Kitabı oku: «A Christmas Gift», sayfa 2
Elliott’s sarcasm had made her blush but she promised to ask her parents’ permission. Knowing perfectly well that she would get it, she decided to run around in her lunch break looking for a dress suitable for a visit to the Theatre Royal, on Drury Lane, a theatre whose name she saw in huge capitals in her mind. Elliott hadn’t exactly said, but surely his friend would say hello. There were one or two experienced actors in Dartford Rep but Constance Marshall, Elliott’s chum, was known worldwide. As a young actress, Constance had been famous for her portrayal of Shakespearean heroines; in later years she had played queens but now she tended to appear in small character parts. To meet her would be so exciting and Sally was sure that there was absolutely nothing in her very well-stocked wardrobe elegant enough to be worn in a London theatre.
She was passing the second-hand clothes shop on the High Street that had recently been opened by the WVS when, in the large picture window she saw, not a dress but a cloak. A cloak designed for magical evenings, for nights at the opera, for moonlit strolls, and certainly it was perfect for wearing by an aspiring actress who wanted – needed – to be noticed.
‘Mum’ll have a fit,’ said Sally to herself as she walked in. She had never been in the second-hand shop where her friend Grace’s sister worked but she knew immediately that this was a very different place. The single room was large, airy and spotlessly clean. The clothes were hanging on racks that were not too crowded, the better to show off each item. Even the two women who stood one behind the counter, the other primping a rather dashing hat on a stand near the window, were different. It was obvious that neither would ever need to buy from a second-hand shop.
‘May I help you?’ asked the one behind the counter and her voice reinforced what Sally had just been thinking. She wondered now if she could learn to speak like the lady. That accent would be perfect for some parts.
‘I’d like to see the blue cloak in the window, please.’
‘Exquisite, isn’t it? Maude, you’re closer. Be an angel and bring the young lady the evening cloak.’
‘In a jiff, Fedora.’ Maude’s voice was pleasant but not in the same league as that of the elegant Fedora.
Sally tried to memorise the sounds – as well as the strange name.
And then, somehow she was before a mirror and the cloak was on her shoulders. The blue of the velvet made her eyes appear bluer, deeper and brighter than ever. Whatever it cost, she had to own this wonderful cloak.
‘What a picture,’ said Fedora. ‘Honestly, Maude, doesn’t it look as if it was made for her?’
Maude looked at Sally, seeing her neat skirt, well-ironed blouse and hand-knitted cardigan. ‘Not frightfully practical, but yes, very lovely. For something special, may I ask?’
Sally had been bursting to tell someone, anyone. ‘I’m going to London, to the Theatre Royal, actually; it’s more or less on Drury Lane. I’m a guest of Miss Constance Marshall.’
‘Good heavens, surely all theatres closed a few days after war was declared?’ said Maude. ‘And as for Connie Marshall, I thought she retired years ago.’
‘Obviously not.’ Fedora turned to Sally. ‘Forgive Maude, she’s decided not to read the newspapers until the end of this ghastly war.’ In a louder voice she added, ‘The theatres have been reopened, Maude.’ She turned back to Sally. ‘That does sound like a perfectly lovely evening, my dear. I’m afraid the cloak is rather expensive. It’s by a top designer, and the money is going to war charities.’ She looked as if she was at war with herself.
‘We’ve had it three weeks and no one has even looked at it,’ Maude reminded her.
‘Two pounds ten shillings,’ said Fedora at last. ‘I know that’s a lot but I can’t let it go for less.’
Sally had winced but she had to have the cloak. It was as if the designer had had her in mind when he had created it. ‘I have five shillings in my bag but I have the rest in my Post Office account.’ She fished her purse out of her bag and emptied the coins it contained onto the counter. ‘Could I put this as a down payment, please? I have to go back to work now but I’ll take the money out tomorrow. Honestly, I will come back.’
‘I can’t let you take it with you, dear, not without payment.’
‘I understand, but please take my five shillings – a deposit, as it were. I swear I’ll come back tomorrow with the rest.’
‘Of course we’ll take it. The cloak was made for you, wasn’t it?’ said Maude.
A few minutes later, Sally, feeling as light as a soap bubble, left the shop and hurried back to the theatre. Her father would be unhappy about the amount of money she had spent on a cloak for one evening but he would also say that it was her own hard-earned money and, if she chose to waste it, that was entirely up to her.
Neither parent had been particularly happy about her going to a London theatre with an actor older than her own father.
