Starlight (2 page)

‘They say only a war will do it,' Marguerite murmured. ‘There's talk of it.'

‘Another war?' Addie's eyes were horror-struck. ‘No, no, that couldn't happen.'

‘It's in all the papers, Ma. That fellow in Germany's just dying to cause trouble.'

‘If I see anything about war, I never read it. It's just impossible! Impossible it could happen all over again.' Addie took off her glasses and folded the newspaper, her lips trembling. ‘When I think of what your dad went through – are they saying that'd all be for nothing?'

‘No, no, Ma, nobody's saying that!' Jess ran to put her arm round her mother's shoulders. ‘The government will never let it get that far. They'll never let Hitler cause another war.'

‘The government?' Addie smiled wryly. ‘You think they can do something? Haven't done much for the men on the dole.'

‘All this war stuff, it's just talk, Ma,' Marguerite said soothingly. ‘I'm sorry I mentioned it.'

‘Aye, well, let's leave it, eh?' Addie stood up. ‘It's getting late, I think I'll away to bed. You, too, Jess. You've your big day tomorrow.'

And lying in her small bed next to Marguerite in the old brass double that had once been their parents', all thoughts of war had faded from Jess's mind. In the half-light of the summer night, she could just make out the smart two-piece hanging on the cupboard door, and her best white blouse on the back of her chair. Everything else was also ready where she'd placed it earlier; her bag and high-heeled shoes by her bed, her hat on a peg on the back of the door. Now all she needed next day was good weather.

‘Marguerite,' she whispered urgently.

‘What?' her sister asked crossly.

‘Can you tell if it's still raining? I think it's stopped.'

‘You're waking me up to ask about the rain? Honestly, Jess!'

‘Sorry. I'll try to go to sleep now. Oh, but I've just thought – with so many out of work, d'you think there'll be a lot in for the box office job?'

‘Oh, yes, they'll be queuing from one end of Princes Street to the other!' Marguerite cried, then laughed. ‘No, I don't think there'll be all that many. No' everybody's cup of tea. You're going to get it anyway.'

‘Think so?'

‘Sure to. Now let's say goodnight, eh?'

‘Goodnight, Marguerite. And thanks. Specially for your two-piece.'

‘Don't mention it,' said Marguerite, and almost immediately fell asleep, to be followed, amazingly, by Jess, who didn't even dream. Or at least, if she did, couldn't remember, when brilliant August sunshine woke her up the following morning.

Three

‘Queuing from one end of Princes Street to the other'?

Remembering Marguerite's joke as she arrived at the picture house at ten o'clock precisely, Jess gave a sigh of relief that it hadn't turned out to be true. After all, it might have been, with so many out of work and looking for jobs. But there was no one outside the Princes at all.

For a moment, she stood in the sunshine, for which she was giving heartfelt thanks, gazing at the cinema at the east end of Princes Street. Sandwiched in between shops, the white-walled building with its handsome glass entrance was not one of the largest cinemas in the city, but so attractive in its styling, inside and out, it was certainly one of the most popular. At least, with those who didn't mind paying a wee bit more to get in.

And that, of course, had always been Jess, who was now adjusting the jacket of Marguerite's two-piece and straightening its calf-length slim skirt. Not too over-dressed, was she? After her sister's scornful words, she'd begun to worry that she might be and had decided against wearing her best hat, the one she'd bought at Dobson's for a friend's wedding.

Better not look as though she was going to another wedding, eh? Or a garden party at Holyrood? Marguerite had been right, really. She was a working girl, applying for a working girl's post, even if she did hope it might lead to all sorts of things. Her plain white hat would add just the right touch, and giving it a final tweak over her dark hair, Jess took a deep breath and entered the elegant vestibule of the Princes, just as the clock was striking ten.

There were seven other young women already waiting, and as their eyes ran over Jess, sizing up another rival, hers ran over them. What a relief! No one looked too different from her. She needn't worry about being over-dressed, just smile, try to relax. What a hope, with her insides churning! But she did smile, and so did her rivals, as she asked cheerfully, ‘No' late am I?'

‘Och, no, it's just on ten,' someone answered. ‘And we've just got here.'

‘Seen anybody yet?'

