Far From Home (28 page)

‘You have a show to rehearse,’ he said, barely giving Joe a glance. ‘And you’ve already had a week off. Get inside, or I’ll dock your wages.’

‘You can’t talk to the lady like that, mate,’ said Joe, moving his shoulders threateningly inside the confines of his large coat.

‘She’s my employee and has a contract to prove it,’ said Witherspoon. ‘I can speak to her any way I like.’ His dark eyes settled on Cissy. ‘Unless she wishes to break that contract, of course. But that would be extremely foolish, considering how much she stands to lose, wouldn’t it, Cissy?’

Cissy swallowed the lump in her throat as she nodded. His veiled threat was all too clear. ‘You’d better go,’ she murmured to Joe.

‘Will you be all right with him?’ Joe shot Witherspoon a warning glare.

‘I’ll meet you here at one, when I’ve got a break,’ she murmured hurriedly, loath to let Witherspoon overhear their conversation. ‘I’m sorry, Joe, but I’ve got no choice.’

‘Come along,’ said Witherspoon impatiently. ‘You’ve wasted enough time this morning and rehearsals are about to begin.’

Cissy gave Joe a nervous smile, ran up the steps and into the foyer. Without waiting to see if Witherspoon was following, she dashed down to the deserted dressing room and locked herself in the lavatory.

The other girls were on stage; she could hear the music and the tramp of their feet, could smell the veil of dust sifting through the boards. She stood with her back to the door and tried to control her racing pulse. This moment of respite could only be temporary though, she realised, for she would have to come out sooner or later – would have to face him.

The tap on the door startled her, and she gave a yelp as if she’d been burned. ‘Go away,’ she cried out.

‘Come out of there, Cissy,’ growled Witherspoon. ‘We’ve got unfinished business, you and I.’

‘I’ve nothing to say to you,’ she retorted. ‘Go away.’

‘If you don’t come out, I’ll break the door down.’

Cissy knew he meant it, for he’d done it once before when one of the other girls had tried to defy him. She reached out a trembling hand and pulled back the rusting bolt.

Opening the door, she was confronted by an angry face and a pair of glittering black eyes. ‘I want my photographs back,’ she said, her brave words marred by the quaver in her voice. ‘The negatives too,’ she added.

He merely smiled a cold smile, grabbed her arm and forced her into the deserted dressing room. ‘Get ready for rehearsals, and I’ll speak to you later.’

‘I only came in to get those pictures and give in my notice,’ she said, trying hard to sound brave and determined. ‘I don’t care if I do have a contract. I don’t want to dance here any more.’

He grabbed her chin and held it between thumb and finger so tightly it made her wince. ‘You will do as you’re told, Cissy, or I’ll show those pictures to that boyfriend of yours. You never know, he might like seeing his girl half naked, and even if he doesn’t, I’m sure his mates will approve.’ He gave an unpleasant grin. ‘I have a lot of contacts, Cissy. You could be famous within minutes.’

‘You wouldn’t?’ She looked up at him through the tears and realised that indeed he was perfectly capable of doing such a thing. ‘But why? Why can’t you just give me those photos and let me go? I’ll get a job working in a shop or something, and I’ll be out of your hair – and I won’t tell anyone, I promise.’

His smile reminded her of the wolf from one of her childhood fairy-tale books. ‘But you’re bought and paid for, Cissy, and I like to keep what’s mine,’ he said softly as he brushed his lips against her cheek. ‘The contract can only be broken if your parents sign on the dotted line, and I don’t think you really want them involved, do you?’

She dumbly shook her head.

‘Good girl,’ he murmured, patting her bottom. ‘Now get changed and join the rehearsals. I’ll see you in my office at lunchtime.’

Cissy’s legs threatened to fail her. She plumped down on a hard wooden stool and listened to his retreating footsteps. She was trapped and had nowhere to turn, for there was no one she dared trust with her dirty little secret. To expose him for what he was would reveal her own stupidity and the lengths to which she’d gone in search of promised fame and fortune. And the thought of her parents finding out made her skin crawl with shame.

