Kitty Little (44 page)

They made a sorry trio standing helplessly outside the Manchester Palace, right back where they’d started, Archie complaining that it was a complete waste of time. ‘Esme probably left long since.’

Charlotte protested, as only Charlotte could, that she was freezing cold and wished to go home. Both of them had been saying much the same all day, so Kitty ignored them.

Again she studied her list. There were only a few names left unchecked. The Blossom Theatre Club, out towards Salford, and two cinemas. She hadn’t the first idea where any of these were, or even if they were worth the effort, yet felt bound to try since they were on the list. ‘We could ask someone,’ Kitty said, refusing to climb back into the motor as Archie seemed to be insisting she do. Spotting an omnibus driver making his way home after a shift, Kitty ran across to ask him.

Charlotte uttered a quiet oath under her breath and got back into the car where she sat tapping her polished nails in silent fury. The man was obviously giving directions while Kitty nodded and thanked him. This wasn’t at all the way things should have turned out. The last thing Charlotte wanted was to find Esme Bield. Drat the woman. Drat both of them.

They discovered the Blossom Theatre Club situated deep in the side streets and alleys of Salford. A gas light flickered indifferently over a scuffed door that looked in dire need of a fresh coat of paint. Stuck on the walls in the seedy looking foyer were several tatty posters with the strangest play titles Kitty had ever seen. “A Night With Lil,” was one. “Out on the town with Our Bessie” was another. All most puzzling and not in the least prepossessing.

No one seemed to be around to talk to, so they bought three tickets from the girl in the booth and made their way into the smoky atmosphere of a dimly lit room. It wasn’t particularly large, more what could be classed as intimate. The stage was the usual proscenium arch with brown velvet curtains that had seen better days drawn across it. Unusually, from the centre of this came an extra platform which protruded out into the audience. Rows of plush seats were ranked at either side, beyond which were set a number of tables. It was at one of these that they sat. Archie ordered a bottle of champagne, saying they might as well at least enjoy the evening and again Kitty marvelled at his seemingly bottomless funds. Would real life ever catch up with Archie? she wondered.

More people came in and the room gradually filled up, with about half the rows occupied and most of the tables. The bar was certainly doing good business and if anything, the atmosphere grew even more thick with smoke from the many cigars being lit up by customers. Two or three musicians wandered in and began to set out their music and various instruments, tune up and generally shuffle themselves into position.

Kitty’s heart felt like lead. First impressions were not reassuring. Esme surely deserved better than this. It was surprising really that, despite the evidence of a good deal of money changing hands, more wasn’t spent on tidying the place up.

Lights dimmed and went out, footlights flickered on, uncoordinated notes were heard and a lively overture struck up. As the curtains opened there was a ripple of lukewarm applause.

Kitty gazed upon the scene in stunned amazement. Never, in all her life, had she seen anything like it. Six girls stood as still as statues, which was presumably what they were meant to be. Their arms were raised as if in supplication, their heads thrown back or tilted artistically to one side. They looked exactly like Grecian Goddesses, except that they wore no clothes. They were completely naked, their pale nude bodies glimmering like silver in the footlights.

Charlotte muttered something about knowing all along that it was a mistake to come and Archie coolly remarked that as long as the girls didn’t move, this was considered to be a new form of Art.

Kitty cast him a look of quelling disbelief.

Only one girl was dressed. Wearing a flowing gold cape over a silver satin gown she knelt centre stage, head bent, long fair hair falling forward so that it swept the bare boards.

As the music gradually slowed and changed its beat, she rose from her crouched position, lifted one arm and flung back the hair to reveal eyes like bruises in a painted face, scarlet lips that smiled bewitchingly at her audience. She moved forward onto the projecting rostrum and began to dance. Stunningly graceful, bewitchingly rhythmic, the dance was utterly and erotically sensual. And as she moved, the girl unclipped and discarded the cape. Next, she began to slip the gown from her shoulders. Ribbons were untied, hooks unpinned, silken layers peeled away one by one, a garter tossed into the cheering audience, followed by a sheer silk stocking. Kitty found, to her complete shock and horror that she was watching a young girl disrobe in public, before her very eyes. Worse, she’d finally discovered the answer to the question which had haunted her for so long. She now knew exactly what had become of her dear friend.

