‘Are you hungry?’ Ellie asked. She was surprised that a man in his position ate in such places. It was clean and bright, but not very smart.
He smiled then, as if guessing she would be embarrassed to eat if he wasn’t. He looked so much nicer when he smiled; the sternness vanished and his eyes became softer.
‘I think I can manage a portion of toad,’ he said, patting his fat stomach and looking down at it in mock dismay. ‘It’s that weakness for food which caused this. But my wife’s out playing bridge this evening and I don’t relish the cold cuts I’ll have left out for me.’
They spoke of general things until their meal arrived, but the moment the waitress had put down their plates he asked her about leaving for Canada.
‘You haven’t picked a very good time to vanish,’ he said, as he cut into the batter surrounding the sausage. ‘Your star is just rising, Miss Forester. Is it wise to leave England now?’
Ellie came back with the well-rehearsed excuses she’d offered Mr Brascott: that this was her only living relation, whom she hadn’t seen since before the war, that it was a chance to see a little of Canada.
‘My Auntie Betty lives in Burnaby, near Vancouver,’ she said. ‘She was a dancer too, and so anxious to see me again. I can’t say no, can I?’
‘No I suppose not,’ he agreed. ‘But make sure you are back before February. I have plans for you.’
It was while he was speaking of a film he intended to back that Ellie suddenly knew for certain he was her father. It wasn’t in his face, or his mannerisms, just the excitement and enthusiasm in his voice. She saw her own character mirrored in that voice. His was deep and growling, each word so perfectly enunciated, yet she could hear herself. It was just the way she spoke when she had a passion about something.
She had read Soho, the book the film would be based on. It had been a best-seller for two years after the war, and Ellie had sobbed over it. There were so many parallels with her own life in the character of Megan, a young Welsh girl who leaves the valleys for London and becomes embroiled in the wartime Soho underworld.
‘You would be perfect for the part of Megan,’ he said. ‘I thought of you all the while I was reading the script.’
Ellie forgot the dinner on the table, forgot even the tightly laced corset holding her in and the problems which lay before her. She looked into his face and felt she must be dreaming. ‘Are you serious?’ she gasped.
‘Never more so, my dear,’ he said, his eyes twinkling at her astonishment. ‘I’m not the only person who thinks the part was written for you. My wife agreed entirely, as do several other interested parties.’
‘I don’t know what to say.’ Her voice seemed like someone else’s. She knew she should ask sensible questions but she couldn’t think of one.
‘Just promise me you’ll be back in London by February,’ he said, then moved on to tell her casually that the part of Joe Lamprey, the airman who seduces Megan, would be played by Dean Dailey, an American heartthrob. ‘It will be a low budget film shot mainly out at Ealing Studios, but all of us involved in it are sure it will be a huge hit. The book was a colossal success, the film can’t miss.’
Ellie thought she was being strangled. She couldn’t see her assailant’s face, but the hands around her neck were squeezing the life out of her. She was struggling to get free, waving her arms helplessly, then suddenly a crash woke her.
She reached out for the string above the bed to switch on the light. The sheet was wrapped around her neck, she was dripping with sweat and fighting for breath. It was one in the morning. She’d only been in bed for an hour.
Throwing off the covers, she got out of bed. The crash had just been a book falling off the bedside table. She hoped she hadn’t woken anyone else in the house.
Sitting down by the open window, she looked out into the dark street, waiting for the breathlessness to leave her. Having no one to discuss her symptoms with made the fright much worse. Was it normal to feel that only half your lungs were working? To be so hot all the time, when everyone else was complaining how cold it was getting? Only a couple of days ago Aggie, her landlady here in Highbury Place, had asked how she could bear sitting in her room with the window wide open.
The wind was cold now – it gave her bare arms goose bumps – but it didn’t cool her inside. It had been like this at night for weeks now. She would fall asleep, only to wake like this, dripping with sweat, a million nameless horrors filling her mind. This was the first time she’d dreamt she was being strangled, but the dream was nonetheless easy to interpret. She was being strangled by lies and deceit.
Until her meeting earlier in the day with Sir Miles, getting through the next three of four months had been her only concern. Now his offer of the part of Megan had added further complications. It was like glimpsing an island after being cast away at sea for weeks. That island held everything she’d dreamed of since childhood, a chance that might never come again. But the admission fee was so very high.
