The Heart of the Family (18 page)

It was still only four o’clock. She had another hour to go yet before she could go back to the salon and her feet were beginning to hurt. She had a pair of
plimsolls in her straw bag and it was only female pride that stopped her from putting them on.

The women she had seen earlier in their summer dresses had all disappeared, gone back to their homes, Lena thought enviously. they obviously hadn’t been bombed. They probably lived somewhere posh and safe, like Charlie’s mum and dad. The now familiar feeling of bleak misery started to invade her insides again. Why hadn’t Charlie meant what he had said to her? Why had he lied to her? It would all have been so different if he had loved her. Lena sniffed back her emotions. She wasn’t going to show herself up by crying in the street. She didn’t have a handkerchief so she had to use a corner of the sleeve of her cardigan to pat her face dry, stopping at the entrance to a narrow street as she did so, so that no one could see her. After she had recovered her composure she decided that she might as well use some of the money she had been given to treat herself to a slap-up tea at Joe Lyons.

And then she saw it. The frock! Exactly as she had pictured it inside her head. It was in the window of a smart-looking shop – the kind she would normally never have dreamed of going into, but there was a war on, she reminded herself determinedly, and the shop had a sign across the window, saying, ‘Second-hand “models” on sale here.’

She’d got her hand on the door handle before she knew it, hesitating only for a second and then taking a deep breath before opening the door and going in.

The woman inside the shop was elderly but upright, her white hair smoothed into an immaculate chignon, the diamond rings on her fingers glittering despite the dimness of the shop’s interior. She was wearing a plain
fawn skirt with a matching cardigan over a cream silk blouse, and instinctively Lena knew that her clothes were somehow a cut above even the clothes that Charlie’s mother and sister had been wearing. They set the woman in the shop apart, marking her out as someone to be respected and treated with caution.

The shop itself had seen better days, Lena decided as she took in the faded blue carpet and the little gilt chairs with the gilt paint worn off in places and their blue satin seat covers as faded as the carpet.

The woman would have got on well with her own mother, Lena recognised as she withstood the steely, openly dismissive visual inspection to which she was being subjected.

‘The trade entrance is at the back of the shop,’ the woman announced eventually in a crisp cold voice.

Perhaps if she hadn’t said that, or if she hadn’t looked at her the way she had, reminding her of everything that Charlie’s mother have made her feel. Lena might just have given in and scuttled off, but now, with her obvious contempt, the woman had aroused in Lena a stubborn pride she had not previously known she possessed.

Unconsciously mimicking the woman’s own stance, Lena stood tall, refusing to be cowed as she said firmly, ‘I was wondering about the frock you’ve got in the window.’

‘The silk tea dress?’

Was that what it was called? It had to be since it was the only thing in the window. Well, Lena certainly wasn’t going to let on that she hadn’t known what it was called.

‘Yes. What size is it, please?’

‘It’s two guineas,’ the woman told her sharply, without answering her question.

Two guineas! Normally Lena would have shown her reaction by letting her jaw drop and then speaking her mind, scoffing at the impossibility of a bit of cloth costing so much, but somehow a new Lena was starting to grow inside her, a Lena whose roots came from the pain and humiliation Charlie’s parents had heaped on her, and her desire to prove that no matter what they or anyone else thought, she was as good as any girl and she could prove it.

She pursed her lips. ‘It would have to be in very good condition for me to pay that much. After all, it is second-hand.’

Something changed in the other woman’s expression, a something so faint that Lena wasn’t even sure she had really seen it.

‘It is in perfect condition. It’s an ex-model gown. Do you know what that means?’ she demanded as she went to unfasten the door to the window.

Lena was tempted to say that she did, but as though she already knew that she did not the woman told her, ‘It means that the dress has been worn only for private showings in an exclusive shop from which specially selected customers could then order their own tea dresses to be made up for them. It’s French, from before the war.’

