‘Fine!’ and ‘Good Lord, yes,’ came the replies.
Margaret turned at the sound of a black cab pulling up. ‘Come on, Margaret. Shake a leg,’ George shouted, climbing into the back of the cab behind Betsy. ‘I’m dying for a drink.’
‘It doesn’t feel right going without Bill. What will people think, a married woman on her own, without her husband?’
‘Who cares what people think?’ George shouted.
‘No one will think anything, because no one will know. Besides,’ Nancy said, ‘you won’t be on your own, you’ll be with us.’
Kat lifted her cigarette in its silver holder to her lips. ‘The club will be closed if you do not make up your mind soon, Margaret!’
Margaret closed her eyes, screwed up her face and shouted, ‘Yes! I’m coming.’
Betsy laughed and George said, ‘Come on then, we mustn’t keep the Tsarina waiting.’
Kat shot George a hurt look. ‘The Tsarina is going home, if Bert will call her a taxi.’
Margaret saw in Nancy’s face that she had also noticed Kat’s reaction to George’s snipe. ‘Are you sure you won’t come, Kat?’ Nancy said. ‘We can squeeze up. There’s room...’
‘Thank you, but no. I will see you tomorrow.’ Kat put her hand on Margaret’s arm and smiled. ‘Have fun.’
‘I will.’
‘We’ll look after her,’ Nancy said.
‘Come on, Margaret. We’re all dying of thirst,’ George said, pulling Margaret into the waiting taxi. ‘She’ll have fun all right. We’ll have a couple of drinks at the bar--’
‘You couldn’t stop at a couple if your life depended on it, George,’ Betsy teased, and received a tickling for her cheek.
The Prince Albert Club on Long Acre was owned by Anton Goldman and managed by Nancy’s fiancé, Salvatore Russo, who Margaret had never met, but had seen several times when he’d been waiting for Nancy at the stage door. Unlike its neighbour the Club Royal, which the girls said attracted gangsters and black market racketeers, the Prince Albert was where the who’s who of London society dined after they’d been to, or appeared in, a West End show.
Margaret felt the butterflies of excitement flying around in her stomach as she waited to enter the club. George rang the bell and within seconds the door opened and the doorman welcomed the party into a dimly lit entrance lobby. Once the street door was closed and the blackout curtains were back in place, the doorman switched on the lights. Margaret looked around in amazement as she took off her coat and gave it to the cloakroom attendant. Smiling her thanks she followed the girls across the maroon and gold entrance lobby to the restaurant, where they were met by the Maître d’ who pointed to what looked to Margaret like the only unoccupied table in the place. It was on the edge of the dance floor. Margaret gasped. Entering the restaurant was like stepping into another world, a bright modern world. Men in dinner jackets and women in evening gowns or dresses that were the height of fashion were eating, talking, laughing. Each table had its own table lamp, but all around the room bright wall lights designed to look like half-moons shone upwards. In the ceiling, right in the middle above the dance floor, was a huge mirror-ball. And on the table reserved for the Prince Albert Theatre Company, there were two bottles of champagne in buckets filled with crushed ice and six long-stemmed glasses.
‘Sit next to me, Margaret,’ Nancy said, as Salvatore pulled out a chair.
‘Thank you.’ Margaret blushed. Biting her bottom lip she scrunched up her shoulders and smiled at Nancy.
Nancy returned the smile, making her feel very special. Nancy was the kindest, most beautiful, elegant person. She could sing and dance better than anyone, and she had taken a shine to Margaret. Nancy’s handsome Italian fiancé, who Margaret had first thought was a bit of a spiv, clearly adored her. She felt the colour rise in her cheeks again when Salvatore sat down on the other side of Nancy, kissed her hand and looked lovingly into her eyes. Margaret looked away.
The Prince Albert Club was what Margaret’s dad would have called select. It was select all right. Nancy said lots of film stars went there, and sometimes minor royalty. Looking around the room Margaret spotted high-ranking military men, wealthy-looking business men, and some beautiful young women who were so glamorous, Margaret thought they had to be starlets.
Margaret sipped her champagne. She thought she’d feel out of her depth in a night club surrounded by goodness knows who. Instead, she loved every minute of it. She felt a twinge of guilt, because she was experiencing it without Bill, but then night clubs didn’t really interest him. He would rather have a pint of beer in a local pub. Not that they went to a local pub in London. Leaning back and relaxing into her seat, Margaret put her glass to her lips. It was empty.
Salvatore beckoned a young waiter who was standing just a few feet away holding a bottle of champagne. ‘See that the ladies get whatever they want.’
The waiter nodded and immediately refilled Margaret’s glass. Salvatore bent down and whispered in Nancy’s ear. Margaret watched Nancy look up and smile lovingly before he left. He returned a little later in the evening. He rested his hand gently on Nancy’s shoulder. ‘The diners are asking if someone from the theatre is going to sing tonight.’
‘Sorry, but I’ve had a teeny-weeny bit too much to drink, darling,’ George said.
‘Me too,’ giggled Betsy.
‘What about you, Margaret?’ Nancy said with a wink. ‘You know the songs in the show.’
Margaret choked. ‘Me?’
‘Why not? You have a lovely voice,’ Nancy said. ‘We’d like to hear you sing, wouldn’t we, ladies?’
‘Margaret, Margaret, give us
