Applause (The Dudley Sisters Quartet Book 2) Read online

  ‘I’ve met your sister several times. She’s a very nice young woman.’

  ‘Yes, she’s been good to me, has our Bess. So when Bill got the job at the MoD, Mr and Mrs Goldman invited him to lodge with them. They said I could come and stay anytime.’ Margaret laughed. ‘I’m not sure they meant permanently, but they don’t mind me being there. It was Natalie-- Mrs Goldman who suggested Anton spoke to you about me working as an usherette.’

  ‘We do have an opening. One of the girls has been called up. Have you heard anything from the War Office?’

  ‘No. I think they’re calling up single women first. At least, I hope they are.’

  ‘I’m sure you’re right.’ Pamela Lesley smiled and leant forward. ‘So why do you want to be an usherette, Margaret?’

  ‘To work in the theatre. I’ve worked in offices and factories and they are so boring. Sorry!’ Margaret took a breath and began again. ‘I get on well with people. I’d rather help someone than not help them and…’ She sighed, losing the thread once more. ‘I can’t think of anything I’d rather do in the whole wide world than sit and watch a theatre show every night. Except be in one, of course. That would be a dream come true.’ Suddenly seeing a combination of amusement and amazement creep across Miss Lesley’s face, Margaret stopped talking and sat up straight. ‘If you give me a chance, Miss Lesley, I won’t let you down.’

  ‘I’m sure you won’t, Margaret. There’s just one thing--’

  ‘Ask me anything,’ Margaret said without thinking.

  ‘You live a long way away from the West End. Getting to and from the theatre might be a problem. You won’t finish work at night until ten or ten-thirty. How do you intend to get home at that time of night?’

  ‘My Bill’s a volunteer ambulance driver down the road at St. Thomas’s. He’ll pick me up after his shift. And if he’s going to be late, Mr Goldman said he’d give me a lift home. Getting here isn’t a problem. There’s a bus that comes all the way to Euston from Hampstead. And there are lots of buses from Euston to Aldwych – some come down the Strand.’

  ‘It seems you’ve looked into everything, Margaret. I’ve just one more question...’

  Margaret held her breath. What had she said, or not said? She’d made a list the night before and rehearsed what she was going to say in answer to every question on it. Miss Lesley hadn’t asked the questions in the right order, but that didn’t matter, she was sure she’d told her everything she needed to know. Smiling nervously, Margaret wondered if she’d said too much – gone on a bit. She had a tendency to go on a bit. Bill said she did. ‘Yes?’ she said, putting as much lightness into her voice as her nerves would allow without sounding superficial.

  ‘You’ve obviously thought about what you were going to say at your interview. And if what you say is true – and I’m sure it is – you’re a perfect candidate. But,’ Miss Lesley paused. ‘Why are you grubby and dishevelled?’

  ‘Oh my--’ Margaret had forgotten about how she looked. ‘A building fell on me.’ Miss Lesley’s mouth dropped open. ‘Well, it didn’t actually fall on me, but it would have done if a workman hadn’t pushed me through the door of a church. I went flying down some steps and,’ Margaret looked down at her hands, ‘it was very dark down there – and dusty. My stockings got laddered and I didn’t have a spare pair. I thought about finding somewhere to tidy myself up, but I didn’t want to be late for my interview. I was just going to wash my hands when you came into the foyer. Then I forgot. I’m sorry--’

  Miss Lesley laughed and put her hand up. ‘I thought there must have been a reason. Come on, I’ll show you around. We’ll start with the front of house staff room. It has a washbasin.’

  CHAPTER TWO

  The small staff room was lit by a single bulb in a frosted ceiling pendant. It didn’t do much to soften the atmosphere, but it did distract from the ugly brown squiggly wallpaper and toffee-coloured wooden panelling. A portable clothes rail stood behind half a dozen fold-up chairs. Margaret took off her coat and hung it next to a row of maroon tabards. Usherettes’ uniforms! She wrinkled her nose. The out-dated style was more Lowarth Picture House than West End theatre. On the other side of the room stood a two-ring stove with a kettle, a small table with teapot, cups, saucers, and cutlery on a tray – and next to that, a sink.

