The Grace Girls (54 page)

‘OK,’ he said. ‘I’ll see what there is.’

Kirsty looked around at the other groups of people while she was waiting. Most of them were older than her, but there were a few who looked roughly her own age, who gave her curious glances as they passed by. Several people came across to say how much they had enjoyed her singing, and one young girl sat down in the seat next to her to ask her what it was like to be a famous singer and how hard was it to become one. She explained that it was her eighteenth birthday and her parents had brought her and three friends out for the dinner dance, because they’d heard that this wonderful new singer was on that particular night.

Larry had come back with the drinks, but had gone to the empty table next to them, not wanting to interrupt. He sat drinking his whiskey and listening to the conversation with great interest.

‘Och, I’m not really famous,’ Kirsty told the girl, laughin
g at the idea. ‘I’m only really starting out.’

‘You’re a brilliant singer,’ the girl said, looking at her with adulation. ‘And it must be really hard learning the words to all those songs. Some of them are really new, so that must mean you’ve to constantly learn new words to keep up to date.’

‘I suppose that’s the bit you do need to work at,’ Kirsty agreed. ‘But it’s just like when you had to learn poetry or tables at school. You just sit down and make yourself learn it, because if you forget the words when you’re on stage it would be a right disaster.’

‘I never thought of that,’ the girl said, biting her lip at the thought.

‘It can be hard work at times,’ Kirsty admitted. ‘but it’s really, really worth it. Especially when nice people like you take the trouble to come up and tell me.’ She gave a little shrug. ‘The rest of it is a bit of luck – being in the right place at the right time.’

‘I think you’re absolutely great,’ the girl said, in a breathless, overwhelmed voice. ‘You’re so modest and down-to-earth when you have such a powerful, fantastic voice . . .’ She halted. ‘And you’ve got such lovely blonde hair and a beautiful figure. That dress is gorgeous on you – it makes you look like a movie star. There’s not many singers around here who look like that.’

‘Oh, thanks!’ Kirsty said, almost embarrassed with the compliment. ‘That’s really nice of you.’

The girl stood up now. ‘I’ll make sure I tell all my friends and their families to come and hear you when you’re back here again.’

After she’d gone, Larry moved across to join her at the table. He carefully slid a tall thin glass over to Kirsty. ‘Compliments of the manager – it’s champagne.’

‘Oh my God!’ Kirsty said, her voice high with excitement
. ‘Up until this New Year I’d never had champagne in my life before.’ She looked at the champagne flute now and laughed. ‘You’d think I was a right seasoned drinker – I should have said I’ve hardly had
any
kind of drink before, never mind champag­ne.’ She suddenly remembered the wine at Claire’s house. ‘Now I seem to be getting offered it more and more.’

‘Well, enjoy it,’ Larry said, clinking his whiskey glass against hers. ‘You deserve a celebratory drink, and there’s no harm in it as long as you keep it in moderation. We can all fall by the wayside when we’ve had one too many.’

Kirsty looked away from him now, wondering if he was referring to the night she’d been stupid. He’d never given any indication that he’d held it against her, so she hoped that he was just talking generally.

He took a mouthful of his whiskey. ‘That girl was right – your singing was just fantastic tonight. It was the best I’ve heard yet.’ He looked at her and then shook his head. ‘Your voice just gets better and better.’

‘Well, the hotel band is really professional,’ she said, ‘and I think that makes a big difference. I used to think The Hi-Tones were good but you can tell the difference when you’re working with really good musicians who do it for a living.’ Kirsty felt embarrassed now, so she took a sip of the champagne for something to do.

‘There’s only one thing wrong though, Kirsty,’ he said, ‘you’re going to have to stop knocking yourself down when people give you compliments.’

‘What d’you mean?’ Kirsty asked.

‘I mean you should believe what people tell you . . . you are a wonderful singer, and it’s got nothing to do with the band. They’re just good, competent musicians – but you’re in a different league altogether.’

Kirsty looked over at Larry now now, and he was staring at her in a kind of strange way, as if he had just met her and was studying her so he would know her again.

‘Thanks,’ she said in a quiet voice. ‘I’m grateful for you telling me that . . . it means a lot.’

