Unforgettable (22 page)

‘Going up in the world, ain't you? A nice bit of cod and chips would suit me down to the ground, and old Ma Warby hardly ever gives us any.'

‘That's because she thinks we need our greens for roughage,' Gracie said.

‘For farting, more like,' Dolly said, which started them laughing in the street until Dolly clutched at Gracie's arm in desperation.

‘For Gawd's sake let's get going, or I'll be blowing like the wind already and frightening the horses.'

‘What horses?'

* * *

Late that night, lying in the unfamiliar bed in the flat which was now home, and having looked at the brand-new sewing-machine, which was now safely installed in the boxroom, a hundred times, Gracie felt a glow of contentment. They'd had a hilarious evening, and there promised to be plenty more. She hadn't felt so good since before the fateful phone call from her father telling her of her mum's illness.

As always, the memory tempered her happiness, but Gracie knew that Queenie would never have wanted her daughter to mourn for ever. You didn't forget, but it didn't control your thinking, either. Queenie had always said that life was for living and you had to make the most of the life you were given, because you never got a second chance. Her mother was a wise old bird, Gracie thought.

She had decided by now that she should make the most of enjoying the lovely summer weather and the pleasures of the London parks before the work came in. Once it did—she mentally crossed her fingers—there would be little time for gadding about. For one thing, she loved her work, especially the smell of brand-new fabric, and she always got engrossed in creating something out of nothing, so she would probably have to force
herself to take time off!

Besides which, although she had lived in London for a while before, she'd never indulged herself as a proper tourist. So during the next few days she took tram rides around the city, admiring the ancient buildings and museums; she watched the Changing of the Guard at Buckingham Palace; and spent time watching people go by in Hyde Park and feeding the ducks. She actually started to believe that she was Miss Gracie Brown of Gracie's Glad Rags now, and not beholden to anyone. It was a heady feeling.

On Saturday morning there was a band playing in the band-stand in the park. She knew in her heart that Charlie wouldn't be there, but it was no good. No matter how she tried to resist it, Gracie had to follow the sound of the music. People were sitting on deckchairs in front of the bandstand, and some of them were singing the ditties that were being played. The grass smelled sweet, and it was such a cosy scene, but of course, there was no familiar figure in the band.

‘Well, well, look what the cat's dragged out of the woodwork,' she heard a man's disagreeable voice say. ‘So you're back in town.'

Coalman Jim looked her up and down
coldly. He was done up a bit tidier than his normal working clothes, and she just managed not to give his fingernails a quick once-over. Draped over his arm was what she and Dolly would call a flashy piece of goods, all dyed blonde hair, scarlet lipstick, and glittery beads sitting on an unnaturally large bosom.

‘Who's your friend, Jimbo?' the flashy piece said, oozing jealousy.

‘Nobody in particular,' Jim said insultingly.

‘How's Billy?' Gracie asked, as graciously as possible.

‘How the hell should I know? I ain't his keeper, am I? Any more than you're a certain somebody else's, if you get my meaning, and you'd do better to keep your nose out of other people's business.'

There was no doubting the venom in his voice now, nor his meaning. He wasn't going to spell it out loud in front of his new lady-friend, but he was definitely letting her know he was aware of why Dolly had turned against him. Which probably meant that Dolly had been unable to resist yelling out all her pain and frustration on him after all instead of keeping her mouth firmly shut.

‘I hope you're not threatening me—'

‘'Ere, what's going on?' Miss flashy-piece
said suspiciously. ‘I thought you said she weren't nobody.'

‘She ain't, babe. Nobody worth talking to, anyway.'

He pushed past Gracie, almost knocking her off balance. She didn't think she scared easily, but there had been real hatred in his eyes then, and the flashy piece was welcome to him. For a second or two she wondered what his reaction had been when Dolly confronted him, and if he really would have married her if she'd kept the baby. But the moment of doubt quickly passed as she heard his crude, honking laughter, and she knew he wouldn't have.