The woman backed out of the window, the frock over her arm. Lena’s heart lurched sideways inside her chest. What was she doing in here? She was way out of her depth and her price range, but the woman was holding up the dress and Lena’s panic melted in
a surge of female longing. She reached out to touch the fabric. It slid softly against her fingers.

‘I’ll have to try it on,’ she told the woman determinedly.

Again she was subjected to an assessingly critical look. She half expected to be told that she couldn’t, but instead the woman stepped back further into the shop pulling back a thin curtain to reveal a small changing cubicle.

‘In there, and you can leave your things out here. I’m not having you putting it into your bag and then trying to make off with it.’

Lena’s face burned. The woman was making it plain what she really thought of her. She felt a sharp resurgence of her earlier pride.

It look her longer than she had expected to get into the dress, mainly because she was so nervous, all fingers and thumbs as she fastened hooks and eyes, but finally it was on and she was ready to step out of the cubicle and look at herself in the long mirror she had seen in the main area of the shop.

Although she herself wasn’t aware of it Lena was a natural observer, storing away what she had seen inside her head, and now as she walked out into the shop she adopted unconsciously the way she had seen Charlie’s sister walk, her head held high, her steps deliberate and full of pride in herself. And yet when she saw herself in the mirror her first reaction was one of disappointment. To Lena, who was used to skirts and frocks cinched in at the waist, the silk dress seemed to turn her from someone with the kind of curves that Charlie had so admired into someone of a very different shape. Inside her own head Lena thought that the reflection looking back at her from
the mirror was dull and not at all eye-catching, a look that was emphasised by the fact that she had forgotten to renew her lipstick after her cup of tea and biscuits at the rest centre, so that even her face looked plainer than usual.

However, when she looked towards the older woman, expecting to see her own feelings reflected in her eyes, instead what she saw was unexpected approval.

‘Well, it’s certainly an improvement on those dreadful clothes you came in here wearing. You’re Italian, aren’t you?’

‘My father was,’ Lena answered warily.

The older woman nodded. ‘Take some advice from me, and in future when you buy clothes remember that with your looks you do not need to emphasise them with what you wear. A simple well-cut skirt and blouse, and a dress like the one you’re wearing now would look far better on you. Tight clothes make a young woman your age look cheap and easy. If you hadn’t come in here and asked to try on the tea dress I would have assumed from looking at you that you wanted to look that way, but since you obviously don’t my advice to you is that in future you should look for plain understated clothes in creams and browns, good-quality wool in winter, linen in summer and silk all the year round.’

Lena was so astonished to receive this advice that her mouth fell open. Her pride was urging her to object to the older woman’s assessment of her and to defend her own taste, but then she remembered how the minute she walked into the shop she had been struck by her elegance, and how she had felt that she had looked so much smarter than even
Charlie’s mother. Someone who looked like her would always command respect. Slowly and a little bit painfully Lena’s mind assimilated those facts. She touched one of the elbow-length slightly puffed sleeves on the silk dress. It was true that the way the dress skimmed her breasts and only hinted at her waist before falling softly to a couple of inches below her knees did make her look different, but what if it
was
a difference that meant others would treat her with respect?

She looked at the older woman. ‘I’ll give you one pound and ten shillings for it,’ she told her bravely.

The woman laughed. ‘I’m practically giving it away at two guineas, and if it wasn’t such a small size it would have sold months ago.’

‘And it could be here for a lot more months if someone small enough doesn’t come in,’ Lena pointed out firmly.

The woman studied her with narrowed eyes.

‘Two pounds,’ she announced, ‘and I wouldn’t be letting it go at that if it wasn’t for the fact that my son is insisting that I close down the business and move to the country to live with him and his wife.’

Two pounds! If she bought the dress that would only leave her with ten shillings, and if the rest centre found her a billet, she’d have to pay for that, and if she didn’t get that job she’d be without any money until she found one. But she had her savings, Lena reminded herself. She took a deep breath and then nodded her head vigorously.