‘Of course, seeing and hearing Ivor Novello is quite wonderful, pet,’ said Elsie, ‘but we just don’t like the idea of our young daughter being alone with this man, with any man.’
‘Mum, he’s my boss and he was famous once – even you and Dad know that. And I’ll only be alone with him while he’s driving us to London and back again right after the performance. Don’t spoil this, please. What if I actually meet Miss Marshall?’ She dreamed of meeting Novello, the star, but surely that was much too wonderful even to mention.
‘Very nice, I’m sure,’ said Bert. ‘I think we should let her go, love,’ he turned to his daughter, ‘but he picks you up here, Sally, and he’ll shake my hand and tell me exactly what time you’ll get home – and it had better be not long after the play ends.’
Just over two weeks later, Sally sat, a mere five rows from the stage of the Tamise Theatre, admiring the classic profile of the world-famous Ivor Novello as he starred in his own musical The Dancing Years. Only now, towards the close of the performance, was she able to breathe properly, for Fedora had been perfectly correct and the production had been forced to change theatres early in September. Elliott had been so sure of himself that he had never examined the tickets and had driven to Drury Lane to find the theatre completely deserted. There he lost his temper and shouted some words that Sally was glad she did not understand, but recovered in time to drive to the Tamise Theatre where he again embarrassed Sally by pushing his way through the waiting crowds.
At last she was relaxed after twice resorting to pinching her arm to assure herself that she was indeed in a London theatre, that she was enveloped in a strikingly lovely blue velvet cloak, and that the great man himself had actually spoken to her.
She’d been so excited to meet Connie Marshall, who was rather grand and gracious. It was just before curtain up, and visitors shouldn’t have been backstage, but Connie found time to ask Sally very kindly about her theatrical career and Sally was saved from revealing the disappointing truth when her mouth literally dried up at the sight of the great – and very handsome – star of musical theatre approaching behind the elderly actress.
‘Enjoy, poppet, sorry, got to fly,’ was all he had said as Connie quickly introduced Sally, but he had spoken to her and she would never forget it.
She wished she could forget Elliott’s closeness. His right hand strayed several times to her knee and when she had joked that she needed to pinch herself, she had not liked the tone of his voice when he said that he would be delighted to do the pinching. As the evening wore on she became more and more sure that she had made a dreadful mistake in accepting the older actor’s invitation. She almost wept as she realised that had she not accepted, one of the most famous men in the entire world of musical theatre would never have smiled at her or spoken to her.
The curtain went down. The theatre exploded with cheers and clapping and stamping feet as the audience stood up. Back came the cast, bowing modestly, kissing flowers that were thrown and often sending them back to the original thrower. It was wonderful, but at the back of Sally’s mind was a band of cold fear.
He’ll take me straight home, she told herself. He promised. Everything will be all right.
‘Come along, darling. We’re going backstage for drinkies.’
‘But it’s late, Elliott, and you said we’d leave after the performance.’
‘And we will, sweet child, but first we have to do the polite, you know. Must get rid of the black mark I earned. We’ll pop in on old Connie again – she is a darling, isn’t she? Can’t think of anyone else who would risk Ivor’s wrath just before a performance but then, she is so terribly fond of me. If he’s not too besieged, we’ll see darling Ivor and have some champers. Ever had champers, Sally B?’
Champagne was not something ever served in the Brewer house. How exciting. It was a dream … except for that niggle of worry. But, of course there would be no problem; they worked together. Elliott was merely being theatrical and silly.
‘I can’t stay long, Elliott. My parents will worry.’
‘You’re not a child, Sally. Silly girl. Here we are.’
Seeing that the great man’s dressing room was already packed full, Sally turned to leave but Elliott held her hand painfully and pulled her along behind him through the crowd.
The air rang with cries of ‘Dahling’, ‘Wonderful’, even ‘Mahvellous!!’ The practical Petrie twins would be amazed to learn that ‘Mahvellous’ and ‘Dahling’ were actual words, Sally thought.
‘Wherever did you find this perfect little peach, Staines?’
Sally heard the question and at the same time felt an arm going around her waist. ‘Stop that,’ she began, but she felt herself being pulled even closer to a large man in a scarlet evening jacket.
‘What a beauty,’ the voice continued as the man’s other hand began to rove over Sally’s back and down her hips. ‘Yum, yum, you can’t keep her to yourself.’
‘Let go of me,’ Sally, heedless of the fact that she was surrounded by many of the nation’s theatrical stars, hissed out the words, accompanying them with a sharp kick.
