Ellie (34 page)

‘I bought them.’ Ellie at first looked surprised, then shocked as it dawned on her what Brenda meant. ‘I got them cheap, without points, but not how you’re thinking.’

‘Sorry, love.’ Brenda’s pale face blushed a becoming pink. ‘It’s just you’re such a lovely kid and I worry about you. Jimbo uses you, I see you singing your head off night after night and lining his pocket and I get scared you might take a few short cuts.’

Ellie got up, reached for the red evening dress she wore for her singing spot and stepped into it. She knew Brenda wasn’t being spiteful, as other waitresses had been. She was too kind-hearted for that and rather maternal.

‘I’m not quite as dense as I may look,’ she said in a low voice. ‘I’m using Jimbo too, to gain experience. The moment I get a chance in a theatre, I’ll be out of here. Charley’s the only man who figures in my life and even if Clark Gable was to offer me a part in a film in return for sleeping with him, I wouldn’t take it.’

‘I would,’ Brenda laughed. ‘I’d sleep with him without the offer of a film.’

Ellie smiled. ‘Well, I might be tempted,’ she said, her dark brown eyes sparkling with mischief. ‘But I’ll get the break one day, without selling my soul or anything else.’

Brenda zipped up Ellie’s dress for her. She admired Ellie for a great many reasons, but the underlying one was her courage. A great many girls of her age without any family would have floundered by now – heaven knows this club alone was a hotbed of temptation. But Ellie hadn’t let her success as a singer go to her head: she helped Charley’s mother and visited that poor crippled aunt in hospital whenever she got the chance.

‘What happens when you have to choose between your career and Charley?’ Brenda asked. ‘Do you really believe you can have both?’

Ellie frowned. This was a question never far from her mind and she had no answer to it. ‘I’ll think about that when the time comes.’

‘Spoken like a real trouper.’ Brenda smacked Ellie’s bottom playfully. ‘Now are you going to give me a hand out there for a while, or is the star too big for that now?’

‘Of course I’m not,’ Ellie grinned. ‘Let’s go and see what Jimbo’s managed to get in the way of booze tonight.’

Alcohol was scarce everywhere now, and most of the pubs had signs up saying ‘No Whisky. No Gin. No Brandy.’ There was talk of ‘bathtub’ gin being made in secret, even cases of people being poisoned by home-made ‘hooch’, but Jimbo’s supplies of the real stuff never ran out completely. But then anything was available to those with the right contacts and the Blue Moon continued to be the black marketeers’ favourite watering hole.

Ellie was behind the bar polishing glasses as the first customers came trickling in. Brenda and the other two waitresses made their way over to the tables to take orders and as Cyril the barman had slipped out for a moment, leaving her in charge, Ellie turned her attentions to Jimbo and his companion, drinking at the bar.

In the past year Ellie’s already keen powers of observation had become even sharper. She didn’t even need to speak to people to weigh up their character – the way they spoke, moved or their facial expressions told her so much. The club was a never-ending source of material. She’d seen the whole spectrum of human behaviour here, both good and bad, from the courageous pilots out for a drink before what might be their last mission, to married women having a fling while their husbands were away, and the rats who had made a fortune out of war.

Jimbo was talking to one of these now, a shifty-eyed character who called himself the Doc. Like Jimbo, his suit was hand-tailored, his hands well-manicured. He had a pale, foxy face and Ellie guessed he got his nickname because he could fix anything.

She moved closer to the men, wiping down the shelves at the back of the bar. Although her back was to them she was well within earshot.

‘It’s a wizard prang,’ the Doc said, using the RAF slang which he foolishly thought made people believe he was out of the top drawer. He often forgot himself when he’d had a few drinks and lapsed into pure Whitechapel, which she guessed was where he really came from. ‘We buy the name and licence of a club out in the suburbs. There’s dozens going begging for around a grand, then we sell it on to someone else in the West End for three or four times as much.’

‘The police will soon clamp down on that,’ Jimbo said disparagingly. ‘I’m not risking my money.’

‘There’s no risk, not even any outlay,’ Doc retorted, taking a cigarette out of a flashy silver case. ‘It’s perfectly legitimate. There’s dozens of premises perfect for clubs in the West End, men out there with the readies to buy in, the only hitch is getting a licence. I know a lawyer who’ll cover our traces. You want to get your hands on a theatre, don’t you? It couldn’t fail now the war’s nearly over and all the boys coming home. But that takes big money, Jimbo! How else you gonna get it?’