She was tiring of the great outdoors by now, though. The sun was hot overhead and her feet ached. It was time to go home.

* * *

As she approached she saw Mr Foster wiping down the windows of his shop-front with damp newspaper and making them squeaky-clean.

‘Been taking the air, have you, Gracie? You had a lady visitor while you were out, and she said she'd like you to call after the weekend.'

‘A lady?' She didn't know any ladies, unless it was one of the girls from Lawson's, but
none of them could be exactly termed ‘ladies'. She took the card Mr Foster gave her, and her heart gave a jolt.

On one side of it was printed the name ‘Mrs Jemima Barnes-Gilbert' and a Chelsea address; and on the other there was a neat, handwritten message.

‘Please call at your convenience with a view to some commissioned work. Please bring your references.'

She gasped. How could word have got around so soon? The advert wouldn't appear in the paper until Monday—but it had gone up in Toby Dilkes's window almost as soon as she left his shop. That had to be it. God bless Toby Dilkes!

‘Good news?' Mr Foster said.

‘I really think it is. It looks as if I'm going to get some work pretty soon. Isn't it wonderful?'

She felt like dancing on the pavement, but you didn't do that in broad daylight, so she went upstairs to her flat instead and danced around the rooms, as elated as if she had lost a penny and found sixpence.

It was beginning, just as she had known it would. And no encounters with all the hateful Jims in the world could dampen her spirits now. There was nothing like a feeling of success to send them soaring.

Her feet had miraculously stopped aching, and she was going to suggest to Dolly that tonight they went dancing, her treat. She felt reckless. This week she had already spent more money than she would normally have dreamed of spending, but it had felt good to be a woman of means, however modest. Knowing Dolly's notions of a night out, it would probably mean they'd be on the lookout for some fellows as well, and she wasn't arguing with that, either. There was no point in looking back at things that might have been. This was the start of a new life, and it was time to put the past behind her.

Mrs Jemima Barnes-Gilbert lived in an expensive area of Chelsea. One look at the imposing house on Monday morning, and Gracie felt ready to turn tail and run. It was practically a palace, with its white columns and steps leading up to the front door, and two stone lions guarding the gates.

She'd never been in such a house before, and she must tell every single thing about it to Dolly later. Though by now, Dolly's head was full of the bloke she had met on Saturday night, who had quickly put an end to any lingering feelings she had for coalman Jim.

Gracie's next thought was why would a lady who lived in such a house, ask for her services? She could surely have professional people doing her sewing. And what would she have been doing in the arcade in Rose Street, which was a noisy and cheerful trading place, only just a cut above market trading, and surely not the kind of place such ladies visited?

For one crazy moment, Gracie wondered if there was some sinister plot going on, and that behind those lovely long french windows
there was a flourishing white-slave trade, and she was about to be drawn into it …

That perishin' imagination of yours will get you into trouble one of these days
, Dolly used to say. And she was being perfectly stupid, standing here like a ninny. She had been invited here, hadn't she? With a view to doing some
commissioned
work.

Her chin lifted, but as she walked up the steps and rang the bell firmly, her hands were damp inside her gloves. A uniformed maid opened the door.

‘I'm here to see Mrs Barnes-Gilbert. Please tell her it's Miss Gracie Brown.'

She felt almost ashamed to say it to this snooty-looking young woman, knowing that her name sounded so ordinary. Why couldn't she have been called something exotic, like Penelope or Pandora … and
Brown
too … plain old Gracie Brown, that's what she was, and what the blue blazes did she think she was doing at the door of this grand place?

The maid suddenly smiled, and she spoke in a perfectly ordinary voice, not unlike Dolly's, but smartened up a bit for proper visitors, Gracie guessed.

‘Oh, good. We was hoping you'd call soon.'

‘Were you?' Gracie said, taken aback as she was ushered inside. The parquet floor of the entrance hall was polished to such a shine it
was more like a skating rink, and there were elegant little tables with great bowls of flowers everywhere. And this was just the entrance hall …

‘It was me that saw your card in old Toby's window, see, when I was buying some cottons, and I mentioned you to Mrs B-G straight away. Follow me, miss.'

