Dream On (24 page)

Ginny was furious. She hated snobs at the best of times, but ones who didn't seem to care if they spoiled what had been the best day she could remember in years were enough to raise her usually mild temperament dangerously close to boiling point.

‘Excuse me,' she said as politely as her dry mouth would allow, ‘but I think you're wrong. I think this kitchen's lovely. It's all right for the likes of you. You can probably have anything you want, whenever you want it. But people like me dream about having something like this one day.'

The woman who had been referred to as Leila looked Ginny up and down with an unashamedly appraising eye, taking in every inch of her from her neatly polished but shabby shoes to her naturally pretty but home-trimmed hair. ‘So could you, sweetie, if you knew how to go about it,' she said with an amused lift to her smoothly cultured voice.

‘Leila!' her friend hissed. ‘You're not going to start, are you?'

‘Don't be such a fusspot, Shirley.' Leila smiled at Ginny, showing white, even teeth. ‘The name's Harvey,' she said, extending her gloved hand. ‘Leila Harvey. And this miserable person is my friend, Shirley Truman. Fancy a little drink?'

Ginny, completely taken aback to be asked to accompany such stylish, well-to-do women, didn't know how to reply.

‘My treat, darling,' purred Leila, ‘and you can tell me all about these dreams of yours.'

Ginny was mesmerised by the woman's easy, confident manner. She thought for another moment then, almost before she realised what she was doing, replied impulsively, ‘I'd really love one. In fact, I'm gasping. And as for a sit-down, well, I could murder one of them an' all. Me feet are steaming like saveloys in an urn. But I dunno what the chances are.'

Shirley's eyes rolled at the vulgar turn of phrase, but Ginny didn't notice, she was too busy trying to control the urge to ask Leila where she got her handbag from – it was real crocodile, Ginny would have laid money on it, just like the ones Ted had brought home that time, beautifully made and reeking of quality. He had unloaded them up West in no time, probably to husbands or boyfriends of women just like Leila.

She could see the bags now, as Ted stuffed them into the gloryhole under the stairs in Bailey Street. He had offered Ginny one for herself, said she
deserved
a little treat, but she had refused, thinking it far too nice for the likes of her. She could even remember the day; it was less than a month after all her family had been buried and Ted was still being really nice to her, and somehow crocodile bags had always made her feel cared for, loved. It was a feeling she missed.

She suddenly realised that Leila was staring at her in expectation. Her cheeks flamed.

‘I'm not quite with you, sweetie. Would you like to join us for a drink? Or not?' Leila asked.

‘Yeah, but, you see,' Ginny stammered, stabbing her thumb over her shoulder in the direction of the exotic Regency Tea Pavilion, ‘I tried getting in for a cuppa just now, before I started making me way home like, thought I could do with a bit of a reviver, but there was queues like you'd never believe.'

Leila turned to Shirley and grinned broadly. ‘Isn't she a poppet!'

Twisting back to face Ginny, she flashed her expertly made-up eyes. ‘I meant a proper drink. For God's sake, it must be six o'clock soon, I feel like I've been here for absolutely hours. So. Time for cocktails, don't you think?'

Riding in the taxi back across the river with Leila and Shirley made Ginny think again about how it had once been with Ted. He had sometimes hailed taxis for them after they'd been out for the evening, had enjoyed splashing his money about. But that was a long time ago; a time when she hadn't had to fret constantly about making ends meet, She'd never experienced quite the style of these two of course, but she certainly hadn't had to worry about things in the way she did now.

Ginny's stomach lurched and her hand went to the run in her stocking, as the taxi drew to a halt outside an impressive-looking, white stucco hotel, hidden away at the end of a quiet Mayfair side-street.

‘I've never been round here before,' whispered Ginny as they sat down at a highly polished table, the feet of which were sunk deep into the thick pile of a sumptuous dark-blue carpet. She wasn't sure why she was whispering but it seemed appropriate; maybe it was because the church in Limehouse where she and Ted had been married, and the picture palace in the Commercial Road, were the only similarly opulent places she had ever visited – and in those places you had to keep your voice down.

‘Haven't you, sweetie?' said Leila, dropping her wrap carelessly over the back of her chair. ‘I'm thinking about buying myself a little flat near here, actually. Security for my old age.'

