Unforgettable (28 page)

Eventually she looked at the small pile of letters waiting for her. They were mostly answers to her advert in the newspaper and asking if she could get in touch with a view to some work, which was cheering. The minute she recognized Charlie's handwriting on one of the envelopes, her heart leapt, and she tore it open eagerly. The letter had obviously crossed with hers, since it was obvious that when he wrote it he hadn't yet heard about her accident.

Dear Gracie
, she read,

I hope I haven't offended you by sending you the ticket for our show. I hope you'll be able to use it one evening, and that you'll take special note of a certain song in the show, written by yours truly. Yes, I'm actually a songwriter now, as well as a saxophone player, and I'd like to know what you think of my efforts. We danced so well together, and I sensed that you had a feel for the music, the way I did. I hope you're doing well with your new career, and that Gracie's Glad Rags will be a huge success
.

Sincerely yours
,

Charlie
.

Gracie read the letter several times before deciding what to make of it. On the one hand she was overjoyed that he was following up his first letter with a second one, and that he hoped she would go to the show at the Roxy. On the other hand, she couldn't decide if it was merely a polite letter to an acquaintance. And the way he had ended the letter with ‘Sincerely yours' was another thing. Did he mean he was actually
hers
, or was this just a formal way of closing a letter?

‘I'm such a idiot,' she finally burst out,
exasperated at herself. ‘The obvious thing is to go to the theatre and find out.'

She read the letter again, wondering about the song he had written, and consumed with a fervent wish to hear it. It would be wonderful, of course. Music was in his heart and soul. She remembered the way he had almost caressed the saxophone as he played it, his sensitive fingers finding the notes, loving them, producing magic with his touch, and giving the music all the attention a man would give a woman.

She shivered, wondering if there was more of Dolly's wanton lust in her than she realized. But what if there was? She was young and alive, thank God, and it was the most natural thing in the world for two people in love to desire one another too. If he loved her, and if he desired her.

She made some tea with shaking hands, knowing she had a compulsion to go to the theatre as soon as she felt able, if only to be polite, though that was far from her real reason. She needed to see his reaction when he saw her. She needed to be sure he wouldn't be repulsed when he saw how the scar on her cheeks hadn't faded very much yet, and how she still had a little problem keeping her balance when the wayward, weakened leg threatened to let her down if
she wasn't careful. She wasn't ready for dancing yet …

* * *

Dolly turned up a few evenings later, looking perkier than ever, which could only mean one thing.

‘You'll never guess what!'

‘Yes I will,' Gracie said. ‘You've got a new chap.'

Dolly laughed. ‘Not exactly. But there's a new bloke in the packing department at Lawson's who keeps giving me the eye. He's ever so good-looking, Gracie, and I'm sure he fancies me—oh and in case I forget to tell you, your face is looking much better now, and you look nearly as good as new.' She finished without pausing for breath.

‘Thank you, I'm sure. So who is this paragon? Are you sure he's not spoken for already if he's Mister Wonderful?'

‘Quite sure,' Dolly declared. ‘His name's Len and with any luck we're going to the flicks one Saturday night.'

‘What do you mean—with any luck?'

‘Well, he hasn't actually asked me yet, but I'm working on it,' she said with a wink. ‘So how are you settling back in the old routine?
Have you finished those bridesmaid dresses yet?'

‘As a matter of fact, I have. I suddenly realized how time was moving on, and it also made me feel much better to be doing something with my hands again. They're ready now, and I'm going to deliver them to Mrs Barnes-Gilbert as soon as I've done a bit more walking.'

‘If you want to take them on Sunday afternoon, I'll come with you for moral support,' Dolly offered. ‘I wouldn't mind seeing how the other half lives.'

‘I'd like that, Dolly, just in case I start wobbling all over the place.'

‘You won't do that, you ninny. But what else has been happening that I don't know about? Has Charlie been to see you?'

‘Of course not. Why would he?'

