when we went to see it. In fact, I seem to remember you were quite tongue-tied with awe when Gertie spoke to you at the party afterwards, and we could all hear the ice cubes rattling when she asked you to hold her drink.’
‘All right, all right,’ he said, holding his hands up in defeat as they turned into Cavendish Square. ‘I do have a soft spot for Miss Lawrence but I’ll try to curb it on the night.’ They stopped outside the club. ‘Listen, I don’t know how much time I’ll have over the weekend, but it would be nice to see you. Do you have any plans?’
‘Only to get some more work done, and to call in on the girls to try the dress they’ve made me for the gala. They haven’t told me anything about it, but they’ve made enough clothes for me by now to know what I like.’
‘I’ve seen it, and I don’t think you’ll be disappointed. Shall I telephone when I know what I’m doing?’
‘Yes, do. There’s a new Hitchcock on at the Odeon—we could go to see that.’
‘Excellent, but it might be short notice.’
‘That doesn’t matter. I’ll be here most of the time.’
‘Am I allowed in if it’s not on official business?’
‘Only if I vouch for you, so no more talk of Gertrude Lawrence.’ She kissed him goodnight and ran up the steps to the club, feeling much more cheerful than when she had left it. The lift was still out of order, so she took the stairs reluctantly, thinking how ashamed Celia Bannerman would be if she saw her pause for breath at the second flight: Anstey girls were not supposed to pant, even in the grip of approaching middle age. Ashamed of herself, she pushed on to the third floor and was surprised to see her bedroom door ajar. There was a light on inside, although she knew she had left the room in darkness, and the spiteful letters—which had seemed a world away in the warmth of Archie’s flat—suddenly seemed much closer to home. Gently, she pushed the door open a little further. The lamp was on at her desk, and the girl she had met earlier—the one who had knocked her parcels to the floor—was standing by the chair, reading through the pile of papers which Josephine had left by her typewriter before she went out.
‘What are you doing here at this time of night?’ she asked, relieved and annoyed at the same time.
The girl jumped and threw the pages down as though they had scalded her. When she turned to face Josephine, it was obvious that she’d been crying. ‘I’m so sorry, Miss. I brought you the vase that you asked for earlier, and I … I just …’ Unable to control her tears, she pushed past Josephine and ran down the corridor towards the stairs.
Still a little shaken, Josephine glanced quickly round the room to make sure that nothing was missing, then bent down to pick the pages up. She put them back in order, noticing that the ink on the most recent work was smudged in several places. Was this what had upset Lucy? she wondered, as angry at herself for leaving the work out in plain view as she was at the girl for reading what did not concern her. Or had something else happened in the club? Worried now, she walked quickly back to the main staircase, hoping to be able to call Lucy back and talk to her—but the girl was nowhere to be seen.
Chapter Three
‘Fucking charity,’ said Ronnie, shutting the door to the workroom behind her and leaning heavily against it as though something savage were at her heels. ‘It may well begin at home, but I didn’t expect to have to live with it morning, noon and night. I don’t know why we do it to ourselves.’
Lettice looked up from the design she was working on and rinsed her paintbrush vigorously in a Staffordshire harvest jug which stood on her desk, chipped and missing its handle like most of the antiques she collected. ‘Cheer up, darling,’ she said brightly. ‘It’s nearly over.’
‘Is it, though? I know we’ve almost finished the costumes, but somebody’—Ronnie looked pointedly at her sister—‘somebody agreed to make the do-gooders’ evening gowns for them and donate all the profits to the charity. So now we’ve got to clothe the whole of the bloody Cowdray Club as well as their ridiculous gala night.’ Lettice caught her eye accusingly. ‘All right, I know there are only eight of them, but it
‘Seven, darling—you can’t count Josephine. It’ll be so nice to see her.’
‘Of course it will, but I’ll never understand how she can bear to rattle around with those harridans in Cavendish Square for weeks at a time.’
‘It’s convenient for her, and she couldn’t have come to us this time—it’s chaos here and even worse at Maiden Lane. She says the club’s very comfortable, though.’
‘I’m sure it is, but all those women in one place …’ Ronnie shuddered. ‘It can’t be healthy, and they’re so
‘I thought it would be a nice gesture to make the dresses as well,’ Lettice said defensively, sucking the tip of her paintbrush to make a fine point. ‘The nurses are a very good cause, after all, and those ladies on the committee work so hard to raise money for them.’
‘Hard my arse! Swanning around with a glass of free champers in their hand?’
‘Oh, I’m sure it’s not all galas.’
‘No—you’re right. Twice a year they swap their designer gowns for some overalls and imagine they know what it’s like to be a working girl. Jesus!’ She held up her hands in exasperation. ‘I can think of a nice gesture, too, but I can make mine sitting down.’ She lit a cigarette and demonstrated. ‘It
‘Oh for goodness’ sake, darling—you do exaggerate.’ There was a knock at the door, and an attractive dark- haired girl poked her head round without waiting for a response. It was a face which would have been more at home on a cinema screen than behind a sewing machine, and Lettice smiled at her, glad of some respite from Ronnie’s tirade. ‘Yes, Marjorie—what is it?’
‘Mrs Reader says we’ve run out of black bugle beads, Miss, and someone from the club has just telephoned to see where the samples for the accessories are. Apparently you said one of us would drop them round to Cavendish Square. Do you want me to kill two birds with one stone?’
‘Only if I can choose the birds,’ Ronnie muttered sarcastically.
‘Ignore her,’ Lettice said, ‘and yes please—that would be very helpful. There might be some other things we need from Debenhams, though—give me five minutes and I’ll bring you a list.’
Marjorie shut the door behind her and Ronnie raised an eyebrow. ‘So I exaggerate, do I? Accessories? They only have to snap their expensively manicured fingers for us to jump—and for what? The self-glorification of half a dozen bored women with more time and money than they know what to do with. Go on, admit it—you know I’m right.’ She got up and looked over her sister’s shoulders. ‘God, that’s good,’ she said, admiring the delicate image which was just receiving its finishing touches. ‘Please tell me we’re not giving it away.’
‘Of course we’re not.’ Lettice tore the sheet of thick white paper impatiently from its pad and waved it back and forth a few times to dry the paint. ‘While you’ve been holding forth, I’ve been hard at it,’ she said, and handed the page over smugly. ‘I think you’ll find that Wendy’s ballet has been taking shape without you.’ Enjoying the surprise on Ronnie’s face, she continued: ‘Anyway, not all charity is selfless—we took Marjorie on trust from prison and she’s turned out to be the best seamstress we’ve got.’
‘All right, all right—I agree with you completely about that, but rehabilitation is a very different thing from meddling and fundraising. I’m proud that we’ve been able to give Marjorie a fresh start—she’s not even quite such a cheeky little madam as she was when she first arrived.’
Lettice laughed. ‘I’m sure a girl needs a bit of spirit where she’s been. Anyway, I always like to meet someone who can give you a run for your money.’ She stood up and walked over to the glass that separated the main workroom from the small design studio which the sisters shared. ‘And the other girls seem to like her. I was worried they’d give her a hard time at first, but she settled in right away. It’s hard to believe she’s only been with us for six months.’
