Orphans of War (39 page)

Maddy was not the only one to be a photographer’s model. Now she was one of his regulars and this was going to be Gloria’s most daring session yet.

It all started when Ken Silverstone and his ‘wife’ arrived for a weekend at the Brooklyn six weeks ago. He’d booked the best suite and Plum thought they
might be on honeymoon, but Gloria, sharp-eyed as ever, saw that the girl had no ring on when she’d first taken off her gloves. It had only appeared, when they turned up for a late breakfast.

Ken was very chatty to Gloria as she served on the table, but his girlfriend looked daggers at her when he kept going on about her red hair.

‘I’d bet you’d look good in a bathing costume. I do a lot of catalogues. They’re always on the look out for unusual colourings–you know, a touch of the tar brush or Rita Hayworth hair is always in demand.’

‘Is that where you met your wife?’ she snapped, waiting for the girl to blush.

‘Who, Dulcie? She’s not—’ he began, and then a wince screwed up his face as she kicked him under the table.

‘I’m a secretary,’ sniffed the bottle-blonde Dulcie. ‘Nothing to do with Ken’s business. Come on, darling, time for our bracing walk,’ she giggled.

Not in those high heels you’re not, thought Gloria. She’d seen the state of their bedroom. It smelled of yeast and perfume, and something else that stirred her interest.

It was when they were packing their suitcase into the boot of the Jowett that he slipped her a business card along with a tip.

‘If you ever fancy a change from changing beds, come and see me. I’ll do some shots for free and see where that leads,’ he winked, leaving her on the steps, trying not to laugh. The cheek of him!

Still, it was a change from the humdrum routine of
the Brooklyn. Much as she loved it, things got dull in the week. Some weekends they were rushed off their feet, others were yawning gaps of boredom, but this week was Plum’s birthday. Maddy would be gracing them with her presence and this time Gloria was not going to be outdone by all her glamorous assignments. She’d had one of her own.

The studio was up a side street not far from Forster Square, next to a pub, up a flight of rickety stairs; a bit of a dump, if she was honest, but artists in the films always seemed to prefer studios with character.

Ken Silverstone’s studio was smaller than she imagined, really just a bare room. On that first visit she’d opened the door gingerly, clutching her handbag. ‘I thought I’d look you up,’ she lied. ‘I was doing some shopping in town.’

The walls had black sheets on them. Silver umbrellas and headlamps, a cloth screen like the ones round hospital beds were the only bits of furniture. He was busy in a dark room and came out at the clanging of the bell on the door, recognising her at once.

‘Ah, little Miss Redhead, I thought you might be tempted.’

Gloria smiled. ‘I am interested to see. I wouldn’t mind a shot at some modelling. I have a friend in the business,’ she added.

‘It’s not those sorts of mannequin shots, love, more the glamour end of the market.’ He took her over to a table strewn with papers and photos, opening to a page full of brassiere and corset adverts, girls in lacy undies and see-through nighties.

‘For this sort of work you have to have the right sort of figure, full and shapely so the lingerie looks good,’ he winked again.

‘I see.’ Gloria gulped at the sight of so much flesh on display.

‘Very tastefully done, of course. Good lighting and subtle poses make the best shots. We have to check there are no awkward blemishes or angles. I need to take a few tasteful shots first.’

‘I see.’ Gloria gulped again. ‘Do you think I’d be any good?’ Part of her was wishing she was a hundred miles away from this dark room once she’d seen those photos.

‘With your figure, fantastic, a natural,’ he replied. ‘Shall we try out a few poses first so you get used to it?’

‘I’ve come all this way so I might as well have a trial, but no stripping off. That’s not what I want to do.’ Better to be firm and state her case. There must be no misunderstandings. She was a good girl.

‘Of course not, love, but we need to do artistic shots, discreet but classy. If I had a body like yours I’d want to show it off. You can go behind the screen, keep your slip on and your panties. Then I can judge how you’ll match up…just head shots, at first.’

On that first visit it was chilly and she felt stupid. Thank goodness she’d put on her silk slip and French knickers, peach with coffee lace, which Maddy had bought for her last birthday. They were nicer than anything in his catalogues she’d seen so far.

