The Birthday Present (8 page)

‘Not bloaters! I don’t know what exactly but it’s pink and smells fishy, and there’s a slice of the birthday cake! Help yourself, Pa. They’re ever so kind and I’ve got so much to tell you  . . .’ She fled into the scullery to make a pot of tea but while she waited for the kettle to boil she hurried back to him. ‘There’s a sister named Letitia and she’s marrying this terribly posh man and she said she would invite me to the wedding!’

‘Invite you to the wedding? Never!’

‘She said she would! Because her brother Marcus – the one who collected me – doesn’t have anyone he can take so  . . .’

His expression softened. ‘Look Rosie, you mustn’t set your heart on it. See, people like that, they say things in the heat of the moment. They mean well but then they forget all about it. I don’t want you to be disappointed, that’s all. I don’t want you getting all upset when the invite doesn’t come. If it doesn’t, I mean.’

‘It will come, Pa. I know it will. Letitia is not the sort to—’

‘Just don’t get your hopes up, Rosie. That’s all I’m saying.’

Rose swallowed an angry retort, knowing that her father’s concern was genuine.

He said, ‘So did he pay you what he promised? Half a guinea, wasn’t it?’

‘Yes, he did! Ten shillings and sixpence! I feel rich for the first time in my life.’ She grinned with delight but then looked serious. ‘And I’m not going to spend it all in a rush but  . . . here you are!’ She drew some coins from her pocket and handed him three shillings. ‘Buy some cigarettes, Pa, or a few drinks – or even a few pairs of socks or a shirt.’

He took the money with obvious disappointment. ‘Three shillings?’ When she failed to rise to the bait he sighed loudly. ‘And what would I want with a new shirt? I’m not going anywhere.’

‘No, but I am. I’m going to a posh wedding and I’m going in style. Lord knows who I’ll meet there and I don’t want to look like the poor relation! I need a new hat and shoes—’

‘You mean you’re going to fritter it all on clothes!’

Rose sat down and regarded him earnestly. ‘Pa, you have to understand something. Suddenly I’ve got chances to better myself and I mean to take them. For a start there’s the wedding but there’s something else. Marcus’s brother is going to introduce me to a friend of his
who owns a supper room
! He might give me a singing spot. On stage! And my name might be on the programme. “Starring Miss Lamore!”’ She struck a pose, arms outstretched, and smiled at an invisible audience.

He seemed unimpressed so she rushed on. ‘A real job, Pa, and I’ll be paid regularly. I’ll be on the way up! You can come and have some supper and watch me sing. You’ll love it.’

Her father’s eyes had narrowed, she noticed, and her heart sank. He was going to pooh-pooh it!

‘Oh yes? A decent chap, is he, this man?’

‘Well of course he is. Steven would never introduce me to somebody shady. I told you, the Bennleys are a very nice family—’

‘No, Rosie. The Bennley’s
seem
like a very nice family. You don’t know what goes on behind the scenes, so to speak. All families put on a face for outsiders. They’re probably no better and no worse than most.’

Mortified, Rose snapped, ‘Like us, you mean. Like the Patons.’

‘If you like, yes.’

‘Dark secrets!’ She regretted the jibe as soon as it was uttered but too late.

Her father looked uncomfortable. ‘Just don’t trust them a hundred per cent.’

‘At least the police weren’t knocking at their door before anyone was up!’

Rose wanted to hit him. Now her father was spoiling everything, pouring cold water on her wonderful news. She said spitefully, ‘And please, Dad, don’t lose all that money on the horses.’

‘The horses?’ For a moment he looked puzzled; then he grinned. ‘Oh! The horses! Now when do I ever lose on a race?’

‘I wouldn’t know, would I, because you only ever tell me when you win!’

Before the argument could become more heated she changed the subject. In a lighter tone she asked, ‘Now, do you fancy some ham and stuff? I’ll put it on a plate.’

‘Ooh, we are la-di-da!’ he mocked. ‘Just give it to me in the paper, Rosie. It tastes just as good eaten with fingers.’

Fuming inwardly, Rose handed him the leftovers and brought in two cups of tea. Her father ate the food with exaggerated murmurs of delight, shoving it into his mouth with a total lack of finesse, and washing it down with slurped gulps of tea. She knew he was doing it to annoy her so she pretended not to notice and sipped her tea as serenely as she could and in silence. Aware of the unlovely spectacle her father presented, she was heartily thankful that he would not be accompanying her to Letitia’s wedding.