Chapter Twenty-Six

‘How can you do this? How can you sink so low?’ Kitty’s instincts were to gather Esme in her arms. But this woman seated before the fly-specked mirror bore no resemblance to her dearest friend. This woman’s face was hard-edged and brittle, with no sign of emotion or vulnerability. This woman was a stranger.

Esme reached for another costume, bright orange, liberally trimmed with feathers and even more tawdry close to, than the one she had so beguilingly taken off moments before on stage. Slipping it on she began to fasten up hooks and dozens of tiny glass buttons. No one came to assist her, so Kitty got up to help, only to be brusquely informed that she wasn’t needed, thank you very much.

‘We can’t all make it big you know. We can’t all become the glorious Charlotte or be the indomitable Kitty Little, Nightingale of Flanders. Oh yes, I’ve heard about your success overseas. Bully for you.’

 
‘But this?’ Kitty lifted her hands to indicate the stiflingly small dressing room, filled with what seemed like dozens of girls in various stages of undress, then let them fall to her sides again in despair. Kitty turned to Charlotte. ‘For goodness sake, you say something. Talk some sense into her.’

It was the interval and Archie had remained in the wings back stage, no doubt on his third cigarette by this time, while the two girls attempted to talk some sense into their friend. They weren’t making much headway. But then most of the effort had come from Kitty. Charlotte sat with a handkerchief soaked in Eau De Cologne pressed to her nose, as if she had never in her entire life endured such conditions. Now she remarked that really Esme had only herself to blame. ‘You always suffered from low esteem my dear, which is pretty stupid. If you don’t respect yourself, who else will, that’s what I say.’

Kitty could not fault the argument, but the satisfied manner in which Charlotte delivered these words, somehow left a nasty taste in her mouth.

‘And where were you with your damned advice when I asked for it?’ Esme said, not attempting to disguise the bitterness in her tone.

Kitty picked up on this instantly. ‘When did you ask for advice? Was it of Charlotte?’

‘Yes, it was of Charlotte. She preferred to ignore me. Too busy playing Lady Bountiful.’

Kitty felt weak with exasperation. ‘Drat the pair of you. You, Esme for never answering
my
letters, of which I wrote dozens, and you, Charlotte, for not telling me that you’d had another letter from Esme.’

Charlotte shrugged elegantly. ‘What could you have done? You were in France for heaven’s sake. And if she stays in this rat hole, it must be because she enjoys the work.’ She spoke as if Esme wasn’t even present, then she turned to her and asked,’ Do you offer other services? More lucrative ones, shall we say?’

Esme’s face became ashen while Kitty leapt to her feet in a fury. ‘That’s enough, Charlotte. If you can’t say anything useful...’

‘…I should take my leave. I’m most happy to do so. It is really no concern of mine how Esme chooses to disport herself. Its only sex, after all, of which apparently, she is an expert.’ Charlotte rose gracefully to her feet, aware that as she pushed her way through the crowded room, several pairs of envious eyes swivelled to watch her go. At the door she paused, smiling back at them all with the superiority of knowing that she could pamper her body with pure silk and genuine furs, not crepe de chine and rabbit. ‘As a vicar’s daughter, you should try wearing a dog collar or cassock, that would really turn your customers on.’ Then she swept out and, as usual, her exit was superb.

Esme actually laughed. ‘Good old Charlotte. She doesn’t change, does she?’

‘Esme, love, please come home with me. You can stay at Laburnum House. Everyone’s there and would love to welcome you back. We’re working on a Benefit Night, for the wounded soldiers. We’ll give that a short run this summer, have a bit of a rest then head back to France come September. Please join us.’

‘And get myself blown to smithereens? No thanks.’

‘But you can\t stay here. I don’t understand.’

‘I’ve told you. Archie is the only good thing that has ever happened to me. Without him, I have nothing. So what does it matter where I work, or what I do?’