He sat her on a chair and fussed with the lights and made her turn this way and that until her back ached. This was boring and she yawned.

‘Fancy a little snifter?’ he smiled, waving two glasses and a bottle of brandy in her direction. ‘I always keep a bottle handy to warm us up. Just let the strap down off your shoulder–that’s better–and your hair up is not right, it needs ruffling onto your shoulders. Shame to waste curls like that.’

Before she could protest he’d unpinned her hair and spread it like a cape over her shoulders, pulled down her bra so her breasts were almost hanging out.

‘Much better, just relax…splendid, gorgeous. You’ve got great tits, shame to hide them.’

Gloria felt herself tensing up. This wasn’t quite what she was expecting but she’d posed many a time in the mirror and her breasts were high and full. The spirit had gone to her legs and she smiled, slid off the bra and leaned forward so both breasts were out. ‘Like this?’ she said.

‘Gorgeous. Now we can let the dog see the rabbit.’

On the second visit and another tumbler of the fiery spirit, she felt her reserve vanishing a little more. Then he posed her again, this time on a fur rug.

‘Let’s get those legs on display, perfect, turn round, oh yes. I can see we’ll get a lot of work out of those, beautiful. What a bum! Just one more…Can we get rid of those frenchies and have a peep…?’

No! It was as if cold water was thrown over her. What was she doing, half naked in front of a stranger? This didn’t feel right. Maddy didn’t do these sorts of poses.

‘That’s enough. I didn’t come here to do a strip!’

‘I know, love, but there’s no modesty in this business. You have to be prepared to give the customers
what they want,’ Ken argued, giving her a tight hug. ‘A girl like you should be proud of her assets. Why not show it off–tastefully, of course?’

‘I thought I was going to do corsets and bras,’ she replied, confused by his suggestion.

‘Come on, Gloria, that’s bread-and-butter stuff. You can do more than that and it will be good money. Glamour shots for a specialist magazine.’

‘You mean, like
Titbits
?’ she asked.

‘Perhaps…but you have to relax and give them everything they ask.’

‘I’m not sure. I need to think about that,’ she hesitated. ‘Do I get these shots to keep?’

‘I’ll pick out the best and let you know when you can view them.’

‘Send them through the post,’ she suggested. It was costing her to come by train, and she’d not earned anything yet.

‘I’d rather you came back. We could have another session. Fancy a drink next door? You’ve been a good girl and I’d like to use you as my model.’

‘Would you?’ Gloria was relieved and flattered. She was a natural and perhaps she might just take her clothes off. He’d not suggested anything improper. Ken had his girlfriend. He was dark and short with a thin moustache, too old, and not her type at all.

‘I’ll think about it. When shall I come back?’

Now she was back a week later on her Saturday off. If she was going to make some money there was no time to lose. They had the usual drink that seemed to fill her limbs with jelly, and set to work as usual

The shots he’d taken were what he called ‘exotic’ poses. Some of them were a bit naughty and she was glad there was only her and Ken. The drink seemed to make her go dopey and silly, and then she didn’t care where she put her arms and legs, or her clothes, which always ended up piled out of sight, leaving nothing now to the imagination. Ken said her shots were exciting and provocative, whatever that meant.

Gloria staggered back to the station with her head swimming. As the train rattled northwards, she began to shiver at what she’d just done. Had she gone too far? Was she making herself cheap? It wasn’t very ladylike, but as Ken insisted, it was her duty to show off her lovely body. There was nothing wrong in nudity, was there? It was art, after all. She was a proper artist’s model now, but it must be a secret, a delicious secret. Little Miss Redhead was going to give La Madeleine a run for her money

It was turning out to be a lovely birthday, even though Plum was now almost fifty Archie and Vera Murray called in for drinks and afternoon tea. Gloria and Grace had baked a Victoria sponge with jam and cream filling. Maddy came up on the morning train from Leeds, carrying a gorgeous bunch of cut flowers, extravagant blooms to fill the vase in the hall.

