‘You’d better make your phone call,’ Tom said. ‘I’ll get the bed ready.’
The telephone was on a table in the tiny hallway. Apart from a notepad and pencil there were one or two letters which looked like advertising material. One brown envelope was different. Kay glanced at it idly and saw that it was addressed to Sgt Thomas Masters. So that had been his rank in the army, Kay thought. Like many ex-servicemen, Tom hardly ever talked about the war.
Kay was glad that it was Jane who answered the phone. Much as she liked Shirley, there were times when she couldn’t cope with her forthright way of speaking and her sense of humour. Jane told her to look after herself, whereas Shirley would no doubt have pretended not to have believed the reason she was staying at Tom’s for the night.
If the living room was sparsely furnished the bedroom was like a monk’s cell.
If Tom lives any kind of life, it isn’t here
, Kay thought, and immediately gave up that line of thought as too complex.
Fortified by the hot, sweet drink and comforted by a hot water bottle, it didn’t take her long to get to sleep. She woke up in the morning with only a vague ache in her ankle and a keen sense of disappointment. True to his word, Tom had spent the night on the sofa.
Chapter Twelve
March
Kay crossed the impressive entrance hall of Broadcasting House and was self-consciously aware of the uneven click-clacking of her shoes on the marble floor. Shirley was waiting for her by the reception desk, and she took her through to a small lobby where there were two lifts. On the wall opposite the lift doors was a magnificent tapestry which had been presented to the BBC by the French Government for their freedom broadcasts during the war. Shirley told her it had been made by Aubusson.
Kay had been in town for a job interview in the haberdashery department at Liberty’s. Because of her lack of experience she didn’t feel very hopeful. And, in any case, Moira didn’t approve. She was still insisting that Kay should hold out for ‘something better’. Shirley had told her that, whatever the outcome of the interview, she was going to treat Kay to a lunch in Broadcasting House. The two girls took the lift down to the basement and followed a long corridor to the canteen.
‘Well, here we are,’ Shirley said as she gestured around a dingy, windowless space. ‘Not very classy, but the food’s good if basic. And it’s cheap!’
They each took a tray and lined up behind an assortment of BBC staff at the hot counter. Kay gazed at the serving dishes containing mince and dumplings, liver and onions and battered fish.
‘Not bad for one and sixpence each,’ Shirley said. ‘And how about those super puddings for threepence?’
Both girls settled for the mince and dumplings with generous helpings of potatoes and mushy peas, and jam roly-poly pudding and custard. Then Shirley led the way past the plastic-topped tables, looking round as she went for anyone she knew. Now and then she waved and smiled, but they settled for a vacant table so that they could have a good old chinwag, as Shirley put it.
She had just started asking Kay about her job interview when she suddenly leaned across the table and said, ‘There’s my boss, Julian Fry. He’s coming this way. Isn’t he gorgeous?’
Kay looked up and saw a distinguished-looking older man walking towards them. He was casually dressed in corduroy trousers and a polo-necked sweater. His greying hair was a little too long but he had a certain style. But gorgeous? Not really. Nonetheless, it was obvious that Shirley was impressed, and when he asked if he could join them she flushed visibly. Kay realised straight away that he was agitated about something. He didn’t even glance at Kay but demanded whether Shirley knew if that silly cow Lydia had turned up yet.
‘Honestly,’ he said, ‘doesn’t she realise she’s lucky to get any part these days? And then just not turning up when the studio’s booked and waiting!’
‘I kept phoning her like you said, Mr Fry,’ Shirley said. ‘Her landlady said she didn’t come home last night and she didn’t know where she was.’
‘Oh, Gawd,’ Julian Fry drawled. ‘Maybe I should send a taxi round her usual drinking holes. They may find her asleep behind the bar. That actually happened once, you know.’
‘And if she can’t be found?’
‘She’s for the drop. She’s off my list for good this time.’
‘But what about the play?’
‘As you know, it’s only a tiny part, a lady-in-waiting to the queen. I’ll write it out; give her lines to the other girl. So, when you’ve finished your lunch you can type up the new scripts for me.’
‘Oh.’
‘Don’t worry. I’ll make as few changes as possible.’
‘You said that once before!’
Kay was surprised that Shirley should answer him back, but she saw that they were both smiling. She had been fascinated listening in to the conversation, and she was almost sorry when Shirley’s boss picked up his tray and made to leave them. Then, as if he had only noticed her for the first time, he looked at Kay and sat down again.
