Dreaming Out Loud
Copyright © 2013 Benita Brown
The right of Benita Brown to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publishers or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.
First published as an Ebook by Headline Publishing Group in 2013
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Cataloguing in Publication Data is available from the British Library
Epub conversion by Avon DataSet Ltd, Bidford-on-Avon, Warwickshire
eISBN: 978 0 7553 8472 3
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Contents
About the Book
Kay Lockwood has always felt different. She just doesn’t get on with her mother, Thelma, and while she works to support her sister, she has no dream of her own. Then Thelma’s old friend, actress Lana Fontaine, leaves Kay a small inheritance, and everything changes.
Kay leaves her Northern hometown and quickly becomes absorbed in the excitement of post-war London, and the new friends and opportunities she finds. But there is a deeper mystery: who was Lana, and why was Kay so important to her?
As she starts to unravel the past, Kay begins to hope her handsome new friend Tom might offer her a brighter future, but is he keeping his own secret?
About the Author
Benita Brown was born and brought up in Newcastle by her English mother, the youngest of thirteen children, and her Indian father, who came to Newcastle to study medicine and fell in love with the place and the people. After meeting her husband at drama school in London, Benita returned to her home town and worked as a teacher and broadcaster before becoming a full-time writer. Her previous novels are published by Headline.
By Benita Brown
A Dream of Her Own
All Our Tomorrows
Her Rightful Inheritance
In Love and Friendship
The Captain’s Daughters
A Safe Harbour
Fortune’s Daughter
The Dressmaker
The Promise
Starlight and Dreams
Memories of You
I’ll Be Seeing You
Dreaming Out Loud
Praise
Acclaim for Benita Brown’s novels:
‘A story of hope and determination . . . a really good read’
Historical Novels Review
‘A wonderfully evocative tale’
Lancashire Evening Post
‘A romantic tale of rivalry and deceit’
Newcastle Upon Tyne Journal
‘A delightfully interwoven story of passion, love and loss’
Sunderland Echo
‘You won’t be able to put it down’
Yours
magazine
To my darling husband, Norman
Part One
London, 1935
The audience were on their feet. They clapped and whistled and shouted her name. Her co-star, Robert Spencer, tall and impossibly suave in his evening clothes, stood slightly aside and smiled good-naturedly. In his early forties, he was firmly established in the hearts of theatre goers and was generous enough to allow his co-star, Lana Fontaine, to enjoy her well-deserved ovation. The final act of
Just Good Friends
took place at a ball, so Lana, too, was in evening dress: a floor-length, crimson taffeta sheath which enhanced her slim but womanly figure.
When the rest of the cast had withdrawn, Robert and Lana had stepped forward so that the curtains could close behind them. The pair were encircled by a spotlight – a magic circle, Violet thought, although she knew no magic spells had been required to ensure Lana’s success. Her friend from days gone by was blessed with supreme talent and had been prepared to work hard to gain her exalted place in the world of entertainment.
The fire curtain began its slow descent and the audience groaned. Robert Spencer and Lana started to walk towards the wings. They smiled and waved until they vanished from sight. It took a while for the audience to accept that their darlings were not coming back and then there was the usual disorganised exit, accompanied by excited comment. In their seats in the front row of the dress circle, for which they’d paid the staggering sum of three and sixpence each, Violet turned to Eve and said, ‘Stay here. We don’t want to be crushed or trampled on. Let them all go.’
Eve looked worried. ‘But don’t you want to go to the stage door and say hello?’
‘Don’t worry. They’ll be a while yet. They have to take their make-up off and change their clothes. Remember?’
Eve looked downcast. ‘I do. Do you think we’ll ever get to tread the boards again?’
‘I fully intend to,’ Violet said. ‘But are you sure that’s what you really want? I mean, what about that gent in the pinstripe suit who makes eyes at you over the luncheon menu?’
Eve flushed and looked away. ‘There’s nothing in it. Don’t tease.’