She hesitated. She was pathetically grateful that Dolly would be going on the tram with her to Mrs Barnes-Gilbert's place, because she didn't feel confident enough to go out very far on her own just yet—but it was another thing to risk suggesting that she came with her to the Roxy too. Once she got up the courage, this was one place where Gracie wanted to go alone. It wouldn't matter that there were hundreds of other folk in the theatre. As far as she was concerned there
would be only her and Charlie.

Dolly soon twigged. ‘I bet you've heard from him again, haven't you? I can tell there's something going on, Gracie. What's he said this time?'

Gracie sighed. It was hardly a love-letter, and there was no need to keep the contents from Dolly.

‘Tell me what you think.' She handed it over and Dolly read it quickly.

‘Well, he ain't exactly forthcoming, is he? And it's no more than what was said in that newspaper about him being a songwriter. I s'pose he thought you didn't know about that.'

‘I s'pose he thought I didn't know about the girl hanging on to him, either!'

‘Bleedin' hell, Gracie, sometimes I give up on you, really I do. Do you want him or don't you? The truth now!'

Gracie smiled, and regardless of the scar on her cheek she looked so luminously beautiful that Dolly could only stare at her, speechless for once.

‘Want him? Of
course
I
want
him. I've hardly been able to think of anything else but him for months if you must know!'

‘I do know,' Dolly said drily. ‘So what are you waiting for? What you need to do now is go to the bleedin' Roxy like he says, sit in the
front row and listen to this special song he's written. Then go backstage, and for goodness' sake tell him you like his song, whatever you think of it. Chaps like to hear a bit of flattery. You don't want to call yourself Gracie's Glad Rags for nothing, neither. You get togged up in your best bib and tucker, and you won't give that other girl a snowball's chance in hell.'

Gracie was laughing by the time Dolly had finished with her so-worldly advice.

‘Oh Dolly, you do me a power of good.'

‘Never mind all that. Are you going to do as I say, or do I wash my hands of you?' Dolly said determinedly.

‘Of course I am. Would I be daft enough to ignore the advice of an expert?' Gracie laughed wildly as they hugged one another.

* * *

On Sunday Dolly was suitably in awe of Mrs Barnes-Gilbert's mansion, as she called it. The maid took her below stairs for a cuppa while Gracie was shown into the sunny conservatory where Mrs Barnes-Gilbert was arranging some flowers. As soon as Gracie was announced she turned at once.

‘My dear girl, how good it is to see you looking so well after your terrible ordeal. I
was so concerned for you. Do sit down and Hester will bring us some tea while you tell me how you're feeling.'

Gracie gulped at such a warm reception, resisting the involuntary need to put her hand to her cheek to cover the scar.

‘I'm much better, thank you,' she murmured. ‘My leg has healed and providing I don't stand on it for too long, it feels perfectly well. It's only—'

The lady put her hand over Gracie's.

‘If you're worried about the small blemish on your cheek, Gracie, you shouldn't. It doesn't detract a bit from your lovely face, and some discreetly applied powder will cover it. There are people who have far worse things to worry about than a little scar, my dear.'

‘Yes, I know.'

She spoke humbly, wondering if this was a mild criticism of her vanity. And then, to her sheer horror, emotion got the better of her, and before she knew it she was blubbering, and Mrs Barnes-Gilbert had put her arms around her, and Gracie's tears were threatening to ruin her lovely silk afternoon dress.

‘Oh, my Lord, I'm so sorry, ma'am. Whatever must you think of me?' she gasped, mortified, but the lady wouldn't let her pull away.

‘Don't be so silly, my dear. You've been
through an ordeal and the shock of such events has a habit of coming back to us at the most inopportune times. We're all human, Gracie, and trite though it seems, a good hot strong cup of tea often does wonders to raise the spirits.'

Gracie was vaguely aware of the maid bringing in the tray, and would have laughed had she seen Dolly's comical expression a few minutes later, on being told that madam was actually cuddling the young woman, for all the world as if she was a close relative.

