Anne Douglas (28 page)

‘Oh, you shouldn’t!’ she whispered, when they’d spent time kissing again.

‘Nor should you,’ he told her. ‘What were you doing, spending your hard-earned money on me? But I’ll wear my scarf for ever!’

‘We must go back to your dad, Rod. We’ve been in here for ages – what will he think?’

‘We’ve been working, haven’t we? But we’ll go back now.’

‘First, there’s something else in my bag,’ she told him. ‘It’s for your father.’

‘Oh, God, Lindy, this is crazy! Giving Dad a present as well!’

‘No, it didn’t cost much. You’ll see.’

It was a miniature bottle of Drambuie, which took Mr Connor completely by surprise. His favourite, he exclaimed! Well, favourite whisky, of course, not Bayne’s bitter, but Lindy should never have—’

‘No, she shouldn’t,’ Rod said firmly, ‘but she wanted to, so drink up, Dad. Meanwhile, I’ll take Lindy home.’

There was a farewell kiss on the cheek from Mr Connor and his murmured hope to meet again before he returned to his ship, and then she and Rod were wrapped up well and in the car on the way home. In Lindy’s bag were her present from Rod and a large piece of the Christmas cake for her family, while Rod’s scarf was round his neck and he was saying he’d never been so warm.

‘Never been so warm?’ Lindy repeated. ‘And I’ve never been so happy. Did I tell you that before?’

‘If you did I can hear it again, any time. And, of course, I’m telling you the same thing.’

Parked outside number nineteen their eyes met, but as Rod made to take her in his arms, Lindy shook her head.

‘Wait, there’s something I want to say, Rod. It’s . . . important.’

‘Help.’ He made a face. ‘I’m not sure I like the sound of this. Am I going to be upset?’

‘No!’ She took his hand and held it. ‘It’s just that I feel you’ve been so good, giving in to me, I should – well, I should do the same for you.’

‘Lindy –’

‘What I’m saying is if you really don’t want me to do the modelling, I won’t. I can do something else. I’ve thought about it and that’s what I’m offering.’ She stroked his hand. ‘What do you think, then?’

‘What do I think? I think I’m a lucky man.’ For some moments Rod held her tight, pressing his face against hers, then releasing her. ‘That you’d do that for me – I can’t believe it.’

‘You did as much for me.’

‘But I honestly want you to keep on with the modelling now. You’ve done your training, you’ve proved yourself, and I feel that if you give it up you’ll always regret it.’

‘I don’t know –’

‘You do. It could always be in your mind when we’re married, that you didn’t have your chance to do what you wanted to do. I don’t want to take that chance away from you.’

She was sitting very still, her breath coming fast, her head reeling.

‘Married?’ she said at last. ‘You’ve never mentioned being married, Rod.’

‘Why, I thought it went without saying. Of course we’re going to be married. Aren’t we?’

‘But you’ve never asked me, Rod! A man has to ask and you never did. I never knew what was in your mind.’

He was silent for a moment. ‘I suppose I just didn’t have the nerve to put it into words.’

‘The nerve?’

‘Yes. I knew you were keen to have a life of your own. I thought you’d turn me down and I couldn’t face it. Better to keep on, see what happened – and then, well, you know what did. Seemed like the end of everything and I was to blame.’

‘We were both to blame. But we needn’t think about that now.’

‘Let’s never think about it again.’ Rod paused, smiled a little. ‘Lindy, shall I ask, then? I can’t exactly go down on one knee in the car but, will you marry me?’

‘Yes!’ she cried. ‘Oh, yes, Rod!’

Eternity went by as they celebrated their betrothal with kisses and caresses, until at last Lindy said she’d better go as folk would be wondering at the car being parked for so long.

‘No, they won’t,’ said Rod. ‘They won’t be wondering at all. But before you go in, let’s decide – do you want to be officially engaged now? Or when you’ve worked a while?’

She thought for a moment. ‘I’d like to be engaged, but I think maybe I needn’t tell Mrs Driver, in case she thinks I’m no’ serious about work.’

‘All right, this is our plan. Get engaged at Easter, say? And marry – when?’

‘Christmas?’ Lindy suggested. ‘I want to do some saving up.’

‘You won’t mind a winter wedding?’

‘Winter weddings can be lovely.’

‘Christmas it is, then. And you could still work afterwards, if you want.’