That night, in Victoria House, Marie lay awake trying not to think about the fact that she was dying and that she would almost certainly be dead before Christmas. She had become accustomed to the idea but it still saddened her and the nearer her death came, the more she longed to be with her mother. Over the past months, the thought of dying in Victoria House appalled her. Letitia would become hysterical, Steven would make himself scarce, afraid of the embarrassment, and poor Marcus would struggle to deal with it, longing to help but unable to do so.

Her mother and Gerard would welcome her and her mother would be a wonderful support but how was she to get over to France? Letitia refused point-blank to go with her because it meant seeing and speaking with her mother and stepfather and that she would never do. Steven was out of the question. He would make a hopeless travelling companion, partly because he was utterly self-centred and partly because he would be seasick – which left Marcus. Marcus would do his best but she needed a woman with her and she had now seen a way in which this might possibly be achieved.

On the spur of the moment she rang her bell twice which was their code for Marcus. When he arrived, in his pyjamas and dressing gown, with his hair rumpled, she was reminded of Marcus aged fifteen, home from boarding school for the holidays. He never looked relaxed, his expression was always wary and even then she sensed a slight lack of connection to those around him. Now, not for the first time, she wondered what would become of him and wished she could live longer to be of some support.

He said, ‘Not a moment too soon! I was just settling down,’ and sat sideways on the end of the bed. ‘How can I help?’

‘Marcus, please don’t be upset at what I’m going to say but –’ she took a deep breath – ‘I want to be with Mother when I die and not here in London.’

‘Oh but Marie  . . .!’ he began but then stifled the rest of his instinctive reaction.

She rushed on. ‘I know you’d all look after me and I know that if we begged Mother to come to us here she would come but then Letitia would leave and everything would be unhappy and I don’t want to even think about how it would be. Please say you’re not offended, Marcus.’

‘I’m not offended. And stop worrying about everyone else. It’s your life and—’

‘And my death!’ She gave him a smile that made him reach out and take hold of her hand. ‘Mother would love me to be there with her. I know she would although how could she say so without stirring up old quarrels? The thing is, Marcus, I was wondering if we could ask Rose to come with me. I mean the three of us. We could pay her fare and something extra, couldn’t we? We could all stay for maybe a week – Mother would love it – and then you and Rose could travel back. And we needn’t tell the others I’m never coming back until it’s all over. They could think it’s just for a few weeks but then we could say I’m not well enough to travel or something.’

Marcus stared at her in consternation. ‘But Letitia’s wedding. You would miss it.’

She hesitated. ‘The truth is I don’t care, Marcus. I could write and say that I’m not well enough to travel home. Or Mother could do it for me. And we could send a present and a card. It needn’t upset her.’ She smiled wanly. ‘She might not even miss me. It will be such a big day for her.’

He regarded her unhappily, considering the idea from every angle.

Determined, Marie went on. ‘Imagine if I came and then collapsed or something, in the middle of everything! It would ruin the best day of her life!’

Marcus nodded. ‘I take your point but  . . . I don’t know about Rose. She might be willing to come with us but when? She is so set on her career and she has an interview coming up with the owner of Andy’s Supper Room. I’ve advised her against it but she’s determined to audition. It would be asking a lot from her, to give up that opportunity.’

For a few moments they sat in silence, thinking over the ramifications of the scheme, and Marie watched her brother hopefully.

At last he shrugged. ‘I suppose we should take one step at a time. We must first ask Rose if she would do it. If not, that’s an end to it. If she says “Yes”  . . . we’ll take another step.’ He patted her hand. ‘How’s that? Is that enough for tonight? Will that make you sleep better?’

Marie threw her arms around his neck and hugged him. ‘That’s wonderful, Marcus. And will you ask her tomorrow?’

‘I promise. Mind you, I may not be able to stay there with you for the week. I may have to come back for my work but I could pop over to bring Rose back, of course. We can’t expect her to sacrifice her plans for long.’

Marie was nodding enthusiastically. ‘But at least I’ll be with Mother. I shall feel  . . . safer with her and not so anxious. And I like Gerard. I can see why Mother fell in love with him.’

For a moment her optimism wavered. She had thought many times that she would never have time to fall in love and she felt that God had cheated her a little but she had never spoken of the matter to anyone and never would.

