Starlight (10 page)

If it were, though? If by any chance Ben's love, unwanted by Marguerite, did come her way – would she take it?

Oh, yes, sighed Jess, giving a man his tickets for
The Adventures of Robin Hood
, which had been retained for another week by popular demand. But then she turned for comfort to her earlier hope, that Ben might not be as attracted to her sister as she feared.

And that got her through the rest of the day, and even most of the night.

Sixteen

For the next few days, Jess watched like a hawk to see if Ben hung around the cafe, or if Marguerite went up to the projection room. Nothing happened. Ben was not seen around the cafe, Marguerite paid no visits to the projection room. As far as Jess could tell, the two of them had not met since they'd shaken hands on Marguerite's first day at the Princes.

What a relief! But, of course, Jess couldn't relax her vigilance. At any time, things could change. Sometimes, she wondered if it might help to discuss the matter with Rusty, but the idea had no sooner come into her mind than she dismissed it. Of course she couldn't discuss Ben with Rusty! He'd be far too hurt. Even when she did ask casually if Ben had given Marguerite his little talk on film projection, it had been enough for Rusty to raise his eyebrows and wonder why she was interested.

‘Oh, no reason,' she'd answered swiftly. ‘Only he does like to do that talk for new staff.'

‘Not waitresses,' Rusty had declared. ‘They'd hardly need to know the workings of the cinema. But wouldn't Marguerite have mentioned it, anyway?'

‘Maybe not,' Jess replied, wondering – why wouldn't she? Unless it had meant something.

Though seeming her usual keen and efficient self to most people, Jess wasn't altogether surprised when sharp-eyed Sally asked her once when they were on duty together if everything was all right.

‘How d'you mean?' Jess asked, playing for time.

‘Well, you know what I mean, dear. You've been so . . . well, what shall I say? Jumpy, eh? Looking around a lot, not settling.'

‘Jumpy? I wouldn't say that. I'm fine. Why would I be jumpy?'

‘You tell me. No' something to do with your sister, is it?'

‘Marguerite? No. I don't really see much of her, seeing as she works in the cafe. Anyway, there's nothing wrong. I don't know what you're on about.'

‘She seems to be doing very well in her new job,' Sally said cheerfully. ‘A great attraction, I'd say. Puts the others in the shade, eh?'

‘The others are pretty enough themselves.'

‘Oh, sure they are. No' the ones the men are after, though.'

‘What men?'

‘The ones that come in the cafe, of course. And then there's our dear Ben.'

Jess sat very still, concentrating every part of her being on not showing the effect of Sally's words.

‘Ben?' she repeated casually. ‘What's he been up to?

‘Didn't waste much time, apparently, making a play for your sister. Pam says he walks her to the station every night, soon as they close. Has done from the start.' Sally's gaze was bright on Jess's averted face. ‘Did Marguerite never say?'

‘Don't suppose she thought it was important.'

‘I'm no' so sure. Pam thinks she likes him. Seemingly, she's quick enough to give fellows the message, if she doesn't.'

‘That's true,' Jess agreed. ‘But fancy her – liking Ben.'

‘Fancy,' Sally murmured. She gave a little sigh. ‘Well, if you're OK, Jess, that's good. That's a relief. I did wonder if you might be maybe worrying about the war.'

‘The war? I thought there wasn't going to be one.'

‘Some folk are beginning to think that bit of paper Mr Chamberlain had doesn't mean a thing.'

‘How can they know that?'

‘Arnold says nobody should trust Herr Hitler. He's planning world domination. Everybody under the jackboot, Arnold says.'

‘We'll just have to hope he's wrong, then.'

‘He's never wrong,' Sally declared.

Late that night, when Jess and Marguerite were preparing for bed, Jess resolved to speak. She had watched closely when her sister had arrived home from work. Had seen a delicate flush on her cheeks and a sparkle in her eyes, for which something more than the January cold might have been responsible. Had known the time had come to face the truth, whatever it was, for until it was known, she, Jess, couldn't learn to live with it. Live with it? Oh, God, how easy that was to say!

‘Marguerite, know what Sally told me today?' she asked, after she'd seen her sister climb into bed, clinging with shudders to her hot water bottle.

