Rags to Riches, page 13
Finally coming to sit down to eat, Alice was still full of her evening out. Last night in the taxi home, she hadn’t stopped talking about it. Amy took pleasure in the girl’s reaction to an evening she could hitherto only ever have imagined.
‘I never knew what it could be like,’ she had burst out again and again. ‘Oh, Amy, I want to do it again. Can we go next week? I’ll try to pay my way if I can. All those wonderful dances, and being asked to dance by all those men. All those rich people. I thought I’d feel out of place, but I didn’t. I loved it! I wish I could be one of them. I wish I was rich. If only I was rich.’
There was avarice in her voice. What Amy had opened for her was a floodgate. While contained in her small East End pool, even in her more elegant world in service to a good class of family, she could only wonder briefly, vaguely, what their lives were like. But now, having experienced a little of it, Alice was unstoppable; she was like a Midas, wanting more and more. The once would never be enough.
‘We must go again, Amy. We must. Who knows, I might even find a simply wonderful young man for myself from all those who asked me to dance. Wouldn’t that be simply divine?’ Her diction had become studied, fashionable idioms already creeping in, as though in training for that simply wonderful young man when he came along to make her rich. Alice would never be the same again, leaving Amy to question herself for what she had done.
Even here at the Sunday breakfast table, ignoring the sidelong looks of her parents, she had become a different girl overnight, no amount of looks and titters from Willie and his sisters dampening her enthusiasm for those words she had picked up in that one evening, interspersing every other sentence with ‘divine’ and ‘utterly’ and ‘terribly’.
Arthur Jordan had obviously had enough. Fixing his eyes on his gabbling daughter, he growled through a mouthful of streaky: ‘What’s all this bloody silly talk yer’ve picked up? ’Ow about shuttin’ it fer a bit and usin’ yer mouth to eat with. Yer breakfast’s gettin’ cold, and yer givin’ us all the ear-ache. Yer mum still ain’t pleased wiv yer comin’ in all hours, and neither am I. Yer made ’er lose ’er beauty sleep waitin’ up for yer, and mine too. So give it a rest.’
He resumed his chewing, leaving Alice to gaze at him, her mouth open, her face growing pink. It was seldom her father spoke so much in one go, and seldom that he told her off like this. ‘I was only trying to tell everyone what a wonderful evening we had. And it’s all thanks to Amy.’
‘All right. Yer’ve told us. Now shut up abart it an’ give our ears a rest.’
Amy too felt herself squirm, his chagrin obviously directed at her as much as his daughter, though he was too polite to her still to include her.
Alice said no more, but her face was tight and her lips set. Looking across at her, Amy knew that whatever might be said, she had already made up her mind that next Saturday would see her visiting the West End yet again. Like a strong drug, it had only needed that one dose to make her want more. Amy felt something like compunction at what she was doing. She hadn’t meant to use Alice to such an extent. She ought to feel overjoyed at the girl playing right into her scheme, yet shame gripped her as she hastily bent her head to the greasy breakfast set before her.
In all this, Tom had said not one word, eating his meal as though he were the only one at the table who existed. Now he spoke, his deep voice low.
‘Be careful what you’re doing, Alice.’ It was as though he spoke from a distance; a voice disembodied. ‘Be careful yer don’t get out of yer depth.’ And from beneath his lowered brows, his eyes, shadowed and deeply blue, glanced towards Amy, their message clear. ‘I don’t know what you’re up to, but I don’t like it.’
He might as well have spoken the words aloud, and Amy felt a shiver run through her, unable to escape the keen awareness of how deeply his dislike of her went. Instinctively she felt her back go up. He had issued a warning, but far from alarming her, it made her all the more determined to get Alice out of the house the following Saturday if she could. How dare he, a common labourer, tell her what she should do and not do? How dare he issue warnings as though he had rights over her? Then she remembered she was a guest in this house, at their mercy to have her to go or stay. It was insufferable having to be so humble. Even so, she must get Alice out next Saturday. It might all be a wild goose chase but she did so want to attempt her wonderful plan once more. It was a good one. And, who knows, it could work. Anything was possible. It sent thrills down her spine just to think about it. She ignored Tom’s cynical eyes slewed in her direction, and thought of next Saturday.