POLLY TRAMPED THE
hills until the sun was so high it cast no shadows at her feet. She had never felt so drained, and every part of her ached, but her thoughts would not be still and she couldn’t dispel those terrible pictures in her head, no matter how far or fast she walked.

She finally sank to the springy turf and looked out over Cliffehaven. In the short while she’d been here, she’d not had time to walk along the promenade which ran the length of the horseshoe bay, from the towering white cliffs at one end to the rolling green hills at the other. She gazed out past the gun emplacements, the acres of barbed wire and mined shingle to the abandoned pier which had been cast adrift from the shore to prevent enemy landings. The fishing fleet was making its slow, steady way around the concrete blocks that formed a ragged barricade across the bay, the queue of eager housewives already forming nearby to purchase a share of the precious catch.

Polly watched as the sails were furled and the boats rushed in on the rolling waves to beach on the area of shingle that wasn’t mined. The sun on the
water
hurt her eyes, and she shielded them with her hand as she regarded that broad sweep of blue that looked so benign in the early autumn sunshine. How could something so beautiful be so cruel? How could it roll glassily on to shingle with barely a splash, when it was capable of rising like a leviathan to rip her world apart?

The grief and despair were overwhelming, for there were too many to mourn – too much to take in – too many regrets to count. She wanted the comfort of her mother, to feel her kiss and hear her voice; to be her little girl again. Needed to tell her sister she was sorry for snapping at her on that last morning, and longed to hear those bright-headed little boys racing through her kitchen with their paper planes.

But most of all she ached to feel Alice, warm in her arms, the sweet scent of her drifting to her as her baby slept. What she wouldn’t give to have those last precious moments of that morning again – what she wouldn’t do to breathe in her essence, and to hear her piping voice as she prattled on about her day.

She hugged her knees, the scene blurring before her as the tears returned. It didn’t feel real – it was incomprehensible – and yet it was fact – cold, bitter, indisputable fact. Alice was gone – they were all gone, and those moments would never return. All she could do now was keep them alive in her heart and in her memories until it was time for them to be together again.

A surge of longing gripped her. ‘If only Adam was stronger,’ she murmured. ‘If only we could share this terrible thing.’ She sniffed back the tears and got to her feet. There was little point in wishing things were different, for she couldn’t change them. All she could do now was carry that terrible knowledge alone. Adam
would
get better, and when he was strong enough, she would tell him, but not today – and probably not for some time. She silently prayed that she had the strength to shoulder that burden for however long it might take.

Cissy dashed off the stage the moment rehearsals were over. Knowing she had only minutes to change out of her shorts and leotard before Witherspoon came looking for her, she yanked them off and dragged on her dress. Kicking off the tap shoes, she stuffed her feet into her sandals, grabbed her bag and gas mask and raced for the stage door.

If Witherspoon caught her then the game was up, but she was determined to avoid him and, as the door slammed behind her, she didn’t waste time congratulating herself but dashed round to the front of the theatre.

Joe was waiting for her, but he wasn’t alone. Witherspoon was talking to him.

Cissy skidded to a halt and, pulse racing, hid behind the shrubs that grew beside the low stone wall of the theatre entrance-way. She watched as the two men talked but couldn’t hear what they
were
saying – neither could she read anything in Joe’s expression for his hat shadowed his face. She bit her lip and moved further into the shadows, unsure of what to do.

‘What on earth are you doing, Cissy? Who are you hiding from?’

‘Shh. He’ll hear you,’ she replied furiously, grabbing Amy’s arm and pulling her behind the shrubbery.

Amy frowned as she peered through the leaves. ‘What’s going on, Cissy? You’re acting very strangely.’

Cissy looked at her best friend mutely, longing to confide in her but knowing she couldn’t. They had met at their very first dance class when they were five years old, had gone to the same school, danced in the same revues, and swooned over the same boys. Until now, they’d shared their secrets – but this was not the time to reveal her darkest one. ‘That’s Joe talking to Witherspoon, and we’re supposed to be stepping out for the afternoon. But Witherspoon’s got other ideas,’ she said gloomily.

Amy frowned and tucked her long dark hair behind her ears. ‘What sort of ideas?’

