Anne Douglas (21 page)

But none of that was going to happen because Rob was not what she’d thought. The wonderful understanding he had for other people had not been given to her or the girls who would be her companions. He had despised what they wanted to do and could not seem to see that he was missing the point completely and that they weren’t as he believed. Worst of all, he hadn’t trusted Lindy herself, hadn’t tried to see that the new job she really wanted to do wouldn’t be anything to be ashamed about.

No, he had made himself a stranger and her a stranger, too. So be it. She would concentrate now on doing well in the work she wanted, and put Rod completely from her mind.

‘Cup o’ tea, pet?’ she heard her father asking on the other side of her door, and told him to come in. Yes, she’d have some tea, then perhaps she would sleep.

‘Thanks, Dad,’ she murmured as he put the cup by her bed. ‘That’s nice.’

‘Remember what I told you,’ he said softly. ‘You will get over this. Everybody goes through it, you ken, at some time or other.’

‘It was worse for you, Dad.’

‘Aye. Well, time passed. And I’d you, eh?’ George smiled slightly. ‘And Struan.’

And Myra, of course. They exchanged weak smiles, then George told Lindy to try to sleep. Things would look better in the morning.

When he’d gone she drank the tea. Was it true? Would things ever look better again? Oh, yes, tomorrow might not be better, but one day she’d be free of the heavy stone she seemed to bear in her heart. And in the coming days there was much ahead, much to learn, to take into her new life.

I will sleep, she told herself and, finally, though her face was still damp with tears, she did.

Of course, she could not put Rod completely out of her mind. He was there, even though she had so much else to think about, especially as she couldn’t stop herself from wondering – hoping, even – that he might suddenly appear in the shop, say he was sorry, and could they just be as they were again? She knew in her heart that he wouldn’t, and he didn’t, but every time the shop bell went in those last days at Murchie’s there’d be a catch in her breath and she’d be looking at the door. Only another customer would come in, smiling at her, and she’d smile back. Somehow.

Myra, reporting back from Mrs Fielding, said there’d be no need for Lindy to work another week of notice. As all had gone well at the second meeting with Mrs Driver she could start at the agency the following Monday, which was just what Mrs Driver and Lindy wanted.

‘So it’s really going to be goodbye at the end of the week,’ Lindy said a little tremulously. ‘Aunt Myra, I’m going to miss Murchie’s.’

‘Oh, yes? Well, you can always change your mind, eh? Just stay on?’

At Lindy’s expression, Myra laughed.

‘Och, no need to look like that! I’m only joking. Wild horses would no’ keep you from going to that agency. Just hope it works out for you.’

‘Well, like I told you, everything seems to be OK. The lawyer fellow was happy about me signing the contract, and I know what sort of wages I’ll be getting.’ Lindy heaved a sigh. ‘But first I’ve to go to Mrs Driver’s class to learn how to walk. I’m worried about that.’

‘Why, what’s to learn about walking around wearing smart dresses? I should’ve thought you could do that without any training at all.’

‘Oh, no, Aunt Myra, seemingly there’s a lot to learn. And how I get on will be very important, eh? At least I’ve got the contract, so I won’t get the sack straight away!’

‘That’s good,’ said Myra coolly. ‘Because it’ll be no good trying to come back here. Mrs Fielding says I’ve to manage without an assistant. Just as I said she would.’

‘Oh, Aunt Myra, I’m sorry!’

‘Too late for that, Lindy, too late for that.’

After fond farewells from all the customers, who even clubbed together to give Lindy a box of chocolates, it seemed strange on the following Monday not to be going to the shop but to be taking the tram to the agency instead.

Lindy had spent all of Sunday deciding what to wear for her first day, getting into long discussions with Jemima and Rosemary, who viewed her wardrobe with her, making suggestions and encouraging noises, until she finally settled on a mid-calf black skirt lent by Rosemary and a white blouse of her own.

‘Will these be all right for the class?’ she asked Rosemary anxiously. ‘You’ll know – you’ve been through it.’

‘They’ll be perfect. Unless you’d like a jacket as well?’

‘My dark one, if you want it,’ put in Jemima, her voice sympathetic as she looked at Lindy. ‘Ah, you’re doing so well, eh? It’s such a shame that – well, that you’ve had such an upset at the wrong time. I won’t say any more.’

