‘Wait a moment,’ Kay said. ‘I’m going to London tonight. I don’t think we should quarrel on my last day at home and I don’t think you came in just to tell me I should have bought Julie a coat.’
Her mother looked thoughtful. ‘No, I didn’t.’ Still holding the cup, she sat down at the bottom of the bed. ‘And I don’t want to quarrel either. I’m sure Lana is mighty pleased with herself, setting you and me against each other.’
Kay pulled her legs up and wrapped her arms around her knees. ‘I hope you’re wrong about that,’ she said quietly.
‘Why do you say so?’
‘I don’t like to think of her being spiteful.’
Her mother’s lips thinned. ‘No? Well, I won’t disillusion you.’
Kay would have liked to have told her that her very words were disillusioning, but her mother hurried on. ‘I came in to thank you for agreeing to buy me a house and to tell you that they’ve accepted my offer.’
Kay was stunned by how quickly her mother had gone ahead with the business of buying herself a new home. ‘I didn’t know you’d made an offer. In fact I didn’t know you’d found a house you wanted.’
‘I told you. I’ve been looking at those houses overlooking the dene.’
‘The houses that cost about eight hundred pounds?’ Julie asked wryly.
‘That’s right, but you’ll be pleased to know that I found one that they were asking six hundred and fifty for. It’s been on the market for a while. I offered six hundred flat and they’ve accepted it.’ Thelma’s eyes were shining.
‘You made an offer?’
‘I just told you that. And they accepted it.’
‘Without consulting me?’
‘There was no need. The house is just what I want.’
Kay wanted to say that that wasn’t the point. The point was that it was her money that her mother was spending. And that her mother had taken it for granted that Kay would agree.
‘It needs a bit of work,’ her mother continued, ‘but the two hundred we agreed on will take care of that and buy some nice new furniture and give me a little lump sum as well.’
‘We agreed to that, did we?’
‘Of course we did. Don’t you remember?’
‘I remember talking about it, but I don’t remember agreeing to anything.’
‘Really, Kay, when I asked you if you wanted to help your mother you said you did.’
Kay’s mind flashed back to the conversation they’d had: ‘
Don’t make it sound like charity, Kay. I should think you would want to help your mother without being asked.
’
‘
Of course I do
.’
Kay realised there was no point in arguing further.
‘So I’ll go ahead and get a solicitor, shall I?’ her mother asked. ‘To see to the house and Julie’s money.’
‘And yours. Yes, go ahead.’
‘You’re doing the right thing, Kay.’
‘Am I?’
‘Of course you are. It was quite wrong of Lana to leave everything to you and nothing to Julie and me. Now that you’re going to put things right—’
‘By giving you half of my inheritance?’
‘That’s right. Now your conscience will be clear.’
‘My conscience?’
‘You would never have enjoyed your inheritance if it set you apart from your mother and your sister. Now, would you like me to bring you breakfast in bed and then help you with your packing? I shouldn’t think you’ll be staying in London very long, so you won’t need to take too much.’
‘And what happens when I come home?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Where will I be living?’
‘With me and Julie for as long as you need to. I’ve already told you that.’
‘Oh, yes, I remember. Until Tony proposes to me.’
There was an awkward pause then her mother said, ‘I’ll go and start your breakfast.’
‘Thank you, but you needn’t bring it up. I’ll come down. Then I can manage my own packing.’
Her mother hadn’t tried to persuade her otherwise, which was probably why Kay had ended up with a bulging suitcase and not the faintest idea when she would be going home – or even if she wanted to.
Domino’s was easy to find. Kay was relieved to see that Mr Butler’s secretary was already there, sitting at a table near the window. A good-looking young man, wearing a black waistcoat over a white shirt, had just handed Moira a large menu.
She looked up and smiled at Kay. ‘Do let Nico take your coat, Kay dear,’ she said. ‘It gets very warm in here, even when we sit near the door.’
Thoroughly flustered, Kay didn’t know how to refuse, so she took her coat off and handed it to Nico. He hurried away with it and she sat down. She was aware that Moira was looking at her curiously.
