Turning on the stool, Ellie looked at Bonny. She was sound asleep already, her mouth slightly open, one bare arm outside the covers. Bathed in the soft light from a small lamp she looked angelic, her stray wet curls falling loose on to the pillow, her skin as smooth and pinky beige as the inside of a sea shell.
These weeks had been such a happy time, with so much laughing and sharing, from clothes to dreams and money. After the tiny airless room in Stacey Passage it was wonderful to smell sea breezes, to have a bed each, a wardrobe for their clothes and meals cooked for them. But as Ellie looked at her friend, she knew the happiness came from more than just comfort, fun, or even the knowledge of how good they were on stage together. It was the ever growing bond that filled the once-empty spaces in both of them.
Back at the club, Edward was confused how the evening’s events had suddenly escalated from drinking and dancing to the point where he’d been relieved of ten pounds by the doorman and shown into this room upstairs with Saffron.
‘Let me help you,’ Saffron came closer to him and began to loosen his tie, her dark lustrous eyes looking right into his. ‘You haven’t done this before, have you?’
‘What, undressed?’ Edward asked.
‘No, silly,’ she said, her practised hands peeling off his tie and jacket all in one swift movement. ‘I meant made love to a girl like me.’
The room reminded Edward of his parents’ room, a place he hadn’t thought of for years: similar, deep pink walls and an almost identical quilted satin cover on the double bed; a washbasin in one corner; a few cosmetics and perfume bottles on the dressing-table, half a dozen books by the bed. But Edward had the feeling these things had been placed here to create the impression that it was someone’s room. There was only one decadent touch: the large, gold-framed mirror almost covering one wall.
He had danced with several women before Saffron, but he’d found himself inexplicably drawn to her. He didn’t think he’d ever seen anyone quite so beautiful. Coffee-coloured skin, coal-black eyes, such a sensuous mouth. As they danced her body undulated against his and though close contact with women normally repelled him, there was something about the tautness of hers which was exciting and disturbing all at once. They had gone into the bar at his suggestion, and almost at once he regretted it as he no longer had an excuse to hold her.
But she was as good a conversationalist as she was a dancer. She told him she was Eurasian, her early childhood spent in Ceylon, but that she’d been sent back to school in England and then stayed on with an aunt and uncle. She drew him into talking about the show and confided that she wanted to be an actress. Then suddenly the doorman had come in and said the girls had left. He’d got up to go too, but Saffron had pulled him down again beside her.
‘You don’t have to go just because they have,’ she said in that wonderfully husky voice. ‘I expect they did it purposely so we could have more time alone.’
They had another couple of drinks, and continued to chat about the theatre and acting. He was just about to pluck up courage to ask her out to dinner one night, when she asked him if he wanted to take her upstairs.
‘Upstairs?’ he repeated, struggling to regain his composure in the face of such a staggering suggestion.
‘Yes,’ she smiled, stroking his face in a manner which made him feel very odd. ‘You sound surprised. Is that because you didn’t expect me to be so forward, or you don’t find me attractive?’
‘Oh no.’ Edward blushed furiously. ‘You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, it’s just that –’ He stopped short, completely lost for words.
‘You’re just a bit shy,’ she suggested. ‘I’ll make it less embarrassing for you. I’ll go on up first. Speak to the doorman, he’ll show you the way.’
There was a moment in the hall when he might have ducked out of the front door, not because he didn’t want to pursue Saffron, but from pure fright. But the doorman waylaid him and asked for the ten pounds.
It was pure bravado that made him take out his wallet and pay. He was deeply shocked that a girl as young and lovely should turn out to be a prostitute. But he wasn’t going to let on to a mere doorman, or to Marcel, who stood grinning in the doorway, that he was so naïve he hadn’t tumbled what the club was. In a way paying made it easier too. If the whole thing was a failure he could always pretend he was too drunk, or that he had a girl at home.
‘I’ve never made love to any woman,’ he blurted out now, even though it was the last thing he’d intended to say. ‘I expect you find that strange.’