The hands dropped immediately but a well-known and heretofore much-admired face pressed itself closer to Sally’s. ‘Oh, I do like a little ingénue with a sparkle.’ One hand grasped Sally’s arm. ‘Go halves, Elliott darling, and I might just be able to …’
Sally looked up into the face of Conrad Blessington and, although she was frightened, angry and disappointed, she noted that the once so-handsome face had developed heavy jowls. There were dark shadows, not of illness, she thought, but of dissipation. Had the actor she had so admired always been as vulgar as the man holding her now?
Sally wrenched herself free and praying, first, that no one had paid any attention, and secondly, that she would not burst into tears, pushed her way past the two men and headed for the door. She gave thought to nothing but the need to get as far away from men like Elliott Staines and his friend as possible.
‘Why, there you are,’ said a voice. ‘I waited an age and had quite given up hope of seeing you this evening.’
A young man – and Sally was not so upset that she did not see that he was extremely handsome – was standing beside her and smiling at her as if they were old friends.
‘Bit of a crush, isn’t it, but super evening? Didn’t you think the last number was absolutely divine?’
Whoever he was, he gave her no chance to reply, not that she was capable of saying anything, but bundled her through the crowd – which parted for him – and out of the star’s dressing room.
‘Sebastian Brady,’ he introduced himself. ‘I take it that I’m correct and you didn’t want to stay with those two old lechers?’
Sally looked up at him, into the perfect face that she and her friends had fallen in love with when he had made his film debut as a prefect in the film Goodbye, Mr Chips.
Sebastian Brady. What must he think of her? Wildly Sally groped for a handkerchief. The young actor pressed his own into her hand.
‘Where do you live?’
‘Dartford.’
‘Bloody hell. Oh, I do apologise. Has to be better than Portsmouth. Is there a late train?’
Sally blew her nose again. ‘I have no idea. Elliott drove us.’
‘So, no train ticket either?’
Tears started in Sally’s eyes. How foolish she felt.
‘You’ll have to trust me then. Straight off, I think you’re a lovely girl but my grandmother brought me up, she trusts, to be a gentleman. Come along. I’ve never been to Dartford. It’ll be good for me.’
‘You do know where it is?’
‘Not the slightest idea.’ He laughed at her worried expression. ‘But I do have a fabulous invention, Miss Expressive Face. It’s called a road map.’
‘Very funny.’
They laughed together. He drove her home and as he negotiated the route he chatted of this, that and everything in between. It was as if they had known each other for ever.
She was embarrassed to see the slightest chink of light through the blackout curtains in her parents’ bedroom.
‘Parents still awake, Sally? Don’t be embarrassed. Be grateful. If I still lived at home, Grandmamma would be sitting up in the library waiting.’
She would have liked to ask about his parents but was still too aware that he was an actual film star. Instead she thanked him sincerely for his kindness. Then they said goodbye. He watched her until she had disappeared into the house. Sally waved and assumed that she would never see him again.
TWO
As always the house was in darkness when Sally let herself in and locked the front door. She smiled. Did they really think she did not know they were lying awake? She longed to tell them about Sebastian. How would her father react when he heard that a real film star, who had appeared in a film actually shown by his projector, had driven his daughter home from London?
Next morning she woke up to the sorrowful realisation that she had grown up overnight. She knew that she was about to lie to her parents. Never before had it occurred to her to lie; it had never been necessary. Sally brushed her hair until her head ached but she felt no better about her deception. At the breakfast table Ernie was unimpressed by her tale, glad that his daughter had been delivered home safely, but only the arrival on his doorstep of the King or perhaps, Mr Churchill, the Prime Minister, would have impressed him.
‘And what about Mr Staines, love? Why didn’t he bring you home as he promised?’
No matter how hard she tried, Sally knew she was blushing. She prepared to lie, hoping that most of what she was about to say was the truth. ‘Mr Staines knows Ivor Novello, Dad, actually knows him. I was introduced to him.’ She held out her right hand. ‘Look at that hand. Ivor Novello shook it.’
Her father did not seem enthused by either the story or the hand and so Sally rattled on. ‘There was a party, and I was invited too but I knew you and Mum would worry. Sebastian was there, one of the cast, and he offered to drive me home.’
‘Very nice, I’m sure.’
