Standing rigid for a fitting, daydreaming, she never thought about the old days, but nighttime was a different story. How she must have hurt Greg. There was a crowd of Charmaines’s friends who took her out to parties and to dinner, but no one took her eye amongst the boys. She was never alone or bored, and Mr Henry was a demanding employer who expected total loyalty. She knew it could all end in a moment if he no longer found her an inspiration or needed her as one of his main clothes horses. If she put on an inch of fat he’d notice and sulk. Sometimes she starved for days, and her smoking was such a waste of money and made her cough, but it kept her from eating. She lived on coffee and toast. If Maddy went back to
Yorkshire, what with Grace’s home baking, she’d not fit into anything on her return.
No, far better to stay put and invite Plum down in due course. She could have her room and Maddy would kip down on the sofa. Perhaps Plum would prefer a smart hotel. Charmaine wouldn’t mind. She had a fiancé in the army. They had a place in the country and went there whenever he was on leave. It was a perfect arrangement. Maddy felt bad about neglecting Plum and resolved to ring her later and check everything was OK.
This self-imposed exile was a pain, and all because of something stupid done years ago. No, it wasn’t stupid. It was wicked, according to Gloria. If only she could remember what happened, but try as she might, nothing came. There were snippets in dreams, but nothing else. It was like a great glass barrier between her and the rest of her life, a barrier she wanted to smash but didn’t have the strength or courage to take a hatchet to it.
At least in London there were no reminders of her past to disturb her everyday life. Here, she was just La Madeleine, draped in silk and satin and jewels and wonderful creations like a prize racehorse in a trainer’s stable, exercised and pampered and paraded in a paddock. But suddenly she imagined herself on Monty, hair flying in the wind tearing over the Dales at a gallop without a care in the world, and she wanted to weep.
Something was missing, something so important. If only she knew what it was, but it was all tied up with Sowerthwaite and the Brooklyn and her childhood. As
she thought about her best friends tears rose up in her eyes; that faraway look of sorrow everyone liked to see.
‘Ah, there it is again,’ said Mr Henry. ‘You are beautiful in black like our Lady of Sorrows.’
Maddy stood there, draped in black silk and stuck with pins, trying not to move, trying not to weep. This was not how it was meant to be at all.
Gloria stopped on the forecourt of Byrne the Builders office in Harrogate with her suitcase at her feet, hoping that she’d found the right place and praying that Greg would be on site. She stood in her gaberdine mac and black beret. It was raining and it had been a long walk from the bus stop. But Greg was her last hope since she’d been sacked last night.
There she was, after one of Ken’s demanding visits, feeling cheap and tired, climbing in through the little side window into the scullery that Doreen always left unlocked so they could come and go of a night. She was halfway in the room, bottom in the air, when a torch flashed, startling her, blinding her for a moment. She knew she was done for when she saw Mr and Mrs Partridge standing there. Next morning she was for the chop.
‘You’re on your way to becoming a first-class tart, young lady! Like mother like daughter, as I recall. Don’t deny it,’ said Mrs Partridge, peering down her spectacles.
It was just like the old days with The Rug on the warpath, her wig all of a quiver.
‘We caught you red-handed, yet another example
of moral lassitude from you girls. The war has a lot to answer for, allowing such antics. We don’t want domestics setting a bad example to our boys.’ The Rug was barking from her high horse, looking down on her as if she was muck, and Gloria saw red.
‘Don’t you speak of my mother, you old bitch! What I do in my private time out of this prison is my business!’ It all rattled out like bullets from a gun. ‘You can stick this job where the sun don’t shine!’
‘Get out at once, and don’t think of asking for a reference. I always knew you were trouble. You’ll come to a sticky end, my girl, if you carry on like this.’
‘With pleasure, you old bat! I pity the poor little buggers having to do time in this Dotheboys Hall. You know, we had a right old party when you left the Old Vic.’
Gloria was determined to have the last word, storming off full of righteous indignation. This move had been a mistake, and Ken turning up and pestering her just made it worse. But in the cold reality of dawn she’d sobered up, knowing she had no job, nowhere to sleep and very little cash in her purse.