Saffron looked up at him and smiled. Downstairs she had appeared cool and poised, but now she’d taken off her shoes and shrunk three inches, her shingled hair and an impish look in her eyes made her far less formidable.
‘Sweet, not strange.’ She leaned forward and kissed him briefly on the lips. ‘I’ll just have to teach you. And it will be a pleasure, Edward, because you are very beautiful.’
‘You are beautiful too,’ Edward whispered, sliding his arms around her. He could feel her hip-bones pressing against his through her dress and he liked the sensation.
Slowly she unbuttoned his shirt. Edward watched her red-tipped fingers moving so gently and delicately as he held her. Her short dark hair fell forward, partly concealing her face, leaving only her shapely, fleshy lips exposed.
‘Mmm,’ she murmured, running her fingers over his bared chest. ‘Such silky skin, so young and firm.’
His fingers found the zipper on the back of her dress and he lowered it experimentally.
‘That’s better,’ she purred sensuously. ‘Now peel it off and you can see what lies beneath it.’
Edward bared her shoulders, marvelling at the colour of her skin. As he bent to kiss it her scent brought on images of waving palm trees, white sand and sarongs.
She moved her arms imperceptibly; her dress slid to the floor and she was naked beneath it. Edward gasped.
‘Am I too thin for you?’ she whispered, her lovely face clouding with anxiety.
Edward could only shake his head, stunned that at last he was seeing a female form which did excite him. Firm, small breasts, a tiny waist, slim boyish hips, and long slender legs. Even the mound of curly black pubic hair at the base of her flat belly was inviting. He wanted to touch that golden, almost iridescent skin, to see if it was as silky as it looked.
‘No,’ he said, his voice sounding hoarse to his ears. ‘You’re just perfection.’ He could feel the start of an erection. Hesitantly he put his hands on her breasts, unsure of how he should proceed.
‘Kiss me?’ she said, moving closer and removing his shirt as if by magic. ‘I want to feel my nipples against your chest.’
As he drew her into his arms and felt her warm, soft lips against his, he opened his eyes and caught his reflection in the mirror. The sight of his hands cupping her tight buttocks made his heart pound and his erection grow stronger.
All sense of apprehension left him. The tip of her tongue was teasing his lips, her hands stroking his neck, her small nipples hard against him.
‘Lets get these off,’ she murmured, a sweet smile curving her lips as she slid her hand down to his flies. ‘I think there’s someone in there who’s dying to get out.’
It was like the sweetest dream. The hand holding his penis was no more alien than his own, a practised touch that sent shivers of delight down his spine.
Edward groaned with pleasure. His trousers and underpants were lying at his feet, yet he was unable to move them for fear she would stop.
But she made him move over to the bed, whisking off the bedspread to reveal sheets below. The bossy manner she removed his trousers, shoes and socks was just enough of an echo of his childhood to be reassuring, but her dusky, naked body kept him hard.
‘There now.’ She climbed on the bed, kneeling up beside him and opened his legs wider, cupping his balls with one hand, smiling down at his penis. ‘That’s something to be very proud of.’
Edward was stunned by the size of his
erection. He couldn’t remember it ever being quite that big before. When he glanced in the mirror, the sight of her dark skin and shiny black hair against his fairness made him tremble with excitement.
Slowly, so slowly, her mouth came down towards him. He was afraid to breathe, sure she was going to take him in that wide, beautiful mouth, but hardly daring to hope for it.
He watched in the mirror; she was on all fours, her buttocks as hard and small as two grapefruits, long slender thighs, her shiny dark hair falling over her face, concealing all but those lips.
‘Oh Saffron,’ he groaned as her hot mouth closed round him.
Nothing had prepared him for such a sensation. He’d heard men talk of it, he’d even seen pornographic pictures of it, but the feeling he got while masturbating, or even when Ambrose had caressed him, wasn’t anything like this.
