Unforgettable (29 page)

She had let her dramatic red hair grow longer, so that when she pulled out small tresses of it to frame her face, it hid much of the scar, which she had duly powdered to follow Mrs Barnes-Gilbert's suggestion. A pinch of rouge put some much-needed colour into her cheeks, and when at last she was ready she drew on her cream chamois gloves and gazed critically at herself in her mirror.

But she knew she was looking the absolute best that she could, and whatever happened from now on was up to fate. Apart from the collywobbles in her stomach whenever she
thought of how momentous this evening might turn out to be, she was ready to face the world. In particular, she was ready to face Charlie at last. Almost, anyway.

‘My goodness, but don't you look a picture tonight, Miss Brown!' she heard Mrs Foster say as she went carefully down the stairs on the high-heeled shoes. ‘Are you going somewhere special?'

‘To the theatre,' she said, thinking it was the best thing anyone could have said to her, considering the state of her nerves.

‘Well, I hope whoever is taking you, realizes he's got the belle of the ball, dear,' the woman said generously.

‘Thank you, Mrs Foster,' Gracie said, smiling, and not for one minute did she think of putting her right on whoever was taking her.

The older woman's obvious admiration boosted her courage, and as she went into the street and thought about taking a tram, a taxi cruised alongside her, clearly wondering if she was a fare.

And recklessly, she thought, why not? Why ever not? This was a night for turning up in style, unruffled, cool and serene, like the images on the silver screen she admired so much.

‘The Roxy theatre, please,' she told the
taxi-driver, and slid inside the vehicle as if she had been born to it.

It took less than half an hour to arrive at the front of the theatre, where people without tickets were already queuing outside, and the lucky ones who had booked in advance swept through the foyer like royalty. Gracie wasn't quite that confident, but it certainly felt good to be one of the favoured ones as she handed over her ticket, and was shown to the centre seat in the very front row.

As in most theatres the band was kept well out of sight in the orchestra pit during the performance, but they were clearly visible as they came in and took their seats.

Her hands were becoming increasingly damp inside her chamois gloves. She took the gloves off and put them inside her little evening bag, hardly able to look up. And then she saw him.

Charlie was right in front of her, the saxophone in his hand, looking so dark and elegant and wonderful in his evening clothes that she felt her heart stop for a moment. He was concentrating on moving quickly into his allotted place, so that he didn't see her immediately, and then he looked directly at her, seconds before the lights dimmed, but the smile that illuminated his face was worth
every moment of anxiety she had felt all these months.

She had bought a programme on the way in, but even if she had been able to read it, she couldn't have said what was in it. Her stomach felt too topsy-turvy for that. She only knew that there was a special scene in the second act with a song that was called
Someone I once
knew, written by Charlie Morrison. She waited for it as if her life depended on it.

As the leading male singer came on to centre stage, the band became muted, and his voice was accompanied mainly by the haunting sound of a saxophone.

‘There's someone I once knew … just for a moment, just for an hour … but her memory lingers in my heart, like her fragrance and grace …

Does she remember, the way I do, the way we danced on one magical night? The way we almost fell in love? And as sure as there are stars above, I'll never stop searching … for that someone I once knew …'

There were other words, but amid the thudding of her heart, Gracie heard only those, praying desperately that there was a hidden meaning in that phrase ‘fragrance and grace.' Was that word meant to speak directly to her?

As the song ended, she was aware of the thunderous applause for Charlie's music. For one brief moment, he stood up to acknowledge the applause, and his eyes sought hers as she had known they would.

The rest of the show passed in a haze for Gracie. She was on the brink of finding out for sure if she had been imagining all this time that the man she had almost fallen in love with really existed, or if the dream had been no more than a fantasy. She knew he was
real
, but had that night at the Palais really been as significant as she had believed?

Beset with nerves again, she could hardly wait for the final curtain, and in exasperation, she wondered just how many encores the cast was going to have before the band played the national anthem.

At last they did so, the cast standing to attention like the audience, and she realized again that Charlie was a true musician. He was probably going places, so why would he ever want a working girl trying to make an independent life for herself?

As the house lights went up, she tried to pull on her gloves, but they simply wouldn't fit on to her damp hands, so she put them back in her evening bag and wondered what to do next. She was half tempted to scurry out of the place, knowing that backstage
would be full of theatre people, excited and happy that another show was over, and she would feel like an unwanted bun at a feast. While she was still hesitating, one of the theatre ushers approached her.

‘Miss Brown, will you come this way, please?' he said, and she knew there was no turning back.

She followed him mutely to the rear of the theatre and the large room backstage where the noise was deafening, as the cast and band congratulated one another on another superb performance. Glasses of wine were handed round; the smell of greasepaint and perfume was overwhelming; the glitter of the stage costumes making Gracie feel like a pale shadow in comparison, and it was all so very sophisticated that she could have slunk away at once.

‘Gracie, at last!' she heard Charlie's voice say, and then he was beside her, his arms around her, his mouth kissing her lightly on the cheek. It was the scarred cheek, she registered, though he didn't seem to notice. In any case, it was little more than an air kiss, the kind that theatre people made, or so she was told. It didn't mean a thing, and almost instantly he was dragged away.

‘Have a glass of wine, love,' Gracie heard a female voice say, and found herself looking
directly into the eyes of Joyce, the singer. ‘Thank God you've finally arrived. Our boy would have died from a severe case of heartache if you hadn't turned up after all.'

‘Would he?' Gracie said, taking a too-large gulp of the wine and feeling her head spin.

‘God, yes. He's totally besotted, you know, and I suppose you realize that his song was dedicated to you? Once we heard it, we knew the rest of us didn't stand a chance, so here's to you, kid.'