For a second she even thought about apologising to The Rug and her priggish husband, but not about going back to Ken in Bradford. After all those awful sessions in the hotel room lately, she still hadn’t got all her negatives and she hated him for what he wanted from her. What a fool she’d been! How had she ever thought him a decent bloke or an artist? He was making money out of her stupidity and she hated him.
At least if she left she could shake him off good and
proper, disappear with no forwarding address and this time he would never find her. There was only one person she knew nearby, and Greg wouldn’t see her short. This was her big chance now to claim him for herself. There would be no Maddy to queer her pitch, but she’d have to make him believe her sob story. He was her only chance to get out of this mess.
The forecourt of Byrne’s was lined with expensive cars, and there was a young girl eyeing her up through the office window. Gloria stood there all of a dither, not sure what to do next, but then it came to her. Do something dramatic…The office girl stood up just as she collapsed in a heap over her case in a faint.
‘Hold on, love…Mr Byrne! There’s a lass here on the floor. She looks done in. Come on, love, inside. Can you lean on me? I’ll fetch your case…Mr Byrne!’ Her voice was shaking. ‘Now, you hold on to me.’
Gloria found herself in the foyer of smart brick building with big glass windows. She was led to a chair by a large desk. Suddenly a dark shadow towered over her.
‘Gloria? Whatever is the matter? What are you doing here?’ Her knight in white armour was here at last.
‘Oh, thank goodness I’ve found you.’
‘It’s OK, Hilary, I’ll see to this. I know the lady.’ Greg kneeled down, patting her hand. ‘Whatever’s up?’
‘I’m in trouble, Greg. I am so glad to see you,’ she gabbled breathlessly.
‘I had to come here, there’s no one else. It’s that school I’m working at. I had to leave. The Rug was there and she picked on me. She remembered me as
a vaccy and I couldn’t take any more, so I left, and now I’ve got no job, no work. I just couldn’t bear it another day. I’m so sorry to burden you with all of this. I did write to you,’ Gloria burst into floods of tears, believing her own version of events–well, almost.
‘Yes, I know you did, love, but I lost the letter and address. I’m sorry. Hilary! A cup of tea with lots of sugar in it, there’s a good lass. You’ve had a bad shock.’
Gloria melted into those blue eyes and smiled wanly. ‘I don’t want to burden you but if you could see your way…There must be places in Harrogate that need chambermaids, waitresses. I’ll do anything but don’t send me back. Please don’t make me go back!’
‘Don’t worry,’ whispered Greg. ‘You won’t have to go back to that old cow. Happen you should have stayed with Mrs Plum. Have you heard from her?’
‘Not really, Greg, not since Maddy left…I do think she was awful to you and I couldn’t stand by and stomach how cruel she was. I just felt it was the right time to leave.’
‘You did right then,’ he added. ‘We’ll think of something. Your clothes are soaking and you look so peaky–but I like your hair cut all short.’ He grinned, turning her insides out. Gloria made sure to remove her coat so he could see her pretty blouse and prim skirt and the knitted cardigan she’d made in the winter. She wanted to look plain and neat and sensible, old-fashioned enough for Greg to want to protect.
She sat sipping tea in the office until it was dinnertime and Greg took her to a nice corner café with chequered cloths for a fish-and-chip dinner.
‘I’ve been thinking, Gloria. You remember Charlie, Charlie Afton? His mother might be able to give you a room. She’s a kind soul and if she couldn’t help, she’d know someone who could.’
‘But I’ve no references,’ she simpered.
‘Don’t you worry. I’m well in with Beattie Afton. She’ll take you on my word.’
‘Oh, Greg, how can I thank you?’ Gloria gave him one of her winning smiles. ‘We always looked up to you in the hostel. You’ve done so well for yourself…Got yourself hitched up yet?’ she asked, winking, her heart in her mouth in case he was spoken for.
‘Nah! No time for wedding bells, me…not after…well, you know. There’s a business to run and rallies to drive. I’m not ready to get kicked in the teeth again!’
‘You do right,’ said Gloria, looking concerned. ‘She didn’t deserve you.’