He was afraid he’d come straight away. He tried to think of something else, like handing out bills for the show, or putting on stage make-up. But he couldn’t think of anything except her tongue and lips and it was like he was dying and flying all at once.
When he opened his eyes for a second he saw she had one hand between her own thighs, rubbing at herself, and it halted the magic enough to remember he was supposed to make love to her too.
He reached out, catching her by the back of the neck and drawing her face towards his.
‘Kiss me,’ he ordered her, intoxicated by his own smell on her face, and as his lips met hers he pulled her on top of him, one hand reaching down beneath her belly to explore her.
‘Gently,’ she murmured as his fingers forced their way inside her. ‘Just gently Edward, like you’d stroke a cat.’
Edward wasn’t sure he liked touching her there; it was hot and sticky, and his erection began to fade. But Saffron seemed to like it and as he watched in the mirror, she was undulating herself against him, her boyish hip-bones grinding against his.
The strangest image came to him: that it was Ellie lying on top of him, yet she was the one with the penis and she was pushing it inside him. All at once he was rock hard again and the need for relief was so urgent, he rolled Saffron over, pushed her legs apart and drove himself into her.
He lost himself in the moment. The buttocks he held in his hand were like a young boy’s, the flesh on her shoulders smelt of the woods near his grandmother’s. He tried to prolong the wonderful, overpowering sensations by imagining playing a scale on the piano, but there was a whole orchestra behind him, building up to a crescendo, and in the second before he came he saw only Ellie’s face, those wide, dark, soulful eyes and she was all his.
He held Saffron tightly, tears coursing down his cheeks, wanting to express himself, but unable to find the right words. His body felt like india rubber, as if all his bones had gone. He buried his face in her sweet-smelling hair, smoothing her silky back and the curve of her buttocks, overwhelmed by tenderness for her.
‘You’ll have to go now.’ She wriggled off him, leaning up on one elbow.
Edward swallowed hard. The magic vanished at her reminder that this was a business transaction, not an act of love. He reached out and gently touched her face, desperately wanting her to say something, anything to make him feel he was Edward, not just a faceless man who’d got what he paid for.
But there was nothing in those eyes now; just deep, cool pools without any emotion. She took his fingers and kissed the tips, but it was a tired, meaningless gesture which seemed to say she was anxious to get washed and dressed.
‘It was lovely,’ he whispered. He couldn’t feel angry or cheated. She’d proved to him that he could make love to a woman. That was worth ten pounds of anyone’s money.
Chapter Twenty-One
Sheffield, January 1946
Ellie woke with a start at the sound of heavy boots tramping down Marshall Street. She had no need to check the time, she heard the same thing at six every morning except Sunday.
It was January 1946, soon after her nineteenth birthday. Bonny, Edward and herself were in Sheffield, taking part in a pantomime, and those boots belonged to men going off to work at the steelworks.
A sixth sense told her she was alone in the room, even though it was still too dark to see. She pulled the light cord above her head, and sure enough, Bonny’s bed was empty.
‘Oh, Bonny,’ she sighed, snapping the light off again and pulling the covers back tightly over her shoulders. She wanted to go back to sleep; the days were long, cold and miserable enough here in Sheffield without starting so early. But how could she relax enough to drop off again when she was so worried about Bonny?
The night in Great Yarmouth when Bonny lost so much blood had proved to be due to a severe infection in her womb. Somehow she’d managed to limp through another few days, but it had ended in her being rushed off to hospital, where she stayed for almost three weeks.
Looking back, Ellie wished she hadn’t listened to Bonny. She should have contacted her parents and let them take responsibility for their daughter. But she hadn’t. Perhaps Mr and Mrs Phillips would have been devastated to discover their daughter’s troubles stemmed from a back-street abortion, but maybe, with parental guidance, she wouldn’t be behaving so badly now.
Ellie and Edward got parts in a play in Lowestoft while Bonny was in hospital. When she came out, she joined them at their digs, and Edward paid for her keep until Bonny was well enough to dance again.