‘Oh, Rod, I don’t know if I’m on my head or my heels! I can tell my folks, though? And Jemima?’

‘And Neil,’ he said quietly.

‘And Neil,’ she agreed.

And finally, slowly, they left the car and walked, entwined, to the door of number nineteen.

‘Meet me soon – I’ll be in touch?’ Rod whispered.

‘Meet you soon,’ she whispered. ‘As soon as we can.’

‘As soon as I can sort out my next time off. Happy Boxing Day, my darling.’

‘The happiest ever, dearest Rod!’

However was she going to tell her folks? she wondered, but it turned out to be the easiest thing in the world. As soon as they saw her they seemed to know, and when she got the words out and told them her plans there were cries and smiles, and George said he’d get out his bottle of port he’d been saving for Hogmanay.

‘And let’s have some o’ that Christmas cake with it,’ suggested Struan, who’d just come in from seeing Jemima again. ‘Best news ever, eh? A brother-in-law for me with a car!’

‘I always knew he was the one for you,’ said Myra. ‘Why ever didn’t you bring him in, Lindy?’

‘I don’t know – I’m all at sea. But he will be coming in, Aunt Myra, and you’ll be meeting his father, too. Oh, I’m so happy; it’s like a fairy tale, eh?’

‘You’ll be giving up your modelling, then?’ asked Myra, but Lindy, about to drink her port, only smiled.

‘Oh, I don’t think so, Aunt Myra. Rod doesn’t want me to, you see.’

On January 20, 1936, King George the Fifth died at Sandringham. He had been suffering for some time from chest problems and after his Christmas broadcast seemed to go quickly downhill, finally retiring to his room on January 15 and never leaving it again.

There was widespread grief, of course, and a period of mourning, during which Mrs Driver warned that there would be no work available for her models, which was a setback for Lindy, who to date had only had one photographic assignment and was anxious to be offered more. One good thing was that she’d been offered part-time work in the stationery department at Logie’s so at least had some wages coming in, but it was a huge relief when the mourning for the late King was over and suddenly modelling work was again to be found.

Maybe it was to do with the different atmosphere that was about, caused by the new King’s love of parties and social life filtering down to all his kingdom, that there was renewed interest in fashion. Certainly there was a feeling that those who could afford it wanted a brighter social life too, and the clothes to go with it.

Whatever the reason, the winter days brought more fashion shows and Lindy finally began to get interviews. Sometimes she didn’t pass, sometimes she did, but when she was successful she knew it was because her face fitted. That was the thing about her new life – you had to look right, and sometimes you couldn’t tell what was wanted and what was not. All you could do was concentrate on your looks and be ready for anything that came your way. Being beautiful was essential, but you had to accept that you could never rely on it to get you a job. Not, as Lindy had said, when everyone else was beautiful, too.

Still, when she did get work, she was with the clothes she loved and the experience of modelling was important. If only there was more of it.

‘Early days,’ Mrs Driver told her girls when they complained about their lack of success. ‘Always remember, however good you are, however lovely, you must be known, you must become a name. Yes, I know it’s difficult – you need the name to get the work, you need the work to get the name – but it will come, it will.’ As they sighed and still looked dubious, she added: ‘But one thing I don’t advise is to run off to London and think you’ll do better there. Believe me, you won’t. Better to stay here and swim than to go to London and sink.’

London? As though she would ever leave Scotland! thought Lindy. Ever leave Rod! Never.

‘I’m relieved to hear it,’ Rod said, his face serious when she told him what she thought of the idea of going to London and Mrs Driver’s advice against it. ‘You’re sure you wouldn’t try it, though? Bright lights are tempting.’

‘We have bright lights here – I don’t need London.’

‘So, it’s going well, then?’

‘Well, slowly. Most people have gaps. I’m glad I have Logie’s in reserve and sometimes photographic work. I’m doing a knitting pattern job next week.’

‘Knitting pattern job . . . Why does that not sound glamorous?’ Rod laughed and hugged Lindy to him. ‘Main thing is, you haven’t forgotten our plan, Lindy?’

‘To get engaged at Easter? I think about it all the time.’

‘Even when you’re modelling jumpers?’

‘All the time,’ she repeated firmly. ‘Rod, you come first.’

Which made him smile again.

Jemima, of course, was delighted to hear of the engagement, and so was Rosemary. Such a relief to know Lindy was back with Rod – he was so right for her! As for Neil, he seemed pleased, even though he said he’d lost his dearest friend, however much Lindy denied it.

