Ellie (67 page)

‘Good luck to both of you. And thank you for putting on such a good performance tonight.’

Ellie lay awake for what seemed like hours that night, going over and over the events of the evening.

Bonny had laughed all the way home in the taxi about Ambrose being thrown out. She was delighted that Ruth had turned out to be so plain and dumpy and took it as a sign it would only be a matter of weeks before Magnus left her. But perhaps the most irritating thing of all was that she kept crowing about meeting Sir Miles and Lady Hamilton.

Bonny might see the evening as a triumph, but to Ellie it was a disaster. It was unlikely she’d ever get a chance to speak to Sir Miles again. He probably thought she was an empty-headed, irresponsible person anyway.

She had no job, no family, nor even a boyfriend. Where was she going to go from here?

Chapter Twenty-Five

December 1947

‘Magnus!’ Bonny froze for a second in shock as Magnus looked round the dressing-room door. But she recovered quickly, leaped across the room and flung her arms round him. ‘What a lovely surprise! Why didn’t you tell me you were coming? Did you see the show? How long have you got?’ Her questions came out like rapid gunfire.

Ellie was sitting at the dressing-table, mending a rip in her costume. As she had pins in her mouth she could only raise one hand in greeting.

It was over a year since the gala night at the Savoy. She would be twenty-one in the New Year. Bonny was coming up for nineteen in the spring. They had known each other only two and a half years, but it seemed to Ellie that they’d been together a lifetime.

The last year had had its share of grim moments, but on balance it had been a good year.

Indirectly, they had Sir Miles to thank for finding work. His advice to go to Bloomfield’s Theatrical Agency had been their saviour. Harry Bloomfield took on all kinds of acts – musicians, dancers, comedians and actors – and took his percentage for finding them work. Last September all he’d been able to offer the girls was their own spot touring with a music hall show, in which they had to find their own costumes and digs, but they’d taken it as there was nothing else.

At first they had found it very frightening to do their own choreography, find their own music and be entirely responsible for themselves. But they acted on advice from other more seasoned performers who had made a living like this for years, and learned to be self-reliant. Creating an act for themselves was far more fulfilling than merely following instructions, and they won respect and affection from the older comedians, magicians and singers who made up their troupe for the hard work they put into it.

The winter of 1947 was the worst in living memory. Deep snow at the end of January brought the whole country to a standstill. The miners strike and acute shortages of food and supplies meant even more misery. Stuck in grim northern towns, more often than not in dilapidated theatres where the heating didn’t reach the dressing-rooms, they learned to shed layers of woollies in the wings, fix a bright smile on their faces, then prance on to the stage in the scantiest of costumes to give the audience something to warm them.

They lived daily with the fear that they wouldn’t be able to reach their next venue because of the snow, or that they’d arrive to find the theatre closed down permanently because of dwindling audiences. Sometimes they huddled in railway waiting-rooms for hours for a train which never came. At other times they begged lifts from lorry drivers or travelling salesmen. Often they had nowhere to wash their clothes or even their hair, hot baths were a rare luxury and their digs were so cold they slept in one bed together.

But in April, when the thaw finally came, Bloomfield’s sent them for an audition for a variety show opening in Wembley later that month. Ellie and Bonny shared a place at the bottom of the bill with ‘Dolores and Mario’, a pair of contortionists, but Tommy Handley was the star and the show ran for six weeks before moving on to Hammersmith, Finsbury Park, then Catford Hippodrome in November. It was lovely to be back in London. Bonny could get to see her parents occasionally, while Ellie sometimes popped over to King’s Cross to see Annie King. They were earning a little more money because the show was more prestigious, and even their digs were decent.

They were still in Catford now, with only one more week to run until the end of the show. They were waiting expectantly, hoping that any day Bloomfield’s would contact them with news of a pantomime to tide them over until March.

‘One question at a time,’ Magnus replied, closing the dressing-room door behind him and leaning back on it. ‘I’ve only got one night in London and yes I saw the show. If you’re ready I’ll take you out and buy you some supper, that little place in Blackheath will still be open. Would you like to come too, Ellie?’