It was almost like a pact with the devil: everything she desired in exchange for her baby. True, she had always intended to give the baby away, but until now no one had been twisting her arm to do so. How ironic it was that her own father was inadvertently doing the twisting!
‘Your mother chose you rather than fame and fortune,’ Ellie reminded herself. But would she have done so if she’d known that twelve years later she would still be in Alder Street? Had she hoped that someone would wave a magic wand and that all at once they’d be transported to a pretty house with enough money that they would never go hungry again?
Ellie remembered that hunger sharply: lying in bed listening to her stomach growling, knowing there was nothing in the house to eat; watching the dancers in the Holborn Empire eating fish and chips, hoping against hope that one of them wouldn’t be able to manage it all. She could still see Polly picking up bruised fruit and vegetables on her way through Covent Garden, slipping them into her pockets when no one was looking.
‘I don’t know the first thing about babies,’ Ellie murmured, putting her hand on her swollen belly and stroking it tenderly. She could feel tentative flutters of movement inside her, like holding a butterfly in her hand. It brought on a yearning, loving feeling that she hadn’t made allowances for and added yet another perspective to her confusion.
‘How can I keep you?’ she whispered, stroking her stomach soothingly, tears rolling down her cheeks. ‘I’d be no good to you as a mother. You’ll be happier without me.’
Chapter Thirty
October 1949
Ellie struggled off the train with her heavy suitcase and slammed the door behind her. The guard blew his whistle and the train chugged out, leaving her alone on a deserted, dimly lit platform.
It had been a long exhausting journey from London to Wells, and only the expectation of Bonny waiting for her at the end of it had kept her spirits up. Now, finding herself stranded, apparently miles from anywhere, the tears which had threatened all day welled up and spilled over. She dropped her suitcase and groped in her coat pocket for a handkerchief.
‘Ellie!’
The figure running towards her down the platform shrouded in a voluminous hooded brown mackintosh bore no resemblance to Bonny, but her voice was unmistakable.
‘I’m sorry I’m late. The bus was so slow,’ she gasped breathlessly, then as she saw Ellie’s stricken face she enveloped her in a clammy, fierce hug. ‘You didn’t think I’d forgotten, you chump? I’ve been counting the hours till I saw you.’
‘Just a moment of panic,’ Ellie sniffed, feeling a little foolish. ‘The station looks like something out of a horror film. I half expected Boris Karloff to lurch out of the waiting-room.’
Bonny giggled. ‘I’ll tell the hunchbacked coach driver to get lost and take you by taxi to The Chestnuts then. Oh, it’s so good to see you again!’
‘John won’t mind me staying until I get fixed up somewhere?’ Ellie asked as Bonny picked up her case and tucked her spare hand through Ellie’s ar
m, leading her towards the deserted ticket barrier.
‘I haven’t told him.’ Bonny grinned impishly. ‘As he’s in America and you’re supposed to be in Canada I saw no point. We’ll decide what to do in a day or two.’
Branches swishing against the side of the taxi gave Ellie the impression they were driving through very narrow winding lanes, but heavy rain and darkness obliterated everything but a few feet of road caught in the headlamps. Bonny chattered constantly, mostly about her house and John. Ellie was glad just to sit back and listen. She supposed Bonny was avoiding any conversation that might make the driver prick up his ears, and she was so very tired.
‘We’re here!’ Ellie woke to find Bonny shaking her arm and the car stopped. ‘Was I that boring? I should’ve left the light on in the porch. You can’t see anything.’
Ellie sleepily followed Bonny through the rain and darkness. The taxi had already reversed out of the drive. She could hear its engine still, but its lights had vanished. Wet leaves brushed against her legs and she could hear trees creaking in the wind.
‘Mind how you go, there’s two steps up to the porch,’ Bonny called back, her blonde head the only thing visible. ‘I’ll go on ahead and open the door.’
Ellie heard the tinkle of keys. Just as she reached the steps a bright light lit up the porch.
‘So do you like it?’ Bonny said impatiently. They had no sooner got in the front door than Ellie had the coat wrenched off her back and was dragged from room to room downstairs, with Bonny putting on every light and drawing curtains, gabbling non-stop.