Kay guessed why. ‘I didn’t really have time to shop for clothes,’ she said.
‘There’s no need to be apologetic, dear. That skirt and blouse are perfectly respectable, if a little . . .’
‘Dreary?’ Kay said.
‘Shall we say sensible? But as for the cardigan . . . did you knit it yourself?’
‘I’m afraid to admit I did.’
Kay looked across the table and saw that Miss Davies was smiling. A moment ago she had almost started crying with embarrassment, but now she felt laughter bubbling up. ‘I know. I should have left it at home,’ she said.
‘You should have thrown it away.’
‘Oh, but that would be wasteful!’
‘Then you should have given it to the Salvation Army, who would have found a nice old lady to give it to.’
By now both of them were laughing, and when the young waiter returned he looked at them curiously. ‘You have found something to amuse you, Miss Davies?’ he said.
‘Yes, Nico, but you wouldn’t understand. Now, we needn’t bother with this menu. I’m going to order spaghetti Bolognese for both of us.’ She handed the menu back. ‘It’s the speciality here,’ she told Kay. ‘I don’t think you could find a better Bolognese anywhere in London.’
‘This young lady is new to London?’ Nico asked. He smiled at Kay.
‘Yes, Nico, and stop flirting with her. She’s too intelligent to be taken in by that alluring smile and those big brown eyes.’
Not at all offended, the young waiter laughed and hurried away.
‘Was he really flirting with me?’ Kay asked.
‘Of course he was – he’s Italian, isn’t he? And you are a beautiful young woman, in spite of your utility outfit. Kay, my dear, I don’t know what else you’ve brought with you to London in that bulging old suitcase, but I suspect that it might be a good idea for us to go shopping together.’
‘Oh, no, please, I don’t want to be a nuisance.’
‘You won’t be a nuisance, Kay. It will be a wonderful excuse to take time off from the office. Ah, here comes Nico.’
Nico was followed by a young woman carrying a small carafe of red wine and two glasses. Kay didn’t remember Miss Davies ordering it, but as the waitress placed it on the table and filled the glasses she murmured, ‘Your usual, Miss Davies.’
Kay had never had spaghetti Bolognese and she gazed in surprise at the large dish of white pasta topped with what looked like tomato flavoured mince. She sat back when Miss Davies said yes to finely grated cheese and then pepper from a giant pepper pot – for both of them.
‘Haven’t you had spaghetti before?’ she asked Kay when Nico had gone.
‘I’ve had spaghetti but it was nothing like this.’
‘Tell me?’
‘It came out of a tin. It was in a tomato sauce but there wasn’t any meat. My mother served it on toast.’ Kay sensed Miss Davies’ amusement and added, ‘It’s very nice like that.’
‘I know it is,’ Moira said. ‘But it’s years since I had spaghetti on toast. Lana and I used to have it for a treat when we came home from the theatre.’
‘You went to the theatre together?’
‘That’s where we met. Here in Wood Green at the Empire. The Wood Green Empire. We were both performing there.’
‘You were on the stage?’
‘Yes, dear, but I was never as successful as Lana.’
‘May I ask what you did?’
‘Only if you eat your spaghetti first.’ Miss Davies smiled at her and Kay picked up her fork.
‘Don’t I get a knife?’ she asked.
‘’Fraid not. But watch me – you’ll soon get the hang of it. And drink up, dear.’ Miss Davies picked up her glass of wine. ‘Chin-chin!’
Kay sipped her wine and decided she liked it, but her main concern was to eat her spaghetti without making too much of a fool of herself. When they had finished, Miss Davies ordered Sundaes for them. This consisted of a tall glass dish full of layers of ice cream with chocolate, caramel and strawberry sauce. A lone wafer stick was stuck in the top at a jaunty angle.
‘You promised to tell me what you did on the stage,’ Kay said.