  ‘The washroom is opposite,’ Miss Lesley said, handing Margaret a towel. ‘I’ll leave you to it. Shan’t be long.’

  Entering the tiny room, Margaret caught sight of herself in the mirror. ‘What a flippin’ mess,’ she said aloud. While the basin filled with hot water she scored a tablet of Palmolive soap with a small nail brush and scrubbed the dirt from beneath her fingernails. When her hands were clean she drained the basin of dirty water and refilled it. She washed her face and dabbed it dry with the soft towel. She looked better. After combing her hair, she applied face powder and lipstick.

  Miss Lesley poked her head round the door. ‘Ready?’ Margaret nodded. ‘Good. I’ll show you around.’

  Margaret grabbed her jacket and followed Miss Lesley along the corridor, slowing now and then to look at photographs and posters of famous artists in shows that she’d read about in the Silver Screen magazine and Picturegoer.

  ‘The company’s rehearsing, so we must be quiet,’ Miss Lesley whispered, opening the door to the auditorium.

  Margaret entered in a dream and stood with her mouth open. The auditorium was huge. Row after row of maroon velvet seats edged with gold disappeared into the shadows under the balcony. Her eyes feasted on the gilded circular balcony and the boxes on either side. Looking up further, beyond the upper circle and the gods, Margaret caught her breath. The ceiling with its huge chandeliers was magnificent. Golden cherubs and seraphs playing harps and flutes lay snug against a cream background. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. The smell! ‘So that’s what greasepaint smells like,’ she whispered. The performers were in their rehearsal clothes – slacks, blouses, cardigans – not in makeup, but Margaret felt sure she could smell greasepaint. Standing in the dim half-light of the auditorium she watched the artists on stage. Flooded in bright light they looked magical. She thought her heart would explode with excitement.

  ‘… Margaret?’ Miss Lesley tapped her on the shoulder.

  ‘Oh!’ Margaret jumped. ‘I was--’

  ‘I know, dear.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Miss Lesley. It’s just that I can’t believe I’m here. I’m in a real theatre, watching real actresses sing and dance. It’s amazing!’

  ‘Yes, it is. But we really shouldn’t be here, so...’

  Margaret followed Miss Lesley to the exit along the side aisle. Before leaving, she looked back at the stage. A beautiful slender dancer stood watching her. Margaret hunched up her shoulders and mouthed, ‘Sorry.’ The dancer shook her head and smiled, as if to say, ‘It’s all right.’

  ‘The beautiful dancer at the front smiled at me,’ Margaret said, when they were in the corridor.

  ‘That’s Nancy Jewel, the soubrette. A soubrette is--’

  ‘A soprano who sings the character solos.’

  ‘That’s right!’ Miss Lesley laughed. ‘The other girls have one, sometimes two songs that they feature in, but Nancy has several solos, in addition to stepping out of ensemble numbers. She’s the Prince Albert’s leading lady.’

  ‘You have to be very good to sing the lead numbers,’ Margaret said.

  ‘And Nancy is. She’s an exceptionally talented actress, singer and dancer.’

  ‘I’m going to be an actress one day,’ Margaret said. ‘I’ll be the soubrette too, but--’

  ‘But until then, you’re an usherette.’

  Margaret nodded. ‘Until then I’m-- I am? You mean I’ve got the job?’

  Miss Lesley laughed again. ‘You’ve got the job if you can do the matinee on Saturday. The girl you’re replacing would like to visit her family before she joins her regiment.’

  ‘I can start tomorrow if you want.’

  ‘Saturday will be fine.’<
br />
  ‘I’m an usherette! Thank you, Miss Lesley. I’m an usherette,’ Margaret said again, unable to believe her luck.

  Dinner was almost ready. Sausage, egg and chips, Bill’s favourite. A tin of Lokreel peaches with Nestle’s cream and a small sponge cake for afters. Although she had used the Health for All Ration-Time Recipes book, which offered recipes providing the right sort of food under rationing restrictions, Margaret wasn’t able to get all the ingredients for the cake and had to improvise. Bill probably wouldn’t notice – and if he did he wouldn’t mind. She had been saving food coupons for weeks. The plan was to make Bill a special birthday supper. She bit her bottom lip. She’d been so excited after getting the usherette job, she’d blown the lot on the evening meal. Potatoes weren’t rationed, and the food coupons had stretched to a couple of eggs and most of the ingredients for the cake. Natalie had given her two sausages. They were kosher – made differently for Jewish people. Margaret didn’t ask how. She didn’t care. She’d had them before, when she and Bill had been to supper with Natalie and Anton, and they were delicious.