‘It’s just wonderful.’ Ellie smiled at her friend’s exuberance, though she would have appreciated a cup of tea first and the chance to take off her corset. ‘Not a bit how I pictured it.’
England was beginning to recover from the war. There was almost full employment at last and the new National Health Service was a great boon to all those people who’d never been able to afford glasses, dentistry or even doctors. But the expected prosperity hadn’t arrived yet. There was still an acute housing shortage, some foods and all sweets were still rationed, and paint, building materials and furniture were difficult to find, whether you were rich or poor. Taking into account Bonny’s tendency to exaggerate, even in letters, Ellie had expected at best a cosy but shabby cottageyness. Yet, if anything, Bonny had played down the graciousness of her new home.
Polished wood abounded on the floors, doors and the staircase which led off the large square hall. Some of the furniture and rugs might be old, but everything had beauty and elegance. It was funny to hear Bonny keep quoting John – ‘John said this Persian rug will last a lifetime … John says if you live in an old house you must have period furniture.’ In the past she hadn’t cared tuppence for men’s views and her penchant had always been flashy thirties styling with lots of chrome and glass.
Yet as well as embracing John’s taste, Bonny had stamped her own personality on the house. A pretty collection of old perfume bottles was grouped on a shelf beneath a dainty gold cherub lamp. She pointed out four delicate water-colours which she’d reframed in rosewood. There was a large vase of Michaelmas daisies on a low table, a huge stone jar filled with dried flowers and grasses in the hall, and cushions in bright jewel colours on the couch.
Only Bonny’s bedroom was entirely true to her character: an extravagant Hollywood dream with its shell-pink carpet, dainty dressing-table with triple mirrors, wall-to-wall wardrobes and a chaise-longue strewn with lace pillows.
Ellie felt a stab of envy as Bonny proudly showed her the luxurious en suite bathroom, the curtains that opened and closed by the pull of a cord. It wasn’t so much jealousy of the ostentatious splendour as being confronted by this testament of John’s love and his deep understanding of his young wife’s character.
‘You are so lucky,’ Ellie sighed wistfully, stroking the cream satin counterpane. ‘I hope you realise that?’
‘I do now,’ Bonny said, for once not coming back with sarcasm or a flippant retort. ‘John’s the best thing that ever happened to me.
Any bitter thoughts that Bonny was still entirely self-centred vanished as Ellie saw the room her friend had prepared for her. Although it was less lavish than her own, the care and thought put into it was every bit as great. A fire was burning in the grate, the pink curtains were already drawn and the old-fashioned bed was covered with a heavy white counterpane.
It was decorated with rose-sprigged wallpaper, against which hung pretty framed prints. On the dressing-table was a tall vase filled with dried flowers and there were books and a lamp beside the bed, fluffy white towels on a wooden stand, even a small easy chair by the window.
‘Oh Bonny,’ Ellie gasped, wishing she could find the right words to convey that she knew and appreciated the trouble to which Bonny had gone.
‘It was lovely getting it ready for you.’ Bonny blushed prettily, pleased by Ellie’s reaction. ‘I found that counterpane and the lace cloths on the dressing-table up in the attic and I put them in the boiler because they were all yellow with age. The trouble was the counterpane weighed a ton when I tried to get it out. I struggled with it for hours, then eventually I had to wait until the water was cold and get Enoch to help me put it through the mangle.’
‘Who’s Enoch?’ Ellie asked.
‘He’s the gardener, not my lover,’ Bonny grinned wickedly, ‘and the only person you’re likely to see here aside from me. Now let’s put your stuff away and then we’ll have some food.’
‘Can I take this corset off?’ Ellie asked, already pulling off her dress. ‘It’s killing me.’
Bonny stared in horrified fascination as Ellie revealed the tea-rose brocade and whalebone monstrosity. Her mother had had a similar one and she had always thought it looked like an instrument of torture.
‘How long have you been wearing that?’ she asked.
‘For the last six weeks,’ Ellie admitted. ‘It’s been hell changing for the show, I’d have died of embarrassment if anyone saw it. But I couldn’t wear it for one more day, not if my life depended on it,’ she gasped as she unfastened the suspenders attached to her stocking, then unclipped hooks all down her front. ‘Oh, that’s better,’ she sighed as she slipped it off her shoulders.
