The Gown(33)

So they said good night to Miss Duley, who warned them to be careful and for heaven’s sake stay well clear of men in uniform, and they raced to the Corner House around the corner. While the others tucked into their suppers with gusto, Ann discovered her appetite had been replaced by a stomach full of butterflies. It wouldn’t do to waste the perfectly good meal she’d been served, though, so she ate every scrap of her Welsh rarebit. It might as well have been sawdust.

Her apprehension finally began to melt away on their walk to the Astoria. The temperature had dropped a few degrees, a welcome relief after the late afternoon heat, and it was easy to imagine, as they strolled along Oxford Street, that life would always be this carefree and easy. That happiness might be found in a new frock and some pretty shoes and an evening out with friends.

She’d never been to the dance hall at the Astoria before, although she’d walked past it any number of times. There was already a queue to get in, snaking down the two flights of stairs to the basement ballroom, but it moved quickly enough. She handed over her admission, a startling three-and-six for the evening, and followed along as Ethel and Doris debated where they ought to sit. Ethel wanted a table on the mezzanine that circled the dance floor, and thereby provided a better view of the proceedings, while Doris preferred a table on the main level, which had faster access to the dancing itself.

“The two of you can bicker all you like,” Carmen declared after a few minutes, “but the place is filling up and I don’t feel like standing. I’m getting a table. Come on, girls. Follow me.” One of the large tables under the mezzanine was empty, and was just big enough for them all to squeeze round.

That settled, Doris and Ethel set off to fetch drinks for everyone. Another tuppence from Ann’s pocket and, she hoped, the last she would spend that evening. It was a good thing she’d never made a habit of going out every weekend, otherwise she’d be living in the poorhouse by now.

Jessie and Carmen extracted packets of cigarettes from their handbags and offered them round, but only Miriam accepted.

“I didn’t think you smoked,” Ann said.

“Not anymore. Not since I moved here. These English cigarettes are awful.” Miriam frowned as she exhaled a thin plume of smoke.

“Then why bother?”

“I am not sure,” Miriam admitted with a smile. “Habit, I suppose. Why do you not smoke?”

“My mum didn’t approve. And then . . . well, I never really liked the smell of it. I still don’t. The air in here is like the top deck of a bus.”

Ann looked around the ballroom, marveling at how quickly it had filled up. The dance floor was packed, with no shortage of uniformed men among the dancers. Some people were dressed in the same clothes they’d worn to work; some, like her, were wearing a variation of their Sunday best; and some were dressed to the nines.

The group at the next table fell into the latter category. The women wore gorgeously embellished cocktail dresses, one of which Ann was fairly certain had come from Hartnell, and jewels sparkled at their wrists, necks, and ears. One even had a pearl-and-diamond-studded comb tucked into her chignon. The lone man at their table wore a dinner jacket and reminded her of Clark Gable, only with rather less chin.

The woman closest to her was young, only just out of her teens, and had a mink-lined wrap around her shoulders in spite of the sweltering weather. As Ann watched, one end came loose and slithered down to droop on the floor, but the woman didn’t seem to notice. It would be a shame for such a pretty garment to be ruined.

“Excuse me,” she said, leaning forward. The woman didn’t respond. “Excuse me,” she said again, and this time she reached out to touch the woman’s arm. “I beg your pardon, but your wrap has fallen.”

The woman looked round, a vee of annoyance creasing her brow. “What?”

“Your wrap. It’s on the floor.”

“Oh, right.” She yanked the wrap up and back across her lap. “Thanks.” Almost as an afterthought, she offered a perfunctory smile before turning back to her friends.

Ethel and Doris returned just then with glasses of lemonade for everyone. “Barman says the licensing inspector has a beef with the owners. So this is the strongest the drinks will get tonight.”

Their reassurances that they didn’t mind at all, and in fact preferred lemonade to anything else, were interrupted by a squeal of protest from the next table.

“Really? This is the best you can do? I told you I didn’t want to come to this grubby little place. Why don’t you ever listen?” It was the girl with the fur wrap.

Another man had arrived at her table, his hands laden with glasses of lemonade, and she was making no secret of her disappointment. He bent his head low, said something that made her pout, then laugh, but rather than sit down he stood behind her, a hand on the back of her chair, and surveyed the ballroom. Perhaps he was looking for other people he knew. Perhaps he was feeling annoyed at her outburst and needed a moment to collect himself.

He really was terrifically handsome. Tall but not eye-wateringly so, he had a slim build and posture that hinted at time in the military. His fair hair was cut short and swept back from his brow, and his dinner jacket was tailored so perfectly it must have been made for him.

“Do you see that fellow at the next table?” Ruthie hissed in her ear. “Do you think that’s the princess’s fiancé? Lieutenant Mountbatten?”