  Margaret turned the chips. Bill loved her fat chips. He called them workman’s chips. He had promised to come home early, so they could have dinner together. When she was working at the theatre, they’d only be able to have dinner together on Sundays. Not that it would make much difference. Bill was on the ambulances almost every night now he’d passed his first aid higher-something-or-other. Margaret smiled. After Saturday, she wouldn’t have to spend the evenings on her own, because she’d be working in a theatre. Margaret felt a flurry of excitement in her tummy. It would be fun working with other young people. She was bound to make friends. The more she thought about it the more excited she became. She couldn’t wait for Saturday.

  Margaret heard Bill’s key turn in the lock while she was tipping the chips onto their plates. ‘Wash your hands, Bill; dinner’s ready.’

  ‘Will do, Mrs Bossy!’

  Margaret took the sausages out of the frying pan and put in two eggs. She splashed hot fat onto them with the flat of a knife. White cooked, yolk runny, just the way Bill liked them. She thought about picking off the tiny bits of sausage that had stuck to the pan and were now clinging to the eggs, but there wasn’t time. Besides, with only one frying pan and having to reuse the four measly ounces of cooking fat half a dozen times during the week, they were used to it. She checked the table. Cutlery placed on her best embroidered tablecloth. Salt and pepper in the middle, but no margarine. The last of the marg went into the cake. Margaret shrugged. It didn’t matter anyway, because she’d forgotten to get bread.

  ‘Mm… something smells good,’ Bill said, entering the room and sitting at the small table.

  Margaret placed her husband’s meal in front of him and kissed his forehead, before sitting down with her own. ‘Enjoy your supper, love. I’ve spent your birthday coupons on it.’

  Bill raised his eyebrows. ‘So what are we celebrating if not my birthday?’

  ‘My job. You are looking at the Prince Albert Theatre’s new usherette.’

  ‘Well done!’ Bill stood up, leaned over and kissed Margaret on the lips. ‘I think that calls for a glass of sherry,’ he said, his brown eyes sparkling.

  Margaret watched her handsome husband open the cupboard in the sideboard. As he reached in for the bottle a lock of thick fair hair fell onto his forehead. Sherry in one hand, he ran his fingers through his hair with the other, pushing the rogue wave back into place before returning to the table.

  ‘To my clever, beautiful wife,’ he said, pouring them both a glass. ‘I’m proud of you.’

  ‘Well I never. If it ain’t Miss London,’ Margaret heard someone shout. A sudden fluttering in her chest made her catch her breath. It was probably one of the workmen who had been working on the building when the roof of the café collapsed and almost killed her. She wondered if the man who had saved her life was up there, but she daren’t look.

  ‘‘Er Ladyship ain’t wearing brick-red today, Chippie,’ another called.

  ‘She don’t arf scrub up well. Ay, Miss London?’ the first shouted. ‘Give us a twirl!’

  Margaret lifted her head, stuck her nose in the air, and pretended she hadn’t heard the commentary. Then, when she reached the Prince Albert Theatre’s stage door, she stopped and turned. Putting the fingers of both hands to her mouth, as she’d seen film stars do in the flicks, she blew them a kiss, keeping her arms outstretched for some seconds in an exaggerated pose. She entered the theatre to a chorus of comments and wolf whistles.

  ‘Hello, I’m Margaret, Margaret Burrell. I’m an usherette,’ she said proudly.

  ‘Bert Masters, stage doorman.’ He put out his hand.

  Margaret took the old man’s hand and shook it. ‘How do you do, Mr Masters?’

  ‘Call me Bert, everyone does. You’ll be here to see Miss Lesley then. I’ll take you through.’

  Margaret followed Bert along a dimly lit corridor, past big black double doors with STAGE written on them in white lettering, down a flight of half a dozen stairs and through a pass door. She recognised where she was immediately.

