She stood patiently in the entrance hall, waiting for the woman behind the desk to finish speaking on the telephone. Prison taught you to see people as types rather than human beings, and—as the receptionist stretched out her conversation for as long as possible, making her wait and throwing practised smiles at the members as they passed through, thinking she was one of them—Marjorie could tell instantly what sort of creature she was. This small area, where people came and went but never stayed for long, was the only empire she would ever know, and she was welcome to it; there was a big, wide world out there, and she was not about to be made to feel uncomfortable by a glorified message-taker. ‘Can I help you?’ the woman asked at last, looking grudgingly at Marjorie.
‘I’ve come from Motley to deliver these for the gala evening,’ she said, putting the parcel of materials down on the counter. ‘They’re for Miss Bannerman.’
‘Leave them with me. I’ll make sure she gets them,’ the receptionist said with a dismissive nod.
‘There’s a note here from Miss Motley, too,’ Marjorie continued, undaunted. ‘She’d be obliged if you could let Miss Bannerman have everything straight away.’
There was a heavy sigh. ‘Miss Bannerman is very busy this morning, but I’m sure she’ll attend to …’—she waved her hand vaguely at the parcel—‘to whatever seems to be so urgent as soon as she has a moment.’
Marjorie was about to argue when she felt a hearty slap on the shoulder. ‘Baker—how nice to see you!’ The Irish accent was unmistakeable, warm but full of authority. Enjoying the surprise on the receptionist’s face, Marjorie turned round to greet Mary Size, but her sense of one-upmanship was not the only reason why she was genuinely pleased to see the deputy governor of Holloway. Like most of the girls who had passed through prison on her watch, Marjorie had an ungrudging respect for Miss Size and the way she approached a difficult and often unrewarding job. Despite her vast list of responsibilities, Marjorie had never known her to refuse to see anyone, inmate or member of staff, and she listened to the most trivial request or serious complaint with patience and a fair mind—qualities which were more valuable to those on the receiving end of them than any other. Miss Size had an instinctive understanding of what mattered to women in prison and, although her reforms fell far short of her ideals, her passion for improvement was strong. Thanks to her, the women now had looking glasses in their cells and photographs on their walls, and Marjorie was not the only discharged girl to owe her first job to Miss Size’s quiet but imaginative scheming.
‘Baker and I go back a long way, Miss Timpson,’ the governor explained, seeming to enjoy the receptionist’s astonishment as much as Marjorie. ‘Don’t we, Baker?’
‘Yes, Miss—three stretches now, isn’t it?’
‘You haven’t lost your sense of humour, I see. What brings you to this part of town? Are you here to see Peters?’
‘No, Miss, I’m on an errand from Motley—it’s for the gala next week.’
‘Ah, yes—I’m looking forward to that. Which reminds me—am I supposed to pick the dress up or something?’
‘No, Miss—we’ll deliver them to the club. But you do need to stop by and have a final fitting first, just to make sure everything’s all right. In fact,’ she added, looking pointedly at the Timpson woman, ‘that’s partly why I’m here. Miss Motley needs to see everyone as soon as possible in case we have to make any alterations.’
‘Fine, fine—I’ll come after lunch on my way back to the prison. Will that be all right?’
‘Yes, Miss, of course—and anyone else who’s free today.’
‘Wait here—I’ll see who’s about.’ Marjorie did as she was told, smiling infuriatingly at Miss Timpson, while Mary Size put her head round the door of the bar. ‘Gerry,’ she called, ‘you’re going to the gala, aren’t you? Come out here a minute.’ The woman who came out into the hallway wore a stunning Schiaparelli trouser suit, and Marjorie remembered her from an earlier visit to Motley; in fact, she was the sort it would have been impossible to forget. ‘We’re needed for another fitting. Could you do Miss Baker here a favour and pop round to St Martin’s Lane this afternoon?’
Geraldine smiled. ‘It would be a pleasure.’ She walked over to Marjorie and brazenly stroked her cheek. ‘Nice to see you again, Miss Baker. Will you be looking after me again this afternoon?’
‘I don’t know, Miss,’ Marjorie said modestly. ‘It depends what Mrs Reader has got lined up for me when I get back. I suppose I could say you’d asked for me personally.’
‘Yes, why don’t you do that? I’ll be there around five but, if I’m late, I’m sure you’ll wait for me.’