Ellie was called away at that point but as she turned she could see from Jimbo’s face that he was more than tempted.

It was easy to feel nothing but contempt for these men who grew rich wheeling and dealing while men like Charley risked their lives nightly for a pittance. But on the other hand Ellie felt a surge of excitement at what it could mean for her if Jimbo joined this man.

Singing in a seedy club wasn’t going to get her very far: her voice was good, but not exceptional. Ellie knew her real talent lay in musical comedy. The problem was getting the chance to prove it.

‘Have I told you the one about the actress and the camel?’ Jimbo asked the audience.

The club was packed to capacity. Candle-light created a soft, intimate atmosphere, concealing the shabbiness of nicotine-stained plaster, and cigar smoke masked the musty, damp smell. A lone spotlight played on Jimbo. In his impeccably cut dinner-jacket, starched dress-shirt and bow-tie he looked debonair and almost handsome.

Brenda moved closer to Ellie. ‘Yes, five million times,’ she whispered.

Ellie grinned. They were both taking advantage of Jimbo’s act to sneak a quick drink at the bar. They knew once he’d told his favourite long-winded joke he would launch into his parody of Hitler, which wasn’t side-splitting either. But the audience were jovial tonight: a group of Canadian airmen, all with various war injuries, had come in earlier determined to make their last night in London memorable. One of them had insisted on buying drinks all round and now the atmosphere was more of a private party than a club.

‘You’d better give them something special tonight,’ Brenda said. ‘Got anything up your sleeve?’

Ellie made a show of peering up it. ‘Only a damp armpit,’ she said with a dead-pan face. She had already planned to deviate from her usual routine. The crowd were receptive and she had no wish to sing sad songs with all those boys sitting there with arms in slings, patches on eyes and crutches propped up against their chairs. They needed to laugh and put aside memories of their comrades who didn’t make it back from France.

Roy and his band had been primed earlier when Jimbo wasn’t watching. They’d even moved the first row of tables back a couple of feet from the stage to give Ellie more room. Jimbo liked her to sing like Vera Lynn, but Ellie’s forte wasn’t crooning, and tonight she intended to show them what was.

Jumbo Jameson was sitting at the bar when Roy struck up the opening chords of ‘I’m Gonna Get Lit Up’. Jimbo frowned, turning on his stool to look towards the stage. He had told Ellie to sing sentimental songs tonight and there she was disobeying him.

‘Whisky,’ he snapped at Cyril, irritated to see even his barman had stopped working to listen.

Cyril jumped to it. He was nearly sixty and he wanted to keep his job when the war was over. ‘You had ’em creased up tonight,’ he said in the oily voice he kept specially for his employer. He poured a generous measure of whisky and passed it over. ‘Our Ellie’s gonna knock ’em dead too, by the looks.’

Jimbo downed the glass in one gulp. He was a troubled man, unsure of which way to turn next, and whisky was the only thing that took the edge off his anxiety.

When he was honest with himself he knew he was burned out as an entertainer. His jokes were stale, his impersonations tired and dull. The club was making money, but he knew that once the war was over new ones would sprout up like mushrooms, taking away his trade.

As the whisky scorched its way down to his stomach, he found he was warming to the Doc’s suggestion. If history repeated itself, the post-war period would be boom time. People would want to dress up again, to see a bit of glamour. He could picture himself running a theatre. Show girls in spectacular costumes, comedians, singers and novelty acts, a slick, fast-moving variety show. With money behind him he could get a decent producer and flashing neon signs ten feet high, pack the crowds in and make himself a fortune.

Jimbo stood up as wild applause broke out, nudging his way through the crowd to find a corner to watch Ellie. Cyril was right, she was knocking them dead – but what on earth was she doing telling jokes instead of singing?

Jimbo had been so immersed in his private thoughts that he’d missed the point of the joke. It seemed to be something about a nurse, a wounded soldier and a bedpan, and to his amazement everyone was roaring with laughter, especially the Canadians up front.