‘All I know is that it's freezing in here,' Marguerite returned. ‘Oh, these sheets are icy!'

‘It is January, eh? We'll probably have snow by morning.' Jess was trying to hug her own hot water bottle that was stone and kept slipping from her grasp. ‘Well, listen – Sally said Pam had told her that Ben Daniel was taking you to the station every time you worked late. I never knew that.'

‘What of it?' Marguerite had now pulled the bed clothes to her chin.

‘I'm just interested, that's all. Seemingly, he's keen.'

‘Just says it's on his way.'

‘He's going out of his way. He lives in Canonmills.'

‘All right, so he wants to take me to the station. Can we go to sleep now? I'm tired, Jess. I've had a long day.'

‘I just want to say, if you start going out with him, I hope you don't . . . hurt him. It'd be a shame. He's nice, we all like him.'

‘Hurt him?' Marguerite sat up, staring at Jess through the darkness. ‘Who says I'm going to hurt him? I like him, too. As a matter of fact, he's asked me to go out on Sunday and I've said I will.' She lay down again with a thump. ‘And I've no plans to break his heart, if that's what you're on about. Goodnight, Jess.'

‘Goodnight, Marguerite.'

While her sister soon began to breathe regularly in sleep, Jess lay wide awake, feeling as chilled inside as the air around her bed. It seemed to her that she would never be warm again. Never have the hope again for a future that had been her comfort. Ben had been a dream, she saw that now; no more real than his shadow on the silver screen. He would never be hers, never come alive for her. Only for Marguerite.

How was she to accept that? As the long hours crawled by, it didn't seem possible. Only slowly did it come to her that whatever she'd lost, she still had work. She still had the Princes. All right, she worked in the box office, but she wouldn't always work there. There was a ladder, wasn't there? And she would climb it. Maybe then, she could forget Ben.

Having seen this small light at the end of her tunnel, she felt better. Even slept for a little while. But when she rose the next morning, there were tears in her eyes. Tears she must never let anyone see. Least of all, Marguerite.

Seventeen

It didn't take long for those at the Princes to spot that Ben Daniel and Marguerite Raeburn, the new waitress, were in love. Wasn't difficult, was it? Seeing as they weren't trying to keep it a secret. Seeing as they were always meeting up, in spite of having separate jobs. Always looking at each other, smiling fond smiles, touching hands. Always walking off, arm in arm, into the night – well, to the station – at the end of work, and no doubt kissing on the platform. Would it all end in tears? Or wedding bells? Some looked at Jess for an answer, but how would she know? Anyway, she never said anything.

‘Ah, they're so sweet,' Sally would sigh. ‘So lovely to see folk so happy!'

Though the girls at the cafe sighed over losing the fancy-free Ben, most at the Princes agreed with her, just as long as it all worked out, which as the weeks went by, seemed likely.

From only walking to the station together, the happy pair began to go out whenever they could arrange the same evening off, sometimes going for a meal, sometimes to the theatre, sometimes even to other cinemas, where they could sit entwined on the back row and be sure no one they knew was watching. Then came the time when Ben took Marguerite to meet his widowed father, followed by Marguerite's taking Ben to meet Addie. And heavens, everyone said, this was looking serious! Looked like there would be wedding bells after all!

‘Think it's serious?' Addie asked Jess.

‘Seems like it.' Jess was clearing the table, concentrating on stacking dishes ready for carrying to the scullery.

‘I must say, I'm surprised, then.'

‘Surprised? Why?'

Addie laughed. ‘Didn't Marguerite always say she was looking for a rich Edinburgh man?'

‘Ben's wages aren't bad.'

‘He's no' rich, though.'

‘He's handsome.'

‘A bit on the serious side, I thought.'

‘Nothing wrong with that.' Jess, wishing her mother wouldn't study her face with such interest, carried away her dishes. ‘Anyway, Marguerite has to settle down sometime.'

‘Aye, I'd like to see her settled. And how about you and that nice Rusty, Jess?'

‘We're still good friends.'

‘What a shame,' sighed Addie.