Ellie took the pins out of her mouth and smiled. Magnus was always so thoughtful, but she knew better than to intrude when he had only one night to spare. ‘Nice of you to ask,’ she said cheerfully. ‘But I need an early night. Maybe some other time.’

‘I’m almost ready.’ Bonny pushed a hairpin in more securely, powdered her nose and put on a little more lipstick, then pushing her feet into four-inch heeled shoes she grabbed her coat from behind the door. ‘Don’t wait up, Ellie!’ she said.

Magnus faltered at the door, looking back at Ellie sitting there sewing. In the twenty months since Magnus had first met the girls, Ellie was the one who had matured the most. She had an aura of calm and true elegance, even though she didn’t attempt to compete with Bonny at being fashionable. Her true beauty came from within: those huge, limpid eyes held such deep understanding, and her lovely mouth was so expressive.

‘Something more?’ Ellie asked. She was thrown by an intense expression on his face which she couldn’t read. He had more facial lines now, through working out in all winds and weathers, but despite that and the fact that his hair now needed cutting, she thought he looked more attractive each time she saw him.

‘Merry Christmas, Ellie,’ he said, to her surprise coming back in and bending to kiss her forehead. ‘Happy New Year too,’ he said. ‘I hope it will be the one when all your dreams come true.’

He was gone before she could reply, the draught from the slammed door making the overhead light swing. Ellie put down her repair, suddenly uneasy. That farewell sounded strangely final!

Bonny had remained stubbornly in love with Magnus, even though until they came back to London in April she had only managed to see him on odd occasions, when Magnus managed to get away from his work for a night. At first Bonny had even stopped finding ‘reserves’ to wine and dine her in his absence, but she had crept back to that in the last six months.

Ellie had become fond of Magnus herself; he was so charismatic it was hard not to. He worked like a demon alongside his employees, taking a personal interest in each of them, and making them find the same pride in their work as he did. He didn’t boast or cut corners to make more money. At heart an altruist, he believed he had a duty to provide people with decent homes at prices they could afford. Although Ellie didn’t approve of adultery, at the same time she felt deeply for Magnus and understood he was as much a prisoner of Bonny’s as she was herself. As such they had a great deal in common.

In one slightly drunken evening a month or two ago, Magnus had confided in Ellie about Bonny, and she couldn’t forget what he’d said.

‘She’s like a beautiful wrapped parcel, like in a child’s party game. Each wrapper I take off I get more and more excited, thinking I’m getting closer to the real Bonny. But each wrapper is different, with a forfeit beneath it. Now I’m beginning to suspect that when I get to the final wrapper there’ll be nothing but a booby prize.’

Ellie understood his torment. Bonny played with his feelings, teased him, wound him up and sometimes flung him aside. Magnus believed that she didn’t realise what she put him through. But Ellie wasn’t so sure. To her it looked like calculated cruelty, a strategy to make him so bewildered that one day he would walk out on Ruth.

Amongst the ‘reserves’ Bonny held on to for times when she couldn’t see Magnus was John Norton, the man they’d met at the Savoy. He had turned up to the theatre at Wembley one night and asked her out to dinner. That date had led to a few others, but they were infrequent as John worked abroad a great deal of the time.

Only Bonny could have the brass neck to let John escort her to a party she knew Magnus would be at, and get a thrill out of seeing his unease. To her disappointment, Magnus hadn’t been jealous, perhaps because he didn’t believe the serious, rather stuffy John Norton to be a real rival, perhaps because it might allay any suspicions about himself.

Ellie felt a great deal of sympathy for John too when she heard about that night. The poor man was already falling for Bonny; she’d seen that light in his eyes when he came to meet her at the theatre. He wasn’t astute enough to work out that Magnus was her lover, or that Bonny wasn’t the sweet innocent he believed her to be, and it wouldn’t be long before he got hurt too.

Now, after the purposeful way Magnus had just said goodbye to her, Ellie suspected he had come tonight intending to end their affair. Bonny would be impossible if Ellie was right, yet she hoped for his sake, and Ruth’s, that he’d find the courage to do it and the strength to stay away.

