Whispers of Love (14 page)

He could talk of nothing else. Lowry was one
of the leading playwrights and his agent had read the play and described it in glowing terms. The fact that he had a part was exciting enough but George was elated beyond belief because he had been selected without even going for an audition.

‘I really am starting to be noticed,' he told Christabel. ‘I began to think I would never get beyond bit parts. Now it probably means that my name will be up in lights outside one of the big London theatres.'

Although she was pleased for him, Christabel was also concerned about what the future would hold for her if she accepted his offer as George seemed to take it for granted she would. Although at present they were very good friends, she would be little more than a servant, she reflected, and after the humiliating treatment she'd just suffered from his parents she didn't like the idea of that at all.

Also it meant that if she were living in London, she wouldn't be able to see little Kay very often and she longed to see her niece. She had missed her so much while she'd been living in Switzerland. Kay had just started school now, and Christabel felt she was missing out on all her formative years.

Yet, did she want to go back to Liverpool? she pondered. She certainly didn't want to return to living with her mother, not while Lilian and Dennis were still there.

Probably, if she did go back to Liverpool, the
moment Lilian knew she didn't have a job she'd expect her to take over at home and be the one to look after their mother so that she and Dennis could move to a home of their own.

‘Come on, Christabel; make up your mind,' George prompted, raising his glass. ‘This is the nineteen twenties and you're an emancipated young woman, so what are you being so coy about?'

She stared back at him for a long moment. ‘I was thinking about what people might think about us living together in the same flat and what they might say!' she murmured.

‘What utter rubbish; anyway, what does it matter. We both know that we would lead a blameless existence.' He laughed. ‘Come on, Christabel, and enjoy the freedom we fought for; people's outlooks have changed since the war ended. Surely you don't want to turn the clock back to Victorian days? It's a new century, a new world; people are no longer inhibited by false modesty and dubious values. Live life to the full and enjoy every minute of it, that's the motto for our generation, so let's make the most of it.'

‘What happens if your parents hear about your new play and come to London to see you in it? If they come to your flat they are bound to find out I am living there,' she pointed out.

‘They wouldn't be seen dead at my place,' he assured her. ‘My flat is a nice enough little place, but far too Bohemian for them to ever
visit. They have their own London house in Belgravia, so you can put that worry from your mind right away.'

 

Christabel found that she enjoyed living in London with George. His flat was comfortable and it was quite easy for them to get from there to the theatre as well as to the shops in the West End and the more exciting Chelsea area.

Christabel found the flat was equipped with everything she needed. She had her own bedroom, which was even larger than his, and they shared the living room space.

George was easy to look after and very considerate and, most of the time, he left her to her own devices. All he asked was that she did the cooking when he ate at home, kept the place in order, and made sure that his clothes were always ready for him to wear.

George left for the theatre around mid-morning, leaving her free to organise her day as she wished until the evening. Then she dressed in one of her many pretty frocks and went to the theatre where she would watch the play from the wings until he came off stage. Then they would join the other actors and their friends and enjoy the night life in London's West End. They rarely arrived back at the flat until two or three the next morning.

There was no performance on Sundays so, if the weather was uninviting, they often stayed in, reading the newspapers, or playing records.
George owned one of the new wind-up gramo-phones and they both enjoyed listening to jazz. On those Sundays when the sun was shining, if they were feeling energetic, they sometimes strolled along the Chelsea Embankment or walked in St James's Park.

Christabel delighted in their Bohemian existence. Her hair was shorter than ever, she even risked having an Eton crop, but George didn't like it so she let it grow back into a shaped bob with the slightly longer side pieces curved forward on to her cheeks. She followed the latest fashion trends with enthusiasm, making regular visits to the West End shops trying on all the very latest styles. She had good legs, so the Chanel outfits, with their low waists and knee-length skirts, suited her extremely well.

Except on Sundays, when they listened to jazz, she rarely played the gramophone when George was at home since he preferred listening to his new wireless. She thought it looked ugly. She hated the complicated contraption made up of accumulators, batteries and a speaker. A lot of the things he listened to were, to her mind, extremely dull and uninteresting, but he was never happier than when fiddling with the various knobs and locating different stations.

George was so enthralled with his new toy that he even planned to sit at home and listen to the broadcast of the Royal Wedding on 26 April, when Prince George would marry Lady Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon. Christabel insisted
that since they were in London and it was such a great opportunity to witness such a historic event, one that was regarded as the highlight of 1923, they should go and watch the procession.

In the end, she won, but only because the Archbishop of Canterbury had forbidden the ceremony to be broadcast, fearing that some of the populace might not show due respect. Men in pubs might even sit and listen to the ceremony with their hats on.

Christabel found it exhilarating to mingle with the cheering crowd outside Westminster Abbey. She thought Lady Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon already looked every inch a princess as she stepped down from the state landau. She was wearing an ivory dress of fine chiffon moiré, embroidered with silver thread and pearls, and it had long sleeves of fine Nottingham lace. As she took her father's arm and walked along the red carpet into the abbey, her eight bridesmaids carrying her train of point de Flandres lace mounted on tulle, Christabel thought it was the most romantic moment she'd ever witnessed.

But George's mind was on other matters. It was time for him to leave for the theatre and he was anxious for them to go otherwise he would be late.

Christabel told him she wanted to stay to see the royal couple emerge from the abbey after the service and to savour the moment.

‘Well, if you really want to do so then it's up to you, but you'll have to do it on your own, so do take care because there're bound to be pickpockets about,' George warned. ‘I'll see you later at the theatre, and we'll go for a meal.'