‘May I, Mum?’
This time Alice thought to ask permission first. The effect was immediate. Her mother, with one look at those pleading eyes, smiled her consent. ‘So long as yer come ’ome at a decent time.’
But Alice wasn’t satisfied with that. ‘It could be a bit late. But we will behave ourselves.’
‘No one said yer wouldn’t, luv. I know yer a good gel. I know Amy’ll look after yer well enough. She ain’t in no condition ter do otherwise. Once bit twice shy yer might say. No offence meant,’ she added swiftly, but Amy understood and smiled back at her. But the woman was already babbling on. ‘Yer’d better ’ave a key – save disturbin’ me. But don’t tell yer dad. He ain’t so easy-goin’ as me. Me, I’m a bit of a fool, but there you are.’
‘Thanks, Mum.’ Alice’s pretty face adopted an earnest expression. ‘We won’t make a habit of it, I promise.’
Mrs Jordan’s smile broadened her already broad features. ‘I don’t suppose you will.’ Her eyes flickered towards Amy’s middle. ‘You won’t be goin’ out Up West fer much longer, luv. Not lookin’ like yer will in a few weeks’ time – if yer don’t mind me saying.’
There still lingered a little awe of her that made Mrs Jordan careful of her words. Even though she had dispensed with the ‘Miss ’Arrin’ton’, she used her name as little as possible. Amy strove to put her at ease. She had come to like Mrs Jordan immensely for all her slovenly speech and rough-and-ready ways.
‘I expect so,’ she agreed, and Mrs Jordan’s smile seemed to surround her. She felt suddenly protected. This was a woman who wouldn’t throw her out the moment it suited her; who would see her through her pregnancy and afterwards, even be there at the delivery, taking the place of the mother who should have been present. It occurred to Amy that soon she must make arrangements for her stay in hospital. She could quite easily afford to, but a hospital’s clinical face would remind her of her own isolated state. She had learned that these people, if they were wise, were in the Hospital Savings Association at so much per week, and perhaps the Jordans were. Many who weren’t still had their babies at home but whether in Mrs Jordan’s home or in the cold dispassionate atmosphere of hospital, she knew Mrs Jordan would be the first to visit and applaud her. She knew that implicitly with an ache for the mother who would not be there.
In the glittery little nightclub with Alice close beside her, Amy surveyed the scene. Despite the squally weather outside, the place was crowded. Most having arrived by taxi or in their own vehicles, not one girl had a hair out of place or her make-up damaged, not one escort had his bow tie spotted with rain or his trouser bottoms splashed by mud. She too had chosen to come by taxi – expensive but worth it; Alice looked perfect, again in her gold lamé.
But Amy’s hopes were once more dying. How could she imagine finding Dicky here in this one nightclub out of the hundreds in London? It was a wild goose chase, a fool’s errand. She was utterly mad, this whole idea too outlandish for words. But somewhere there must be faces she knew.
Her eyes roved desperately, then stopped, glimpsing a small group of young people in one corner. Just for a second as the crush of people around her parted briefly before closing up again, she recognised Sylvia Fox-Carter, Max Shaughan, and two or three other familiar ones, and …
It took her a moment or two to believe what she was seeing, to believe such incredible luck. The next second she had grabbed Alice by one arm and, half-dragging the girl with her, pushed through the noisy chattering throng, skirted the tiny dance floor to end up standing breathlessly before the group she sought, her face animated, her eyes sparkling as they fixed on the one she’d picked out, her voice high and bright with assumed surprise.
‘Dicky! Dicky, darling! Fancy your being here.’
Recognising her voice, the small group swung round as one person. ‘Amy!’
But her gaze was for Richard Pritchard only. ‘Dicky, it’s been simply ages.’
‘Darling,’ burst out Pauline Carpenter. ‘Where on earth have you been these last weeks? Not a word. We thought you had died!’
‘I went abroad for a little holiday.’
‘Alone? My dear, how could you?’
‘My mother and I were supposed to have gone together, but she had to cry off at the last minute.’ Dicky was looking like a man condemned to death. ‘We were to go to Ceylon to see a friend out there. But I went alone.’