‘We do feel for you,’ Rosemary added softly. ‘But you’re being so brave; it shows you’re strong. You’ll do well. We admire you.’

‘No need to admire me,’ Lindy answered quietly. ‘I’m no’ brave, I’m just getting by.’

‘Well, that’s what’s brave!’ cried Rosemary. ‘But try not to worry about the class. It’s all just about how to use your hips and how to make turns and so on. It will soon become second nature, and you’ll’ – she waved her hands – ‘flow, if you understand me.’

‘Is that what they call it?’ Jemima asked, laughing. ‘No wonder mannequins seem different from ordinary mortals!’

‘You make it sound so easy,’ Lindy sighed. ‘And now you’ve finished and are going for a job?’

‘Yes. I’m so worried – my first assignment is on Tuesday,’ Rosemary told her, not looking worried at all. ‘A spring show at Forsyth’s – in December! But that’s the way things go. Now, Lindy, are you all right for shoes? Remember, you’ll be wearing heels most of the time. If you can wear mine you’re welcome to take what you like. I’ve got heaps. And be sure to take your make-up with you, and your brush and comb, and anything else you think you’ll need. Models always have their little bags with them, you know. They’re like Girl Guides – have to be prepared!’

Well, she was prepared, all right, thought Lindy as the tram delivered her to her stop for Mrs Driver’s agency. She felt she had so much packed into her bag she might have been going on an expedition to some far-off country. Maybe the agency was just that? Something removed from all that she knew?

Now that she was so close she couldn’t wait to get started, complete the training and be given her first job. And keep Rod Connor to the back of her mind? That she still couldn’t do.

Learning to walk the models’ way was, as Lindy had guessed, not as easy as Rosemary had said. ‘It will soon become second nature,’ she had airily declared, but when Lindy and the other new models watched Stella’s demonstration in Mrs Driver’s practice room, they had serious doubts that they would ever manage to achieve her smoothness, her flow, her almost ballet-like movement.

Apart from Lindy there were five other young women attending their first class in the long, narrow room that had probably been used for dining in the original house. With its long windows, parquet flooring and handsome plaster work, it still bore signs of its old grandeur, but now an upright piano stood in one corner with a wind-up gramophone nearby, and in the middle of the room a low, curved platform – a models’ catwalk, no less – drew the newcomers’ eyes like a magnet.

Although a small fire burned in the chimney piece, the room was cold enough that December morning to have the girls shivering as Mrs Driver outlined what they would have to do, while Stella, in a mid-calf-length black dress and high-heeled black shoes, stood by, waiting to demonstrate.

There seemed to be so much to remember! And it wasn’t as though they couldn’t all walk anyway, was it? But models’ style of walking was something quite different to theirs, and not something you’d normally use to get from A to B.

‘First, girls, you have to think about your feet but not look at them,’ Mrs Driver began. ‘What you do is walk in a straight line, one foot in front of the other, placing all the weight on the ball of the foot, never the heel. At the same time, your head must be held high, your shoulders brought forward, the arms naturally loose and the hips swung in an emphasized movement. Turns at the end of the catwalk can be tricky, but must be completed in the same flowing movement as the walk, the head tilted to one side, a smile perhaps given to the audience, and then you’re ready to return.’

‘I know this sounds a lot to remember, but when you see Stella it will all seem clear,’ Mrs Driver finished, smiling. ‘In no time, if you practise hard, it will all become second nature to you, I promise!’

So that’s where Rosemary heard that, Lindy thought, wondering like the other novices if it could possibly be true. Certainly it was lovely to watch someone so accomplished as Stella, as Mrs Driver put on a scratchy record of sweet music and her assistant drifted gracefully down the catwalk.

The trouble was she was almost too good. It was hard for the watching girls to imagine themselves in her place, yet that morning they would be attempting to achieve that very thing in front of Mrs Driver’s critical eye. Tall, slim and strikingly attractive as they all were, they could feel nothing but their nerves.

As Stella finished her routine and stepped aside, Mrs Driver joined in the little clap the girls gave her, then took a list from a pocket in her black cardigan.

‘Right, now comes your turn, girls.’ She gave another of her brief smiles. ‘In alphabetical order, I think, which means that Jennifer, you will be first.’

‘With a name like Abbot I always am,’ sighed Jennifer, an elegant blonde with forget-me-not blue eyes.