‘Aye, a lady came out of the foyer there, but just told us to wait, she'd be back in a minute.'

‘Here she is now,' said a tall redhead, as a plump young woman in a blue dress and matching scarf appeared with a paper in her hand. She had a mass of lightly bleached blonde hair and round blue eyes, and as she gave them all a beaming smile, Jess remembered her.

‘Good morning, ladies, and welcome to the Princes Street Picture House. I'm Sally Dollar, in charge of the box office, which is in the foyer behind me – perhaps some of you've seen me before, on visits here?'

Oh, yes, Jess thought, she'd seen her before, when she'd bought her ticket, and had always thought how pleasant she looked in her little glass office.

‘But you'll be interviewed by Mr Hawthorne, the manager,' Miss Dollar was continuing. ‘In alphabetical order, so you'll know where you stand. Now, is everyone here?'

Checking them off on her list, Miss Dollar told them that she'd first be giving them a quick tour of the cinema, and then there'd be a cup of tea or coffee in the Princes Cafe and Tea Room if they wanted it.

‘If we want it?' the girl next to Jess murmured. ‘I'm dying for a cup already!'

But Jess was more interested in the tour, and as Miss Dollar called out, ‘This way, ladies!' was the first to follow.

From the vestibule they moved into the foyer, familiar to Jess, of course, from her many past visits. Here was the box office itself, focus of interest for the girls, of course, though it was no more than a small glass-walled office with a couple of seats, and a counter with ledgers and files and the machine that dispensed the tickets. When everyone had had a brief look, Miss Dollar drew their attention to the foyer's marble flooring, decorative pillars, and the fine plasterwork of the ceiling cornices, all features in fact of the classical style of the whole cinema.

‘And all costing a packet, as you might expect, when the Princes was built in 1912,' she added. ‘But money seemed no object then. Later on, when the talkies came in and the old piano for the silent films went, they bought a grand cinema organ – and how much that set 'em back, I couldn't tell you.' She gave a chuckle. ‘But maybe you ladies will be more interested in the photos of the stars? They're all here, you know, round the walls.'

And so they were, as the girls exclaimed. Clark Gable, Henry Fonda, Charles Boyer, Greta Garbo, Marlene Dietrich – oh, all of 'em. Weren't they terrific?

‘Charles Boyer's on this week, in
Algiers
,' one of the girls murmured. ‘Och, he's so gorgeous, eh? That French accent!'

‘Want to see the picture, then?' another girl asked.

‘You bet! And
Jezebel
– that's coming soon.' The first girl sighed. ‘With Henry Fonda. He's gorgeous, too. So stern!'

‘Sorry to interrupt, but we'll have to move on,' Miss Dollar said cheerfully. ‘This way to the auditorium. No Charles Boyer on at the moment. It's always like a church at this time of day – nobody around but the cleaners.'

They saw everything, from the cleaners at work in the hushed auditorium with its great Wurlitzer organ, to the staffroom and offices and the projection room behind the circle, described by Miss Dollar as the hub of the whole place.

‘All very technical up here, as you can see, but everybody at the Princes has to have an idea of how things work. We all have to muck in, you might say, from time to time. One big happy family!'

At the looks on their faces, she gave another chuckle.

‘But no need to worry. You'll no' be having to show the films. Sorry our projectionist is out just for the minute, or he could've said a few words. As a matter of fact, he'll be interviewing himself today – needs an assistant.'

‘Did you say we were to be seen in alphabetical order?' Jess asked, as they all trooped along to the cafe that was as elegant and gracious as everywhere else at the Princes, though closed until matinee time to the public.

‘I did,' Miss Dollar replied. ‘What's your name, dear?'

‘Jessica Raeburn.'

‘Oh, what a shame, you're last but one to go in! There's only someone called Tricia Wright after you. Never mind, Mr Hawthorne will no' take long.

‘That's a relief,' Jess answered, gratefully accepting a cup of tea and a chocolate biscuit from a young woman who'd opened up the tea counter specially for them. ‘And thanks very much, Miss Dollar, for showing us round.'

‘Why, thank you for that, Miss Raeburn. No' many bother to say anything.'

Hope she didn't think I was trying to butter her up, Jess thought as Miss Dollar hurried away. For she really had enjoyed the tour, and did think the cinema beautiful.

