Home Front Girls (17 page)

‘But I
couldn’t
,’ Dotty spluttered. ‘It must have cost a fortune and I really can’t take it.’

‘Of course you can,’ Miranda said. ‘What good is it to me, hanging in the wardrobe and never seeing the light of day? You’ll be doing me a favour taking it out of the way and I thought you might like this handbag too.’

She then produced a lovely black leather handbag that matched the shoes Dotty had bought perfectly. ‘I’ve got far too many,’ she assured the girl with a guilty grin. ‘I’m afraid handbags have always been my weakness. Richard was always scolding me about it. Take it – I promise you I won’t even miss it. And now Annabelle tells me she’s going to show you how to apply a little make-up. You don’t need much with that lovely complexion, but you’ll be surprised to see what a difference a little mascara and lipstick can make. We’ll have a full dress rehearsal then before we have tea, shall we?’

Half an hour later they all stared at Dotty admiringly as she emerged in her new outfit. She was beaming like a Cheshire cat and hardly recognised herself in the mirror.

‘I don’t know how to thank you all,’ she said, but they brushed her thanks aside.

‘You don’t need to,’ Miranda told her kindly. ‘Just go to London and do us proud. One day when you’re a bestselling author, I want to be able to say, “I knew her when . . .”’

‘Hmm, I doubt there’s much chance of that ever happening,’ Dotty answered. ‘And now I have to try and persuade the head of my department to let me have the day off on Wednesday, and that will be no easy task with us being short-staffed. I don’t think she’s going to be too impressed at all.’

Annabelle tossed her head. ‘Well, you just stand your ground and tell her you’re going whether she likes it or not,’ she advised. ‘You might never be offered a chance like this again. Who knows what will come of it for the future?’ And then they all went off to the kitchen to enjoy the cauliflower cheese and fish cakes that Miranda had cooked for them.

By Tuesday evening Dotty was a bag of nerves and not at all sure that she could go through with the trip, although she dreaded to think what her friends would say if she backed out now. She had gone to the station and bought a dayreturn ticket to London, Euston. It was now safely tucked away in the lovely bag that Miranda had given to her, and her outfit was hanging on the wardrobe door.

Please, please
don’t let it snow now, she prayed as she lay in bed, far too nervous to sleep. The weather had worsened over the last couple of days and snow had been forecast. Now she could only hope that it would hold off until she got to London.

Miss Timms had been to see her earlier in the evening to wish her luck and Dotty was concerned about her. The woman had looked tired and pale, and when Dotty had enquired if she was all right she had told her, ‘Oh, I’m quite all right, my dear. Just a little tired, that’s all. Mother is very unwell so I’ve had to give up my job at the bank to care for her as she’s bed-bound now.’ She had sighed regretfully then and confided, ‘I’m afraid Mother isn’t an easy woman to live with, especially now that she can’t get about. She raps on the ceiling for me every ten seconds with her walking stick and I seem to be constantly running up and down the stairs. At least, that’s how it feels. But that’s enough about me. I shan’t be able to stay long but I couldn’t let you go off without wishing you luck. Do be careful, my dear. You hear such terrible tales about things that happen to young women travelling alone. I wish I was coming with you.’

‘Annabelle’s mother offered to come with me, but I feel that this is something I should do on my own and I shall be fine,’ Dotty assured her with a confidence she was far from feeling. She had planned everything down to the smallest detail. The only thing she couldn’t control was the weather and that was in God’s hands now.

‘I wonder if Dotty got off all right?’ Lucy said as she and Annabelle hung their coats up in the staff cloakroom the next morning.

Annabelle shrugged. She wasn’t in the best of moods today and had found it hard to get out of bed. Most times now she accepted that she needed to work, but at other times, like today, she still felt that the job was far beneath her and resented the fact that she had to turn in.