  ‘Here we are, Miss.’ Bert opened the staff room door and stood back to let Margaret enter.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Right you are. Enjoy your first day, Miss,’ Bert said, before disappearing through a door with PUBLIC on one side and PRIVATE on the other.

  Margaret didn’t have long to wait for Miss Lesley, who greeted her warmly and led the way to the auditorium, explaining as they went what Margaret thought was common sense. ‘The show starts at seven-thirty. You need to be in the auditorium, in your uniform and with your torch, by seven, which is when the doors open to the public. As the audience enters the auditorium,’ she said, opening the stalls door and ushering Margaret through, ‘you ask them for their ticket.’ Miss Lesley paused and Margaret nodded. ‘Each ticket has a letter for the row and a number for the seat. Your section is from J to S, seats eighteen to nine. Is that clear, Margaret?’

  Margaret nodded again. ‘Seats one to eight are on the other side of the auditorium, aren’t they?’ she said, walking from row J to S.

  ‘Yes, they are Jenny’s responsibility.’ Margaret opened her mouth to ask about the other usherettes, but Miss Lesley carried on. ‘You point your torch at the floor, at the beginning of the row that corresponds with the letter on the ticket. Then, as soon as they begin to make their way along the row, you go back to the exit and help the next person, or people. When the lights go down and the curtain goes up, you can take your seat. But,’ Miss Lesley said, ‘stay alert for any latecomers. It can’t be helped with the delays in public transport. And if the air raid siren sounds you’ll need to be on your feet, ready to show people to the exit. A percentage of the audience will want to stay and have a singsong. For those who don’t, show them out and come back as soon as you can. I’ll be with you this afternoon and tonight, so don’t worry.’

  Margaret wasn’t worried. She didn’t think she needed any help. ‘At the interval,’ Miss Lesley continued, ‘you stand when the orchestra begins to play the last number. Then, as soon as the curtain starts to come down, you open the exit doors. Only after your section of the audience has gone to the bar, toilet, or wherever it is they wish to go, can you leave. And I suggest you do. Have a cup of tea and go to the toilet; the second act is over an hour long. Whatever you do, you must be back at your post five minutes before the second act begins. That way you’ll be available if anyone needs you. You then close the door, pull the curtain and find your seat. At the end of the show,’ Miss Lesley said, ‘you do not leave the auditorium until every member of the audience has left. Your section may be clear, but one of the other usherettes might need help with their section. Just stand by your exit, in case. Well,’ she said, smiling, ‘any questions?’

  Margaret thought for a moment. ‘No. I just want to get the first day, and night, over.’

  ‘Good. Go and make yourself a cup of tea. You have an hour before
you need to be at your post.’

  Margaret left the auditorium and made her way to the staff room. Once inside, she dropped into a chair. All she’d ever dreamed of was about to begin. Hauling herself to her feet, she crossed to the small table, picked up the kettle and gave it a shake. There was water in it. She struck a match, turned on the gas and lit the small ring before putting the kettle on it.

  ‘Hello, I’m Jenny.’

  ‘Ah!’ Margaret spun round to see a young woman standing behind her. ‘Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in. I’m Margaret. How do you do?’

  ‘Better now there’s someone my age on the team.’

  ‘I expect most of the young women have been called up,’ Margaret said.

  Jenny nodded. ‘You haven’t then?’

  ‘I’m married, so I’m not first dibs.’

  ‘Kids?’

  ‘No. You?’

  ‘Married? I wish! And I love kids,’ Jenny said wistfully. ‘I’m an aunt. My sister in Whitechapel’s got two girls, but it’s not the same as having your own, is it? She invites me over all the time, but with work and living in northwest London, I don’t get to see them very often. I don’t get to do much at all, except travel and work.’

  ‘Don’t you have a sweetheart; someone you’re walking out with?’

  ‘No. I’m not lucky in love – or anything else, it seems. I had my heart set on being a driver in the Women’s Auxiliary Army Corps, but I got turned down at the medical. I went to half a dozen recruitment offices and they all said the same: my eyesight’s rotten. I can’t remember the long word they used, but it’s to do with depth. Plan B is to join the First Aid Nursing Yeomanry. But to be a FANY you need driving experience and a first aid certificate before they’ll even look at you. But I won’t give up,’ Jenny said, taking off her coat.