Maggie did not immediately reply, but took a few shaky breaths before answering. ‘I’m a model. I was on my way back to my digs … from a photoshoot.’ She took another mouthful of tea and swallowed.

  Mrs Sinclair fixed her with a stare. ‘I reckon you need to see a doctor. Pity you couldn’t have gone along with the boy’s father to the hospital, but no doubt the Outpatients’ will be inundated with flu sufferers in this weather. Besides, he has enough on his plate at the moment. His wife is very ill. She could die.’

  Maggie flushed. ‘I wasn’t expecting him to help me any more than he has already,’ she said. ‘And, as soon as I’ve finished my tea, I’ll be out of your way.’

  ‘If you think you can manage on your own, that’ll suit me. The wee laddie has had enough upset, and seeing a strange face might start him off crying again. He misses his mother.’

  ‘What a shame! How old is he?’

  ‘I’ve been told he’ll be five this year.’

  ‘I have a nephew, Owen, who’ll be five this year, too. He’s my brother, Jared, and his wife, Emma’s son.’ Maggie drained her cup and, placing a hand on the arm of the sofa, she managed to stand up unaided. She reached for her holdall. ‘Thanks for the tea and – and thank the boy’s father for his help for me, if you would.’

  Still feeling unsteady on her feet, and a mite dizzy, Maggie crossed to the door, opened it, said goodbye and left. As the smog swirled about her, she almost wished herself back inside the basement flat, but she knew she had to get back to her lodgings.

  Afterwards, Maggie could never recall that nightmarish journey back to her digs without a feeling of horror. It was such a relief to be welcomed inside the lodging house by her landlady, who hustled Maggie upstairs to her bedsit and helped her undress and into her nightie. She tucked her into bed, saying she would call the doctor.

  But it was not until the following day that the doctor was able to visit. He sounded her chest and looked grave and told her she had acute bronchitis and that – although he would like to see her in hospital – she was going to have to stay where she was as the hospitals were full of flu patients. Maggie’s agent phoned, but they did not get to speak as Mrs Cooling told her that Maggie was not allowed out of bed.

  A fortnight passed before Maggie was allowed up, and during those days she wondered if she had dreamt up the man and woman who had come to her aid and the basement flat with the boy fast asleep on the sofa.

  Eventually Maggie did get to speak to her agent, and told her that the doctor was insisting that she visit the nearest hospital for a chest X-ray as soon as possible. Despite her fear that the machine might discover something nasty, Maggie did not argue with him.

  As it was, she did have some cause to worry, as the X-ray showed up an old TB scar on her lung. Apparently there was no mention of it in her medical records and that puzzled him. She had no idea how she had come by such a scar and, as her mother was no longer available to consult on the subject, she could only tell the doctor that her mother had avoided doctors and hospitals like the plague, and would dose Maggie with her own remedies, like so many people did before the days of the National Health Service.

  The doctor told Maggie that it was a miracle she had survived this latest bout of bronchitis, and that she was going to have to take more care of herself. She must give up smoking, put on some weight, and move out of London to a place where the air was cleaner and fresher.

  To say that Maggie was dismayed was an understatement. She had dreamed of a career in modelling since she was a schoolgirl and, although the reality had proved discouraging at times, she had no idea what else she could do. It had been a hard slog gaining experience in her chosen career, and sometimes an employer had considered a free meal or a gift of the clothes one had modelled sufficient payment. Still, Maggie was not ready to quit just yet.

  Fortunately her mother, Elsie, had left her some money, which was in a trust fund managed by her brother Jared until she was twenty-one. So she turned to him if she was ever short of the readies to pay the rent. But he was careful with her money and only allowed her so much a month.

  If only she could hear from Norman, saying that his ship had docked and he was coming to London to take her out, she would feel so much better. She would be able to discuss her situation with him and, in so doing, learn exactly where she stood with him. Hopefully he would ask her to marry him and, what with him spending so much time at sea, she would be able to carry on with her modelling career for a while.