‘I have no doubt she’ll get there, but I’m not so sure she’ll get back if the snow doesn’t hold off,’ she commented as she straightened the seam in her stockings. They were getting harder and harder to acquire now, which was worrying for Annabelle; there was no way she would ever wear the thick lisle ones that most of the other shop girls favoured. Things were very fraught at home too. She and her mother had received a letter from her father the day before telling them that he was in Dunkirk, and Miranda had hardly stopped crying since.

‘What shall we do if anything happens to him?’ her mother had sobbed and Annabelle had felt useless, with no idea how to comfort her. It seemed a million years ago now since she had lived a life of leisure, but if what the newspapers were reporting was true, there was worse to come – much worse. Hitler’s army was creeping closer and there was nothing that anyone could do about it.

‘Come along, girls, to your departments now. It wouldn’t do to keep the customers waiting, now would it?’ Mrs Broadstairs had appeared in the doorway and when she clapped her hands the girls scattered like flies.

Annabelle followed at a more leisurely pace, grinning at Mrs Broadstairs cheekily as she passed her. The woman tutted. She was too full of herself by half, that one, but then she was forced to admit that she was a good worker – when she was in the mood, that was!

Meanwhile Dotty was staring from the window of the train as the fields zipped by. Her stomach was in knots and she was terrified at the thought of the meeting ahead. She had spent a whole hour getting ready that morning and done her make-up just as Annabelle had shown her, so at least she knew she looked her best, which was something. But she was under no illusions. Even now she was painfully aware that she wasn’t a pretty girl, not like Annabelle, who could turn heads wherever she went.

She had remarked on this to Miss Timms and the woman had patted her hand gently. ‘Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, my dear,’ she had told her. ‘And I for one think you
are
pretty. You really shouldn’t put yourself down so much.’

Dotty smiled as she thought of the kind, comforting words and an elderly lady sitting opposite her smiled back. ‘Off to London for a sight-seeing trip, are you, dearie?’

Dotty started. Her thoughts had been miles away.

‘No – actually I’m going to meet the editor of a magazine,’ she said self-consciously. ‘They’re thinking of publishing some of my short stories.’

‘Well I’ll be!’ The woman looked impressed. ‘I’ve never sat next to anyone famous before. Which magazine is it?’

‘It’s
Woman’s Heart
, but I haven’t had anything published yet,’ Dotty told her hastily. ‘And I’m certainly not famous. I work in Owen Owen in Coventry.’

‘Even so, it sounds like you might be,’ the woman responded. ‘I hope everything goes well for you. What’s your name? I often buy that magazine and I’ll look out for you.’

‘It’s Dorothy Kent but everyone calls me Dotty.’ Unused to being the centre of attention, Dotty was squirming with embarrassment.

‘I’m off to see me daughter. She lives in London,’ the woman told her now. ‘It’s a right worry, I don’t mind tellin’ you. Word has it that the Jerries will bomb London first when they start the raids, but she won’t move back to the Midlands. Her bloke is away in the RAF and the kids have all been evacuated, but the stubborn little bugger still won’t budge.’

Dotty felt sorry for her. ‘I’m sure that she’ll be fine,’ she said sympathetically, and they then chatted about the rations and other everyday things as the train steamed towards its destination.

At least having someone to talk to made the time go quicker. But when they drew into Euston, the nerves came back as the two women stepped down from the train onto the platform.

‘Goodbye, dearie, and good luck,’ the elderly lady trilled as she righted her old-fashioned hat and turned in the opposite direction. ‘And don’t go talkin’ to no strangers, mind. London can be a dangerous place fer a young ’un on her own.’ And then she was swallowed up by the passengers surging from the train and Dotty had never felt so alone or vulnerable in her whole life.

The station was enormous and she was sure she had never seen so many people all in the same place at the same time before. There were lots of entrances and exits too. Which one should she take? Eventually she stopped a porter who was trundling a huge trolley loaded with luggage towards the nearest exit.

‘Excuse me, could you direct me to Russell Square, please?’ she asked shakily and he instantly slowed down.

‘Yes, love, it ain’t but a stone’s throw from ’ere,’ he told her cheerily. ‘Just go through that exit there then turn left an’ then turn . . .’

