaction brought home how important Ellie was becoming to her.
‘Don’t cry any more,’ she murmured, smoothing back Ellie’s hair the way she remembered her mother doing. ‘Maybe it’s for the best. He’ll back out of going to Australia, you’ll see. He’ll come back saying he wants you on any terms.’
‘He won’t,’ Ellie sobbed. ‘He’s got too much pride. I can’t bear the pain, Bonny. I wish I could die.’