‘I was a dancer. A very good dancer, but unfortunately I grew too tall to be a ballerina. I was too tall for the chorus line, too, so, not to be defeated I worked out my own solo dance routine. It was good – I have no false modesty – but never good enough to be top of the bill, like Lana was.’
‘What did Lana – Miss Fontaine – do?’
‘She could sing, she could dance, she could act – but don’t you know all this? I mean, hasn’t your mother told you anything about her?’
‘Not much. I think they must have quarrelled. The last time she visited I was eight years old, and after that Lana’s name was never mentioned in our house.’
‘And yet she loved you enough to make you her heir, didn’t she?’
Nico arrived with the coffee and the two women waited until he had gone before they resumed their conversation.
Kay stirred a spoonful of brown sugar into her cup and looked at it thoughtfully. Eventually she looked up at Moira. ‘You and she were good friends. Did she never tell you what went wrong between my mother and herself?’
Miss Davies looked away for a moment, then said, ‘She rarely spoke of those early days when she met your mother and father. Here you are, Kay, why don’t you try one of these little biscuits? They’re a sort of macaroon.’
Kay reached for one of the little round biscuits and remembered a conversation she’d had with her mother.
‘
She would take you up and make you believe you were important to her, and you would be only too pleased to help her out if needs be. But she never let anything or anyone – I want you to remember this, Kay – come in the way of her ambition
.’
‘Did you like her?’ Kay didn’t know what had prompted her to ask such a personal question and she felt herself blushing. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have . . .’
‘No, it’s all right. I don’t mind answering. I liked her very much, even though I was fully aware of her faults. She was so . . . charismatic. If you became her friend you thought you were the luckiest person in the world. You would do anything for her, but you had to remember that Lana Fontaine would never let anything come in the way of her ambition.’
Kay gasped. Those were the very words her mother had used. ‘But she was very talented, wasn’t she?’
‘Very. As well as being able to sing and dance, she had a beautiful speaking voice. She was a natural in either musicals or straight drama. I always believed she had enough talent to take her to the very top, but the more you got to know her, the more you realised there was something, deep inside, that was holding her back.’
‘What was that?’
‘I can’t tell you.’
Can’t, or won’t?
Kay thought, but she didn’t like to press for an answer.
While she had been talking Miss Davies had taken a silver cigarette case from her bag. She opened it and offered it to Kay.
‘No, thank you. I don’t smoke.’
‘Good girl. I wish I’d never started.’ She extracted a cigarette and put it in a long, jewelled cigarette holder. After she had lit the cigarette, she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. ‘Ah, that’s better.’ When she opened her eyes she picked up the carafe. ‘Pity to waste this,’ she said. She made to fill up Kay’s glass, but Kay put her hand over the top and shook her head. Miss Davies shrugged and smiled, then emptied the carafe into her own glass. Shaking her head wonderingly, she seemed to gather her thoughts. ‘As I was saying . . . One day she just gave up.’
Kay must have missed the moment when Moira summoned Nico to the table, but suddenly he appeared with the bill placed on a silver salver. She saw Moira opening her handbag and said quickly, ‘Oh, please let me pay.’
‘Of course not,’ Moira said. ‘You are a valued client. Charles has told me to look after you.’
‘You mean Mr Butler?’
‘Yes. My boss. The man I am devoted to – although he doesn’t seem to realise it.’ She sighed and reached for the black fur shoulder cape that was draped over the back of her chair. ‘Time for us to go. And I should tell you, I haven’t been to the house since the day of Lana’s funeral, so when we get here you’ll have to forgive me if I blub like a baby.’
Chapter Six
‘It’s unsightly, isn’t it?’
Moira closed the front door and came to stand behind Kay, who was staring up at a tall grandfather clock. The hands had stopped at twelve o’clock – midnight, Kay mused fancifully.
‘I wouldn’t say unsightly,’ Kay said. ‘Perhaps a little overpowering for the size of this hallway.’