‘You’ll always be special to me,’ she told him earnestly. ‘And one of these days you’ll be in love again yourself.’

‘I’m in no hurry,’ he said quietly. ‘I have my book to finish.’

No one knew for sure if Jemima and Struan were in love or not, but they certainly met so regularly some of ‘the lads’ were feeling aggrieved, saying they never saw Struan and what was so good about Jemima that he couldn’t find time for them? But Jemima never admitted that there was anything serious between her and Struan.

‘It’s because she’s waiting to see what happens,’ Myra said sagely. ‘Wants to know what Struan’s got in mind before she says anything. But my guess is that he’s suddenly keen to get married – maybe because of you and Rod looking so happy, eh?’

‘That wouldn’t matter to Struan. He always knows what he wants.’

‘Well, then, there’s Jemima’s mother. She’s probably not too thrilled about things. Unlike your dad and me, and Rod’s dad, eh? Oh, what a lovely man, eh? So kind of him to take us out that time!’

Yes, that had been a grand idea of Mr Connor’s, to take Lindy’s parents and her brother out for supper at a nice little place in Leith. They’d all enjoyed it so much, except that Myra had spent a lot of time worrying about entertaining him back, and was only saved when he had to rejoin his ship.

‘Aye, you’ve been lucky, finding Rod,’ Myra said thoughtfully. ‘Long may it last.’

But why shouldn’t it last? thought Lindy. What could go wrong?

And when Rod slipped his mother’s engagement ring on Lindy’s finger at Easter time, she could think of nothing but the joy that had come to her and that it must last, anyway, for she couldn’t live without it.

When Mrs Driver was eventually told of Lindy’s engagement she was not pleased, though not at all surprised.

‘When you’re working with attractive young women, it’s an occupational hazard, as they say, to lose some to marriage,’ she told Lindy, fixing her with a stern eye. ‘What are your plans, then?’

‘Well, I won’t be giving up work, Mrs Driver.’

‘H’m. You’ll have to see how things go, then. Once married, it’s never wise to plan too far ahead.’

‘We’re no’ thinking of starting a family,’ Lindy said, blushing. ‘I mean, these days—’

‘These days mistakes can happen just as always,’ Mrs Driver told her crisply. ‘But for the time being, I’ll just keep on trying for bookings for you. I hope you’re not too disappointed that you haven’t had so many?’

‘I suppose I am, a bit.’

‘Takes time, Lindsay, to get known. And competition is fierce – always will be.’

‘Oh, I know,’ said Lindy.

Her disappointment wasn’t, however, due entirely to the shortage of work. Sometimes, when she did have a job and went into the dressing room to prepare, it was to see every single girl studying her face or, if not her face, her body, trying to decide if she’d put on an ounce or two, or maybe her hands needed a manicure, or her hair wouldn’t do what she wanted it to. And this to Lindy, though she knew it was maybe foolish to think so, seemed depressing. Of course, looks were what the girls had to offer – they could hardly be blamed for being obsessed with them. It was only to Lindy that such obsession had become worrying.

‘I know it’s unreasonable,’ she said once to Kitty Yarman, someone who rather shared her views, ‘but I sometimes wonder if we couldn’t sell clothes without always having to be so perfect.’

‘It is unreasonable,’ Kitty agreed cheerfully as she worked away, plucking her dark eyebrows. ‘Folk expect to look perfect themselves when they buy new clothes, so they’re not going to be impressed by models who don’t look any better than they do.’

‘And the buyers and dress-shop owners know all that too.’ Lindy sighed. ‘No hope of change, then.’

‘Unless you change your job.’

‘But I’ve done all the training!’

‘Well, there’s always catalogue work.’

‘Even there your face hasn’t to have one single flaw. No spots allowed!’

They laughed and Lindy, putting aside her misgivings, began on the serious work of making up her face.

It was some days later, on a day when she was not working at Logie’s, that she was at home studying some new eye shadow she’d been given to try out. One of the perks of the job was that models were frequently given such handouts, and Lindy didn’t mind experimenting with something new.

‘Do get tired of looking at my same old face,’ she told Gingerboy, who was on his way to her bed for a nap. ‘I see it so often, eh?’

She had just applied a little of the new shadow to one of her eyes and was checking the effect in her mirror when she heard a noise outside the flat door. Sounded like someone crying. A child? She ran to the door.