‘Good,’ he said, smiling warmly at her now. Back to the old Larry. ‘I’m glad to hear you saying that, because your success up to now has been through your own hard work – don’t be saying that it’s down to luck. Your success is all down to you.’

‘I don’t agree with all of that,’ Kirsty said, sipping at her drink. ‘Because it was good luck that I met you . . . if I ha
dn’t met you then I wouldn’t be here tonight.’ She waved her hand around the hotel lounge. ‘If it wasn’t for you I wouldn’t be singing in a lovely place like this, I’d be in a wee fleapit of a freezin’ church hall . . .’ She held up her glass. ‘And I certainly wouldn’t be drinkin’ champ
agne! I’m just an ordinary girl from an ordinary village, and it’s because of you that I’m gettin’ the chance to better myself.’

The strange look was suddenly back in his dark gree
nish-brown eyes. ‘It was good luck for both of us, Kirsty. Taking you on my books was one of the best moves I’ve ever made.’ He reached across the table and took her hand. ‘I’ve been meaning to say this to you before now . . . that night we were in the Trocadero . . .’

Kirsty’s stomach lurched.
Oh no
, she thought,
he’s going to remind me of what a fool I made of myself again. He’s going to mention that really embarrassing night . . .

Then, a young waitress in a black dress with a little frilly white apron suddenly appeared at the table with a tray with sandwiches and a silver rack of buttered toast.

‘Lovely!’ Kirsty said, reaching out for a piece of toast. She looked up at the waitress, overwhelmingly grateful at the diversion from Larry’s conversation, and determined to make the most of it. ‘That’s really good of you making me toast. Have you been working all night?’

The girl glanced over towards the bar, and when she saw no sign of the manager, she sunk down into one of the ch
airs at the table, grateful to steal a few minutes away from her work. ‘Aye,’ she said, rolling her eyes to the ceiling
, ‘and I’m on again first thing in the mornin’. You’re not goin’ to believe it, but I’m goin’ to have to stay the night in the staff quarters of the hotel because of the snow. I usually get a taxi home to Carluke, but they’re all off the road tonight.’

‘It’s terrible, isn’t it?’ Kirsty said, taking a bite of the buttered toast. ‘We’re havin’ to stay the night as well.’ She nodded over at Larry, who was now happily sipping his whiskey, his bow-tie loosened and the top button of his white shirt undone. Then she added rather unnecessarily. ‘Of course we’ve got a single room each.’

They chatted for a few minutes longer, the waitress asking Kirsty about her singing and then Kirsty asking her
more questions about her job in the hotel – all light-hearte
d, ordinary talk that kept Larry safely off the more sensitive subjects.

The manager suddenly appeared behind the bar, and a glance in their direction got the waitress to her feet and scuttling off to attend to the last hour of her duties. He came across to the table with two more flutes and the remainder of the bottle of champagne that he’d opened for Kirsty.

‘Blidey awful night, isn’t it?’ he said, grinning at Larry. ‘I can’t get home either . . . but I suppose we might as well make the best of the night.’ He leaned over and refilled Kirsty’s glass then filled one for himself and Larry, then he held the bottle of champagne up to the light to check how much was left. ‘That was a wee bonus tonight,’ he explained. ‘A big group of solicitors that were at the dinner dance. They told me to put a dozen bottles on ice and they only used eleven.’ He held his glass up to Kirsty. ‘After your sterling performance tonight, I thought you were the one that most deserved to have a wee glass of Moët et Cha
ndon.’ He winked at Larry. ‘Those solicitors are nothin
’ but a crowd of robbing gets – we’re far more entitled to drink the champagne than they are.’

Kirsty laughed heartily along with the two men, and then, feeling relaxed for the first time that whole evening, she sat back in her chair and enjoyed the luxury of the hotel and the expensive champagne.

The bar was empty now and so was the champagne bottle. The manager had gone off to get the keys for the bedrooms leaving Kirsty with the last half-glass from the bottle and a night-cap of a large whiskey for Larry.

