‘And you’re staying with Mr and Mrs Goldman?’
‘Not with them, exactly. We have our own cosy little sitting room and kitchenette, bedroom and bathroom. Our rooms are part of the house, but we have our own stairs. I expect they were where the servants lived in the old days. If it wasn’t for my sister Bess we wouldn’t have such a lovely home. She’s a friend of Mr and Mrs Goldman. She met them when she was at college in London. They were very kind to her.’
‘I’ve met your sister several times. She’s a very nice young woman.’
‘Yes, she’s been good to me, has our Bess. So when Bill got the job at the MoD, Mr and Mrs Goldman invited him to lodge with them. They said I could come and stay anytime.’ Margaret laughed. ‘I’m not sure they meant permanently, but they don’t mind me being there. It was Natalie-- Mrs Goldman who suggested Anton spoke to you about me working as an usherette.’
‘We do have an opening. One of the girls has been called up. Have you heard anything from the War Office?’
‘No. I think they’re calling up single women first. At least, I hope they are.’
‘I’m sure you’re right.’ Pamela Lesley smiled and leant forward. ‘So why do you want to be an usherette, Margaret?’
‘To work in the theatre. I’ve worked in offices and factories and they are so boring. Sorry!’ Margaret took a breath and began again. ‘I get on well with people. I’d rather help someone than not help them and…’ She sighed, losing the thread once more. ‘I can’t think of anything I’d rather do in the whole wide world than sit and watch a theatre show every night. Except be in one, of course. That would be a dream come true.’ Suddenly seeing a combination of amusement and amazement creep across Miss Lesley’s face, Margaret stopped talking and sat up straight. ‘If you give me a chance, Miss Lesley, I won’t let you down.’
‘I’m sure you won’t, Margaret. There’s just one thing--’
‘Ask me anything,’ Margaret said without thinking.
‘You live a long way away from the West End. Getting to and from the theatre might be a problem. You won’t finish work at night until ten or ten-thirty. How do you intend to get home at that time of night?’
‘My Bill’s a volunteer ambulance driver down the road at St. Thomas’s. He’ll pick me up after his shift. And if he’s going to be late, Mr Goldman said he’d give me a lift home. Getting here isn’t a problem. There’s a bus that comes all the way to Euston from Hampstead. And there are lots of buses from Euston to Aldwych – some come down the Strand.’
‘It seems you’ve looked into everything, Margaret. I’ve just one more question...’
Margaret held her breath. What had she said, or not said? She’d made a list the night before and rehearsed what she was going to say in answer to every question on it. Miss Lesley hadn’t asked the questions in the right order, but that didn’t matter, she was sure she’d told her everything she needed to know. Smiling nervously, Margaret wondered if she’d said too much – gone on a bit. She had a tendency to go on a bit. Bill said she did. ‘Yes?’ she said, putting as much lightness into her voice as her nerves would allow without sounding superficial.
‘You’ve obviously thought about what you were going to say at your interview. And if what you say is true – and I’m sure it is – you’re a perfect candidate. But,’ Miss Lesley paused. ‘Why are you grubby and dishevelled?’
‘Oh my--’ Margaret had forgotten about how she looked. ‘A building fell on me.’ Miss Lesley’s mouth dropped open. ‘Well, it didn’t actually fall on me, but it would have done if a workman hadn’t pushed me through the door of a church. I went flying down some steps and,’ Margaret looked down at her hands, ‘it was very dark down there – and dusty. My stockings got laddered and I didn’t have a spare pair. I thought about finding somewhere to tidy myself up, but I didn’t want to be late for my interview. I was just going to wash my hands when you came into the foyer. Then I forgot. I’m sorry--’
Miss Lesley laughed and put her hand up. ‘I thought there must have been a reason. Come on, I’ll show you around. We’ll start with the front of house staff room. It has a washbasin.’
CHAPTER TWO
The small staff room was lit by a single bulb in a frosted ceiling pendant. It didn’t do much to soften the atmosphere, but it did distract from the ugly brown squiggly wallpaper and toffee-coloured wooden panelling. A portable clothes rail stood behind half a dozen fold-up chairs. Margaret took off her coat and hung it next to a row of maroon tabards. Usherettes’ uniforms! She wrinkled her nose. The out-dated style was more Lowarth Picture House than West End theatre. On the other side of the room stood a two-ring stove with a kettle, a