‘Do you like that sort of thing? Antiques? It’s Victorian – carved walnut – too ornate for my liking. I’m sure it must be worth a pretty penny, but Lana could never bring herself to sell it, even though it doesn’t suit the decor. It reminded her of the early days when, like two little Cinderellas, we had to be home before midnight.’
‘You and Lana both lived here?’
‘Why don’t we go into the sitting room? I can light the gas fire in there, and I’ll answer all your questions.’
When Moira knelt to light the fire Kay noticed once more how gracefully she moved. She remained kneeling until the elements flared into life, then she rose and sank gratefully into one of the brown leather armchairs. She had not started to ‘blub’ as she had threatened, but her finely drawn features showed signs of strain.
‘Do sit down, dear,’ she said, nodding towards the other armchair. ‘What do you think?’ She made a circling gesture with one arm which took in the whole room.
Kay looked around at the pale grey walls and the black and grey curtains. There was a large rug with geometric patterns in the same colours, and the upholstery of the sofa and armchairs was dark grey, with silver scatter cushions. A mirrored coffee table stood between the two armchairs, and on the wall above the marble fire surround there was a fan-shaped mirror. To one side of the fireplace, the tall floor lamp consisted of a bronze lady in sculptured robes, holding a large globe above her head with outstretched arms.
‘Well?’ Moira said.
‘I think I like it.’
‘Lana insisted everything should be streamlined and modern. Do you know what is meant by art deco?’
‘I think so.’
Moira leaned back, stretching her long legs out in front of her and crossing them at the ankle. ‘When Lana and I first rented rooms here, our landlady, Mrs O’Brien, lived in this room. She ate and slept in here so that she could rent all the other rooms to her theatricals, as she called them. What a mess it was when Lana took the house over! She had to start from scratch, as they say.’
‘Stop! My head is spinning. Please will you explain?’
Moira laughed. ‘Make yourself comfortable and I’ll tell you a story.’ She took out a cigarette and put it in the holder, then looked round and shook her head.
‘What is it?’ Kay asked.
‘Lana won’t allow smoking in the house. I mean wouldn’t. She may be dead and gone, but it still feels wrong.’ She extracted her cigarette from the holder and put it back in the cigarette case.
‘You were saying?’ Kay tried to hide her impatience.
‘Sorry. When we met, what they call the roaring twenties were drawing to an end, but both of us still loved the fashions. We were what was called flappers. Shingled hair, short skirts, and silk stockings whenever we could afford them. When we were broke we had to make do with rayon. Oh, and of course, long, beaded necklaces and jewelled cigarette holders. Unlike me, Lana never smoked, but she carried one just to look sophisticated.
‘We were both appearing at the Empire and we had digs here. It was the first time in London for both of us, and even though Lana was nearer the top of the bill than I was, we became friends. I knew she was talented. And brave. She had only just recovered from – from some kind of illness, and yet she threw herself into rehearsals and worked until the weaker souls among us would have dropped.’
‘And you had to be back here by midnight.’
‘What? Oh, yes, the clock. Mrs O’Brien was very strict with the young ladies. She insisted that she kept a respectable house and that there would be no partying with dubious gentlemen for us. No going up to clubs in the West End and getting our pictures in the scandal sheets. We had to be home by midnight. Every night when we came home Lana and I would look up at the clock.
‘With any luck we had seconds to go, and we would make a dash for the stairs and hurry up them, trying not to laugh out loud. But if we were a second late – I swear, just one second – the door of this room would open and Ma O’Brien, garbed in a gruesome old dressing gown, and her hair in curlers, would appear. The only thing missing was a rolling pin. She would demand to know where we thought we had been and what we’d been up to. That’s why Lana stopped the clock at twelve – to remind us of those happy days.’
‘So there’s no wedding cake on the table?’
‘What on earth are you talking about?’
‘The clocks stopped; the wedding cake on the table . . .’
‘Miss Havisham!