  Filled with hope at the prospect of a more settled life, she wrote to him again, an extremely loving letter. While she waited to hear from him, she decided that she seriously needed to give up smoking. Maybe this time it would not be so difficult, because she knew now that her life really depended on her doing so.

  Two

  Dear Maggie,

  Forgive me for not writing before but I haven’t found it easy to tell you my latest news, but hopefully you will understand that these things happen and none of us can foretell the future despite those fortune-tellers with their crystal balls and the horoscope pages in the magazines you sometimes appear in.

  Maggie’s heart had started to thud as soon as she read the words ‘hopefully you will understand’, but she knew she had no choice but to read on. The letter had arrived the day after she had posted hers to Norm, so his could not possibly be in response to the one she had sent. Her mouth felt dry as her eyes scanned the lines of scrawling writing; by the time she had reached the end, she was desperate for a cigarette.

  There were none in the flat because she had refrained from buying any after making the decision to give up smoking. Although it was only nine in the morning and she had a job to go to, she poured herself a glass of Wincarnis tonic wine that her landlady had bought her. Apparently Queen Victoria had enjoyed a glass in her day. Only after Maggie had drained the glass did she feel up to reading the second paragraph again.

  I’ve met someone else and have asked her to marry me, so we’re getting engaged. We have so many things in common that it’s unbelievable. I’d feel really bad about this if I didn’t know your career in modelling has always been more important to you than settling down and having a family. I hope we can remain friends. Wish me well. Norman.

  Maggie swore vehemently and was sorely tempted to smash the glass in the hearth, only the sensible side of herself told her that she would have to clear it up and she had no time for that. The fashion show was due to take place in a couple of hours and her agent had warned her that she had to turn up at the hotel on Bayswater Road in plenty of time. She scrunched up Norm’s letter and flung it in the wastepaper bin and burst into tears.

  She sobbed for what seemed ages, but eventually there were no tears left. She scrubbed her cheeks with a tissue and it was then she caught sight of the clock and gasped, knowing she had to pull herself together. ‘Sod him!’ she said loudly. ‘There are more fish in the sea than you, Norman Marshall!’

  She went and washed her face and gently patted it dry with a towel before sitting down and carefully applying make-up. Then she placed everything she needed in a holdall and headed for the Tube station. As she was about to pass a corner shop, she hesitated. Then, with a toss of her shoulder-length blonde hair, she went inside and bought a packet of cigarettes. To salve her conscience she only bought five. On the way out she was so occupied in fumbling for a cigarette that she collided into someone and dropped both the packet and the cigarette. She bent to pick them up, only to bump heads with the man.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said, picking up the packet.

  ‘It’s all right.’ He picked up the cigarette and handed it to her.

  ‘Thanks.’ She placed it between her lips with a trembling hand. Then she patted her coat pockets in search of her lighter, only to remember she did not have one with her. ‘Damn!’ she muttered.

  ‘Want a light?’ He struck a match and held it out to her.

  Maggie gazed at the man’s bearded face and was reminded of the clarinettist, Acker Bilk, with his neat goatee beard. Although this man was dressed casually in a sky-blue Sloppy Joe with the sleeves rolled up and black corduroy trousers. His beard was a bit scrappier than the jazz musician’s and tawny in colour instead of black. Also his hair was fair and curled beneath a cloth cap. Definitely not as smartly dressed as Aker, who, with his distinctive striped waistcoat and bowler hat, was a real snappy dresser.

  ‘I really appreciate this,’ she said, cupping her hand around his and lighting her cigarette at the match’s flame.

  ‘You’re welcome.’ He blew out the match and handed the box to her. ‘You can keep them.’

  She took the matches and thanked him. He smiled and vanished inside the shop. She stood a moment, drawing smoke into her lungs. She felt her chest heave but told herself one or even two cigarettes were not going to cause any damage. She thought about the man as she picked up her holdall and walked on, thinking that there was something familiar about him, but perhaps that was because of his resemblance to the famous musician. She hurried along the pavement, thinking about Norm and how he always grew a beard while at sea. She remembered how it had felt when his beard had brushed against her cheek before he shaved it off. Tears filled her eyes as she thought about her ex-boyfriend being with another woman who was now his fiancée.