‘You didn’t tell me you had Vivien Leigh here as a stand-in,’ he said, and he bestowed a brilliant smile on Kay.
‘Actually, my name is Kay Lockwood and I don’t think I resemble Vivien Leigh at all.’
Julian studied her closely. ‘No, you don’t. It’s a first impression – the eyes, the hair – but you have a much more interesting face.’
Kay wasn’t sure how to respond, so she said nothing, but she could feel herself flushing.
‘Let me introduce my landlady,’ Shirley filled the awkward silence.
Julian was immediately interested. ‘You’re the girl who lives in Lana Fontaine’s house? Shirley told me. She was your godmother. How glamorous!’
‘I don’t know about glamorous,’ Kay said. ‘I mean, she was glamorous, yes, but the last time I saw her I was a small child. I simply remember her as warm and full of life.’
‘So I don’t suppose you have any idea why she suddenly stopped working, do you?’
‘No, I don’t.’
‘But, tell me, how did your parents know Lana?’
‘My father worked in the theatre.’
‘Jack Lockwood?’
‘You knew him?’
‘Only that he was a friend of Lana’s. I believe he used to visit her now and then.’
‘I had no idea.’
Julian looked at her through narrowed eyes. ‘No, I don’t suppose you did.’ He paused. ‘Shirley, my sweet, your friend may not be Vivien Leigh, but she is an actor’s daughter who happens to have a most melodious and expressive speaking voice. You can forget about ordering a taxi and I won’t have to do a rewrite. We have a perfect lady-in-waiting. Miss Kay Lockwood.’
16th March 1950
My Dear Kay,
I have just switched my wireless off and I had to write straight away. That was you, wasn’t it, playing a small part in the afternoon play? Your voice is so distinctive, surely I’m not mistaken? I wish you had warned me that you were going to be on. I might have missed the broadcast. Although you know how much I love my radio drama, so perhaps you wanted to surprise me and took a chance.
Please write and assure me that I am not going gaga in my old age. Tell me I am correct and also if you are going to be in any more plays.
Yours sincerely,
Margaret Bennet
20th March
Dear Miss Bennet,
No, you are not mistaken; it was me playing the part of one of Queen Victoria’s ladies-in-waiting. I couldn’t write and tell you because I didn’t know until a few hours beforehand that I was going to be in the play. I was lunching with Shirley when I was dragooned into it by her eccentric boss, Julian Fry, a drama producer. One of the cast had not turned up. I say dragooned, but, in truth, I thought it would be a very interesting thing to do until I got to the studio and discovered that there would be no more rehearsals and that the play was going out live.
The rest of the cast were very welcoming, and at least I didn’t have to learn any lines. We read from the scripts and I’d had time to do a quick read-through before we started. We were sitting round the microphone and as we came to the end of each page we bent down and put them very carefully on the floor, taking care not to rustle the paper. My character only appeared on three pages, so once I had been banished from court, I was able to relax and enjoy watching the professionals at work.
The sound effects were amusing. Most of them were on records and played in a control room called the cubicle, but a studio manager was in the studio with us and he produced what Shirley told me later were spot effects. For thunder he shook a sheet of metal and for horses’ hoofs he knocked coconut shells together. Yes, really!
All the time I sensed Shirley watching me through the glass partition. I think she was nervous for me. Strangely, after an initial attack of butterflies, my nerves settled themselves and I began to enjoy the experience. It may seem a strange thing to say, but I felt as though I was at home in that studio. I was disappointed when the red light went out and the final music was faded in. I could hardly believe that I was going to receive payment – the magnificent sum of three guineas. The studio manager gave me an envelope with a cheque inside.
Better still, Mr Fry wants me to work for him again. He is developing a serial set in a village. An old family, having suffered the vicissitudes of war, is struggling to hang on to the ancient family home. He wants me to play the daughter. Can you believe it? I thought I must be dreaming. But no, the very next day I went to a meeting with some other members of the cast and the scriptwriters. Mr Fry told me that he thinks I could probably fit in other drama work, too. I don’t know when this will get going, but I’m confident enough to give up the search for a different sort of job.
Who would think life could change so much over lunch in the basement canteen of the BBC? I owe it all to Shirley, though I’m sorry to say that she has been a little worried. She thinks I will change. Become toffee-nosed. (Forgive the slang, but those were her words!) She says that in her short time in the drama department she has watched people get above themselves. I pray I won’t.
I hope I haven’t bored you with all this, but who else can I tell? Please tell me if you think I’m becoming self-obsessed!