So that answered one little question. Gracie had hardly expected a person of quality to visit Toby Dilkes's little establishment, even though it had seemed like an Aladdin's cave to her.

She followed the maid to the drawing-room, where Mrs Barnes-Gilbert was reading some letters. The girl gave a small bob and introduced Gracie to the fashionably dressed lady before leaving the room.

‘Thank you, Hester,' the lady said. ‘Bring us some tea, if you please. Now then, Miss Brown, before we get down to business, you have some references to show me, I believe.'

* * *

‘Thank God for my ladies in Southampton who gave me the references,' Gracie said excitedly to Dolly that evening. ‘You could have knocked me down with a feather when I saw the house, and I was almost ready to turn
turtle. But Mrs Barnes-Gilbert was a really nice lady, and even though it's not exactly making frocks for royalty, it'll do for a start.'

‘What is it then? You ain't told me anything yet, except how posh the house was,' Dolly said, sprawled out in one of Gracie's armchairs.

Gracie pulled a small face. ‘Now, don't start scoffing, but her maid told me afterwards that she runs some charities—'

‘Blimey, are you a charity case then?'

‘Of course not. Well, not exactly. It's just that she likes to give work to small businesses where she can. And at the moment, that's me.'

‘It still sounds like charity to me.'

‘You would think that, wouldn't you? But if I do a good job, I'll probably get more references from her, and more work too.'

‘All right, hold your hair on, I'm not running you down—'

‘Well, that's what it sounds like.'

They glared at one another, and Gracie felt all her elation at the new job slipping away. And then Dolly grinned.

‘You know I'm only jealous, doncha, Gracie? I think you're a bloomin' marvel, if you must know, only I don't want to keep on saying it or you'll never get your head through the door.'

Gracie laughed back, her good humour restored. ‘I'm not a perishing marvel, just anxious to make a go of things.'

‘You will too,' Dolly assured her. ‘I can feel it in me water. So what's the job for this Mrs double-barrelled?'

‘Bridesmaid dresses for her two nieces. Her daughter's getting married, and the bride's dress is a posh affair, of course, being made at some high-falutin fashion house, but Mrs B-G wanted something simple for the little girls. And she says they'd be too nervous to go to some posh place for fittings.'

‘See? It's like I said. You're one of her charity cases.'

‘As long as it gives me a start, I don't care. They always say oak trees grow from little acorns, don't they?'

As Dolly looked blank, she added:

‘Oh, never mind. I'm just glad to have got the work so quickly, even before my advert goes into the paper, and you never know where it will lead, do you?'

‘So you probably
will
be making frocks for royalty next, I don't think!'

‘Or debs,' Gracie said, refusing to be down-hearted, when she had absolutely no cause to be. ‘Anyway, we're not going to sit around here all evening, are we? Come on, let's go out on the town, my treat.'

‘Yes, Miss money-bags!'

She didn't argue though. It was easy to dream, and Gracie had always been far more of a dreamer than Dolly. And she would be returning to that lovely house tomorrow with some swatches of material from Toby's shop, and some patterns for Mrs B-G to approve, and then she would be all set to start work. Her fingers itched at the thought. She loved making children's clothes, and she could have said on her advert that they were a speciality. But it might have prevented her from getting other work as well, and right now she needed to spread her wings as widely as possible. She tried to concentrate on what Dolly was saying, but it wasn't always easy when dreams filled your head …

‘There's a new musical show at the Roxy,' Dolly announced. ‘Why don't we see if we can get last-minute tickets? It won't matter if we're up in the gods.'

‘Suits me,' Gracie said.

* * *

Much later, when she was back in the flat and Dolly had caught the tram to Mrs Warburton's, Gracie decided that there was a God after all—not that she had ever doubted it really, she added hastily, in case He thought
she was blaspheming. Oh yes, there was definitely a God and he must have sent her guardian angel to watch over her that very night.