Far From Home (11 page)

Cissy and the other dancers had eagerly awaited his arrival, for he was considered to be one of the best choreographers in the business, but they were soon to be disappointed. His star had clearly been extinguished some years ago, and his routines proved very ordinary, with no flare or imagination to set them apart, and Cissy could have danced them in her sleep.

Thinking of sleep, Cissy stifled a yawn as she executed the kick-ball-changes, twirled the straw boater above her head and advanced, high-stepping with the others, to the front of the stage for the finale. The previous night had felt endless and she’d only managed a couple of hours’ disturbed sleep before having to help dust down all the costumes. Then her mother had insisted she help with the housework, and she’d only just had time to do her make-up and hair before she was due at the theatre for rehearsals.

The thought of another show tonight, and the very real possibility that she would be spending yet more sleepless hours in the shelter beneath the theatre, didn’t lighten her mood. But it wasn’t the cold, the long hours or Horace’s continued sniping that was really bothering her. It was the fact that her mother suspected something was wrong – which it was – and that she could never confide in her about it. For Jack Witherspoon’s worrying ultimatum was not a subject to be discussed with anyone, least of all Peggy.

‘Eyes and teeth,’ shouted Horace, ‘and stick out those tits. It’s what the punters want, God help them.’

Cissy plastered on the false smile and stuck out her meagre chest as, with a clash of chords, the music ended.

‘Hold the pose. Now, bow and flourish those hats.’ The cane rapped the floor. ‘Together!’ he roared.

Cissy sneaked a glance at her best friend Amy, and they shared a grin as they bowed and flourished to order.

‘Enough.’ Horace drew a pristine handkerchief from his jacket pocket and delicately mopped his brow. ‘How on earth I’m supposed to work with these people, I have no idea,’ he muttered to himself. ‘Ghastly, absolutely ghastly.’

He swept off the stage, ignoring Mrs Philips who usually bashed out tunes at the Jolly Sailor, but who’d been roped in to play the piano for rehearsals when the pianist was too drunk to oblige. ‘Take ten,’ he shouted from the wings. ‘Then you’ll do the whole routine again until I’m satisfied you know what you’re doing.’

Cissy and the other girls quickly grabbed their overcoats and bags from the wings and hurried into the freezing corridor. The dressing rooms downstairs weren’t up to much, but someone had brought in a kerosene heater and they could huddle around that until they had to be back on stage again.

Cissy was about to follow Amy down the narrow stairs when her way was barred by the troupe manager, Jack Witherspoon. Her low spirits plunged further as she looked up at him and realised the moment had come to make a decision.

Jack was about the same age as her father, with dark hair and eyes and a luxuriant moustache of which he was very proud. Broad-shouldered, handsome and always immaculately dressed, he wore a wedding ring and looked as trustworthy and urbane as a bank manager – which was why her parents had agreed to her joining the troupe. But Cissy had learnt to her cost that Jack Witherspoon was not at all what he seemed.

‘We need to discuss those publicity photographs,’ he said.

She tried to keep the tremor out of her voice. ‘I don’t mind doing the usual sort of thing, but that’s as far as it goes, Jack.’

‘Now, Cissy, be reasonable, darling.’ He put his arm over her shoulder and firmly steered her along the corridor. ‘You do want to get noticed, don’t you? And those shots won’t go to just anyone, but to some very high-powered people in the industry who are always looking for new talent.’

Cissy found herself in his office with the door shut and Jack barring the way out. ‘Of course I want to get noticed,’ she replied, ‘but not like that.’

He reached out a hand and wound a strand of her bleached hair round his finger. ‘You’re very lovely, you know, and quite the little star. I only want what’s best for you, Cissy, and after all the years I’ve worked in this business, I’ve got the contacts to do something very special for you.’

‘But …’ Cissy tried to edge away from him, but his other hand snaked round her waist, tethering her to his broad chest.

‘Oh, Cissy, Cissy,’ he murmured in her ear. ‘You’re so lovely, so desirable. It would be a terrible shame for it all to go to waste when you could have so much more.’

