Anne Douglas (22 page)

‘Perfect. Well, now, if you’ve finished your coffee I’d like to give you all some tips about what you need in your model bag and what should be in your portfolio. And Lindsay – after you’ve had lunch I’ll take you to the photographer I’ve selected for you. Now don’t look so alarmed – you can’t be a model without photographs to be shown to clients. The others have them already. And Hamish MacMaster is very good and very patient. Be ready at two o’clock.’

‘Yes, Mrs Driver,’ said Lindy.

It was already teatime when Lindy arrived home to kick off her shoes and slump by the range. Although George and Struan had not yet returned from work, Myra was back from the shop and curious to know how Lindy’s day had gone.

‘Don’t mind if I say so, but you look worn out,’ she cheerfully told her. ‘More tiring than you thought, eh?’

‘Yes, it was tiring – nerve-racking, in fact – but it went well all the same. We had our first try at walking like the models and it wasn’t easy. We’ve a lot to learn, but I think we felt we’d get there in the end.’ Lindy yawned and stretched. ‘Think I’ll make some tea – is the kettle on?’

‘I’ll fill it.’ As Myra busied herself putting the kettle on and setting out cups, she still seemed to be keeping watch on Lindy. ‘You spent the whole day doing this walking?’ she asked at last.

‘No, this afternoon Mrs Driver took me to have photographs taken. I think that was most tiring of all. I mean, he took so many.’

Thinking back to her afternoon at Hamish MacMaster’s studio, Lindy reflected that it had been less worrying than she’d feared. After Rod’s remarks about photographers she hadn’t known what to expect, but Hamish turned out to be a pleasant, easy-going young man, intent only on getting the best results for his clients, not at all interested in making up to them.

Finding him so nice after Mrs Driver had departed greatly relieved Lindy’s mind, and she quite got used to his casual appearance. Dark, spiky hair on end, a shirt without tie or collar, a half-grown beard – she supposed it was what was called the artistic look – Bohemian, was it? Anyway, he was easy to talk to and told her from the start that she would be no problem to photograph. She had the sort of face that looked the same from any angle, whereas most people had a good side and a bad side.

‘So, if you’re interested in photographic modelling, I can recommend it to you, Miss Gillan. And I think what I produce for you should get you on your way. Two full face shots, I think Mrs Driver suggested for you, plus two profiles and one full length.’

‘That’s quite a lot,’ Lindy commented. ‘I’ve only ever had snaps taken before. My dad’s got a Brownie.’

‘Nothing wrong with Brownies,’ Hamish replied. ‘But I think you’ll agree that my photographs will not look like snapshots. I’ll send them over to the agency in a couple of days.’

It was surprising how much trouble he took over his work, how many shots he seemed to need before he was satisfied and how wearying it was for her, trying to please. Yet she had enjoyed the experience. Maybe, if there was more work to be had on the photographic side, she might do well to consider it. At the end of the session, however, she was glad to thank Hamish and say goodbye. Excited though she was by all that had happened that first day, home, high heels off and a cup of tea had never seemed so attractive.

‘Photographs, eh?’ commented Myra, pouring out the tea. ‘And how much are they going to cost?’

‘The agency’s paying, then I’ll pay Mrs Driver back from my first earnings.’

‘But you’re paying her a percentage anyway. Seems to me you’ll have very little left.’

‘Till I’ve cleared off what I owe, maybe.’

‘And then you’ve to think of what you owe elsewhere, don’t forget.’

Lindy’s eyes widened. She was opening her mouth to ask what her stepmother meant when the flat door banged, signalling the arrival of her father and brother, and Myra began hurriedly to clear away the teacups.

‘There they are, then – I’ll have to get the table laid and see to that stew. Lindy, can you give me a hand?’

Over the meal there were questions, of course, from George and Struan about Lindy’s day, and it was only when they’d finished eating that Myra spoke again of Lindy’s debt. This time she brought in George.

‘I was saying to Lindy, George, that till she gets proper work she has to think about what she owes, eh?’

‘Owes this agency?’ asked George, as Lindy stiffened.

‘No, no, me, of course! I mean, you and me.’ Myra’s eyes rested on Lindy. ‘We canna keep her for nothing, and she’s no’ got the shop work now.’

As George and Struan turned to look at Lindy, the colour flamed in her cheeks and she put her hand to her lips.

‘Oh, Aunt Myra, Dad, I forgot – I forgot all about my board! Oh, this is terrible – what’ll you think? I was all the time worrying about the agency – I’m ever so sorry. Honestly.’

‘Aye, I dare say,’ Myra returned, ‘but what are you going to do about it? I mean, when you’ve nothing coming in?’