Deliberately ignoring Shirley's desperate signals to keep quiet, Leila took a cigarette from her handbag and screwed it into what Ginny was sure was a real gold holder.

As Ginny watched, fascinated by the poise of her every movement, she was suddenly distracted by the appearance of a dark-suited man behind Shirley's chair.

‘Good evening, mesdames,' the softly spoken man said, with a bob of his head. ‘May I fetch you something?'

Conscious of how dowdy she must have looked compared with the other two, Ginny screwed herself down into her seat, trying to hide her threadbare skirt and tatty stockings under the table.

‘Three champagne cocktails, Richard,' Leila said without even consulting the other two. She lifted her chin, treated him to a flap of her lashes and a dazzling smile, then turned her beam on Ginny. ‘How about a little bite of something?'

Ginny was in shock at the thought of champagne cocktails. How could she think about food? But she had to say something, she couldn't just sit there like a dummy in a shop window. She was scared of how her voice was going to sound. Coughing loudly into her hand to fill the silence, she nodded vigorously and peered wide-eyed at her hostess through her fingers. ‘Can I have some crisps?' she eventually managed to croak. ‘If that's all right.'

Leila laughed delightedly and addressed the waiter without turning to face him. ‘You can arrange some crisps for the lady, can't you, Richard?'

‘Of course, madam.'

‘Good. And some smoked-salmon sandwiches. Enough for three.'

For some reason, no matter how Ginny wrestled with the crisp packet, the blue twist of salt would not come out of the corner of the bag, but now she had started trying to salvage the damned thing she couldn't show herself up by giving in.

‘Here, let me.'

Ginny watched, horrified, as Leila dipped her flawlessly manicured finger into the contaminating grease of the fried potatoes and hooked out the little blue twist for her.

Handing the crisps back to Ginny, she wiped her fingers delicately on a lace-trimmed handkerchief, took a sip from her drink and smiled. ‘So, tell me, what do you do?' She half closed her eyes and regarded Ginny closely. ‘Don't tell me. You stay at home and look after some man?'

‘No. Well, yes, I do.' When he's there, she thought but didn't say. Despite his neglect and cruelty, Ginny still couldn't bring herself to be disloyal to Ted. ‘But I work as well.'

Leila flashed an amused eyebrow at Shirley, as much as to say, you're not the only one, dear. Shirley frowned with disapproval and gave a barely perceptible shake of her head.

Leila smiled reassuringly at her companion, pushed the plate of untouched sandwiches towards her, then returned her attention to Ginny. ‘Now what sort of work do you do, I wonder.'

‘I work in a factory. On the assembly line.'

Shirley rolled her eyes in boredom, lifted her glass to her lips and knocked her cocktail back in a single hit. ‘Fancy another?' she asked resignedly.

Leila nodded. ‘Thank you. I don't mind if I do.'

While Shirley spoke to the waiter and silently drank her way through several refills, Leila concentrated on finding out more about Ginny Martin.

It took her less than half an hour, and a few little snippets about herself thrown in by way of reward, to gain a pretty accurate picture of Ginny's life.

She studied Ginny's flushed cheeks as she drained yet another glass.

Ginny was feeling wonderful. ‘So you come here all the time then,' she chirped. ‘I can't imagine what that must be like.' She shook her head in wonder.

It was a big mistake; unused to drinking very much, and definitely unused to knocking back four champagne cocktails one after the other, Ginny came over quite giddy.

Holding on to the edge of the table she levered herself to her feet. ‘I've just gotta go to the lav,' she explained.

Leila pointed to a door in the corner. ‘Over there, sweetie.'

As Ginny made her way across the room, Shirley leaned across the table. ‘For Christ's sake, Leila, she'll get us thrown out.'

Leila sighed theatrically and took her time preparing another cigarette before replying, ‘Stop going on, Shirley.'

‘But why're you doing this? I know you and how bored you get, and that you like to amuse yourself, but why her? Why risk it?'

‘She reminds me of me a few years ago.'

‘You?'

‘I'm telling you. She's one of us. She wants something more than she's got and it's killing her. You can just smell it on her.'