She froze in his embrace as his lips travelled over her cheek and down her neck. It wasn’t as if his kisses were unpleasant, in fact they did strange and rather wonderful things to her insides – it was just that it didn’t feel right at all to be kissed by someone as old as her dad. ‘Please, Jack,’ she managed. ‘Don’t do that.’

‘But, darling,’ he said, his brown eyes widening. ‘You do want to have star billing, don’t you?’

She nodded reluctantly.

‘Then you must act like a star and not get all prissy and camera-shy,’ he crooned, holding her more tightly. ‘Do you think the big Hollywood stars think twice about showing a bit of flesh? Of course they don’t, and I know how ambitious you are, Cissy. It would be a shame to ruin everything when I can help you achieve all you’ve ever wanted.’

‘I know you think I’m being silly,’ she began, ‘but I don’t feel comfortable about it, and Mum and Dad wouldn’t like it.’

He stepped back from her, his dark eyes stormy. ‘Oh, grow up, darling. This is show business, not the school playground, and if you want to succeed, you’ll do as I say.’

Cissy was in a quandary. In fact, she’d been in a quandary for several days. Jack was sophisticated and worldly, and in a position to further her career. In her naïvety, she’d fallen right into his trap weeks ago, flattered by his attention and enjoying his flirting as she fended off his advances – until she’d heard the other girls talking and discovered she was just the latest in a long line to have been fooled by his charms.

But some of those girls were now working with Gracie Fields, Tommy Trinder, George Formby and a host of other variety stars. They were even travelling abroad to entertain the troops, and some of them were in London at the Windmill. Not that she wanted to show her breasts off at the Windmill, but Jack Witherspoon hadn’t been lying when he said he had contacts – he knew people in high places, and it wouldn’t do to upset him.

Jack strode across the room and poured a tot of whisky from a nearby decanter then drank it down. Perching on the corner of his desk, he took his time lighting his cigar, his gaze never straying from her face. ‘You’ve had two weeks to think about it, Cissy. Now it’s time to come to a decision. The photographer is in the other room. Two hours and it’ll all be over, and then I’ll take you out to dinner at the Grand Hotel after the show.’

‘Will I have to take everything off?’ Her voice was small and hesitant.

He smiled and smoothed his moustache. ‘Always leave them wanting more, Cissy. Just push everything off your shoulders and do the best with your cleavage,’ he said quietly, his gaze watchful. ‘The photographer knows his stuff. You’ll be fine.’

‘I don’t know,’ stammered Cissy. ‘I’ve never posed like that before.’

He slid from the desk and regarded her through the cigar smoke. ‘Then it’s time you learnt,’ he said evenly. ‘You have two choices, Cissy. Go in that room and be the starlet I know you really are, or go back and moulder in the chorus. There’ll be no second chances, and there’s plenty of other girls out there who would give their eye teeth for such an opportunity.’

Cissy dipped her chin, the tears blinding her. ‘All right,’ she whispered.

POLLY HAD BATHED
and changed into a clean dress and cardigan and, with her hair freshly brushed and tied back at the nape, she’d applied powder and lipstick in the hope that Adam wouldn’t think she looked too much of a fright.

She looked in the mirror and realised with a jolt that her weariness no longer showed, and that the excitement of seeing him again had enlivened her eyes and brought colour back into her face. She just prayed that the information she’d been given by the hospital had been correct, and that he really was on the slow road to recovery.

The walk to the hospital didn’t take long, and she took the opportunity to glance into Camden Road’s shop windows before passing the abandoned shell of the primary school and entering the hospital grounds. A quick check on the large board in the reception hall told her that Adam’s ward was on the ground floor.

The hospital was a maze of confusing corridors, but she found it eventually and took a deep breath before entering Men’s Surgical. As the double doors swung behind her, she became aware of the great silence in the room. There were twelve beds in all, each one occupied with what looked like a seriously injured patient, and although she looked at each in turn, it was impossible to spot Adam. She experienced rising panic. Perhaps he’d been moved to another ward? If so, where on earth could he be?

‘Can I help you?’ The nurse was a probationer in a blue candy-striped uniform and plain starched cap. Her name tag said she was Student Nurse Barker.