‘I won’t. But I’m not convinced.’
‘Can we go now?’
Violet glanced round at the gradually emptying aisles. ‘Yes, let’s go.’
There was an excited crowd of fans in the narrow street behind the theatre. They clutched their programmes or their autograph books, and thrust them at any member of the cast who emerged from the stage door. So far there was no sign of the two stars.
‘Do you think we’ve missed them after all?’ Eve asked.
‘No, I think they’re waiting to let the lesser mortals make their exits.’
She had hardly finished her sentence before the crowd around them cheered and Lana Fontaine and Robert Spencer appeared together standing beneath the old-fashioned lantern above the door. It was impossible to get near them so Violet and Eve just had to wait their turn to approach them.
‘We should have left the theatre when I wanted to,’ Eve said.
Just then a taxi arrived and Robert Spencer turned to Lana and said, ‘It’s time to go.’
‘Lana!’ Eve shouted. ‘Wait!’
In her excitement she pushed a solid-looking woman aside and Lana turned to look at her just as the woman began to complain loudly. ‘Take your turn,’ she said to Eve. ‘I’ve been here longer than you have.’
To everyone’s surprise Lana began to walk towards them. ‘Eve . . . Is that you? And Violet as well? How wonderful!’ She turned her head and said, ‘Robert, come and meet two of my old friends.’
The crowd parted for the two stars and then listened avidly as Lana introduced Robert to her friends.
‘Did you come to see the play tonight?’ Lana asked.
‘We did,’ Eve said. ‘It was wonderful. You were wonderful!’
‘I’m glad you enjoyed it. But Violet, what about you?’
‘I thought you were marvellous. And I’m sorry that I was so beastly to you the last time I saw you.’
‘Were you? I don’t remember that. But now, what are you both doing? Have you come to join a show in London?’
‘No such luck,’ Violet said. We’re working as Nippies at the Strand Corner House.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry. I know times are hard.’
‘It’s not a bad sort of job,’ Violet said. ‘Although our uniform makes us look like housemaids in a French farce.’
‘Oh, but the skirts are longer and much more stylish,’ Eve interjected. ‘And did you know hundreds, absolutely
hundreds
, of Nippies have married customers. Some of them real gentlemen!’
Lana smiled and then Robert stepped forward. ‘We’d better go, darling. The party won’t get going without us.’
‘Yes, I know. Well, you two, it was so good to see you. I might just pop into the Corner House for an afternoon tea one day.’
Robert Spencer smiled at Violet and Eve, then put his arm around Lana and, to the disappointment of the remaining fans, guided her towards the taxi.
‘He called her darling,’ Eve said. ‘Do you think . . . ?’
‘No. That’s just the way they talk. There was no kind of electricity between them. I think they’re just good friends, like the title of the play.’
‘Do you think she’ll pop in to the Corner House to see us?’
‘I believe she fully intends to. But in any case, by the time she gets around to it, I’ll be treading the boards again and you will have walked down the aisle with your pinstriped gentleman.’
Chapter One
Northridge Bay, October 1949
Kay glanced out of the window and saw dark clouds gathering over the sea. The restless swell of the water matched her troubled mood.
‘I don’t think the sun is going to shine today,’ Miss Bennet said. ‘Now take your coat off and sit down while I make a pot of tea. There’s my order on the table.’
The elderly lady left the room, straight-backed but walking somewhat stiffly. Kay picked up the list. The handwriting, in old-fashioned copperplate style, was as neat as Miss Bennet herself and Kay had no problem reading and copying the items into her order book. It didn’t take long.
When Miss Bennet returned with her best tea set on a tray Kay looked up and smiled. ‘Is this everything?’ she asked.
‘Yes, that’s all. Unless you have any nice broken biscuits.’
‘We have. Shortbread no less.’
‘Then I’ll have half a pound. And I think I may have enough points for a jar of jam. If that’s the case I would prefer strawberry.’