‘Don't be ridiculous. All she is, is a quiet little drudge working in some God-awful factory, with no past, no future, no nothing. Except some old hag of a mother-in-law to torture her.'

‘You're wrong. I can spot it a mile off.' Leila blew a cloud of lavender smoke above Shirley's head and watched as it curled up towards the elaborately decorated plaster-work ceiling. ‘And you know the governor's always ready to pay a bonus for introducing new girls, especially if they're as pretty as her. And if they've got a brain as well, then—'

‘Brain? Her? All right, I grant you, she's got a decent sort of face, but—'

Leila's face grew dark. ‘Not jealous of her because she's younger than you, are you, Shirley?'

‘Young? From what she said, she's got to be in her late twenties.'

‘I'm sure you're right. But even you have got to admit she doesn't look it. Her skin's perfect. And with that body I'd lay money she's never had a child. And, if she works on it, she's got that sophisticated look that the foreign punters really go for. And with those big eyes. Come on, be honest, what do you really think? Am I right?'

Before Shirley could reply, Leila hissed through her teeth, ‘That's enough, Shirley, there's a good girl. She's coming back.'

As Ginny slipped back into her seat Leila was all smiles again. ‘Everything all right?'

‘Yeah, not half. I had a bit of a wash and now I'm smashing.' She shielded her mouth with her hand and confided, ‘You should see that lav. I ain't never seen nothing like it, even in the films. Imagine having a place like that to use whenever you fancied.'

‘You could have a nice place, Ginny. If you wanted it badly enough.' Leila flashed a look at Shirley, warning her to keep her mouth shut.

Ginny's face puckered into a shy smile. ‘You mustn't laugh, but I have this dream when I've got this really lovely place, with this great big staircase.' She dropped her chin. ‘You'll think I'm daft.'

‘No we won't, will we, Shirley?'

‘No,' said Shirley flatly.

‘It's just like Scarlett's house: Tara, from—'

‘
Gone With the Wind
,' Leila finished for her.

‘That's right!'

Leila acknowledged Ginny's admiration with a little shrug. ‘So, where do you live now?'

Ginny turned her head away. ‘You won't have heard of it.'

‘Don't be so sure.' Leila giggled girlishly for Ginny's benefit, as she peered with steely resolve at Shirley across the top of her glass.

‘I come', Ginny said with slow deliberation, ‘from a place called Bailey Street.'

‘Near the Roman eh, darling?' Leila grinned. ‘Know it well.'

The difference in Leila's accent – from West End to East End in a single sentence – had Ginny boggling. ‘But the way you were talking about the kitchen back at the Festival. And the way you're dressed'

‘I have to admit', Leila said, her accent slipping effortlessly back to her previously haughty tones, ‘I was saying those things for effect.' She lowered her voice to a breathy whisper as she leaned closer to Ginny. ‘Did you notice that posh old chap standing behind Shirley? The one with the RAF moustaches? The one who was pretending to look at the electric gadgets?'

Ginny thought for a moment, then nodded.

‘Well, I knew different. I knew exactly what he was looking at. In fact, I thought he was going to explode, the way his eyes were bulging as he was clocking my tits!'

Ginny suppressed a gasp. She was going mad.

Leila draped herself back into her chair. ‘But I did mean what I said back there at the Festival. There are better kitchens than that to be had. Much better. That stuff's meant for the plebs. I've been in places that'd make you cry they're so beautiful. And I intend to have a place just like them.' As she spoke, Leila's eyes shone. ‘The place I've got now is already quite something, but when I get
my
Swedish kitchen put in the flat I'm going to buy, it's going to be hand-made. Custom-built. Exquisite. Just for me. And as for the way I'm dressed, well, it's exactly the same. You just have to know the right places. Good shops. Good dressmakers.' She paused for effect, smoothing her hands down her emerald-silk-covered thighs. ‘And you need a bit of style and a right sort of shape to go with it, of course. That's how you interest the right sort of gentlemen.'

She looked at the tiny face of her gold watch, reached out and tapped Ginny playfully on the end of the nose, then picked up her bag. ‘Come on, sweetie, let's find ourselves a taxi, and while we're driving you home, I'm going to tell you a story.'