“Don’t you think you should be heading for the stage now?” Dorothy said to Lilian. “You can’t always keep Vernon waiting. Besides, it looks like the band are about to be ready.”
“Yes, yes. You’re such a nag, Dorothy, dear. But you’re right, of course. It’s a hard life, being the star of the show. I’ll see you all later.”
“Break a leg,” James replied, as Lilian got to her feet with a swirl of beads and embroidery, making her way toward the low stage area in the centre of the cafe.
“We tease her, but she really is rather good,” Dorothy confided in Evelyn. “Just don’t ever let on that I said so.”
Evelyn turned to the stage, eagerly anticipating Lilian’s performance. As she waited, the perfume of the gin teased her taste buds and she reached for another cool sip.
“Steady on with the gin, Evelyn!” came from James, at her side. For some reason, his tone rather annoyed her. If she wanted to swallow the whole of the cocktail in one go, surely that was her prerogative. She took another small sip, to make the point, then returned the glass to the table without looking at James. Just as she began to feel that she had perhaps been a little rude, Vernon was centre stage, Lilian at his side.
Vernon approached a device Evelyn had never seen. He bent his head slightly to speak into the metallic box on a stick and, miraculously, his voice echoed around the room, so much louder than its natural level. “Ladies and gentlemen, I hope you’re all having the most wonderful evening. It’s time for me to present one of the most rarefied beauties the Yellow Orchid can offer to you, my honoured patrons. Ready here in her glad rags to delight you with her top-notch warbling, I give you Miss Lilian Grainger.”
“How is he so loud?” Evelyn asked James, as Lilian stepped forward, nodding her gratitude for the ripple of applause.
“Vernon’s had the place equipped with all the latest developments, you might be sure of it. The microphone’s what makes it so loud—all the American singers are using them now. And thank goodness, since it means my dear sister doesn’t have to burst her lungs trying to project to the back of the room!”
Before Evelyn could reply, the band began to play. A broad-backed man in a black tuxedo ran his hands over the keys of the piano, playing an upbeat melody, supported by a tall man with a clarinet. Another man played a small set of drums. Quite suddenly, another tune merged seamlessly with the established flow of the music, as a young man with brown hair lifted the tone with his trumpet. The syncopated rhythm filled the cafe, sweeping Evelyn along. She could not help but tap a foot. The music was like nothing she had heard before, more jovial, more liberated than she’d ever heard a band play. Lilian’s red-lipped smile was broad as she stepped up to the microphone and waited for her moment to sing.
“If only I could fall in love…” The first line echoed into the room, jaunty and teasing. The song, it seemed, was not really about wanting to fall in love but a light humoured parody of those who did.
Lilian’s voice had a richness Evelyn had not expected. She swayed in time with the music, a constant swirl of sparkling, swinging beads and crystals. Her face came to life when she sang; now she was casting a flirty look at a man close to the stage, then she was winking conspiratorially with a woman to her right. She smiled into the microphone, sharing the exuberance of her performance with everyone in the room. Evelyn could not help but be captivated. Lilian, who seemed so breezy and shallow, connected with every word and emotion in the songs she sang, be they comic or sentimental.
After her opening number, Lilian sang two slower songs, both about lost loves and lingering memories. As she sang the last note of the second, she looked down at the floor, then raised her big green eyes to gaze into the distance as the tune trailed off quietly, and Evelyn could imagine she was dreaming of a true love, far away. Lost perhaps. It was not surprising really. Their generation was accustomed to loss. Caught in the emotion, Evelyn began to understand the sentiment Dorothy had expressed. Life had to be lived in the aftermath of so much loss. Only they, the young people, could understand that. Even if it did mean doing things their parents would not have dreamed of.
As if to prove the point, the next song was perhaps the most upbeat and full of life of any Lilian had performed so far. Apparently carried away with the music, as she sang, Lilian danced on the spot, stepping forwards and backwards, kicking her legs from the knees, moving her hands. She was perfectly in time with the music, though it looked odd to Evelyn to see a woman dancing in such a risqué way, and on her own. To see a woman so filled with confidence in herself, dominating a room, was something she was unused to. It filled her with hope. She’d heard there was a spirit of anything goes in London, and now she started to believe it was true. What options would be open to her here?
Dorothy leaned over to speak to her. “How do you like our very own Ruth Etting then, darling?”
“Oh, I think she’s marvellous!” Evelyn replied.
Lilian was still dancing, the band playing an interlude in her song.
“Did they Charleston back home?” Dorothy asked.
“Charleston?”
Dorothy nodded her head towards Lilian. “That rather hotsy-totsy little jig she’s doing. Do you not dance in Devon?”
Evelyn flushed a little. Dorothy’s tone was teasing but Evelyn did not like to be reminded that she was an outsider in this world she was rapidly growing to wish she was a part of. “Of course we dance. Only the military two-step isn’t quite like what