  She finished her cigarette and stubbed the butt out with her heel, grinding it and imagining it was Norm’s face. Then she fumbled in her pocket for the packet of cigarettes she had bought and the matches the man had given her. She lit another cigarette and told herself that Norm was not worth crying over. What kind of man was it who finished with a girl by letter? He was a cad!

  Maggie decided that if she ever fell in love again it would certainly not be with a sailor. Despite the doctor’s warning, she would stay in London and concentrate on her modelling career and become famous. On the heels of the thought, she was gripped by a feeling of impending disaster, and for a moment felt she could not breathe. She had barely smoked the cigarette when she tossed it away and told herself that surely life couldn’t get any worse.

  As Maggie made for the room set aside as a changing room in the hotel near Hyde Park, she wanted nothing more than to get out of the building. She had a splitting headache and felt sick. Having arrived late at the hotel, she had not only been ticked off but told that she stank of cigarettes. She had blurted out, ‘Since when has smoking been a sin?’

  Of course, Maggie knew that not only should she have kept her mouth shut, but that she should never have smoked or drunk that single glass of tonic wine on an empty stomach. Her sister, Dot, would have rolled her eyes and demanded to know where her brains were. As for Maggie’s cousin, Betty, she would have told her she was an idiot.

  One of the reasons Maggie had so wanted to get away from her family was because, being the youngest, the older siblings thought they had the right to tell her what to do – and she had hated it. She had been made up when she’d heard that Betty had married a Yank, Stuart Anderson, and was living in California. She had never thought the day would come when she might miss her cousin.

  Distracted by her thoughts, Maggie’s elbow caught the shoulder of one of the other models who was wobbling past her on slender high heels.

  ‘Hey, Scouse, look where you’re going!’ said the girl.

  Maggie, whose head felt as if it was going to split in half, snapped, ‘Don’t call me Scouse!’

  She plonked herself down on a chair and wrenched off a black patent-leather shoe and threw it so that it landed in a pile of tissue paper. It was followed seconds later by its mate. A fingernail caught on her stocking which immediately laddered. Her spirits sank even further and she swore. Now she was going to have to use her last spare pair!

  The other two women in the room exchanged glances. ‘You’re in a right mood today,’ said one, zipping up the dress of the other.

  ‘Perhaps it’s that time of the month,’ said her friend.

  ‘I wish it was only that,’ Maggie muttered, taking a new packet of nylons from her holdall. She dropped the packet on a chair before stretching an arm over her shoulder and unfastening the zipper of the dress a third of the way down before twisting her other arm about her waist and finishing the job. Wrenching the dress from her shoulders, she eased it down over her slender hips.

  ‘Be careful with that fabric,’ warned the designer who had just entered the room. ‘You’ll spoil it. It needs handling gently. D’you know how much it costs a yard?’

  Maggie allowed the dress to pool into a puddle of amber silk on the floor as she struggled with her temper. ‘No, but do tell,’ she said in the well-modulated tones she had learnt at elocution lessons. ‘No doubt the cost to one of your customers would feed a poor family in Liverpool.’ Her own words took her by surprise.

  ‘Don’t be impertinent,’ said the designer coldly. ‘Any more of that, Miss Gregory, and you’re out on your ear. I don’t know what’s got into you. First you were late and now—’

  ‘Would you really like to know?’ she blurted out.

  He stared at her. ‘I have no time for this! Get into your next outfit and then you can go. I’ll be informing your agent that I won’t be using you any more.’

  Maggie opened her mouth and then she pressed her lips tightly together. What was the point in telling him about the dreadful time she had been having? Suddenly she longed to feel someone’s arms around her, hugging her fondly and telling her not to worry, that everything was going to be all right.