Great Expectations
! Clever girl. No, you won’t find a mouldering wedding dress here. Although, to tell the truth, I’m not exactly sure what you will find. Everything in the house is yours. Even the clock; Lana bought it when Mrs O’Brien died.’ Moira paused and closed her eyes for a moment. ‘We were very happy here, you know,’ she went on. ‘Young and hopeful. Working till we dropped but enjoying every minute. Coming home after the show, washing our underwear and hanging it over the bath. Eating spaghetti on toast and drinking cheap wine when everyone else was asleep.
‘That’s why Lana kept her room here, even when she was on tour. Also, it saved having to pack up absolutely all her worldly goods and take them with her. And as the other tenants moved out, Lana took their rooms, too. By then she was appearing in the West End and in the movies, and she could well afford the rent. And as my career had come to an abrupt end, I looked after the place for her.’
‘What happened?’
‘I had a fall. Very embarrassing. The audience laughed. I think some of the dimmer ones thought it was part of the act. I fled in tears and never trod the boards again.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘No need to be. I found a job with Mr Butler, and I’ve stayed in it ever since. I even live there. Mr Butler owns the whole property, shop, office and all. The tiny apartment up on the top floor is mine, rent free. But we digress. Eventually Lana had the whole house – bar this room. When the old girl died that problem was solved.’
‘Why didn’t she buy the house instead of renting it?’
‘Kathleen, Mrs O’Brien’s daughter, wouldn’t sell. She and her husband own other houses round here. They know the future is in property, especially as there are so many people still homeless after the war. The rents are soaring. God help whoever takes this house on when Lana’s tenancy is finished. Are you cold?’
‘No. Why do you ask?’
‘You were shivering.’
‘You’ll laugh.’
‘Of course I won’t.’
‘When you were talking about you and Lana – when you were young – coming home from the theatre, sneaking up the stairs, washing your clothes and eating your supper . . .’
‘Yes? Go on.’
‘I could almost hear you – almost see you. Both of you. It’s as if Lana still lives here.’ Kay paused, waiting for Moira’s response.
‘I know what you mean. I can feel it myself. Lana had a very strong presence, both on the stage and in real life.’ Moira stared speechlessly at the fire for a while and then she sighed and smiled at Kay. ‘You know, when Lana made her will she discussed it with me and she told me she wanted you to come here, but I can’t tell you why. Perhaps while you’re here you’ll find the answer yourself.’
Kay was bewildered by how quickly her life had changed. From working behind a shop counter and getting the grocery orders in a small northern seaside resort, she had been transported by fate to the capital city, where life seemed never to come to a standstill and where she had discovered you could be completely alone despite the hustle and bustle of the crowded pavements. Kay had decisions to make, and although Moira was kind, Kay felt the need to confide in someone from home. She considered her options. Her mother? Her sister? Tony? She discounted all three quickly and sat down to write to the only person she could open her heart to.
24th October 1949
Dear Miss Bennet,
I don’t think I fully understood when I made a joke about inheriting Lana Fontaine’s ‘goods and chattels’ that she meant a whole houseful of furniture. Looking at the house from the outside, it is quite an ordinary, although solid-looking, tall terraced house in a tree-lined avenue. Respectable suburbia! Inside is not quite what you would expect. Although she didn’t own the house, over the years my godmother had redecorated and refurnished in a very modern way. Miss Davies, the solicitor’s secretary, told me the style was art deco.
But what am I to do with all the beds (there are five bedrooms), tables, chairs, curtains, carpets, let alone the contents of the cupboards, drawers and wardrobes? Do you sense the size of my problem? I would love to know what was in my godmother’s mind when she made her will.
Why, oh why, did she burden me with this? I mean, she walked out of my life when I was eight years old. It’s not as if she had no one else she could trust with the task. Moira Davies and my godmother were friends going back to the days when they were both in the theatre and appearing in the same show. You may wonder why Lana did not leave something to Moira. Well, it seems that over the years she showered her with gifts – including a beautiful Royal Albert tea set that is just like yours. She told her that, as there was no knowing which of them would take the final curtain call first, she wanted her to enjoy nice things while they were both alive.