‘My dear, all that way, alone. How brave.’
Amy dramatically shrugged off Pauline’s sentiments, savoured Dicky’s still-horrified face, watching his gaze travel to her midriff. He was behaving like one about to be exposed, accused of some horrible crime. Don’t worry, her mind said the words, I’m not going to expose you, but I am going to give you a lesson you’ll never forget. Revenge, she mused as she smiled blithely at him, was the sort of dish one did better to serve up cold.
‘Everyone – this is Alice,’ she announced brightly. ‘I brought her back from Ceylon with me for a short vacation here. We travelled back together.’
She heard Alice’s intake of breath at the bold lie, hoped desperately that she would play along with the joke and not show her up by being suddenly open and honest. This Amy had not rehearsed, taken by surprise by her own ad lib. But already they were all around Alice, giving her no chance to deny what had been said, all asking at once how was her passage to England, when had she last been here or had she been born ‘out there’, and when was she going back, and how was she liking it here?
In all this, Alice, confused and flattered by the attention heaped upon her by people she had never dreamed she would ever associate with, had said nothing except to gulp and smile and nod. But soon she’d find her tongue. And then what?
‘Her father’s a diplomat,’ Amy chipped in, glad for once of Alice’s awkward shyness in such, to her, elevated company. ‘She’s never travelled before, or gone to many places.’
Alice bore out perfectly the picture of a girl fresh from a sheltered life in the Far East, her first time in England, London, awed and speechless by all these brash and noisy socialites. It was all working out splendidly, far better than she’d hoped.
Dicky had forgotten Amy’s threat to his peace of mind. He was all over this stunning newcomer already, his eyes devouring every inch of her. ‘Did you find it pleasant out there, the climate, the people? Were you born out there? I hope you aren’t going back too soon.’ He was babbling, bubbling over with eagerness.
Alice found her tongue at last. Her eyes opened wide with appraisal as she looked at the slim handsome young man dancing attendance upon her. ‘I … we … we lead a very quiet life.’ She was doing her best to support the fib Amy had concocted, but it was obvious it was going against the grain, that she felt unsure how to handle it. ‘I’m … I’m not used to … parties, or … or nightclubs and things.’
‘What, no parties out there?’ he interrupted. ‘No nightclubs?’
‘No …’ This was part truth as far as she was concerned. ‘Not like this.’
‘But you must have met lots of people, your father a diplomat?’
‘Not really.’
‘Good Lord! But there must have been …’
‘For goodness sake!’ Amy slipped in quickly. Any minute the girl was going to let her down. She could see it coming. ‘All these questions. For God’s sake, you’ll upset her utterly.’
‘Yes, you’re right.’ Dicky hadn’t taken his eyes off the girl. He had even reached out and taken her hand. He was still holding it. ‘Didn’t mean to be rude.’
Now he swivelled his eyes towards Amy and there was a look in them that said, don’t you dare spoil this for me. Amy returned his gaze, silently saying, of course I’m not going to, and the look of relief lighting up his narrow handsome features made her smile. How delectable it was savouring the thought that he had no idea just how hollow that relief would prove to be. She could hardly wait to drop her bombshell.
We’ve been lying to you, Dicky. Alice doesn’t come from anywhere so far east as Ceylon; she comes from the east all right – the East End of London – her father works in the docks unloading cargo and hasn’t a bean to bless himself with. She’s a Cockney, Dicky darling. Not your sort at all. Now you know how it feels to be let down with a crash.
But not yet. If all went well, and by the way he was drooling all over her, it all looked perfect, he must first fall madly in love with this devastatingly pretty girl whose father was alleged to be a foreign diplomat of some standing. He must take her home and introduce her to his family. He must propose to her and set the date for the fine society wedding he had once planned for herself before she’d told him she was pregnant with his child. He must do all those things. Then she would reveal Alice’s true birth, her upbringing, her family. She hoped Alice wouldn’t fall too much in love with Dicky. If she did, her heart would be broken, just as her own had been.