‘I’ll pack your box myself,’ Kay said. She slipped the order book and pencil into her shoulder bag.
‘You’re a good girl,’ Miss Bennet said. ‘I’ll miss you when you’re gone.’
Kay concentrated on stirring a spoonful of sugar into her tea.
‘You
are
going, aren’t you?’ Miss Bennet asked.
Kay sipped her tea before she answered. ‘I haven’t decided yet.’
‘For goodness’ sake. What on earth is stopping you?’
‘My mother . . . my sister . . . Tony . . .’
‘Ah, yes, Tony Chalmers DFC, our very own war hero,’ Miss Bennet said dryly. ‘Good-looking, dashing, and the heir to a successful light engineering business. But you’re not actually engaged, are you?’
‘I don’t suppose so.’
‘Don’t suppose so? Has he asked you to marry him or hasn’t he?’
‘Not in so many words.’
‘And what does that mean?’
‘Well . . . I think he just assumes that we will marry one day.’
Miss Bennet shook her head. ‘That’s not good enough. It sounds to me as if he is just playing with your affections.’
Kay burst out laughing.
‘What has amused you?’
‘Playing with my affections! That sounds like something from a Victorian novel.’
Miss Bennet’s eyes widened and then she shook her head and smiled. ‘I know. I suppose to you I’m just an old fogey, someone left over from a former age. But, my dear, my sentiments are genuine. I don’t want you to be hurt.’ She paused. ‘Have you told him your news yet?’
‘No.’
‘Kay, you did me the honour of confiding in me, so I assume you won’t mind if I offer my advice?’
‘Of course not.’
Miss Bennet picked up the teapot and topped up both their cups; her slim hand trembling slightly with the effort. ‘I realise what a big step leaving home would be for you,’ she said, ‘but you know how disappointed I was when your mother took you away from school. You were one of my most promising pupils. I cannot bear the thought of your working in a shop while your younger sister goes to college. And now a trick of fate has offered you new opportunities. Please don’t let them slip by.’
‘You keep asking me if I’m going,’ Kay said, ‘but where exactly do you think I should go?’
‘Well, first of all London. That’s obvious. You have matters you have to sort out there, haven’t you? Then you could move on. Go abroad, even. Or stay in London and get a proper job.’
‘What do you mean by a proper job?’
‘One with training of some sort.’
‘Isn’t it a bit late for that?’
‘You are only twenty-two, and you are an intelligent young woman with a good speaking voice. No doubt you inherited that from your father.’
Kay smiled reminiscently. ‘We used to read aloud together. He enjoyed teaching me to speak clearly – and my sister too. We used to make up little plays and perform them for our parents, but Julie didn’t enjoy doing that as much as I did. She was happier making tea parties for her dolls.’
‘Your father gave you a great gift,’ Miss Bennet said. ‘I’m sure you would have no difficulty finding an occupation more suitable than working in a grocery shop.’
‘I quite like working at Sampson’s. And I meet such interesting people when I’m out collecting the orders.’
Miss Bennet tutted impatiently. ‘You work long hours. You’ve told me yourself that you don’t have much time to socialise with your old school friends. Surely you must be aware that you could do much better for yoursel
f
?’
‘It depends what you mean by better.’
‘Are you deliberately trying my patience?’
‘No, I’m being serious. I need to think very carefully about what I should do if I am to leave home.’
‘Kay, don’t you have any dreams?’
‘Dreams?’
‘Do you never dream about making a different life for yourself? Don’t you have any ambitions? If you have you keep them all to yourself.’
‘Perhaps I have but only in the sense that no matter how much I enjoy my job at Sampson’s, I dream that somewhere, somehow there may be a different kind of life. I’m not being very clear, am I?’ She paused. ‘I’m sorry.’
Miss Bennet relented. ‘Don’t be sorry, Kay. I know you well enough to be confident that you will make the right decision, and until then, I promise you that I won’t ask you again. I’ll wait until you are ready to tell me what you have decided. And, of course, your secret remains safe with me.’