She raised her glass to Gracie as if to wish her luck, and then turned back to the handsome leading man. In seconds Charlie was back beside Gracie again, pushing his way through the mass of congratulations.

‘I'm sorry. It's always like this at the end of a show. What did you think of it? Did it come up to your expectations?'

‘The show or the song?' Gracie murmured.

She was out of her depth. Her so-elegant outfit, combined with the fire of her hair, seemed so ordinary now, compared with the glittering stage costumes all around her. She was being jostled in all directions, and to the uninitiated the release of artistic tension at the end of a good show was almost terrifying.

Charlie laughed, but she could see a spark of unease come into his eyes.

‘The song, of course. What did you think I meant?'

‘It was lovely.'

‘Lovely,' he said abruptly. ‘Is that all it meant to you?'

‘Was it supposed to mean anything else?' she said, wondering what was happening to them. She had waited so long for this meeting, and she presumed he had wanted it too, since he had contacted her and sent her the ticket. And here they were, acting like the strangers they really were, instead of being on the brink of something far more. Her eyes shimmered as she tried to hide the sick hurt she felt, but he saw, and he knew. He spoke more gently.

‘I haven't even asked how you are. I was so overwhelmed at seeing you it hardly seemed necessary because you look so beautiful, exactly as I remembered.'

‘Do I?' she asked shakily.

His soft touch on her scar was as gentle as a butterfly's breath.

‘
Exactly
!' he said. ‘Look, give me five minutes to change, and then we'll get out of this crush and go somewhere quiet for supper. Will you wait?'

Did he think she was going to turn and run the minute he left her with all these people? Her chin lifted.

‘Of course I'll wait,' she said, and he could make what he wanted to of that. Hadn't she already waited for him all her life?

* * *

A short while later, sitting beside him in the new motor car he had recently acquired, Gracie became tongue-tied again. The motor smelled of leather and newness, and its opulence seemed to mark out how far he had come since she had met him, such a relatively short time ago.

But they were no longer the same people, she thought in a mild panic. How could she ever have thought that they could just move back into each other's lives as if nothing had happened? She had lost her mother and her father in tragic circumstances, but she had managed to become independent in a small way, doing the job she loved best. Then there was the trauma of the train crash … and her injuries that had badly undermined her new-found confidence for a while … even if Charlie didn't seem to notice.

While his career had gone ahead in leaps and bounds. A saxophone player in a band had seemed glamorous enough to her, but to be a songwriter and have his songs sung on
the wireless and on gramophone records, and to have the world at his feet, was something she couldn't even imagine.

‘I've missed you,' he said suddenly. ‘You have no idea how many times I've thought I saw you, almost turned to speak to you, to call out your name, only to realize that it wasn't you.'

‘Have you?' she said, startled, and turning to look at him in the dimness of the car's interior. ‘How strange.'

He gave a short laugh. ‘Strange? Because I thought I'd found somebody special, and didn't want to lose her? Is that something you'd call strange?'

Gracie caught her breath, unsure whether or not there was a note of bitterness in his voice now. As if he really cared.

Play it cool
, Dolly advised, even though she never took her own advice—but Gracie knew that there were times when it was far more important to say what was in your mind, and in your heart.

‘No, not strange in that way. It's strange, because you can't imagine how many times I thought I saw you too. I know it sounds silly, but every time I heard a band playing in the park I hoped it would be you.'

She paused and then plunged on recklessly: ‘But I suppose you won't be doing that any
more now, will you? Not now you're such a star.'

For a moment his hand left the steering wheel and pressed hers.

‘Gracie, if you ever think I'm getting too big for my boots, and too important to play in the park, you have my permission to tell me so.'

‘You think we'll be seeing each other again then?' she said, her heart beginning to beat a good deal faster than before.

‘You can count on that. I'm not going to lose you now. I need inspiration for all these songs I'm going to write, and you're the only one to give it to me. How do you think I wrote the one you heard tonight if it wasn't because you've filled my heart ever since that night at the old Palais?'

It was weird to be having such an intimate conversation in a car while they drove to the late-night supper club. Weird and wonderful. And for Gracie, with the night full of a million stars, it was the stuff of dreams, of romantic movies with dashing heroes and lovely young heroines.

When he finally stopped the car Charlie put his arms around her.

‘We are going to see one another again after tonight, aren't we, Gracie?' he said. ‘You're not going to be so elusive again, are you?'

‘
Yes
. Oh, and no,' she said in confusion, answering both questions at once.

He laughed. ‘Well, thank goodness for that. And by the way, my mother is constantly asking me when she's going to meet my young lady. I kept telling her I didn't have one, but you know what mothers are. She'll never take no for an answer. So will you come? Sunday afternoon tea seems like a very good start to me. Tomorrow, next week, whenever you say. I don't want to rush you into anything, but I'm not losing you now that I've found you.'

Gracie caught her breath. Everyone knew that being invited for Sunday afternoon tea at the home of a young man meant that his intentions were serious. It was the socially accepted thing. Everyone knew that, even if she and Charlie must also know that they needed time to get to know one another properly, before—if—the miracle happened, and there was a happy-ever-after ending after all.

‘I would love to come to Sunday afternoon tea and meet your mother,' she said huskily, seconds before his mouth was kissing hers for the first time, regardless of who might be watching outside the supper club.

They broke apart at last, laughing a little self-consciously at being so blatant in a public
place, but more so because of the sheer magic of being together. Gracie found herself offering up a silent prayer to whatever twist of fate had brought them together, for in those moments she had become very aware that Charlie's heartbeats had matched the rhythm of her own. It was the music of the heart, she thought joyfully … the music that never ended.

The End

Jean Saunders (1932–2011), was born in
London
, but lived in the West Country for almost all of her life. She was married to Geoff Saunders, her childhood sweetheart, with whom she had three children.