‘I’m here to see my husband, Sergeant Adam Brown,’ murmured Polly. ‘Is he on this ward?’

‘Visiting hour isn’t until six o’clock.’

‘I’ve come all the way from Hereford to be with him,’ said Polly, ‘and tomorrow I will be working here as a staff nurse. Surely a few minutes won’t hurt?’

The girl looked nervously over her shoulder. ‘Matron is very strict about visiting hours,’ she breathed. ‘I’ll be in the most fearful trouble if she finds you in here.’

‘But he is here, isn’t he?’

Student Nurse Barker nodded reluctantly. ‘But I think you should wait until Sister Morley comes back from the sluice,’ she said. ‘She left me in charge, but I’m not allowed to …’

Polly had had enough of this shilly-shallying. ‘I’ll just have a peek at him, and then go and find Sister to make sure you don’t get into trouble,’ she said kindly. ‘Which bed is he in?’

The little nurse sighed, looked nervously towards the swing doors and bit her lip. ‘He’s in the bed over there on the end, but he’s very poorly, Mrs Brown. Please don’t do anything to disturb him.’

Polly’s heart thudded and her breath caught in her throat. ‘I was led to believe he was over the worst?’

‘I don’t know who told you that.’ The probationer’s eyes widened. ‘He’s had extensive surgery, and although Mr Fortescue says the operations went well, he’s still concerned at the time it is taking for Sergeant Brown to recover.’

‘Can I see his notes?’

The little student nurse hastily stood in front of the desk where the patient notes were neatly stacked. ‘I can’t let you do that,’ she gasped.

Polly realised she was overstepping the mark and that the girl could get into serious trouble if caught handing patient’s notes to strangers. She turned from her and headed for Adam’s bed.

As she drew nearer, her gaze became fixed on the gaunt, still man that looked so frail and shrunken beneath the white sheet and blankets. If it hadn’t been for the heart-shaped birthmark on his lower arm, she wouldn’t have recognised him, for he bore little resemblance to the brawny, handsome husband she’d kissed goodbye so many months before. Her fear for him rose and threatened to choke her. He was clearly far more seriously injured than she’d been led to believe, and seeing him like this not only broke her heart, but made her very angry. Why couldn’t they have told her the truth?

She sank on to the chair, taking care not to knock the drips that hung by his bedside, and gently took the wasted hand that lay on the blanket. The broad palm and long, capable fingers that had once wielded engineering tools with ease were now soft and pale and lifeless in her hand.

Polly was aware of the little nurse hovering close by as she eyed the many drip feeds that were snaking into his arms, and read the labels on the bags suspended above her. She felt a stab of fear as she realised how serious Adam’s condition must be. For this was the man she’d adored since childhood. The man who’d held her and loved her, who’d been her rock and her best friend, the father of their precious Alice – and now he was fighting to stay alive.

Tears blinded her as she took in the heavy bandaging that almost obscured his face, and most of his chest. His left leg was in plaster, his right arm suspended in traction. His chest rose and fell in shallow, ragged breaths beneath the swathe of bandages, the sharp lines of his collarbones jutting nakedly above the linen sheet.

‘Oh, Adam, my love,’ she breathed, kissing the lifeless fingers. ‘I nearly lost you, didn’t I?’ She pressed the palm of his hand against her cheek. ‘But I’m here now. We’ll get through this together, my darling.’

‘What is that woman doing in here?’

At the sound of the booming voice, Polly swept away her tears and turned to see the probationer quailing before a large woman who could only be Matron Billings.

‘I … She … It’s Mrs Brown, Matron,’ the nurse stuttered. ‘She’s come all the way from Hereford to see her husband, and I didn’t think …’

‘It is not your place to
think
, Barker, but to obey the rules. Wait there. I will deal with you later.’ Her expression was grim as she swept towards Polly, the steely eyes boring into her, each step crackling with starch.

Polly stood and watched her approach without flinching. She was used to formidable matrons and would not be cowed. ‘Student Nurse Barker obeyed the rules, Matron,’ she said quietly. ‘I chose to ignore them. If anyone should be punished, it is me.’