‘My secret . . .’
‘You’re smiling.’
‘Well, it is rather wonderful, isn’t it? Again, it’s like a novel. The poor but honest girl and the inheritance that changes her life.’
Kay and Miss Bennet looked at each other and laughed.
‘What a dear girl you are,’ Miss Bennet said. ‘But now,’ she glanced round at the clock on the mantelshelf. ‘We’ve spent so much time talking I wonder if you have time to do me the usual favour?’ She placed a hand on the folded copy of the local newspaper which lay on the table.
‘Yes, of course I have.’
‘I don’t want to cause trouble for you by making you late back for work.’
‘I won’t be late. I whizzed round collecting my other orders in record time so I could have more time with you.’
Miss Bennet laughed. ‘Honestly, Kay, I don’t know how you manage it.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well . . . oh dear, I wish I hadn’t started this but now I must finish. I mean cycling so vigorously when . . .’
‘When one of my legs is shorter than the other one? No, please don’t be embarrassed. My leg was injured when I was very small. I grew up learning to cope with it. I can’t remember what it was like not to have a limp.’
‘Well, you cope very well.’ Miss Bennet paused then smiled broadly. ‘The way you zip around on that old bicycle reminds me of Miss Gulch in
The Wizard of Oz
. You know, when she’s pedalling furiously on her way to collect Toto.’
Kay hunched her shoulders and raised her hands, her fingers hooked like claws. ‘I’ll get you my pretty,’ she croaked, ‘and your little dog, too!’
Miss Bennet shook her head. ‘Amazing. You sound just like her.’
Kay laughed. ‘Well I hope you don’t think I look like her.’
‘Oh, no. Your face isn’t at all green.’
‘Thank you very much!’ Kay laughed again.
Miss Bennet paused and looked at Kay thoughtfully. ‘In fact you are very beautiful. But that’s enough. I have no wish to turn your head.’
Kay reached for the newspaper. It had been opened and then folded at the usual page. ‘A TRIP TO YESTERYEAR’, the headline promised and then a sub-headline read, somewhat unnecessarily: ‘Our Town in Years Gone By’. Four photographs were arranged around the text, which was too small for Miss Bennet to read easily.
‘It’s not just a matter of getting new spectacles,’ she had informed Kay when she had first mentioned her problem and asked if Kay had time to read something from the local paper to her. ‘It’s more complicated than that. I have no problem with the photographs, but even with my spectacles on I can’t manage to read print properly. I’ve tried using a magnifying glass but I’ve never mastered the way you have to squint through it. If I read for too long I end up with a headache. I depend on the wireless for news and information but that particular feature in the
Chronicle
is one I enjoy.’
Ever since Miss Bennet had confided in Kay about her poor eyesight, Kay had made sure that she always arrived in time to read the newspaper feature to her. Thursday, the day the
Seaside Chronicle
was published, was also the day that Kay visited Sampson’s regular customers in their own homes, the ones who were elderly or infirm and could not get to the shop themselves, and did not have a telephone. Kay took their orders which would then be delivered by Mr Sampson, himself, the following day.
Kay and Miss Bennet had fallen into the habit of having a cosy gossip over tea and biscuits and they had become so at ease with each other that when the letter had arrived which could potentially change her life, Kay had found it quite natural to confide in her elderly friend even though the only other person who knew was her mother.
‘Kay?’
Miss Bennet was looking at her enquiringly, and Kay brought her mind back to the task in hand. She examined the newspaper and was delighted to see that the subject this week was the Pavilion Theatre; her father had been an actor-manager at the Pavilion. She started reading eagerly.
The building of the railway station at the turn of the century brought many visitors to Northridge Bay. These visitors liked to take the sea air, promenading along the seafront and then dining at the Waverly Hotel, Roberto’s Italian restaurant, or one of the excellent fish and chip establishments. Local businessman Mr George Waugh saw the opportunity to boost the local economy even more by providing entertainment for the visitors. He lost no time in having the Pavilion Theatre built on the new lower promenade.