Her gaze was level and too probing for comfort, and Cissy had to look away as she felt the heat rising up her neck and into her face. ‘I just need to get him away from Joe without him seeing me.’

Amy eyed her thoughtfully. ‘Tell you what. How about I distract Jack, and you try and catch Joe’s eye?’

‘Would you?’

‘Only if you promise to tell me what all this is about.’

There was that probing look again, which made Cissy feel very uncomfortable. It was as if Amy knew something of her predicament and was simply waiting for her to voice it. Cissy blanked out the thought – she was letting her overheated imagination run away with her as usual. What could Amy possibly know? Witherspoon was far too clever to risk being caught alone with her, and the incident over the photographer had happened long after everyone had left the theatre.

‘I’ll tell you tonight after the show,’ she promised.

‘You’d better keep that promise, Cissy,’ Amy said solemnly. ‘You’ve changed, you know, and I’m worried about you.’

Cissy felt a pang of regret and shame. ‘Thanks, Amy,’ she murmured, taking her hand. ‘But I’m all right, really I am, and I’ll tell you everything later.’ She peeked agitatedly through the shrubbery. ‘Why doesn’t Witherspoon just go?’ she hissed. ‘What on
earth
can they be talking about that takes so long?’

Amy swung her handbag and gas-mask box over her shoulder and straightened her jacket. ‘Leave this to me.’ She strode away and headed straight for the two men who were talking on the pavement outside the theatre. ‘Jack, can I have a word?’ she called. ‘It’s very important and simply can’t wait.’

Cissy watched as Amy tucked her hand into Jack’s arm and steered him back up the steps into the theatre foyer. What she’d thought to say to him was a mystery, but Amy had always been quick-witted and a consummate actress, for which Cissy blessed her. Perhaps it wouldn’t be too awful to confide in her after all, she thought fretfully – and it might help to ease the burden of having to deal with Witherspoon on her own every day.

Joe was looking at his watch and clearly getting impatient. Cissy banished all thoughts of Witherspoon and waved to him as he turned in her direction. Her heart fluttered as she returned his smile and watched his loose-limbed, ambling approach. He was very handsome – especially in that uniform.

‘What are you doing hiding over here?’ he drawled.

‘I wasn’t, not really,’ she said, flustered by the intense way he was looking down at her. ‘I just didn’t want to get involved in your conversation with Jack Witherspoon.’ She tucked her hand in the crook of his arm, forcing him to walk away from the theatre.

Her heart was still pounding and her mouth was dry as she dared to ask the question that had been bothering her ever since she’d seen them together. ‘It seemed to be quite a serious discussion between you,’ she said carefully. ‘What on earth did you find to talk about?’

‘Nothing much,’ he replied. ‘Just discussing the war and the weather.’ He grinned. ‘The usual things you Poms talk about when you’ve nothing much else to say.’

Cissy felt so relieved that her legs almost failed her, and she had to grip on to Joe’s arm to keep her balance.

‘Whoa there,’ he muttered. ‘Is that ankle still bothering you?’

She nodded. ‘It is aching a bit,’ she confessed truthfully, ‘but that’s probably because I’ve been dancing on it all morning.’ She smiled up at him. ‘Don’t let’s waste this lovely afternoon talking about my silly ankle, Joe. We’re supposed to be getting to know each other, remember? Why don’t you tell me everything about Australia and your family, and what you do there?’

He raised one dark brow, his eyes twinkling. ‘I reckon it could take a while to tell you
everything
,’ he drawled. ‘Australia’s a big place.’

She giggled. ‘Then tell me about the bit you know. Is it really flat red desert, with lots of kangaroos bouncing about?’

He chuckled as they settled on one of the stone benches that were dotted along what remained of the promenade. ‘There are kangaroos aplenty, but we’ve also got spiders and snakes and wombats and kookaburras.’ He grinned. ‘As for it being desert, well, some of it is – but we have lakes and rivers and mountains, and miles of bush which sometimes go right down to the sea. There are tropical islands and long sandy beaches, rainforests and mountains that are veiled in a haze of blue from the eucalyptus oil.’