In November all three of them went on to a show in Manchester. Their first reaction to the city was one of dismay. Day after day of living in damp, choking fog, soot-blackened buildings, among dilapidated houses as bad as those in London and uncleared bomb-sites. But the people soon made up for the grimness. They were fun-loving and friendly and every night the show played to packed houses. Everything seemed rosy then, just as it had been back in Great Yarmouth. Edward played the piano; Ellie and Bonny had three good numbers and glamorous costumes. Their digs were shabby but their landlady was an inspired cook, even in the face of further cuts in rations. There were odd undercurrents, even then – Bonny was moody, sniping at Edward and sometimes bursting into tears she couldn’t explain.
As the revue drew towards its final couple of weeks, all three of them looked forward expectantly to being offered parts in Cinderella, the Christmas pantomime which would tide them over until March.
It was when the producer singled Ellie out and asked her to be the fairy godmother, that things began to turn sour. He had nothing to offer either Bonny or Edward and they were very disappointed. Ellie was caught between two stools. She wanted the part, and wanted to stay in the city she’d grown attached to, but at the same time she didn’t want to be separated from her friends.
Bonny selfishly played on Ellie’s feelings, sulking and flouncing about making barbed comments like ‘I thought we were a double act!’ and ‘I suppose I’ll just have to go home’. Edward, on the other hand, kept urging Ellie to accept the part and think only of her own career.
While Ellie wavered with indecision, another dancer in the show put forward the suggestion that all three of them could get parts in Aladdin at the Playhouse Theatre in Sheffield. She knew the manager well: he needed two ‘exotic’ dancers and he would jump at the chance of a good pianist.
With hindsight, Ellie should have realised that no decent theatre manager in a major city would have left it so late to book his cast, or taken them on sight-unseen, merely on the word of another dancer. But as they had never been auditioned by Archie Biggs in Great Yarmouth and had got their last two jobs through his recommendation, she just assumed the man on the end of the telephone in Sheffield was a similar type.
They arrived in Sheffield in mid-December to find that the Playhouse was well away from the centre of the town, in Attercliffe, and due to be demolished in mid-March. The cast, aside from themselves, appeared to have been scraped from geriatric wards and the script written by a ten-year-old. It was tempting to turn and run away, but it was too close to Christmas to find anything else.
It was
bad enough taking part in a fifth-rate, lacklustre production, and even worse for Ellie and Bonny to freeze nightly in their Arabian Nights costumes, which consisted of little more than a few veils stitched strategically to the briefest of underwear, jangling with gold bells and beads. But to top it all, their digs were appalling.
Marshall Street was one of many narrow streets of cheerless back-to-back houses, close to the steelworks where most of the residents worked. Mrs Arkwright, their landlady, owned two adjoining houses. She slept in what would have been the front parlour, while Ellie and Bonny had the front bedroom and Edward shared the back one with Albert Coombes, who played Widow Twanky. Next door housed six more of the cast.
It was so cold the windows froze on the inside. There was no bathroom, just a stinking privy outside, and the food was so gruesome that the moment they got paid they filled up on fish and chips. A permanent yellow fog from the steelworks chimneys hung in the air, staining a white petticoat in just a couple of hours. Noise continued ceaselessly all day, starting with the tramping feet which had woken Ellie that morning, and continuing until after dark. Babies cried, children yelled and women shouted to each other from their doorsteps. It had a great deal in common with Alder Street in many ways. But the people weren’t friendly, and they viewed all ‘theatre folks’ with the deepest suspicion.
Already, in mid-January, the audiences were dropping off so rapidly it looked as if the show would close by the end of the month. They hadn’t heard even a whisper of any new shows opening.
But it wasn’t the show, the digs or their future prospects which worried Ellie – just Bonny.
She was running wild, shamelessly sleeping with almost anyone who would treat her to a meal, a few drinks or a new frock. Maybe it began out of desperation because everything was so awful here, but it was now out of hand. Night after night she stayed out. By day she squabbled endlessly with Edward. She didn’t even seem to have the same commitment to her dancing any more.