‘What about our friendship? Does that count for nothing?’

For a second the old Esme was visible behind the tears that welled in the pale grey eyes. But before she was able to respond, a booming voice came out of nowhere, making everyone jump and the room to fall silent.

‘
Esme
!
Why the hell aren’t you on stage
? One minute to your number. Fifty seconds for the rest of you.’ The man was massive with a shiny bald head and hairy chin, about as wide as he was tall and seeming to fill the tiny room. Like a huge block of granite half filling the doorway, he clearly had no intention of moving as the girls squeezed past him one by one to get to their places on stage. And as each struggled through the impossibly small gap between his stomach and the door jamb, his hands would slide over their thighs, squeeze their rump or pat their breasts. Kitty found herself holding her breath along with them, and sharing their relief whenever they wriggled free of his odious presence.

‘So that’s who you work for. Is that how it is?’

Esme snatched up a powder puff, flicked it over her nose then tossed it aside. ‘You don’t know a damn thing about how it is. Go home Kitty. Don’t you preach to me. Just leave me alone.’ And as she swept out, the huge man surprisingly stepped politely out of her way.

Kitty couldn’t bear to watch the rest of Esme’s performance, nor could she bring herself to leave and go home, despite both Charlotte and Archie urging her to do so. They returned resignedly to their table to order more champagne while Kitty hid her distress and embarrassment by hovering in the foyer, peeping through a crack in the door from time to time to see if the show was over. When it finally was she urged Archie to try his luck.

‘Persuade her to come home with us. Perhaps she’ll listen to you. You were always the one with influence, and she still adores you. Please, please try.’ She was desperate for him to get Esme on her own while the fat man was still occupied Front of House.

Archie’s response was that there was little point in trying and Charlotte declined to get involved, yet as Kitty was so insistent, he finally gave in. ‘All right old thing. I’ll give it a shot, but you stay here with Charlotte. Let me try on my own.’

‘I want to come with you.’

‘No. You must trust me to deal with Esme. I’ll try my best, I promise.’

‘All right. Only do it. Please.’ Kitty would have agreed to anything.

After he’d gone, she and Charlotte sat unspeaking for several long moments. Having had time to give much thought to the situation, Kitty finally asked, ‘Why didn’t you answer that letter she mentioned, when she asked for your advice? Why didn’t you respond to her cry for help? Or tell
me
at least, so that I could’ve done something.’

Charlotte gave a brittle little laugh. ‘You would have coming rushing home from France, would you?’

Kitty knew she couldn’t have done any such thing, nevertheless it pained her that Esme had written, asking for help and clearly getting none. ‘But why do nothing?’

‘Because I owe her nothing. I did explain why I had no wish to find her.’ Charlotte topped up her glass with the last dregs of champagne, her every movement declaring that she was bored sick with the whole business. ‘Esme Bield can do as she pleases so far as I’m concerned. She makes her own choices, as do we all. She doesn’t have to stay in this flea pit. She could leave.
Now
if she wished. She’s her own woman with a mind of her own and I’m not her nursemaid.'

There was such a painful truth behind these harsh words that Kitty couldn’t bear to listen to them any longer. She got up and fled back stage, relieved to discover that most of the chorus girls were making their way home. Perhaps Archie would have more success than she. If only the fat man would stay away for a while longer. She put her ear to the door and began to listen.

It was Archie’s voice she could hear. ‘I thought we might be happy but now even she doesn’t care a jot for me. Old Archie, the weak-kneed old bore. Isn’t that what you all think of me?’ Kitty heard him chuckle, as if he were trying to make light of it.

Esme’s voice now, coming out in a strangled little croak. ‘Archie, all I ever wanted was for you to be happy. I didn’t care who with. No, that’s not true. I desperately wanted you to choose me. But when you clearly preferred Charlotte, I respected your choice. I wanted you to be happy with her. I remember your telling me that was partly the reason why you ran off with her, because you were so good together. And why would you not be? I know she’s highly strung, but Charlotte’s a lovely woman and extremely talented.’