Yours sincerely,
Kay
22nd March
Dear Kay,
Of course I don’t think you are becoming self-obsessed, but I am sad that you do not feel you can tell your mother and your sister of your good fortune. May I ask why?
Also, I hope that if you ever work with Valentine Dyall in one of
The Man in Black
stories you would tell me all about it.
Yours sincerely,
Margaret Bennet
25th March
Dear Miss Bennet,
Of course I will tell you if I ever work with Valentine Dyall, or any other of your favourite actors and actresses.
As for the other question, I don’t know how to answer it. You know my mother didn’t want me to come to London in the first place, and I have the feeling that my becoming an actress, even a radio actress, will upset her even more.
Yours sincerely,
Kay
28th March
Dear Kay,
This correspondence is becoming like a conversation. Perhaps we should telephone each other. If only long-distance calls were not so difficult.
You will have to tell your mother sooner rather than later. Someone might hear you on the wireless, and then how would your mother feel?
Yours sincerely,
Margaret Bennet
Kay folded Miss Bennet’s latest missive and put it back in its envelope. She felt ashamed. Miss Bennet had said long-distance telephone calls could be difficult, but probably what she really meant was that they were expensive.
I can afford to phone her and I will
, Kay thought.
I could choose a time convenient to her and we could have a nice little chat. It would be like phoning home
. Kay sighed. She wished with all her heart that she could phone her mother, but she knew that such a call would only end up upsetting them both.
Moira was over the moon. ‘Lana would be so pleased for you,’ she said. ‘Just think of the advice she would be able to give you.’
‘Or my father.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘My father was an actor, too, you know.’
‘Of course he was. And so handsome. I remember when I met him I thought he ought to be a film star.’
‘You met my father?’ Kay was astonished.
Moira looked flustered. ‘Perhaps I should have told you before now, but he did come up to London once or twice to visit Lana. He joked that he was checking up on his protégée. After all, he said, he’d set her on her way to stardom. I think the reason I didn’t tell you was because his visits always left Lana so unsettled. She once actually said to me that her days had never been truly happy since she left Northridge Bay.
‘Of course that was nonsense. You can put it down to actor’s temperament. She enjoyed all the trappings of being a successful actress. Until the day she said to me, “Moira, darling, I’ve had enough.” She went on to ask me what was the point of it all. Of course I couldn’t tell her.’
This conversation reminded Kay of the boxes of photographs and papers that she had put aside when she had decided to take in two lodgers. She knew that she wanted to look through them again, and perhaps even solve the mystery of why Lana had given up acting so suddenly. Shirley had offered to help. Perhaps she would take her up on that. But not yet . . .
Tom was equally pleased for her. He called round with an enormous bouquet of flowers. ‘How shall we celebrate?’ he asked. ‘Dinner or the theatre? Or both?’
‘Why don’t we just go to the pictures?’
‘I won’t hear of it. I’ll book a table at Stefano’s. That’s in Soho and within walking distance of theatreland. Leave it to me, will you?’
‘Mmm. Tom?’
‘Yes, Kay?’
‘It will be just the two of us, won’t it?’
‘Of course. Why do you ask?’
‘Well, it’s very generous of you, but you do seem to like having Shirley and Jane around, don’t you?’
‘Do I?’
Kay nodded.
‘Well, I suppose it’s because I feel guilty whisking you out all the time and leaving your friends behind. They’re new to London, too, aren’t they?’
Kay didn’t find this answer at all satisfactory, and she was mortified to hear how waspish she sounded when she said, ‘You needn’t be in the least worried about Shirley. She has new friends at the BBC. They seem to be a lively crowd and in fact Shirley will probably be late home again tonight.’
‘And Jane?’
‘Jane seems to be quite happy staying in the house and avoiding the limelight, as Shirley would say.’
‘She’s not here now.’
Kay smiled. ‘Her one indulgence. She likes shopping in the West End. But she’s usually home by teatime.’
Tom looked thoughtful. ‘Does she buy nice things?’
‘As a matter of fact, she does. A little bit of jewellery, fashionable clothes. But why are you so interested?’
‘Simply because if she buys jewellery and smart clothes, where does she expect to wear them?’
Kay was perplexed. Not only because this had also occurred to her, but also because she felt uncomfortable with the way the conversation was going. Tom seemed to sense her unease, because suddenly he smiled and took her in his arms.
‘But you’re right, of course. It would probably be cruel to insist that she comes along with us when she would rather hide away here. Now, why don’t you put these flowers in water while I make us a cup of tea?’