Maddy looked so grown up in her lavender suit and Pleasance’s pearls. She was turning into a beautiful young woman, with a sparkle back in her eyes.

Even Gerry had sent Plum a card. They’d still not divorced, but lived apart, and she hardly gave a thought
to him or the fact that he lived with Daisy Abbott as his wife. It was all very civil, and yet unfinished business between them. How would she ever break free and start again?

The Brooklyn was her life now. Bookings were spasmodic but enough to keep Gloria on. Yet sometimes in the evenings, when there was only the wireless for company and the dogs wrapped round her feet, the house groaned and creaked and she missed the bustle and complaining of the oldies during the war. How had it all shrunk down to this?

Maddy sat tucking into their Sunday tea with gusto, full of the discovery that Bella’s mother was her old school friend Totty Featherstone.

‘Good heavens, so that’s where she went, bagged Hugh Foxup…I’ll give her a ring some time.’

‘She called you “Prunes and Custard”. What’s that all about?’ Maddy laughed, seeing her blush.

‘She was the custard blonde and I, well, with a name like mine…Better than some of the laxative nicknames they dished out. It was all terribly competitive, this débutante thing, being presented at court, finding rooms for parties and balls. It nearly beggared my parents but it was the done thing then, you just did what you were told. Totty and I were up from Yorkshire and shared a few dos but she had a title and got first pickings. It was such a farce, like some glorified cattle market for fine-bred heifers, but it served its purpose, I suppose, in making sure we didn’t step out with unsuitable boys from the wrong backgrounds. Well, well…Totty Foxup. I’d love to see her again.’

Just thinking about those far-off days made Plum sad. She and Gerry were thrown together, too young and silly to know they were unsuited. She would make sure Maddy made her own choices in that department when the time came.

It was lovely that Maddy was going to stay for the night to catch up–that was the best present of all. She hoped tomorrow she’d be up early, in her old togs, mucking out and gossiping with Gloria in the kitchen like old times. They were her family now.

She was always grateful for Archie and Vera’s company, her friends on the WVS committee, but young voices filled the house with chatter and noise and such energy.

Gloria came to life when Maddy came back. Sooner or later her young helper would up and marry away. This was no life for a lively girl. She’d trained up well and was a spotless cleaner. She’d made the guesthouse business possible, with her eye for detail. You couldn’t fake that sort of eagle eye, and Gloria had flair. She suggested changes to the way the furniture was laid out, little adjustments that made all the difference to their comfort. Plum herself had no time for fussing around the rooms. There were still estate matters to distract, horses to exercise, dogs to walk and the garden to keep in some sort of shape. Gloria was proving a reliable member of staff.

‘This is delicious,’ said Maddy with cream on her lips. ‘Who made it? Grace?’

‘No, me,’ smiled Gloria, looking smug. ‘I’m not just a pretty face.’

‘So I see.’ Maddy paused, hearing a scrunch of brakes on gravel. ‘You’ve got another visitor, I think.’

Plum stood up to peer out of the window. She was not expecting anyone else. There was a dark green sports car parked up and a tall young man in a blazer and grey flannels was striding towards the steps.

‘He must be one of your friends, Gloria,’ she said, making for the door. ‘We’ve no guests booked in, have we?’

‘No, I kept it free…Let me see to it. But I don’t know anyone with a car like that.’

Plum examined the smart vehicle, puzzled. Then suddenly there was a roar from the hall.

‘Mrs Plum! Look who’s here? You’ll never guess in a month of Sundays. Come in…come in!’ Gloria ushered in the young man, who stood in the doorway, hesitating.

‘Mrs Belfield, it’s Gregory…Gregory Byrne. I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve been meaning to call for some time.’

‘Greg! How wonderful.’ Plum darted forward at once to greet him. ‘My, how you’ve grown, so tall! You’ve filled out. What brings you to these parts? Last time I heard you were in Leeds. Come and meet my guests. Remember the Reverend and Mrs Murray?’ She pointed in their direction. ‘Greg was one of my first evacuees,’ she reminded the vicar and his wife.