  She thought of her mother and how, despite sometimes feeling suffocated by her love, they had shared many a happy hour together. Memories of Saturday mornings when they had taken a bus into Liverpool flooded her with sudden warmth. They would wander round St John’s Market and the big departmental stores, such as Lewis’s and Blackler’s. Maggie had only been a baby when the two stores had been bombed during the war but, according to her mother, they had been rebuilt as good as ever. Sometimes her mother had encouraged her to try on various frocks, but she only ever bought her new dresses for Easter, Whit and Christmas. Even so, her mother would always treat Maggie to something new on those trips into town, be it only a hair slide.

  Her sister Dot and cousin Betty had called her a spoilt brat, but her brother, Jared, more often than not, told them it was to be expected that she would be a little bit spoilt. As it was, by the time Maggie was a teenager, the only thing she really wanted – and could not have – was her father alive again.

  ‘Have you gone deaf, Miss Gregory?’ snapped the designer. ‘Stir yourself and fetch the gown with the butterfly bow or there’ll be no wages for you!’

  Maggie was conscious of that horrible sensation of imminent disaster. She wanted to run away. Instead, she forced herself to remove the midnight-blue gown from its hanger and turned her back on him. With hands that shook, she managed to put on the dress without any assistance. Carefully she put on her stockings and then, taking several deep breaths, she eased her feet into a pair of cream and navy blue court shoes.

  How she managed to reach the catwalk and parade up and down she could never properly recall afterwards.

  ‘Well, you made a right mess of that,’ snapped the designer. ‘You were staggering about like a drunk. There’ll be no wages for you, girl! You can have that dress in lieu of payment. You’ve been smoking, and no doubt it will stink like an ashtray, much like yourself.’

  Despite the rage that filled her due to his insults, Maggie could only stare at him through half-closed eyes. She had a rip-roaring migraine and could only think that she never wanted to do this again. The decision she had made earlier had been completely overturned and there was no doubt in her mind now that this was the end of her modelling career. Word would soon get around that she had been impudent and was unreliable. There were hundreds of would-be models waiting in the wings, believing that the modelling life was glamorous and financially rewarding. They did not realize that one had to work incredibly hard and be outstanding to make a really good living.

  Maggie decided not to bother changing out of the gown and shoes. She put on her coat and dragged a scarlet velour beret over her blonde curls. Grabbing her holdall and ignoring the other girls, she fled the hotel. She had to get out of London without delay! She did not pause to give more thought to her decision, but set out for the nearest Tube station and a train that would take her to Euston. She was going north, back to her family.

  Dot would surely never turn her away from her door. So what if her sister’s husband, ex-soldier Billy, made her feel that if she stayed at their house it was on sufferance. And if the worst came to the worst, then she could always ask her brother, Jared, and her sister-in-law, Emma, who lived next door to Dot and Billy, if they could put her up. She thought of their son, Owen. He might be a right handful, but Maggie could tolerate him in return for bed and board. After all, she was family.

  Three

  Maggie drummed her fingernails on the magazine on her lap and willed the train to move. It should have left half an hour ago but it was delayed. She supposed she should be grateful it had not departed on time, otherwise she would have missed it. Perhaps she should have gone to the lodging house first and packed all her clothes. But that would have slowed her down, and Mrs Cooling would have had plenty to say; she might even have persuaded her to change her mind. Maggie decided she would phone her landlady when she arrived in Formby and make her apologies. She had phoned her sister, but their conversation had been brief because Dot and Billy were going away for the weekend. It suddenly occurred to her that the journey was going to be a long one with too much time to think.

  Maggie chewed the inside of her lip; she should have made time to phone her sister-in-law, Emma, instead of leaving it to Dot to pass on the news that Maggie was on her way and would like Emma and Jared to put her up. Her sister might forget in her rush to leave with her husband, Billy, for Wales. Of course, she could have stayed in her sister’s house on her own, but Dot had told her that Billy’s stepbrother, Jimmy Miller, was staying there for a couple of nights before returning to sea.

 

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