‘Miss Armitage!' Miss Dollar suddenly cried, after consulting her list. ‘Will you come this way, please?'

‘Oh, no!' the tall redhead whispered, putting down her coffee cup. ‘That's me, then!'

How soon for me? Jess wondered, moving nearer to Miss Wright, who'd have to share the longest wait with her. But, in what seemed no time at all, she saw Miss Dollar's eyes on her and heard her cheerful voice, ‘Miss Raeburn, please!'

‘Good luck!' Tricia Wright generously called after her.

‘Thanks,' Jess answered, her heart thumping, as she once again followed Miss Dollar.

Four

‘Miss Raeburn, Mr Hawthorne,' Miss Dollar announced, throwing open the door of a small office that had not been shown before. ‘Go along, dear,' she whispered to Jess, ‘take that chair in front of the desk. Then I'll sit next to Mr Hawthorne.'

‘Morning, Miss Raeburn,' the manager said, smiling, as he stubbed out a cigarette and rose to shake Jess's hand. ‘I'm afraid you've had a bit of a wait.'

‘That's all right,' she murmured, obeying Miss Dollar's instruction to take the chair in front of the manager's desk, letting her eyes, with a great show of confidence, meet his.

From the worry lines on his brow and the beginnings of a double chin, she guessed him to be in his forties. His fairish hair was also receding from that worried brow, but his smile was one that met his brown eyes and it seemed to Jess that he'd be good-natured. But who could say? Looks were deceptive, folk always said.

‘Well, now, I have your details to hand,' he began, glancing down at her application form open on his desk. ‘And I see you've been four years with Dobson's in Cash and Accounts?'

‘That's correct, Mr Hawthorne.'

‘So – good experience in cash handling.' He moved his finger down the page. ‘And before that you were with Marling's the stationer's. That'd be mainly counter work?'

‘To begin with,' Jess replied. ‘I'd always done well with figures at school and would have stayed on, only we needed the money, so I took the job at Marling's. When they asked me to help out with the cash one time, I liked it and did some evening classes. Then I moved to Dobson's.'

‘Where they think very highly of you.' Mr Hawthorne looked down again at her references. ‘But – about this particular post – there's more to it than people think.' His eyes went to Miss Dollar who nodded agreement. ‘It's not just a question of selling admission tickets. We have to spend a lot of time here making things balance. I do, Miss Dollar does. Cash has to correspond to sales.' Little lines creased his eyes as he laughed. ‘Story of my life, Miss Raeburn! So, there's checks and records to be kept, dealing with enquiries, and occasionally there's assisting me, or others.'

‘I did tell everyone that we all mucked in,' Miss Dollar murmured. ‘One big happy family.'

‘And that's right. This is a small cinema, you see, Miss Raeburn, and we have to be ready to do anything that comes up. That's why I wanted everyone shown round the cinema before the interview, so that they could see the set-up.'

‘It was interesting, looking round,' Jess told him.

‘Yes, well, the other thing is that as box office assistant, you'll often be working on your own. In the evenings, too. You'd be happy with that, Miss Raeburn?'

‘Quite happy, Mr Hawthorne.'

He hesitated, shuffling papers round his desk.

‘I'm still not sure, though, if you don't mind me saying so, why you want to make the move from Dobson's. We'd be paying you less, you know, and the hours are not easy.'

‘Oh, I know,' she said quickly.

‘And you wouldn't be doing the same sort of thing as you're used to. So . . . what made you apply, then? Just the chance to see the films?'

‘No, no, it wasn't the films – though I do like to go to the pictures.' Jess was already blushing. ‘It was the cinema.'

‘The cinema?'

‘This cinema. The Princes. I love it. It's just so beautiful. So . . . different.'

‘Different from what?'

‘I mean, from what you usually see. Everything that's ordinary.' She gave a nervous smile. ‘Sorry, I'm no' explaining very well. I just know I love it.'

There was a silence, as Mr Hawthorne and Miss Dollar stared at her and her blush, deepening, rose to her brow in a painful tide. Och, what a fool, eh? To go blethering on like that in an interview! She was lowering her eyes, looking down at her hands, when Mr Hawthorne finally spoke.