‘Not at all.’ He’d smiled. ‘Can’t have a lovely lady walking alone at this time of night.’
‘You’re very gallant, Mr Dawson.’ She’d accepted the offer of his arm. She felt comfortable with him, as she always had done with Arthur Crawshaw; there was no flirting or flippant dalliance from either of them, just straightforward friendship, which she regarded as unusual but what she was happiest with.
She’d asked him what he would be doing next. Would he be staying on with the theatre orchestra?
‘Yes, if they want me,’ he’d said. ‘What about you?’
‘Well, I don’t do pantomime, so I must find something else. There’s a vacancy in Leeds if I want to apply, but …’
‘That’s not far,’ he was quick to point out. ‘You might not want to come back to Hull every night, even if there’s a late train, but if you’re called back for any, erm, family problems you could be here the next day.’
She’d been almost on the point of telling him about her son, but she had held back. What would he think of her? He would of course immediately guess that Jack had been born out of wedlock, which was true, but his view of her would then be warped.
So I didn’t, she thought as she lit a candle beside her bed and drew back the covers, but there are times when I would like to take someone into my confidence. I was often on the edge of sharing my story with Arthur, but I didn’t want to lose his friendship either.
And the odd thing was, she pondered, that he had never asked. It was as if he accepted me as I was, a young woman with a son and no husband in tow. Perhaps he was typical of theatre folk, used to the vagaries of characters who choose to hide behind a mask rather than reveal their real selves.
But what to do now? I’ll ask Mr Rogers if he’s still planning a show after the pantomime, as he told me. Of course, he might want a different cast entirely, but I’m fairly sure he won’t break my contract. He seems an honest man.
She drew her legs into bed and put her head on the pillow. I just need something to tide me over. I could apply to be a temporary shop girl, just to earn enough for my lodgings. Other ideas flitted through her mind, and she thought too of the story she must spin to Jenny when she told her that she wouldn’t be at the Maritime for Christmas Day lunch.
Unless … she suddenly sat up as a notion – a plan – broke into her meandering thoughts. Just suppose … what if …? The Maritime was a lovely hotel. It had a comfortable lounge, and a very select dining room with a grand piano; she had run her fingers over the keys when she’d been there with Jenny. She couldn’t play – she’d never been taught; they hadn’t had the luxury of a piano at home – but she knew a few notes of several songs.
Perhaps – the idea took hold – perhaps I’ll call tomorrow. Her self-esteem was often very low and she was inclined to be pessimistic, but she forced herself now to consider how she would offer such a concept, with herself as the prize.
The rain was heavy the next morning and after breakfast she asked the landlady if she could loan her an umbrella.
‘You’re never going out in this?’ Giles Dawson asked. He had only just come down for breakfast, leaving it until the very last minute before the kitchen closed.
‘I am,’ she assured him. ‘I thought of something last night and I must strike whilst the iron’s hot.’ She smiled. ‘Otherwise I might change my mind.’
He looked at her and grinned. ‘Perhaps you’d iron a couple of shirts for me whilst you’re about it!’ he said.
She raised her eyebrows. ‘I’m out of practice,’ she parried back. ‘Maybe the landlady will oblige!’
From Church Street to the Maritime wasn’t far, but nevertheless in spite of the umbrella she was soaked by the time she got there. The hotel was only just opening and she asked if Mr Gosling was available. Whilst the porter went to fetch him, Delia tidied up her hair, tucking it beneath her hat and checking herself in one of the mirrors in the lounge where she had been asked to wait.
‘Miss Delamour! Good morning.’
Delia was pleased that he remembered her, and when he asked how he could help her she told him that she had a proposition.
‘Please, won’t you take a seat. Would you like a pot of coffee?’
He was most affable, she thought as she refused his offer, and her tension began to ease. He can say yes or no, she thought. That’s all.
‘You may know that the theatre where I am performing will be closing at the end of the week to prepare for the pantomime season,’ she told him. ‘And I’m in rather a quandary as to what to do next. I have the promise of another contract for next year and I would quite like to stay in this district until then, rather than go back to London. I am sure you will be having extra guests over the Christmas holiday, and I wondered how you would feel about having a singer to entertain them? Say in the afternoons and evenings?’
She saw by his expression that he was considering the proposal with interest and not dismissing it out of hand, and she added, ‘I can sing without music, although you have a piano on which I could play a few notes as an introduction, although I’m not a pianist.’
‘It sounds like an excellent idea, Miss Delamour,’ he said, ‘I will have to ask the owners of the hotel as I can’t make the decision. There would be your fee, of course, but—’
Delia saw another opportunity. ‘Are you fully booked?’
‘Almost,’ he said. ‘We have clients who come for Christmas lunch or evening meals,