Dotty listened carefully, trying hard to remember all he had said, then she headed for the exit and quickly began to follow his directions. The streets were teeming with people and her heart began to race again. She felt very small and insignificant, and after all the tales she had heard of pickpockets and thieves she clutched her bag tightly to her as if it contained the crown jewels.

Soon she rounded a corner and found herself in Russell Square. She breathed a sigh of relief; now all she had to do was find the right number.

Eventually, she stopped at the bottom of some steps leading up to double doors with the words
Woman’s Heart
emblazoned across them. Through the windows on either side of the doors she could see a number of women busily typing.

Taking a deep breath, she straightened her shoulders and still clutching the bag containing the stories she had brought for Mr Brabinger to consider, she climbed the steps and rang the bell.

The door was opened by a woman who looked enquiringly at her but when Dotty told her that she had an appointment to see Mr Brabinger, the woman smiled and held the door wide.

‘You must be Miss Kent,’ she said. ‘I’m Laura Parsons, the senior editor who looked at your story with Mr Brabinger. I’m so pleased to meet you, do come in.’

The woman was tall, very attractive and very sophisticated and once again, Lucy felt very small. She followed her along a corridor where pictures from the magazine were displayed on the walls until she stopped at a door and tapped on it before opening it.

‘Robert, Miss Kent is here,’ she told the man sitting behind the desk, then turning to Dotty again she said, ‘I’ll just go and organise a cup of tea for us all. I’m sure you’ll be ready for one after your journey.’

Dotty stepped into the room feeling like a lamb going to slaughter as the man rose and held his hand out. She noticed instantly that one of his arms was much shorter than the other and the hand on the end of it was shrivelled. But then her eyes travelled to his and she saw that they were blue and kindly.

‘Hello, Miss Kent, or may I call you Dorothy?’ he asked as they shook hands. ‘Laura and I have so been looking forward to meeting you. We were both very impressed with your story. Do sit down. I’m Robert, by the way.’

He motioned towards a chair in front of his desk and Dotty perched uncomfortably on the edge of it, balancing her bag on her lap.

‘You can call me Dotty, if you like,’ she said in a voice that came out as no more than a squeak.

‘Dotty it is then.’ He shuffled some papers into a pile before asking, ‘Did you bring us any more of your stories to look at?’

Dotty nodded as she fumbled in her bag, suddenly all fingers and thumbs. ‘Y-yes, I did.’ She placed them on the edge of the desk and he took one up and began to skim through it, giving her time to study him. He was quite a nicelooking man – not too tall, she had noticed when he had stood up to meet her, in fact only a few inches taller than herself. He had a thatch of thick dark brown hair that had a tendency to curl, and a small moustache.

‘This is very good too,’ he said presently as he laid the pages back on the desk. ‘But if we are to make your stories a regular item in our magazine, I’m afraid there are a few things I will have to ask you to do. Can you type?’

‘Yes, I had lessons at school,’ Dotty answered.

‘Then it might pay you to invest in a typewriter,’ he advised. ‘It’s so much easier to read typed manuscripts rather than handwritten ones. Not that there is anything wrong with your handwriting, of course,’ he rushed on with a twinkle in his eye. ‘Do you think you could do that?’

‘Oh yes,’ Dotty said eagerly. She had really enjoyed her typing lessons but up until now hadn’t felt the need to buy a typewriter of her own. And it needn’t be too expensive if she bought a good quality second-hand one. There were any number of them appearing in the second-hand shops and pawnshops back home as the rationing made everyone tighten their belts.

‘Good.’

Laura Parsons appeared at that moment, balancing a tray containing cups of tea, and Robert told her, ‘I’ve just said to Dotty here – that’s what we are to call her – that a typewriter might be a good investment. Luckily she can already type.’

‘Excellent – and you must call me Laura,’ she told Dotty as she carefully slid the tray onto the desk. ‘I don’t mind telling you that we’re quite excited about your stories. Have you always enjoyed writing? And have you had any of your work published before?’