‘I will have, and probably quite soon. Now I’ve got the photographs I can put together what they call a portfolio and Mrs Driver will send that around, you see. To the people who want models. Then I should get work.’ Lindy gave a nervous laugh. ‘I mean, somebody should want me, eh?’

There was a short silence, then, as the kettle shrieked, Myra stood up. ‘Maybe, but how long will all this take? You say it’ll be soon, but in the meantime I’m missing out, eh? I’m one short, and that’s a fact.’

‘I’ll pay for Lindy,’ George said swiftly. ‘Till she gets on her feet. It’s all right. I’ve a bit put by, I can do it.’

‘No, Dad!’ Lindy cried. ‘I don’t want you to do that!’

‘No, because what he’s got put by is for a rainy day,’ snapped Myra. ‘Who knows how long your job’ll last, George? And if you get the sack we’ll need what you’ve got.’

‘Too right,’ put in Struan. ‘And there’s rumours going around that none of us are safe at the brewery.’

‘It’s all right,’ Lindy said clearly. ‘I’ve got something in the post office. I can use that, Aunt Myra. I’ll see you’re no’ short.’

‘Ah, pet,’ her father murmured sadly. ‘This job – it’s no’ looking like the bed o’ roses you thought, is it?’

‘I said that from the start,’ said Myra. ‘And the thing is, it’s pretty clear to me that it’s only ever going to be part time, anyway. Until you get known you’ll be waiting around for the next bit o’ work, and in the meantime, what? Canna work at the shop – no part-time work there.’

‘I know that, Aunt Myra,’ Lindy said shortly. ‘I intend to find another part-time job. It’s what a lot of models do, Mrs Driver said.’

‘Easier said than done these days. Where’d you start looking?’

‘How about temporary Christmas work?’ Struan suggested. ‘There’s the Post Office for a start. Off you go, Lindy, delivering the cards, eh?’

‘Good idea,’ Myra commented. ‘At least it’ll tide you over for a bit.’

‘I suppose so.’ Lindy gave a despondent sigh. ‘Oh, I’m away to fetch my mending. I’ve stockings to darn.’

As she moved into her little room, Struan, however, followed her. ‘Hey, I forgot to tell you –’

‘Tell me what? I think I’ve heard enough from you, Struan.’

‘No, listen. Guess who I saw in my dinner hour?’

‘Who?’ she asked, slowly turning her head.

‘Rod Connor!’

‘Rod? Where? Where did you see him?’

‘In town. I’d gone for some cigarettes. He was in the shop.’

‘Did you speak to him?’

‘He spoke to me. Asked me how I was, asked how you were.’

‘And what did you tell him?’ she asked fearfully.

Struan shrugged. ‘Just said you’d started your modelling classes today.’

‘You told him that?’

‘What else? You did start today, eh?’

Lindy looked away. ‘Did he say any more?’

‘Just, “So she’s going ahead with it, then?” That was all. Then he said goodbye and walked out. Never bothered about his ciggies.’

‘I wish you hadn’t told me you’d seen him.’

‘Why? At least he asked after you.’

‘And wouldn’t have liked what you said. He’s just against what I want to do, for no good reason at all.’

‘OK, forget him. Come and have a cup of tea.’

‘No, thanks. I want to darn my stockings.’

When he’d left her she did begin her mending, making a poor job of it, her concentration elsewhere. Dad was right: there was no bed of roses in modelling. Or anywhere else, for that matter.

Everything seemed brighter the following day, mainly because Lindy met Jemima leaving for work as she was herself leaving for her class, and Jemima, as usual, was helpful.

‘A Christmas job?’ she cried. ‘Why, I’d no idea you wanted one! Logie’s are taking on people at the end of the week. I can put in a word for you.’

‘Oh, Jemima, could you? Thing is I can’t earn anything just yet and I need money for my board. I can’t go full time, though – would Logie’s take me on?’

‘I could ask. They’re looking for staff to work on the Christmas catalogue stuff, packing hampers and such, and also in the Christmas shop. I’m sure there’ll be a few part-time vacancies.’ Jemima gave a confident smile. ‘Leave it with me, anyway.’

‘You’re an angel!’ Lindy squeezed Jemima’s arm. ‘I’d better run for my tram. Shall I see you tonight?’

‘Fine, but wait a minute – have you heard about Miss Rosemary?’

‘No, what? I haven’t seen her lately.’

‘She’s leaving.’ Jemima’s smile had faded, leaving her looking as bleak as the wind rattling down Scott Street. ‘Aye, she’s found a flat in the West End. Put her notice in here already.’