‘It was kind, Ernie, wasn’t it?’ Elsie put a plate in front of Sally. ‘Eat up, pet. We didn’t expect you up for breakfast – thought you’d take advantage and have a nice, long lie-in. You can tell Dad and me all about the evening when we get back from church.’ She walked over to the stove and picked up the fat brown teapot. ‘I noticed you caught your evening cloak on a nail or tack; I’ll mend it and give it a good brush today.’
Sally had no remembrance of having snagged her beautiful cloak but she readily gave her mother permission to mend it. Elsie Brewer, like Daisy and Rose’s mother Flora Petrie, was an expert with a needle and thread.
‘I’ll have to hurry, Mum. I want to meet Daisy and Rose before church; they’ll want to hear everything.’
Sally was anxious not only to tell her friends everything that had happened the previous evening but also to ask for advice as to what to do. The thought of returning to the theatre and Elliott Staines made her feel physically ill.
‘You cannot let him spoil your career, Sally. Tell him hands off or your father will be there to see him.’
‘I haven’t told Dad, Daisy; that really would be the end of my career.’
The twins looked at her and then at each other. ‘Sam,’ they said together.
Sally was aghast. ‘I can’t tell Sam. Besides, where is he?’
‘No idea, but you could put a picture of him on your worktable or whatever you have in a theatre. He’d make two of your Elliott. Accept no more invitations – if he’s got the courage to ask you out – and mention Sebastian every so often. You know, a few words like, “You’ll never believe what Sebastian said about …” and mention any big name you can think of. He’ll stay clear, honest he will. He doesn’t want to offend the big boys.’
Deep inside, Sally hoped that she would see Sebastian again, but he had said nothing about keeping in touch. Meeting a gorgeous actor and being driven home by him was a fairy tale. Once upon a time she had believed in fairy tales but she was now quite grown up.
Sally kept her friends’ hints in mind when she returned to the theatre. Elliott, suffering from a headache, brought on, he insisted, by winter sun glinting at him through leaves, had remained at home.
‘He’s a martyr to it, poor lamb. I’m afraid it makes for more work for you, Sally dear. Will you read Elliott’s lines to Archie?’ the director asked.
Sally picked up the script. Reading lines was certainly a step up from typing out a new copy. The character being played by Elliott was – surprise, surprise – an ageing roué and Sally wondered if she dared try to change her voice. She could sound a little like a young man; an aged man was harder and her efforts might not be appreciated. Last time she had tried characterisation she had been told firmly, ‘Just read the bloody lines, love.’
It was the nearest Sally got to real acting that week and was not a bad way to spend an afternoon. Archie Everest, better known to theatregoers as Giles Wentworth, was what was termed ‘a reliable actor’ and he was certainly better than Elliott and a great deal quieter.
‘Dad’s at the cinema, pet. Did you have a good day?’ When Sally arrived home she found her mother in the kitchen doing the family ironing.
Without Elliott’s presence, Sally’s day had been much better than she had expected. ‘Super, Mum, I had to read one of the parts. It was really interesting and Archie Everest is such a good actor. He gave me—’ She stopped in mid-sentence. ‘Oh, you’ve got my cloak. Where was the snag? I certainly don’t remember catching it but the theatre was so crowded.’
Elsie put down her iron. ‘Never mind the snag. Just guess what I found in the lining?’ She reached up to a shelf above the cooker where several commemorative cups sat and took down one she had bought when the family visited the Empire Exhibition in Glasgow the previous year.
‘Look.’ She held out her hand.
‘You’re joking, Mum. That must have come from a Christmas cracker.’
‘When did you ever see something like that in a cracker, love? I almost ironed over the top of it. There’s a hole in the right pocket of your cloak. I think it slipped through and one of the stones must have caught on the lining. Otherwise it could have ended anywhere, in a gutter, down a drain.’
Sally was still staring in awe at what appeared to be a gold ring set with three large red stones, each surrounded by tiny white sparkling stones.
‘Rubies and diamonds in real gold, Sally.’
Sally shook her head. ‘They can’t be real, Mum.’
‘The lady who gave that cloak to charity could afford rubies and diamonds. We’ll have to find her and give it back, love.’
Sally sat down at the table. ‘Rubies and diamonds. Gosh. If they’re real it must be worth a fortune.’
Elsie looked at the tiny diamond in her engagement ring. ‘Daddy saved up for four years for this, Sally. Forty pounds it cost. The insurance man said we’d need to insure it for …’ Elsie stopped as if the enormity of the amount was too shocking. ‘Near two hundred, love,’ she whispered, ‘and that’s for one diamond and there’s twelve in this ring. Put it on. You’ve got ever such lovely hands and I’d like to see it on before we go to the police station.’