‘All right then, and I’ll keep it on.’

Ten minutes later she was strolling along the street feeling as though she were walking on air, pausing to look at herself in every shop window she passed,
her old clothes bundled up in the straw basket along with everything else.

It was time for her to go back to the salon. Lena’s tummy was twisting into nervous knots. The sulky receptionist-cum-junior had gone and the only person in the salon was its owner, whose eyebrows rose when she saw what Lena was wearing.

‘Well, there’s a change and no mistake. I dunno know why you’ve come looking for work here if you can afford to buy a frock like that, because I’m telling you straight, the most I’d be paying you is two pounds a week – that is, if I was willing to offer you a job and I dunno know that I am.’

Lena caught her breath. She’d heard that women working in munitions were earning over double that, but she was too young for that kind of work and besides, it didn’t really appeal to her. Two pounds, though – it was less than Simone had paid her.

‘Simone’s a good friend,’ Judith continued, ‘but the thing is, I’ve already got a receptionist and I don’t want the bother of training up a junior.’

‘I’m not a junior,’ Lena protested. ‘I’ve bin learning to do perms and cuts. And Simone was training me up to be a proper stylist.’

Judith had been doing some more thinking in Lena’s absence. Much as she hated paying out good money to someone else, as today’s events had just proved, the influx of new acts to the theatre meant that if she wasn’t careful she was going to start having to turn business away, and that would be even worse than paying someone to work for her. But was Lena the right person?

‘Hmm, so why are you here looking for a job then? Ruined someone’s hair, have you?’

‘No!’ Lena gasped indignantly at the unfairness of the comment when she had been the one to save the salon’s client from exactly that fate only a matter of hours ago. Something, though, warned her that it would not be a good idea to remind Judith of that fact.

‘What then?’

‘I’ve had words with my auntie,’ Lena admitted reluctantly, ‘and she’s thrown me out and told Simone that it will be the worse for her if she keeps me on.’

‘Thrown you out? What for? Mekin’ eyes at her hubby?’

‘No.’ This time Lena’s denial contained shocked revulsion.

‘Mmm … Well, as it happens you’re in luck on account of a new show being booked for the theatre and a fresh cast arriving. They’ll be starting rehearsals next week and I dare say they’ll be in here wanting their hair done, as well as all the wigs for the show, so I’m prepared to take you on on trial.’

Lena felt almost light-headed with relief, but before she could say anything Judith was warning her, ‘And I do mean on trial. Any mistakes and you’ll be out. I can’t afford to have the reputation of my salon damaged. Like I said, I’ll pay you two pounds a week, and when it comes to tips, you’re to hand them over to me and then they’ll get shared out between the three of us at the end of the week – half to me and the other half shared between you and Jill, the other girl.’

Lena frowned. Simone had always allowed her to keep the pennies she was sometimes given by way
of a tip, but she knew instinctively that to say so wouldn’t go down well with her new employer.

‘You’re to wear one of me special overalls whilst you’re here working, but if you take it home with you then the cost of it will be deducted from your wages. And same goes if I find out that the shampoo is going down too fast. Oh, and no doing your own hair in my time neither. You can start tomorrow. Where are you billeted?’

‘I haven’t got anywhere yet,’ Lena was forced to admit. ‘Although the rest centre has told me to come back tomorrow.’

Now it was Judith’s turn to frown. She was a shrewd judge of character and she guessed that Lena would be hard worker, on to whom she could load extra work without Lena complaining. She had the right way of dealing with the clients too, as she’d already proved and, like Simone before her, Judith could already see the potential of an assistant stylist whose hair could be put in any style at all and still look good. Now that she had made up her mind to take her on Judith didn’t want to risk losing her simply because she ended up being given a billet too far away for her to travel to work. And besides, always keen to make one penny do the work of two, Judith could see an opportunity to kill two birds with one stone, as it were.