‘What about you and the photographer…in Bradford, was it?’ he said, changing the subject.
‘I sent him packing. We were never suited, him and me,’ she replied.
‘You and me both. There’s lots of time yet before settling down to pipe and slippers,’ he laughed, but his eyes looked sad.
‘No strings then,’ she smiled, her heart jumping with glee. Round one to her.
The Afton parents were Methodists, teetotal and strict, but they welcomed her warmly. They lived in a great stone villa between Leeds and Harrogate. Beattie Afton sat on so many committees and on the board of the Temperance Hotel that served teetotal
commercial travellers, preachers and ramblers. They were always looking for domestic help, and on Mrs Afton’s recommendation Gloria was soon taken on as a chambermaid-cum-waitress-cum-dogsbody. The manager and his wife were a stern couple called the Huntleys.
As in all jobs, there were the usual humdrum duties, like changing linen, cleaning and making herself useful. Mostly the clients were respectable, sober and kept their hands to themselves but she had to watch out for Mr Huntley when he cornered her.
Sometimes there were singsongs on Sunday nights, and Gloria sat down to join them with her loud clear voice, making her a popular addition to their makeshift choir. But the biggest joy of the job was that it wasn’t far from Greg’s office and he took to popping in as a friend of the family with Charlie and the Aftons. Once when she was coerced into singing a solo she saw him eyeing her up with interest.
The rallying took up most of Greg’s spare time. He and Charlie were car mad. She made an effort to go and watch them if there were stages nearby. It was hard to look keen, standing in the cold wet mud in old boots and macs, cheering them on as they splashed past. Soaked and encrusted with mud wasn’t the greatest way to spend a Saturday afternoon but later, when she finished serving teas, they called for her and took her with them back to a public house, miles from the town, where the rally drivers let off steam with a group of girls who eyed them as their own property.
One afternoon they were all dancing around but
Gloria felt out of it as she wearing her work clothes. The smart girlfriends wore slacks and short fur coats, pretty bootees and silk headscarves, but in the evenings they often arrived in tight-fitting dresses with full skirts and high-heeled court shoes, hanging around the drivers, eyeing up the talent, ignoring her. She was definitely not one of them.
As she sat watching the others dancing until it was her turn, Greg came across. ‘Fancy a spin around the floor?’ he said, pulling her into the crowd.
‘I wish I looked like them over there,’ she sighed, nodding in the direction of the pretty girls in wide skirts. ‘I don’t have much in the fancy line.’
To her astonishment Greg pulled out his wallet. ‘Go and buy something to cheer yourself up, then. You’ve worked hard: time for a little reward. You deserve a treat.’
Gloria tried not to whip away the notes but hesitated until he shoved them in her hand. ‘Thanks, you really are a gentleman.’
There was just time to flee and catch the dress shops before they closed. She found a lacy blouse and a pretty dirndl skirt. This was progress. She smiled a foxy smile. No longer was Greg thinking about her as Maddy’s side kick but as poor Gloria who needed taking in hand.
Greg was weakening and she must make sure she pulled out all the stops to make him sweeten to her even more. It was like they were playing parts in a play. He was the rescuing Prince to her Cinderella, and she must make sure the slippers fitted when the time came.
For the first time in her life, Gloria felt safe, clean,
cocooned by the kindness of strangers who accepted her as this sweet undemanding unfortunate who’d been a childhood friend of Greg’s and needed some Christian charity. She was repaying them with hard work and loyalty, but she’d no interest in the churchy side of things, nor had Greg any connections there except as Charlie’s friend.
By the looks of things, making money was his first and only love for the moment. It soothed his broken pride but Maddy’s reign was in the past and soon it would be time for Gloria to make her own move.
Three months later, Greg was late for the rally time trial in the forest. They’d had one of those weeks at work when nothing had gone quite right: late deliveries, a builder going bust owing them hundreds of pounds, and Greg’s best chippy poached by a rival firm. Now it was pouring down on top of slushy ice and he was late. He’d souped up the engine but they were still trying to get to grips with it. This was another Saturday afternoon trial, where they had to plot and battle with map references and driving tests on public roads.