But Gracie knew none of that until later. All she knew was that this kind lady was comforting her, and it was probably true that there was still a bit of shock in her as a result of the train crash. It explained a lot of things, including her unpredictable moods, and her indecision about Charlie. As if Mrs Barnes-Gilbert was a mind-reader, she mentioned him.

‘I'm sure your young man has been wonderfully supportive, hasn't he?'

Gracie couldn't recall that she had ever mentioned a young man, but she nodded anyway. There were some things you couldn't confide to a stranger, even such a kindly one.

‘Oh yes.'

‘Then the rest of the world doesn't matter, does it? Now then, I'm looking forward to
seeing the bridesmaid dresses as soon as we've finished our tea,' she said with a smile, reminding Gracie of why she was here.

By the time she and Dolly returned to the flat, there was a fat fee in her purse, and the promise of more work for her once the wedding was over. And Dolly was all agog at how the other half lived.

‘You really fell on your feet there, gel. Getting a patron like that is worth more than all the reg'lar money old Lawson pays. She'll tell her friends what a find you are, and you'll be well set up.'

‘I suppose I will.'

‘Well, blimey, don't go overboard, will you? Ain't you pleased?' Dolly said.

‘Of course I'm pleased. It's just that sometimes, when you've got what you've always wanted, you're not so sure it's what you wanted after all,' Gracie said without thinking.

Dolly looked at her as if she had two heads. ‘You're daft, that's what you are. I wouldn't mind being as independent as you are, though if Len comes up to scratch, maybe I'll end up being Mrs Len and never have to work again.' She finished with a hoot of laughter, just to cheer Gracie up.

And if Charlie comes up to scratch, maybe I'll end up being Mrs Charlie Morrison, and
live happily ever after
, Gracie thought. And pigs might fly.

‘Just be careful. You know what I mean,' she warned Dolly hastily, pushing the treacherously seductive thoughts out of her head. They had never really surfaced before, but to be Charlie's wife would surely be the best, the most precious way of all to spend the rest of her life. It was completely impractical to think that way, of course, because they would need to get to know one another first—and who knew whether that spark still remained at all?

‘Don't worry. I'm never getting caught like that again,' Dolly said, but by then, Gracie wasn't listening as she bent to pick up the note that had been pushed under her door, and ripped it open.

Not again
, she thought despairingly. How many more times were they going to miss one another? And should she take this as a dire omen that they were simply not meant to be after all?

‘What is it?' Dolly said hearing her intake of breath.

‘He was here,' Gracie stuttered. ‘Charlie. This afternoon. He was here, and I was out.' She wouldn't weep, even though she felt as though all the fates were conspiring against her.

‘Well, at least it shows he's keen, don't it?' Dolly said.

‘Or that he's almost giving up on me. He says the management will only hold the front-row seat for two more weeks, so he hopes I'll make use of the ticket, but if not, he'll understand. What does he understand?'

‘Perhaps that you're being an idiot. If you want him, you've got to let him know it. Blokes like to be told as much as we do. Turn up at the Roxy the minute you can before that other girl gets her claws in him once and for all. Go for it, gel!'

* * *

Gracie wondered if Charlie really had looked for her every night since sending her the ticket. Watching the empty front-row seat, and wondering why she never turned up. Thinking he had offended her. Thinking she wasn't interested in him. Thinking she didn't remember, didn't care. She toyed with the idea of sending a note to the Roxy telling him she'd be there on Saturday night, and then decided against it. She needed to see his reaction when he realized the front-row seat was occupied. Then she would know if his feelings for her were real, or if she had been imagining them all this time.

She dreamed of him all that week, when she was asleep and when she was awake. When she took daily walks in the park to help strengthen her leg as she had been told to do at the hospital, and when she had her late-night cup of cocoa, curled up in an armchair in her dressing-gown. Whenever she looked at the stars through her bedroom window, and whenever she awoke to a new day, knowing that Saturday was coming closer.

The week seemed endless and yet gone in a flash. And then it was here. She followed Dolly's advice, and dressed in her Sunday best, cream-coloured dress and buttoned shoes and matching cloche hat, a string of amber beads around her neck.