‘I’ll put you in the book. It’s Lady Ashby, isn’t it?’
‘That’s right,’ she said, drifting back towards the bar. ‘Sweet of you to remember.’
‘You’re still in touch with Peters, I hope?’ Miss Size asked as Marjorie made a note of the appointment. ‘You were a good friend to her during her spell with us, and I’d like to know you’re keeping an eye on her now you’re both out.’
‘Oh yes, Miss—we go out and have a bit of a laugh when we can. We had a day out last weekend and I saw her yesterday. She was all right—a bit quiet, that’s all.’
‘Well, that’s only to be expected, but she’ll perk up again, I’m sure. Are you going to say hello to her now, as you’re here? I’m sure Miss Timpson would be only too happy to fetch her for you.’ Her manner was courteous enough, but there was a twinkle in her eye as she turned back to the desk. ‘That would be all right, wouldn’t it?’
‘Lucy Peters isn’t due her break for another ten minutes,’ the receptionist said, standing her ground as best she could. ‘I’ll let her know that Miss—uh—Miss Baker would like to see her, though.’
‘Excellent. And I’ll see you later, Baker.’
She walked off into the club and Marjorie was left alone with Miss Timpson’s thinly disguised pique. ‘If you’d like to wait outside, I’ll tell Lucy you’re here,’ she said. ‘We don’t allow staff to fraternise on the premises.’
Marjorie couldn’t be bothered to argue over the battle when the war was so clearly hers, so she did as she was asked and strolled over to one of the benches in the middle of Cavendish Square. It was cold but not unpleasant, and the sun was out, so she sat down and lit a cigarette, keeping a nervous eye on the clock which graced the front of the Westminster Bank. It wasn’t the day to get into trouble with the Motley sisters, not with the deputy governor due, and she was about to give up and carry on with her list of errands when Lucy appeared at the corner of Henrietta Street. Marjorie waved, and beckoned her over. ‘Where the bleeding hell have you been?’ she asked. ‘I’ve been here fifteen minutes, and I’ll be out on my ear if I’m not back by lunchtime.’
‘Sorry, but that bitch on reception made me wipe all the ashtrays in the drawing room before she’d let me out.’ Lucy accepted a cigarette gratefully. ‘I’m glad you’re here, though—there’s something I need you to do for me.’ She reached under her coat and took a small silver photograph frame out of the pocket of her apron. ‘Will you look after this for me for a bit?’
Marjorie took it from her and looked down at the image of a woman and her young baby. ‘Where did you get this?’
Lucy wouldn’t meet her eye. ‘I found it on one of the women’s writing desks. I know I shouldn’t have taken it, but I couldn’t help myself—she’s such a lovely little thing. I can’t keep it in my room,’ she explained, and Marjorie could see that she was close to tears. ‘I overheard Bannerman talking about getting the police in, and they’re bound to come to me first—they always do.’
‘Well this is hardly worth getting caught for, is it?’ Marjorie said, angry at her friend’s stupidity. ‘What the hell are you thinking of?’ Then, as she saw the sadness on the young girl’s face, she softened. ‘Look, Lucy, you’ve got to be careful,’ she continued, putting her arm round her. ‘You’ve got to put all that behind you and get on with your life, and you won’t change anything by nicking worthless bits of tat.’
‘It’s all right for you—you’ve got a good job and some girls to have a bit of fun with—and a bloke who’d look after you if you’d let him.’
Marjorie gave a scornful laugh. ‘It’s himself he’d be looking after, not me,’ she said. ‘You should know that after what you’ve been through. They’re all the same, men, wherever they come from, and a girl’s got no chance of a life if she waits for a bloke to help her. You make your own luck, Luce, but not like this.’ She held up the stolen frame, then put it in her pocket. ‘I’ll keep it safe for you, of course I will, but don’t go nicking anything else—I’ve got something much better than that lined up.’ She smiled and pinched Lucy’s cheek, trying to cheer the girl up. ‘Something that’ll be enough for us both. If we’re going back down, we might as well go properly, eh?’ It was a joke, but the worried look on Lucy’s face exasperated her. ‘Don’t you want anything better than this?’ she asked impatiently. ‘Scrubbing tables while that lot look down their noses at you?’
‘It’s not so bad,’ Lucy said defiantly. ‘I’ve got somewhere to live and a bit of money coming in.’