‘Oh, heavens, she’ll be missed, eh? In spite of all that trouble over Neil.’

‘I’ll certainly miss her, that’s for sure. Never thought she’d stay, of course.’ Jemima smiled wryly. ‘She was never going to want to keep on having baths in an old tin hip bath, was she?’

‘That’s my problem, too,’ sighed Lindy, ‘but I won’t be leaving. Do we know who’s coming in, then?’

‘The landlord told Rosemary a middle-aged couple had taken it. Both work at the biscuit factory.’

‘They’ll have a nice wee flat, eh?’

‘They won’t be much like Rosemary,’ said Jemima.

‘Who would?’ asked Lindy.

The brightness of the day continued at the class, where the girls worked really hard at perfecting their walks under Stella’s supervision while Mrs Driver interviewed new clients. Later, though, they felt rather ridiculous when they were all made to progress around the room wearing books on their heads while Stella told them sternly, ‘No laughing!’

‘Honestly, we can’t help it,’ Kitty protested. ‘What must we look like?’

‘Like models of good posture!’ Stella retorted. ‘Posture, posture, posture – that’s what’s so important in a model. Makes her stand out in the crowd, gets her noticed. Can’t you tell, all these years later, that Mrs Driver was once a model, just from the way she holds herself?’

‘Can certainly tell with you, Stella,’ Christine said honestly. ‘Maybe we should just try to forget what we look like.’

‘Forget what we look like!’ cried Jennifer. ‘Never! It’s all that matters, yes?’

‘I only meant what we looked like with books on our heads,’ Christine answered. ‘Of course I know our looks matter.’

‘They’re all we have to sell,’ Kitty remarked. ‘That’s why we have so many photographs.’

‘And interviews,’ reminded Stella. ‘Don’t forget nobody looks past your face and figure at an interview. It’s usually instant approval – or not.’

At the girls’ expressions, she smiled. ‘Don’t worry. We’re going to continue classes tomorrow with lessons on make-up and hair. Every model has to know how to do her own hair, and add hairpieces if necessary, but always have it looking just how the client wants.’

‘Hope all that’ll be easier than model-walking,’ red-headed Rhona put in. ‘Oh, my, nobody knows how hard that is, eh?’

‘Make-up is certainly easier,’ Stella told her, ‘and I think you’ll all enjoy yourselves learning how many different looks you can achieve just by adjusting your make-up and your hair. But, now, back to work, girls, and don’t let me see any books falling to the floor!’

Hurrying up to see Jemima that evening, Lindy, after her ‘good’ day, felt happier and more confident, even though, as so often, the thought of Rod Connor still hurt at the back of her mind. She had to work so hard to overcome that niggling pain, she wondered still if she would ever be free of it; certainly, Struan’s account of meeting him had not helped. Maybe if there was good news from Jemima she’d forget that for a while.

There was good news – Jemima had managed to arrange an interview for Lindy at Logie’s on Friday afternoon, one that would probably be a walkover, she said. Before they could discuss it, however, Rosemary arrived and Lindy had to hear all about her new flat and how sorry she was to leave number nineteen, except that there were advantages to her new place and she hoped everyone would understand.

‘Of course they’ll understand!’ Lindy exclaimed. ‘Nobody expected you to stay so long.’

‘It’s been a terrific experience, being here, meeting everyone,’ Rosemary said seriously. ‘I’ll never forget it.’

‘For whatever reason,’ Jemima commented dryly.

‘Oh, don’t think I didn’t enjoy it, Jemima! Everyone’s been so kind!’

‘Of course you enjoyed it,’ Jemima’s mother put in. ‘We know that, don’t we, Jemima?’

‘I’m just sorry you’re going,’ Jemima murmured, and Lindy agreed.

‘You’ve been a breath of fresh air, Rosemary. It’s been grand to know you.’

‘So kind of you to say so.’ Rosemary cast down her eyes. ‘Especially when – well, I needn’t say what happened. I still feel guilty.’ She looked up. ‘Do you ever see him, Lindy?’

‘Neil? I haven’t seen him for ages, but he still comes to visit his mother, I know that.’

‘If you do see him –’ Rosemary stopped. ‘No, better not. Better not mention me, I think?’

There was a short silence, broken by Rosemary herself.

‘Look, I’m sorry, I think I interrupted something, didn’t I? Weren’t you telling Lindy about a job at Logie’s, Jemima?’

‘That’s right, a temporary Christmas job – they’re interviewing on Friday.’

‘But I don’t understand.’ Rosemary’s blue eyes on Lindy were perplexed. ‘Why would you want another job, Lindy, when you’ll soon be getting modelling work?’