‘Your maiden name?’ Bill shook his head. ‘Did you take your wedding ring off, too?’
‘Of course not! How could you even think that? Dudley is my stage name, my professional name. All the girls have one and I wanted one too. It has nothing to do with being married or single. I used to call myself Margot Dudley when I was a kid, when the Dudley sisters used to sing in the Christmas concerts at Woodcote village hall.’
Margot could see the hurt and disappointment in Bill’s eyes. ‘I’m sorry. I love you and I love being your wife, Bill, but this is what I’ve dreamed of since those days in the village hall. It was a wonderful feeling, singing in front of all those people. I dared to look into the audience once and they’d stopped talking and eating. They were listening to me sing. And when I finished they clapped for ever such a long time. I wish you’d have been there.’ Bill lifted his head and raised his eyebrows, but said nothing.
‘Salvatore helped me from the stage and walked me back to where the girls were sitting. He asked me if I’d like to do a spot every week. I said no, of course, but George and Betsy said I would. They egged me on, and I suppose I got carried away. And with everybody listening, I had to say yes, didn’t I?’ Bill didn’t reply.
‘The girls were laughing at the beginning, when they suggested me to sing – having a bit of a joke, you know? But when I finished singing they clapped me tons.’ Bill still didn’t comment. ‘So there it is. I’ve been sneaking out of the theatre and going to the Prince Albert Club to sing two songs every Thursday for the last six weeks. And no one would have been any the wiser if the ARP warden had let me go down Maiden Lane.’
‘Maybe not, but you’d have worn yourself out doing three jobs, because that’s what you would have been doing. All that rushing backwards and forwards... You couldn’t have kept it up. And the deceit…’ Bill shook his head, finished his drink, and banged the empty glass down on the dresser.
‘Are you very angry with me?’
‘I’m furious.’
‘Don’t be, Bill. I won’t go to the club again, if you don’t want me to. I’ll tell Salvatore tomorrow.’
‘No you won’t Margaret – Margot – and I wouldn’t ask you to. If I did, you’d end up hating me. Besides, you’ll find a way to do what you want, you always do. I’m going to bed.’
Margot sat on the edge of the bed while Bill undressed. Reaching across, she took his pyjamas from under his pillow and handed them to him. He put them on, and then pulled back the bedclothes on his side of the bed and climbed in. Without saying goodnight, he turned over so his back was to her and pulled the eiderdown up to his chin.
Margot watched Bill sleeping, waiting and willing him to turn over and face her. He didn’t. She was cold and began to shiver, so she undressed and put on her nightgown. Slipping into bed beside him, Margot brought her knees up behind his. Instead of bending his knees and leaning back to spoon, as he always did, Bill straightened his legs and edged forward.
‘Goodnight Bill,’ Margot whispered, and she cried herself to sleep.
CHAPTER SEVEN
‘Margot?’
Margot stopped and looked around. She could have sworn someone called her name, but there was no one in else in Maiden Lane. At least, there was no one near enough to--
‘Margot?’
There it was again. Not much louder than a whisper, but it sounded urgent, desperate. She looked up and down the Lane, but still couldn’t see anyone. She looked across to the alley that zigzagged through the side streets of Covent Garden to Leicester Square and-- ‘Goldie!’ Running across the road, Margot found Goldie Trick on her knees, head against the wall, holding her ribs.
‘Help-- please-- Margot,’ Goldie begged in breathless whispers. ‘Theatre-- better inside.’
Margot wanted to say, you won’t be better anywhere until you get away from that bad ‘un, Dave. Instead, she said: ‘Of course I’ll help you. Can you stand?’
Goldie nodded, took a breath in preparation, and fell to the ground. ‘Ouch! It hurts when-- I-- breathe.’
‘What on earth has he done to you this time?’ Margot knelt in front of the bruised and bleeding dancer. ‘Breathe really slowly; small shallow breaths, it won’t hurt so much.’ Margot waited until Goldie nodded that she was ready. ‘Take my hands and I’ll pull you to your knees. If it hurts we’ll stop. But if we do have to stop, try and lean against the wall, that way you won’t fall down.’
Trembling, Goldie gripped Margot’s hands as she slowly pulled her to her knees. ‘Good girl. You’re halfway to standing.’ Goldie closed her eyes and took several shallow, shuddering breaths. ‘You’re doing really well,’ Margot said. ‘Take a rest but don’t sit down, will you? I don’t think that bugger would dare to show his face around here, but the sooner we get you into the theatre the better.’
Goldie gripped Margot’s hands again, tightly. This time, using the wall to steady herself, she struggled to her feet. She wasn’t able to stand up straight, but she could walk.
Margot crouched slightly, so she was shorter than Goldie. ‘Put your arm round my shoulder and lean on me--’ Goldie nodded, and with some effort did as Margot asked. Holding the slender dancer around her waist, Margot was able to take her weight. Slowly, gently, she helped Goldie, one small shuffling step at a time, across Maiden Lane.
As