So here I am at Brook Lodge doing nothing but panic. Miss Davies has suggested that it would be better for me to move into the house, and she has offered to sort this out with the landlady. She doesn’t think that will be a problem. The guest house is clean and comfortable, but the food is uninspiring. I suppose I have been spoiled by my mother’s cooking.
As far as I can see, there is only one other guest here at the moment. A girl of about my own age, called Shirley Walton. Tonight she suggested we should share a table for our evening meal, and while we were eating she told me that she has just come up to London to take up a job as a secretary at the BBC. She’s staying here at the guest house because her mother is an old friend of Mrs Price, who, it turns out, is the owner of Brook Lodge. Shirley doesn’t intend to stay here. Mrs Price is very kind to her and doesn’t charge her the full amount, but even so she can’t really afford it and would rather rent a room somewhere.
I think I found out most of this during the first course (brown Windsor soup), and by the end of the second course (boiled leg of mutton with carrots and potatoes), she had told me about her family, her schooldays at the local grammar school, and her broken romance. This was one of the reasons she had decided to apply for a job in London. She is not at all boastful, but I think she must be very clever.
For dessert we had steamed currant pudding and custard. Thankfully Shirley seemed to have run out of steam. Is there a joke there somewhere? After coffee, Shirley wanted us to go to the pictures but I was too tired. She was disappointed and that made me feel guilty, but if I had gone to the cinema I would probably have fallen asleep. Shirley is so excited about starting a new life in London, whereas I have come here to sort things out and then I will be going home again.
So my new friend has gone to the pictures by herself and here I am in the residents’ lounge sitting as close as I can get to a lacklustre fire and writing to you on notepaper supplied by Brook Lodge. How strange life is. I was expecting to feel homesick and yet I am not. Instead I feel as though I am in limbo. But now I must go to bed and try to sleep, for, as Scarlett O’Hara would say, ‘Tomorrow is another day.’
Yours sincerely,
Kay
25th October 1949
Dear Mum,
Thank you for your letter. I will be leaving Brook Lodge on Monday, the last day of the month, and moving into the house where Lana Fontaine lived. Miss Davies arranged this for me. The landlady could not really complain, as the rent is paid until the end of the year. She did, however, ask for an extra four pounds a month to cover the inconvenience. I have no idea how my moving in would inconvenience her, but Moira said it would be better to keep her happy.
Until then, for the next few days, I shall continue to go each day and carry on sorting through drawers and cupboards. I feel like a thief, although so far I have not found anything of great value. My friend Miss Bennet – she was my form teacher in my last year at school, remember? – thought there might be some valuable jewellery. She remembers seeing photographs of Lana in magazines where she absolutely ‘dripped with diamonds’.
Well, Lana might have had some good jewellery then, but there is nothing now. I have two theories to explain this. Maybe the jewellery did not belong to her; maybe it was lent by the film studios. (I know they did this sort of thing when they wanted their stars to look glamorous at special events.) Or perhaps after she retired from acting she slowly sold off anything of value in order to go on living here. Moira thinks this may be so. She told me that after Lana stopped working, things – like a piece of Lalique glassware, or maybe a Tiffany lamp – began to disappear.
If this is the case, I’m sad that she had to sell things she might have held dear to her, but I’m not at all concerned for myself. The things that are left can tell me so much about her. The clothes in the wardrobes are the most revealing. They are stylish and elegant, and so evocative that they almost bring her to life for me. Moira, who is so fashionable herself, says they are almost a history of twentieth-century fashion.
Lana must have kept every garment she ever bought. Moira told me that although the majority of them are copies run up by a corner-shop dressmaker, there are also some genuine gowns designed by Elsa Schiaparelli and Madeleine Vionnet. Also some silk scarves by someone called Hermès. I am afraid these names mean nothing to me, even though Moira says they are quite famous.
There are some clothes that have never been worn. Moira says Lana just couldn’t stop herself from buying new things. She thinks I should have any that I take a fancy to. What do you think? And would you like me to send some that I think would suit you and Julie?