Amy cringed momentarily and turned her thoughts hastily away from the prospect that she would be instrumental in this unsuspecting girl’s desperate unhappiness if it should be so, and set her thoughts to exacting her revenge upon the spoiled, spineless, irresponsible, falsehearted Richard Pritchard.
Dicky was looking at the girl. The band had struck up with a lively one-step. ‘I say, do you care to dance? Do you dance?’
‘Yes,’ came the shy reply. It was all he needed.
‘Oh, wonderful! Splendid! May I then?’ His offered arm hesitantly taken, he guided her away from the group that surrounded her, and out on to the tiny dance floor, already filling with couples.
Amy watched them, trying to ignore the prick of guilt that kept making a nuisance of itself. Dicky looked thoroughly besotted, and Alice demure but soaking up his every word. By the end of the evening, having fought off every competitor, he was asking if he could see her again.
Alice’s eyes turned towards Amy. ‘I … I don’t think I can.’
‘Of course you can,’ Alice almost shouted. ‘I’m sure your parents would approve. Dicky’s family are …’
‘I’ve explained all that to her,’ he broke in. So that was why Alice had been soaking up every word he’d said – she was overwhelmed. Amy smiled as he turned back to his conquest. ‘May I see you tomorrow, Alice? We could go for a spin. I could ask Sylvia and Max to come along, so it would all be above board, if you see what I mean.’
Alice’s eyes were like saucers, her eyelashes fluttering, her head nodding vigorously. ‘Oh, I would like that very much. It’d be all right, wouldn’t it, Amy?’
Dicky gave a little giggle. ‘Are you sure you’ve not lived in Australia at some time? You really do have that sort of accent that reminds me of that Australian I told you I once knew.’
‘I am sorry.’
‘No, don’t be. I told you, I find it exquisite, the way you speak. So it’s a date then? Say after lunch – about two? Where do I pick you up? Are you staying with Amy?’
‘Yes. Well, you see, I …’ Alice broke off, her face colouring. She looked desperately at Amy for help, unsure how far this white lie was supposed to go.
‘I think it best,’ Amy put in, thinking quickly, ‘if I bring her, shall we say to Marble Arch? And I could pick her up from there, say around four o’clock?’ He was looking at her questioningly. ‘She doesn’t know her way around London at all, you know.’ This was becoming more complicated than she had anticipated. But it was Pauline who broke the tension with a light laugh.
‘Amy wants to play chaperon. Well, it’s not on, darling. Let the lovebirds be. Can’t you see they’ve eyes only for each other. My God, it is love at first sight. I never believed in that, not until now. How perfectly adorable.’
Alice blushed. But Dicky was in command of himself, his eyes admiringly on his choice. ‘I find her the most charming person I have ever met. All I want to do now is to get to know her better. If you’ll let me, Alice.’
Pauline threw up her hand in a dramatic gesture of defeat. ‘Oh, come away, everyone! This is becoming too sick-making for words! But the night is young. We could all go on to a darling little club I know of. You’ve been there, Dicky …’
‘Not for us,’ Amy interrupted. ‘I’ve promised that Alice must be home at a reasonable time. And it is getting late.’
‘Oh, how miserable!’
Dicky was looking forlorn but hopeful, ready to concede to any arrangement so long as he could see this delightful girl again. ‘Two o’clock, then. Marble Arch.’
Hardly giving her time to nod her consent, Alice had whisked her away before there were any more complications to deal with. The last she saw of Dicky was his face, looking quite lovesick, gazing after them.
That night, Amy could hardly sleep for thinking about how splendidly it had all gone. Soon she would turn the tides on Dicky Pritchard – or was it the tables? Whichever, it couldn’t have gone better. To see his face when she told him the truth was something she could hardly wait for.
Chapter Nine
Grace Jordan was in the middle of her Monday wash, the kitchen filled with steam, the walls running with condensation from the boiling copper in the corner, when Tom and his father walked in.
In the act of manipulating a well-smoothed copper stick to hook a twill bedsheet from the bubbling suds for easing through the rollers of the portable mangle, she paused to stare at the two men, half in surprise, half in the trepidation most women would feel at seeing their menfolk troop in unannounced in the middle of their working day.