Kirsty had been very, very careful with the alcohol. She had drunk it slowly, and found herself constantly checking the effect it was having on her. Apart from feeling nice and relaxed and a little tired, she knew she was still her normal self. And she knew that there was no way she would say or do anything tonight that would cause her to make a fool of herself. She had definitely learned that lesson.

Larry checked his watch; it was quarter past one. ‘Are you OK, Kirsty?’ he asked her in a concerned tone. ‘I know this has been a bit of a shock to you . . . staying out all night when you hadn’t planned it.’

‘I’m absolutely fine,’ Kirsty said quickly, giving him a reassuring smile. ‘And I’ve enjoyed myself. The dinner-dance went well and I’ve enjoyed sitting here chatting to everybody. It’s a lovely place and I’d be daft not to enjoy it.
’ She halted. ‘I know it’s no big deal to you – you’ve obviously been brought up used to all these nice things – but our family are just ordinary and wouldn’t be used to this kind of thing. Not that I’m ashamed of my up-bringing
or where I come from or anythin’,’ she hastily added. ‘My mammy and daddy are really decent hard-working people and I’m actually very proud of them and my sister.’

The hotel manager reappeared, and handed them both a key. Kirsty’s had ten on it and Larry’s nine. ‘You’re across the corridor from each other,’ he told them, ‘on the ground floor. There are toilets at either end of the corridor and breakfast is on until ten, so you can get a long lie-in if you want since it’s Saturday.’

They both thanked him then, when he left, Larry suddenly remembered. ‘You wanted to check about nightclothes, didn’t you?’

Kirsty looked back in the direction the manager had gone and then she shrugged. ‘Och, I’ll be all right . . . it’s a bit late to have him running about looking.’ She laughed. ‘If the rooms are cold, I might just borrow your shirt.’

‘Fine by me,’ he said, ‘but I’ll go after him and check it out if you want.’

Kirsty reassured him she would manage then Larry came back to the subject they had left earlier.

‘Your sister seemed a very nice girl,’ Larry said, leaning forward now, his arms resting on the table, the whiskey glass cupped between his hands. ‘Different from you – but just as nice in her own way.’

Kirsty nodded. ‘Heather’s great,’ she told him. ‘I suppose we are different, but we get on really well. We used to fight like cat and dog when we were younger – and sometimes we still do – but underneath it all, I think the world of her.’ She stopped. ‘She’s not had it easy recently with one thing and another, but I know she’ll be fine. She’s always been more sensible than me in a lot of ways.’ She gave a little sigh. ‘When I think of all the terrible things that have happened to other people I know . . . I should be counting my blessings.’

Larry looked at her now. ‘D’you mean the young fellow that got killed? The funeral you were at yesterday?’

Kirsty nodded. She’d mentioned it very briefly to him in the car when they were driving over, but the subject had got changed somehow and they’d gone on to something else. She’d thought of bringing it up again, but then she decided it was the sort of thing that Larry might find a bit too personal – or worse – the emotional chatter of a young woman about her equally young friends.

‘I don’t want you to think I’m prying into your business,’ Larry said now. ‘Maybe you don’t want to talk about it?’

‘No, I don’t mind talking about it at all,’ Kirsty said, surprised that he was interested. ‘It was Heather’s old boyfriend who got killed . . . or got himself killed through stupidity.’

‘Christ!’ Larry said, shaking his head. ‘And was he only a young lad?’

‘Aye,’ Kirsty said. ‘I don’t think he was twenty-one yet.’

‘What happened?’

And then she poured the whole story out, while Larry Delaney listened intently.

‘Your sister has really been through the mill, hasn’t she?’ Larry said, when she finally finished. ‘That’s really rough about her friend losing the baby on the same day that her old boyfriend gets buried.’

‘Terrible,’ Kirsty agreed. She took another sip of the cham­pagne then shrugged. ‘I feel very sorry for Liz, but she more or less got herself deliberately pregnant so’s that Jim Murray would marry her. He had no intention of marrying her up until that happened. There had been no mention of engagements or anything like that.’

‘There’s plenty of situations that happen like that,’ Larry
said, staring down into his whiskey glass now. ‘I know from my own experience . . .’