Sally slipped the ring on to her right hand and admired both the ring and her carefully manicured nails. ‘Sets it off nicely, but, Mum, we’ll be quicker going tomorrow to the second-hand shop. I’ll go on my lunch break. They’ll know who brought in the cloak.’
Ernie would have liked to get rid of the ring straight away. ‘That’s worth a fortune, Sally, and I don’t want it in my house. What kind of woman doesn’t know she’s lost a valuable ring?’
Neither his wife nor his daughter had the slightest idea how to answer that question.
‘I’ll put it in the safe at the cinema. Be better there.’
‘But I won’t be able to get it from you and take it to the shop, Dad. No one knows it’s here. It’ll be safe for one night.’
As usual Sally had her way and next day, carrying her packed lunch, she took the ring back to the shop. Neither Maude nor Fedora was on duty. Sally deliberated about speaking to the sole person there today. She had a relationship of sorts with the other two women; she trusted them. Her mind went back and forth. Of course, this woman was bound to be honest or Fedora would not have hired her. Therefore she should tell her the story of the ring. But she could not help thinking that this situation was almost like something one would see in a film. She would hand over the ring and the woman and the ring would disappear.
Sally smiled at her own foolishness.
‘I bought the most beautiful evening cloak here,’ she started.
‘We don’t take back sold items.’
The words were uttered so forcibly that Sally’s original plan changed immediately. ‘I’m thrilled with the cape. I wanted, if possible, to thank the lady who donated it.’
‘We don’t discuss our sponsors but you can be assured that our quality items come from only the finest homes. We have actually dealt with a titled gentleman recently.’ She stopped abruptly as if she realised she was being too talkative.
‘Of course, but do thank him and his wife,’ said Sally with a beaming smile as she turned and hurried from the shop. She knew exactly who would know where any local aristocrat lived.
Petrie’s Groceries and Fine Teas had been dealing with every stratum of Dartford society for as long as Sally had known them. She waited only until her family and, she hoped, the Petrie family had eaten their evening meal before hurrying over to the familiar flat above the shop to speak to her friend Daisy, who worked full time in the grocery.
Ron, the Petries’ youngest son, opened the door. ‘Well, if it isn’t Margaret Lockwood herself. How’s the world of bright lights, Maggie?’
Sally laughed. ‘The girls in, Ron?’
‘And where else would they be on a weeknight? Go on up. Rose is washing her hair but everyone else is in the front room listening to the wireless.’
A few minutes later, Daisy and Sally were in the kitchen, the door firmly shut against intruders.
‘Well, what do you think of that?’
Daisy gazed at the ring. She tentatively stretched out a hand towards it.
‘Try it on; it’ll be too big but watch how it sparkles.’
Daisy slipped it on and gazed in awe. It was much too big for her petite hand, but when she held it up the stones contrasted prettily with her green eyes and short dark hair. ‘Is it real? It can’t be real. It looks like something the Queen would have.’
‘Dad thinks it’s real and of course I have to return it. The owner must be frantic, poor woman. I would be, wouldn’t you?’
They were silent for a moment as they stood silently, just watching the stones sparkle as light hit them.
‘I want you to help me find the owner, Daisy, because she must be a customer.’
‘Sorry, Sally, our customers can’t afford diamonds and rubies. We sell cheese and porridge oats and tinned peas. Rich people don’t eat porridge.’
‘Perhaps they don’t, but they drink fine teas.’
The friends sank back in their chairs as this truth hit them.
‘You do some of the deliveries, Daisy.’
‘I can’t tell you customers’ names, Sally, and certainly not their addresses.’
Sally sighed and Daisy recognised it, for once, as a genuine note of unhappiness. Sally was capable of showing a whole host of feelings, one after the other.
‘I wish I could help but the business is built on trust.’
‘Golly, I’m not going to steal something. I want to give this back.’
‘Take it back to—’ began Daisy.
‘I did. That was the first idea but it didn’t feel right and I just have this strange feeling that it’s really important for me to return it in person.’
As with the sighs, Daisy was familiar with the feelings. ‘There’s the bathwater going. Rose is coming. Put the kettle on while I tell Mum we’ll bring the cocoa in to them.’
Sally did as she was bid. They had enacted this scenario countless times over the years: the twins with Sally and sometimes their friend Grace, drinking cocoa in the kitchen, discussing great secret matters while their parents and brothers remained out of the way. Rose, Daisy’s non-identical twin, wearing a well-worn pink fluffy dressing gown, which was a bit short with her height, and a very damp towel round her long, wet corn-coloured hair, joined them.