‘Better than being me,’ put in a dark-haired, dark-eyed young woman next to her. ‘If you’re called Kitty Yarman as I am, you’re always last.’

And I’ll be in the middle, thought Lindy. Oh, my, how did I get into this?

Yet it was what she wanted, eh? Better do her absolute best, then. As though she was already preparing to do her walk she held her head high, moved her shoulders forward and, without looking at her feet, placed them one after the other in a straight line. Easy! Except that she was, of course, standing still. Moving was never going to be the same.

Meanwhile, Jennifer, at the outset of her walk, was being given more advice on the dreaded turn, with Mrs Driver instructing her to stop on one foot, face the side where an audience would be, smile and move round to make the return journey.

‘To make it easier to begin with, I’ll call out “Turn”, to remind you of what to do. All right?’

‘Yes, Mrs Driver,’ Jennifer replied, her blue eyes terrified. ‘Do I have to keep in time with the music?’

‘No, we’ll leave the music for the moment, until everyone is more practised. Off you go, then.’

Away went Jennifer, not doing too badly, her blonde head up, her hips swinging, even managing a smile. Though no one could say her turn was elegant, she completed it without trouble and arrived back at her starting point with a gasp of relief.

‘Well done!’ cried Mrs Driver. ‘Not bad at all for a first attempt. Now, let me see – Christine Crawford, I think you’re next, my dear. Remember what I told Jennifer about the turn. Try not to be too stiff, let your hands be free and look straight ahead without staring.’

‘Yes, Mrs Driver,’ said Christine, swallowing hard but, like Jennifer, doing reasonably well when she performed her walk, even turning quite neatly, though she forgot to smile.

Oh, will I do as well? Lindy was wondering. If only it was her turn! Suddenly she heard her name called.

‘Lindsay Gillan!’

She had never felt so nervous as she did standing at the head of the catwalk with so many pairs of eyes watching her. Though the only pair that counted belonged to Mrs Driver, it didn’t help that Stella and all the beautiful girls were watching, too. Head up, shoulders forward, hips ready to swing, she reminded herself again, arms and hands hanging naturally, feet in a straight line, one before the other . . .

‘Off you go, Lindsay!’ said Mrs Driver. ‘Be ready for the turn when I call and don’t look down!’

Oh, no, she wasn’t looking down, only staring unseeingly ahead, feeling quite glassy-eyed, like some sort of puppet, yet aware as she progressed that her movements were quite smooth, as she’d never imagined they might be.

‘Turn!’ cried Mrs Driver and Lindy paused, her head turned to one side, her weight on her left foot, and smiled, taking her time, before bringing herself round on her right foot and moving lightly back to the starting point. There, it was over. However she’d got on, her first walk was over.

‘Very good!’ cried Mrs Driver. ‘You managed that very well, Lindsay, except for looking at the beginning as if you were afraid for your life! Next time, I guarantee, you’ll be looking quite different. Now, Rhona Reynolds – I think we’re ready for you, my dear, with Belinda Sinclair to follow, and then you, Kitty – at last!’

Oh, the relief! With their walks completed and Mrs Driver temporarily out of the room, the girls relaxed around the fire with coffee served by a young maid who gazed at them all with something like awe, causing a few smiles.

‘She needn’t look like that,’ Jennifer whispered when the maid had left. ‘We’re not dazzling mannequins yet!’

‘Will we ever be?’ asked Christine.

‘To tell the truth, I hope we’re not too far off,’ said Rhona Reynolds, a redhead. ‘I’m pretty broke; I need to earn some money soon.’

‘So you will,’ said Mrs Driver, returning. ‘You’ve all made such excellent beginnings it won’t be long before I can start finding you work. Of course, there’s more practice to be done – you still have a lot to learn – but I’m pleased to say well done!’

‘Thank you, Mrs Driver, but do you mind if I ask you something?’ said Rhona.

‘Go ahead. I’m here to answer questions.’

‘Well, I was wondering – if I only want to do photographic modelling, say, why do I have to learn all the catwalk techniques?’

‘It may seem strange, but to learn fashion modelling techniques is really very valuable in whatever you do, Rhona. Learning to walk and stand correctly and to use your body to its best advantage to give you poise and confidence. Think how useful they can be at interviews!’ Mrs Driver laughed. ‘I hope I’ve convinced you?’

‘I think you have,’ Rhona agreed. ‘I’m walking tall already.’