Now it was Bill’s turn to put down his cutlery. ‘When was this?’
‘A few weeks ago,’ she shrugged. ‘With chorus girls being called up, or leaving to do war work, we thought it would be a good idea to have an understudy on hand.’
Bill put Margaret’s plate on top of his own and put them on the draining board in the kitchenette. ‘And what did Dick Smiley say?’
‘That’s just it. He hasn’t said anything. He’s been auditioning girls all week, but he hasn’t called me in.’ Bill opened his mouth to speak, but Margaret didn’t notice. ‘And I know why,’ she said. ‘He wants to get his hands on the new girls. They’re all batting eyelashes and giggles.’ Margaret was annoyed and she was jealous, not that she’d ever let him maul her the way the new girls did. ‘Miss Lesley must have told him about me by now.’
‘The brass neck of the man. And you want to audition for him? I don’t think so!’ Bill said. ‘The mucky bugger isn’t going to get his hands on my wife.’
Margaret wished she’d kept her opinions to herself.
Bill said nothing more until they were in bed. ‘You keep doing your usherette job, love.’
‘I will,’ Margaret said, going through the latest routine in her head.
CHAPTER THREE
‘Look!’ A note on the message board in the front of house staff room caught Margaret’s eye. ‘CAN YOU SEW? Volunteers wanted to help make costumes for the new show. If you have sewing experience, a few hours to spare and would like to earn some extra money, add your name to the list below. Signed H M Horton, Wardrobe Mistress.’
Annie, Jenny’s replacement, squinted at the note and sniffed.
‘Can you sew, Annie?’ Margaret asked, hoping she couldn’t, but making conversation. She still missed Jenny. Although Bill kept her up to date with what she was doing, and how well she was getting on working with him on the ambulances, it wasn’t like spending time with her. Margaret missed their chats, missed having someone to confide in.
‘Yes, but I don’t volunteer for nothing. You get taken advantage of if you do.’
‘Good. Not good that you’d get taken advantage, I meant-- Oh never mind.’ Margaret took the pencil from the shelf beneath the message board and wrote her name in capitals below that of the wardrobe mistress. ‘The less people that volunteer the more chance I’ve got of getting the job.’
Annie looked bewildered and left the staff room sniffing. She didn’t look as if she’d got a cold, Margaret mused, but she sniffed all the time. Margaret wondered if she sniffed while she was showing people to their seats, and she stifled a giggle. All the usherettes were a bit strange. The spinsters – the Sisters Grimm, as she called them – arrived together and left together. They whispered all the time, gave each other knowing looks and rarely contributed to a conversation.
Neither of the married girls had put their names on the list, Margaret was pleased to see. And if the Sisters Grimm didn’t, she was bound to get the job. While she was thinking about it the Sisters Grimm arrived, took off their outdoor coats and put on their tabards.
‘Hello,’ Margaret said, greeting them with a bright smile.
Both women turned and nodded. ‘Margaret!’
‘Are you volunteering to help in wardrobe?’
They looked at the notice board, and then at each other. ‘No.’
‘We don’t have time,’ Sister-Grimm-Timmins said.
‘No, we don’t have the time,’ repeated Sister-Grimm-Smith.
‘We’d better get to our posts,’ said Sister-Grimm-Timmins, leading the way to the door.
‘Yes,’ Sister-Grimm-Smith said, hard on the heels of Sister-Grimm-Timmins. ‘We’d better get to our posts.’
‘Goodbye Margaret,’ they said in unison, and they shuffled out.
Margaret stood open-mouthed. You wouldn’t believe it if you saw it at the flicks. She put on her tabard and looked in the mirror. Her hair was fine. She’d recently had a perm, so the curls were still a bit on the tight side. She took out the Kirby grip at the front, forced the comb through the deep wave that, without the grip, would fall into her eyes, and replaced it. She straightened her skirt and checked her stockings for wrinkles before following the Sisters Grimm down the corridor into the auditorium.
‘Morning, Bert.’ Margaret’s cheeks flushed pink with pride. ‘I’ve been offered the position of wardrobe assistant. I’m here to see Mrs Horton.’
‘She’s expecting you, Miss. I’ll take you up.’
Margaret waited while the stage doorman found a pen and paper. He wrote a note saying, BACK IN TEN MINUTES and pinned it on the door of his small office. ‘Right! Follow me.’
Margaret had met the wardrobe mistress several times before with Miss Lesley and Bert, but she had never been to the wardrobe department. She followed the elderly stage doorman up three flights of winding stone stairs. Despite being almost as round as he was tall, Bert was surprisingly quick on his feet. When they arrived on the top floor he was hardly out of puff. Margaret, young and fit, held onto the banister and caught her breath.
Mrs Horton was waiting for them with a pot of tea in one hand and a plate of biscuits in the other. She placed both on a small table that was surrounded by an assortment of chairs. ‘Elevenses are early today, Bert.’
‘Right you are, Mrs Horton.’ Bert lowered his bulk into a large comfortable-looking chair. Margaret waited. She looked around. Dozens of costumes hung on metal clothes racks. In the middle of the room was an oval table. On the far side was a sewing machine and on the nearside a sewing box with a selection of yellow cottons and a canary-yellow blouse. She looked up and gasped. Hanging from a pipe above