Ellie had no such complications in her life. She’d had a few dates, but with no one she cared enough about to see them more than twice. She no longer hankered for a big love – she was happy with herself and her life. Edward was still her friend. He had moved a great deal in the last year too, and at present he was in a play in Bath, but they kept in touch with letters and the occasional meeting when he came to London.

Ellie thought less and less about Sir Miles these days too. After the gala evening she had pumped Magnus for a little more information, but was disappointed to discover Magnus knew little about him personally. But he had told her that the company Majestic Inc., which she knew Miles to be a director of, dealt in backing films and plays. Magnus said Miles had a lifetime interest in the theatre, and she couldn’t help wondering if her mother had created it!

Quite recently she’d discovered from a mention in a gossip column that Sir Miles had a London home in Holland Park. She went there to take a look, but the house gave little away about him. It was one of the smaller ones in the road, an elegant Edwardian house tucked away behind a walled garden. She peeped through the wrought-iron gate, noted gleaming brass on the front door and the rather regimental small front garden. She could see a grand piano in one of the downstairs rooms, wondered whether it was he or Lady Hamilton who played, and felt a little sad and ridiculous that she had to resort to spying. Ellie felt it was pointless trying to discover anything further about him. She could never get close to him, he might not be her father anyway, and even if he was, a man in his position was hardly likely to welcome the result of an extra-marital affair.

*

‘You’re a bit quiet tonight!’ Bonny reached across the table and ran her finger sensuously round Magnus’s lips. ‘What are you thinking about? Buying more land? Designing bigger and better houses?’

Magnus smiled. Bonny always assumed his mind was stuck on business. It never occurred to her that in any moments of silence he could be reflecting on his impossible position, feeling guilt about Ruth and the children, or wondering why he continued to put himself through so much unnecessary pain.

Bonny clearly never wasted her time on introspection. She was much too concerned with being a fashion plate. While almost every other woman in England struggled to make over old clothes or even cut up curtains to achieve the ‘New Look’, Bonny somehow managed to have brand new clothes. She deftly changed the subject when he asked how she got the clothing coupons, often claiming she’d ‘had this old thing for ever’. Tonight she was wearing a deep plum-coloured wool dress, its padded shoulders, the length of the skirt and the cream lace jabot all too up to the minute to be anything but brand new. Even her hair, put up in a neat roll, looked like the work of a hairdresser, and as always he wondered how she could afford it.

If only he could make his private life as uncomplicated and successful as his business! That was going from strength to strength, now that he’d found ways of cutting through the maze of red tape the government erected to deter all but the most determined builders. Perhaps he shouldn’t be buying timber on the black market, or greasing palms in the council, but the ends justified the means. He’d managed to finish the first six houses in Staines just before the big freeze-up came early in the year, and they were all sold immediately. He hadn’t made a huge profit: two of the houses had to be sold cheaply to the council to be let to their tenants, one of the many irritating regulations. But he was left with enough capital to buy two further plots of land, with enough remaining for materials and labour costs. Eight houses on these plots were finished now, all pretty little mock-Georgian ones like the first, and a further eight were close to completion. As he now had an excellent, experienced foreman to take over, he had no further reason to stay on in London permanently.

‘I’m going to build some houses in Leeds next,’ he said, hoping she wouldn’t realise how close that was to his home and start a scene. ‘But what about you, Bonny? What work have you got lined up?’

‘I’ve had an offer of a job in Paris,’ she said. ‘In the Moulin Rouge.’

Magnus smiled. She was such an incorrigible story-teller. But this once he wasn’t going to pull her up sharply. ‘How exciting,’ he said, pouring out the last of the wine. ‘With Ellie?’

Magnus had brought Bonny to Elliott’s Supper Rooms in Blackheath many times since she’d been at Lewisham. In south London there was a dearth of good restaurants and few that were open late at night. Elliott’s was tiny and old-world with bow windows and beams in the ceilings, but despite the continuing rationing somehow the owner here not only managed to get decent steak, Dover sole and wonderful fresh shrimps, but he also had a good wine cellar.