Bonny had never seen a pregnant woman without clothes before. Although Ellie still wore knickers, they had slipped down below her protruding belly. She hadn’t grown that big yet. With her clothes on she had looked little different to the way she had as a bridesmaid, but seen naked her stomach curved out from beneath her breasts, and it was indented with cruel purple marks from the corset. Her breasts were full and heavy, the aureoles around her nipples a very dark brown.
‘Look what you’ve done to yourself.’ Bonny couldn’t help herself: she layed one hand on Ellie’s stomach and caressed the marks soothingly, stunned by the knowledge a tiny baby was growing within.
Ellie caught hold of her hand and held it firmly in one place. ‘Can you feel him?’ she asked. ‘He’s coming out for exercise now he’s got room.’
Bonny’s face was a picture. Awe, delight and even confusion passed over it. ‘I’ve always wondered what it felt like,’ she said, bending her ear to listen at Ellie’s tummy. ‘I can hear him too.’
Ellie felt her eyes prickle and a lump came up in her throat. Such an intimate moment, she felt, should be shared by the baby’s father, yet she was moved by Bonny’s reverence and tenderness. She moved away and put her dress back on, taking some socks and slippers out of her case.
‘What have you told the neighbours about me?’ she asked, sitting down on the bed to put the socks on. ‘We’d better get our story straight.’
‘Nothing,’ Bonny replied, going to the fire and prodding it. ‘There aren’t any. The nearest is a mile away.’
‘Well, that’s one problem less,’ Ellie laughed. ‘I bought a wedding ring from Woolworth’s, I thought I could say my husband was working abroad. Bristol’s the nearest big city isn’t it? I could get a room there and find a doctor,
somewhere near a hospital.’
‘We’ll have some supper and talk about it then,’ Bonny said. ‘You need a few days’ rest before you go anywhere.’
Eating sausages and mashed potato in the kitchen brought back reminiscences of Stacey Passage and their room in Brighton and Ellie put her questions and concern for her own plight on a back burner for the time being.
‘I can cook now,’ Bonny giggled as Ellie recalled a night when Bonny had put so much water in the powdered egg that it was like thin soup. ‘You just wait until I make a rabbit stew. Enoch brings me one nearly every week. I can’t make myself skin them, I get him to do that, but I watch! I can pluck chickens too, and pheasant. I’m getting to be quite the little housewife. My mum would be so impressed.’
They moved into the sitting-room later. It was the biggest room in the house, with windows overlooking the front garden and french windows at the back. With the thick gold velvet curtains and a log fire burning, it was very cosy.
Bonny told Ellie that Lady Beauchamp had given them the dark red brocade three-piece suite, and that the grandmother clock, an ornately carved chiffonier and the two sofa tables had all been bought from an antique shop in Bond Street.
‘Utility furniture is so ugly,’ Bonny said disparagingly. ‘I wouldn’t give it house room. How much longer is it going to be before we can buy what we want? The war’s been over for four years, we’ve still got food and petrol rationing. All we’ve got that’s better is the Health Service and everyone’s working their socks off.’
‘Except you,’ Ellie laughed. From what Ellie could see Bonny wasn’t going short on anything. She was wearing real nylons, not the lisle ones Ellie had to make do with, and her mid-calf skirt was very fashionable. Since clothing coupons had been abolished back in March, the shops had filled up again with clothes, but few people Ellie knew could afford a skirt and twin set as nice as her friend’s.
Just a glance in the pantry had astounded Ellie. It was stuffed with cans, luxuries like salmon, tinned peaches and pineapple. With Enoch supplying such things as rabbit and pheasant she obviously didn’t worry too much about meat rationing. Yet marriage seemed to have given Bonny maturity. While they were eating she’d spoken of gardening, reading and making jam. She looked every bit as pretty as before, but it wasn’t so contrived now: she wasn’t wearing make-up, her hair hadn’t been permed again since her wedding, and the twin set and pearls were vaguely reminiscent of Miss Wynter. Was it possible that marriage could make someone who was once so giddy turn into an adult overnight?