‘Hello, I thought I heard the door. You don’t mind if I dry my hair in here?’ She carried on as Sally agreed. ‘How was the first day back? Did you skewer the old toad?’
‘He’s ill.’
‘I bet. No doubt the gorgeous Sebastian warned him off. Are you seeing him again?’
‘Get in front of the fire, Rose. Mum’ll explode if she sees your hair dripping all over the floor.’ Daisy plonked down a chair for her sister. ‘Show her the ring while I make her some cocoa, Sally.’
The next few minutes were taken up with much trying on and oohing and aahing over the ring.
‘It has to belong to—’
‘Ouch, Daisy. That hurt. And what’s the harm in telling Sally? She’s hardly likely to burgle the place; she wants to take the ring back.’
‘Yes, and the way to do it is to return to the shop, speak to the Fedora lady and get her to contact them. Keep your dad happy by letting him put it in the safe, Sally. Fedora whoever will telephone them – they’re bound to have a telephone – and one careless owner will tell her to instruct you to bring it out. Who knows, maybe she loves theatre and you’ll become friends and she’ll help you in your career.’
‘You are silly, Daisy, but maybe that is the best way. I’ll handle it tomorrow.’
‘Phil and Ron will walk you home.’
‘What on earth for? They’ve never done it before.’
‘Because, Lady Griselda, thou art wearing the family jewels.’
‘Who’s the actress here, Daisy Petrie? But you’re right. I’m off and I’ll tell you what happens.’
Nothing ‘happened’ for several days and then one lunch hour, Maude was standing outside the shop waving frantically.
‘Has Fedora managed to talk to them?’
‘At last. Come in and we’ll tell you. You’re a very lucky girl. Proves that doing the right thing is … the right thing.’
Sally looked at her watch and decided she had just enough time to speak to the ladies and still be at the theatre ready for rehearsal. ‘Very well, but I mustn’t be late.’
Maude ushered her into the shop.
‘Dear Sally,’ Fedora walked over from the counter where she had been making a display of donated hats and gloves. ‘I have some wonderful news for you.’
‘You’ve spoken to the owner?’
‘Two days ago and Sally, you are such a lucky young woman. The ring is yours.’ She stopped talking but her beaming smile told Sally how pleased she was.
‘Sorry, but this doesn’t make sense. I bought the cape …’
‘As far as the owner…the former owner is concerned, you also bought everything that was in the cloak, too. It’s yours, Sally, legally.’
‘What about his wife?’
Fedora reached a supplicating hand towards Maude. ‘Maudie, you tell her.’
‘It’s an age-old story. A young man buys a ring for his wife whom he loves. A year later she decides that she no longer loves him or anything he gave her. She walked out leaving almost everything behind, clothes, jewellery etcetera.’
‘But she probably didn’t know that the ring was in the lining.’
‘Trust me, Sally, she doesn’t care. As far as he is concerned the ring means nothing to him either. He values it at less than you paid for the cloak. He was surprisingly rude about that.’
‘That makes no sense. It’s obviously valuable.’
‘Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, young woman,’ Fedora said sternly. ‘As far as the shop is concerned, the subject is closed. Now you’d best hurry.’
Sally stood speechless. Even the words ‘thank you’ refused to come. She turned and almost ran from the shop. The ring was hers but did she want it? It meant heartache, at least for the husband. Would she think of his broken dream if she were to wear the ring?
Work, she decided. She would get to the theatre and forget the ring and her beautiful cloak; she would never wear it again.
Some of Fedora’s words ran around in her head as she hurried.
‘I should have gone through the pockets, I’ll admit that, but I couldn’t somehow. My dear Maude is … known to his family and it would have seemed somehow intrusive. I should have reminded her that I hadn’t done it. We usually go through everything, of course, just in case something’s been forgotten, but I’ve only ever found used bus tickets or soiled handkerchiefs – so unpleasant. I can’t tell you how sorry I am to have put you in an embarrassing position. I do wish I’d been in when you came back first, Sally.’ She stopped, obviously extremely perplexed. ‘I’ve never worked a day in my life until this damned war. Oh, do excuse my language but I made a silly mistake, which then involved you, and I do abhor feeling inadequate to a situation.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Still, it’s turned out fortunate for you. The jewels in the ring are real and the owner was adamant that an honest girl like you should have it. You’re a very lucky young lady and must be sure to insure it.’
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