Still just good friends was what they were, though, even if they had taken lately to walking together before the cinema opened for the matinee. Usually, the April weather wasn't warm enough for them to eat sandwiches in Princes Street Gardens or the kirkyard of Greyfriars Church – favourite haunts of the city workers. They'd therefore take shelter from the wind in a little cafe they knew, order something on toast and share the bill. No more arguments over going Dutch, and everything so pleasant and restful, Jess was beginning to find her spirits quite soothed by such sorties as these with Rusty.

Which was why her heart sank when, over one of their little lunches, he too began to talk of Ben and Marguerite.

‘Think it's serious?' he asked, echoing her mother. ‘Between those two?'

‘Why is everyone so interested?' Jess cried, as soon as the waitress had served her poached eggs and departed. ‘And why ask me?'

Rusty stared. ‘Come on, you know why people are interested. All the world loves a lover, they say, don't they? And the world's pretty nosey about how things are going to turn out.'

‘Yes, but why should I be expected to know?'

‘Well, Marguerite is your sister. She might have said.'

‘She's never said. Even Ma doesn't know what her plans are.'

‘I'm sure she and Ben could make a go of it,' Rusty remarked, beginning to eat his sausage and mash. ‘I mean, I've never seen anyone so in love as Ben. He's a changed man.'

A changed man. Changed by her sister. At the shadow that crossed Jess's face, Rusty hastily put down his knife and fork and touched her hand.

‘I'm sorry,' he said quietly. ‘There I go, being as insensitive as usual.'

‘I don't know what you're talking about!' she cried. ‘Why should I mind what you say about Ben?'

Rusty was silent for a moment, his eyes on her face so sympathetic, she couldn't bear to look at them.

‘If I've spoken out of turn, I'll say sorry again,' he said at last. ‘You know the last thing I want is to upset you.'

Another silence fell, with Rusty still gazing at Jess, and Jess sitting with head bent. Suddenly, she pushed away her plate and looked up.

‘Rusty, I don't know what to say. I've been a fool, eh? Might as well admit it. Never had any hope, anyway.' She took out a hankie and wiped her eyes, though she hadn't actually cried. ‘Does . . . does everybody know, d'you think?'

‘No, Jess, they don't, I promise you. I only know because . . . well, I care for you.' Rusty smiled and held her hand again. ‘Means my antennae are pretty sensitive, I suppose. Look, let's not say any more.'

‘All right, but it's been good – to talk about it, I mean.'

‘Any time, you can come to me.'

‘I know, but I'm trying to put it all aside, you see. I'd say, forget it ever happened, except it never did.' She gave a tentative smile. ‘Ben and me – it was all in my head. A dream. It never existed.'

‘Dreams can be real enough. They keep a lot of people going.'

‘Well, I want to manage without,' Jess declared. ‘I mean it. Look, we'd better get the bill. Time's going by.'

‘You will weather this, you know,' Rusty told her seriously. ‘Maybe you've already begun.'

But Jess made no reply.

Walking back to Princes Street, not arm in arm, but close, they were pleasantly at ease. In fact, when Jess glanced up at Rusty's handsome face, it seemed to her that he had become again that carefree fellow she'd met in the cafe on their interview day. For the first time, she felt a pang of guilt as she realized how far he'd moved from his old self since then, and that she was probably to blame. Still, if he had for a time changed from those early days, he appeared to be changing back again, and that must be due to her, too.

As they strolled along beside the west gardens of Princes Street, she glanced again at the tall, rangy figure at her side and decided she wouldn't say anything to spoil things. If Rusty seemed relaxed and happy, it must be because the two of them had suddenly become so much closer, so much more like true friends. Maybe it would be enough for him? At least, for now? It was what she wanted, anyway. Yes, very much indeed.

‘Hang on,' Rusty said, suddenly drawing to a halt. ‘What are those fellows up to, then?'

‘What fellows?'

‘The ones by the Mound there, looking at the gardens.'

Her gaze followed his, to where a group of men were standing at the entrance to the gardens, studying the ground.

‘I expect they're just gardeners. Might be time to plant out the floral clock, or something.'

For a moment, Rusty thought about the famous Edinburgh showpiece, a round flowerbed laid out like a clock at the corner of the Mound. Then he shook his head.