The Pavilion opened in time for the summer season of 1910 and Mr Waugh let it be known that the famous child impersonator, Lily Elsie, known on the stage as Little Elsie, would be taking to the boards on opening night. Unfortunately for Mr Waugh, one gentleman in the audience had recently seen the real Lily Elsie on the stage in London, and he rose from his seat and shouted, ‘Imposter! Get off the stage!’
The hapless woman was indeed an imposter and was, in fact, Mr Waugh’s own daughter, who had theatrical ambitions. However, the audience was in a good mood and soon forgave her. The first night was an outstanding success and the Pavilion went on to stage first class variety shows for season after season.
Henry Payne led a small resident orchestra, handing on his baton to his son Cyril when he retired, and many top artists appeared there over the years, including such household names as George Formby and Arthur Askey.
During the Great War the theatre never closed, cheering the spirits not only of the local population but also of the wounded servicemen from the nearby convalescent home. Perhaps the theatre had its greatest success during the years between the wars, when Mr Jack Lockwood was the actor-manager there. However, at the start of World War II, when the beaches were closed, the government saw fit to close the Pavilion, and sadly it has never reopened.
When Kay had finished reading, Miss Bennet suggested that they look at the photographs together, and Kay moved her chair round and spread the paper out on the table.
The first photograph was an exterior shot of the Pavilion in its glory days. An elaborate façade gave it the appearance of a pagoda, and a couple of dragons sat on their haunches facing each other above the entrance.
‘I wish these photographs could have been in colour,’ Miss Bennet said. ‘The outside of the theatre was painted green and red and the dragons were gold.’
‘Yes, I think I can remember that,’ Kay said. ‘Although I was only a child when my father worked there.’
‘I believe he was working there before you were even born,’ Miss Bennet told her.
The next three photographs had all been taken inside the theatre. One was of George Formby on stage, smiling and playing his ukulele, captioned: ‘A famous star makes a guest appearance in Northridge Bay!’ Another photograph was of a line of girls in frilly blouses and short skirts, arms linked and smiling brightly as they kicked their heights. The caption underneath informed: ‘The Dolly Girls. An ever popular local dancing troupe’.
The final photograph had been taken from the stage looking into the auditorium and showed that every seat was occupied and everyone was smiling. No matter that they were on holiday by the sea, the men and women in the audience were smartly dressed; their clothes almost formal. Kay wondered out loud if they always dressed like that when they were going to a seaside variety show, or whether they had known that they were going to have their photograph taken and that they would become part of the history of the Pavilion Theatre.
‘People did dress more smartly then,’ Miss Bennet said. ‘No matter what your station in life, a night at the theatre was an occasion to look your best. When was the photograph taken?’
Kay peered at the caption: ‘Full House at the Pavilion’. ‘It doesn’t give a date,’ she said. ‘But from what I can see of the women’s dresses and hairstyles, I guess it could be sometime in the nineteen-twenties.’
‘Then, just think, your father was probably there the night this photograph was taken. His troupe played several summer seasons at the Pavilion and he must have liked the place so much that he decided to settle here. He fell in love with your mother, of course. Does she ever tell you about those days?’
‘Never.’
There was an awkward pause and Miss Bennet, sensing that Kay was reluctant to talk about her parents, changed the subject slightly.
‘Of course, Lana Fontaine would have been there at the time. Do you remember her at all?’
‘Yes I do.’
‘But she was just a chorus girl at the time,’ Miss Bennet continued. ‘Then look what happened: she went on to be a film star leaving her old friends at the Pavilion far behind. But, obviously, she never forgot them. Particularly you. Your father was very talented, but he was content to stay here. He must have loved your mother very much. I know you’ve told me about your reading together, but what else do you remember about your father, Kay? No! Don’t answer that. I’m being personal again.’ Miss Bennet looked embarrassed.