She watched Marcus leave and then she settled down in bed and smiled into the darkness. She couldn’t believe that Rose would refuse but prayed earnestly to God, asking for His help. Then, to make doubly sure, she crossed her fingers anyway. Suddenly she had something to look forward to.

Rose felt that it was taking forever for Monday to arrive but it came at last and so did the taxi. She was disappointed to discover that, contrary to her expectations, Steven had not come with it, but at least the great moment had arrived. Her father came to the front door to wave her off and the next-door neighbour, Mrs Trilby, shouted ‘Best of luck, Rosie!’

Throughout the journey, Rose talked non-stop to the driver, explaining the circumstances of her ride, and she felt that he was properly impressed. She was longing to arrive but dreading the interview in case she was turned down. It would be such a humiliation.

‘Here we are, miss, and I’m to wait outside and take you home.’

Rose stared out of the taxi window and was suddenly lost for words. It was not quite as she had pictured it. The sign over the double doors said ‘Andy’s Supper Room’ but it definitely lacked that show business magic she had expected. The painted sign looked a little faded but there were lamps at the edges of the sign and she tried to convince herself that it would look exciting after dark.

The driver said, ‘This is it, miss. I’ll be waiting. OK?’

‘Yes.’ Feeling breathless, Rose stepped down on to the damp pavement, which was littered with used tickets and crumpled sweet wrappers. Rose climbed out of the taxi, carefully avoiding a small pile of dog mess, thanked the driver and assumed a shaky smile.

She was wearing her best clothes and carried her costume, a new parasol and shoes.

The driver watched her. ‘Well, go on then!’

Rose took a deep breath, pushed one of the doors open and went in. She found herself in the dark and had to wait for her eyes to become accustomed to the gloom. She could smell cigarette smoke, stale beer, fatty food and lingering perfume. From somewhere nearby an elderly woman appeared. She was scrawny, a little stooped, her grey hair was scraped back in a bun and she carried a tin of polish and a cloth.

‘You Miss Lamore?’ She peered short-sightedly at Rose.

‘Yes.’ Her eyes were now better focused and she could see that there were dim lights ahead at the end of a foyer.

‘He’s waiting in his office. I’ll show you.’

‘Thank you.’

The woman hesitated. ‘Watch yourself, dearie. Just a word of advice, like. He can come on a bit strong, can Mr Markham. Know what I mean?’

‘Yes. I will. I mean I do.’

‘I’m Connie. I do bits and pieces for His Majesty!’ She laughed wheezily as they made their way past the bar and cut diagonally across the supper room which held about a dozen large round tables, each one piled with upturned chairs. ‘Ever heard of Madame Moyna? That was me in the old days. I used to tell fortunes. Before that I was a dancer in the chorus, here, for Mr Markham’s father. He was a nice old boy. ’Course it was a bit grander in those days. Better artistes. Better clientele. Better everything. Sign of the times, isn’t it, dearie?’

Rose bumped into something in the gloom and there was a loud clatter.

Connie said, ‘It’s the umbrella stand. No matter  . . . Now where was I? Oh yes. I had an accident – fell down some steps – and my dancing days were over.’

‘How awful for you. I’m sorry.’

‘I survive.’ She gave a short laugh. ‘I hope you do. The last girl lasted three weeks, then got the sack. Uncooperative. Markham’s got a one-track mind. He thinks women were invented for his amusement! He can’t help it and he’s no worse than lots of men I’ve known. Know what I mean?’

Rose hoped that she didn’t. Surely not, she thought anxiously. Steven had vouched for the man, hadn’t he? Andrew Markham was Steven’s friend so surely Connie was exaggerating.

Ahead of her she saw the stage with its draped curtains and immediately she pushed aside her doubts. This was ‘theatre land’! It was ‘show business’! It might be a little drab but this was the first step on the ladder.

Connie turned left, knocked on an ornate wooden door, opened it and said loudly, ‘Miss Lamore’s here, Mr Markham.’

‘Send her in.’ The voice was gruff.

Just like that. No please or thank you. Rose felt a slight frisson of disappointment. In her mind she had rather glorified Andrew Markham and marked him down as the man who would set her on the road to stardom. She had hoped for a ‘benevolent uncle’ type who would nurture her talent. Now, it seemed, Mr Markham had less than perfect manners and a low opinion of women.