Minutes later, when she felt a light touch on her arm, Christabel recalled his words and her heart thudded with fear. As she turned and looked up into a pair of steely black eyes, her heart raced for quite another reason.

‘Alex, what are you doing here? George has just left for the theatre, shouldn't you be there?'

‘Heavens, no! I'm his agent not his keeper. I don't have to turn up at performances.'

The rest of the day passed in a dream. As soon as they could free themselves from the crowd they walked together in St James's park, quite oblivious of the fact that the weather had deteriorated and was now overcast. Christabel had only met Alex a few times and knew very little about him, except that he was an American and, according to George, one of the top agents in the business.

They dined together at the Café Royal and danced the evening away. On the dance floor their steps matched and their rhythm was in perfect accord, almost as if their two bodies were a single entity. It was a sensation that was entirely new to her, so very different from George's dancing.

That was not surprising, she mused, since he was very different from George who was like
a big brother to her, considerate and easy-going. This man with his saturnine features had a look of ruthlessness about him that, the first time she'd met him, had sent a shiver down her spine.

Alex Taylor was tall, broad shouldered and handsome with almost jet-black hair and deeply tanned skin. His features were strong and inscrutable; there was an air of mystery about him that she found intriguing.

When Alex finally put her into a taxi it was after midnight. Christabel had completely forgotten that she was supposed to join George at the theatre. When he arrived home just after one o'clock in very ill humour because he was afraid she had come to some harm, she was already in bed and asleep.

The next day, Friday, they hardly spoke to each other. She knew he was sulking, but decided it would only make matters worse if she told him where she had been.

The following week George announced that on Saturday he wanted to watch the Cup Final. When she protested that neither of them was interested in football, he pointed out that it was a very special football match; for the very first time, it was being held in London at Wembley Stadium.

His enthusiasm for the match, which was between Bolton Wanderers and West Ham, amused her. He had always considered football to be such a common game. It had only
been when he was told that King George V was to be amongst the spectators that he had been so eager to attend.

She expected him to ask her to go with him and was surprised when he didn't. It wasn't until he was leaving that she realised that his not taking her to the Cup Final was meant to be a punishment, a way of showing his displeasure over her not showing up at the theatre after the royal wedding.

Christabel spent the entire day with Alex Taylor.

He was still very much a mystery to her. She knew nothing of his background, but when they were together she found that such things didn't seem to matter. Merely being in Alex's company was enough to set her pulse racing. She even forgot how quickly the time was passing and, in a sudden panic, found herself rushing to get back to the flat before George returned home.

Overcome by guilt, she did her best to prepare a special meal, dishes she knew George enjoyed, and uncorked a bottle of his favourite wine ready to pour him a glass the moment he walked in the door.

When the hours ticked by and the meal she had taken such trouble to prepare was ruined, she wondered if George was staying out late deliberately. Perhaps he was doing it as a form of retaliation because he wasn't keen on her seeing Alex Taylor and was annoyed that she'd taken no notice when he'd told her so.

At midnight, when there was still no sign of him coming home, Christabel decided not to wait up any longer but to go to bed. The next morning, when she realised he hadn't come home, she began to feel alarmed. She knew it was no good phoning the theatre because, as it was Sunday, it would be closed.

She began to panic in case he had walked out on her because of their arguments about Alex. She checked his wardrobe and felt much calmer when she found that all his clothes were still there. She tried to think constructively and even toyed with the idea of phoning Alex. In the end, she summoned up the courage to go to the local police station and report him missing.

The desk sergeant consulted a ledger on the desk in front of him and she tried to be patient as he ran his finger down a long list of entries. ‘George Gleeson? I'm afraid he has been taken into custody,' he pronounced grimly.

George, and other enthusiasts attending the match, had been caught up in the melee when thousands rushed the turnstiles. Fighting had ensued. The police had eventually restored order, but George, along with a great many others who happened to be carrying hip flasks containing whisky, had been charged with being drunk and disorderly.

Reluctantly, the police allowed Christabel to see him for a few minutes. She was distraught when she saw how dishevelled and unshaven
he looked. There was a fanatical gleam of anger in his green eyes as he confronted her.

‘Shall I let Alex know what has happened so that he can contact a solicitor and make sure you are properly represented when your case comes to court?' Christabel suggested.

‘No, that won't be necessary. I've decided that I am going to conduct my own defence and I've been rehearsing what I shall say.'

Christabel stared at George in disbelief, wondering how he could be so arrogant and so self-assured under such frightening circumstances.

‘Supposing they don't believe you?' she said hesitantly.

‘Don't worry; I'll be able to convince them that they have made a mistake and I'll be released on the spot.'

She saw him frown with annoyance when she shook her head in disbelief.

‘You'll see! And afterwards I intend to sue for damages for wrongful arrest,' he said confidently.

Christabel tried hard to make him change his mind, but he was unwavering in his belief that there was nothing at all to be worried about and that he would be able to convince the judge that there was no case to be answered.

At first he was emphatic that he didn't want her telling Alex what had happened. Then when he heard that his appearance in court wouldn't be for at least a week he accepted that although he'd been given bail it would be better
to tell Alex what had happened before he read about it in the newspaper.

‘You and Alex are both going to be there I hope,' he stated the morning the case was to be heard and he was getting ready to go to Court. ‘Afterwards we'll celebrate with a slap-up meal and I'll buy you both all the champagne you can drink!'

Christabel assured him that she would be there. What she didn't tell him was that they'd talked endlessly between themselves about the case and Alex had agreed with her that it was very unwise of George not to have a lawyer defending him.