It wasn’t the first time he’d been surprised by this bit of a kid. Her ability to hold an audience, the way she responded to them, and her stamina had stunned him more than once. But it was her determination which had endeared her to him above all else. The way she’d turned up night after night, even when her aunt was injured. Her stoicism when he found other singers and pushed her back as a waitress. Even when she found a boyfriend she didn’t let that interfere with her work. Night by night her performance had improved, and if he was totally honest he’d be lost without her now.

But as Ellie launched into ‘My Baby Just Cares for Me’, Jimbo got a jolt down his spine. She had stepped down from the stage and she was out amongst the wounded Canadians, doing the most erotic shimmy he’d seen in years. She was sending up all those ‘sweet young things’ who normally chose this number, making the men laugh as she perched on laps, ruffling their hair. At one point she even stole an airman’s cap and held it over her heart.

Jimbo wasn’t in the habit of watching her do more than one number, but now he was rooted to the spot, aware he had underestimated her ability. The numbers she was doing now were old music hall ones, but she was giving them a whole new humorous slant and the punters were captivated not only by her voice, but her dancing too.

It was the laughter and the movement which suddenly brought home to Jimbo just how gorgeous she really was. Singing by the piano she was just another pretty girl with a nice voice; seen moving, she was captivating. Dark eyes flashing, that wide full mouth so expressive and delectable. As for her body …

Strange he’d never noticed it before. He’d always thought of her as skinny. Now as she moved he saw the womanly curves, legs as long as any Ziegfeld girl. Another year or so and she’d be a show-stopper.

All at once Jimbo knew he was going to join the Doc in his scam. He’d make a pile, get a theatre and launch Ellie as his protégée.

‘You want to take
me
out to dinner?’ Ellie repeated Jimbo’s invitation, thinking perhaps she’d misunderstood him.

‘Yes, dinner.’ Jimbo smiled at her surprise. ‘It’s impossible to have a serious talk here. I’ll pick you up at seven tomorrow and take you to Maxim’s grill.’

When Jimbo called her over after her performance she’d thought he was going to tell her off. But instead he not only complimented her, but asked solicitous questions about Marleen and seemed pleased to hear she had progressed to sitting in a wheelchair. He was almost fatherly, which was very odd for a man who normally barked out orders. And now this invitation.

Ellie was flattered that her performance had created such unexpected interest in her, but she wasn’t sure Charley would approve of her accepting such an invitation. ‘I haven’t got anything to wear,’ she said, blushing with embarrassment.

If Ellie looked well dressed and even glamorous to the other girls at the club, it was because she payed close attention to grooming. No one noticed that she came in nightly wearing the same plain wool skirt and blouse, because they were well pressed, her hair always gleaming, her one pair of shoes polished. Jimbo had supplied the red dress she wore to sing in and although it looked good in dim lighting, it didn’t bear close inspection. Everything else she owned was second-hand, perked up by a bit of new trimming or by careful alteration, but not smart enough to wear to a posh place like Maxim’s. Even the green dress Annie had given her was looking a little shabby now.

Jimbo’s wife always claimed she had ‘nothing to wear’ when in fact she had more dresses than Marshall and Snelgrove. Jimbo didn’t think this was the case with Ellie, though: she was too innocent to consider playing up to a man for a hand-out. ‘There’s a dress that should fit you in my office,’ he said. ‘I’ll go and get it.’

While Jimbo was gone, Ellie hastily consulted Brenda. The club was slowly emptying now, as transport for the Canadians arrived to take them to their hotel.

Brenda took a slug of gin as she listened to Ellie’s hasty explanation. ‘I don’t think he’s after your body,’ she said drily. ‘If nothing else, he’s faithful to his wife. But he’s a snake, Ellie, he never does anything for nothing. Just remember that, whatever you decide.’

‘Some help you are,’ Ellie laughed, but Brenda’s words chilled her. ‘What would
you
do?’

‘With your talent and ambition, I’d go.’ Brenda shrugged her shoulders. ‘He’s obviously got some scheme in mind and you might as well hear him out. Just be careful, that’s all.’

Jimbo came back with the dress over his arm. ‘Any good?’ he asked, holding it up for her to see.

‘It’s lovely,’ she said weakly. It was black, the sort of dress any girl would die for, plain but sophisticated and clearly expensive. She held it up to herself and looked in a mirror. Even without trying it on she knew it would fit. Soft wool crêpe, with a high neckline and long sleeves, the slim skirt softened by stylish drapery over one hip.