Hettie of Hope Street (21 page)

Immediately Jay's whole face tightened, and then darkened with anger. ‘My wife does not, and will not, leave New Orleans,' he stated in a clipped, harsh voice.

The very thought of his petulant, demanding wife bringing her unwanted presence to London and his life away from her was enough to remind him of all the reasons he had wanted to escape from her in the first place. Not that he needed reminding.

Veronique was the spoiled and petted daughter of elderly parents, who had devoted themselves to her, unable to believe their good fortune in her
birth when they had given up all hope of having a child. She had therefore grown up in a household where she was not just waited on hand and foot but worshipped and adored as well, and she had made it plain that she expected her husband to do the same.

But Jay had never had any intentions of doing any such thing. When she had insisted on taking to her bed and remaining there after the birth of their second child, Jay had shrugged his shoulders and left her to her day-bed in an over-heated room that stank of stale air, over-perfumed female flesh and pug dog. He had no desire to listen to her unending complaints about her poor health and his own unkindness towards her.

As a Catholic, it was impossible for him to divorce her even if he had wanted to; but her existence provided him with a useful barrier against any demands from his lovers to divorce her and marry them.

The truth was that Jay thought of himself and behaved as though he were, in actual fact, a single man, and thus Hettie's reference to his wife was not one he welcomed. Now, seeing from Hettie's expression that his anger had distressed her, he shook his head and affected an expression of sorrow, as he told her, ‘My wife suffers from poor health and is confined to her bed, unable to travel.'

Hettie felt mortified. ‘Oh I am so sorry,' she apologised, immediately feeling guilty. She could
understand now how much her comment must have distressed him.

‘There is nothing for you to apologise for,' Jay assured her warmly, concealing how very pleased he was by the result of his small ploy. ‘You were not to know. I do not speak of it – or…her – very much…because…'

‘Because it is too painful for you?' Hettie whispered sympathetically. ‘Oh, poor lady. How she must long to be restored to full health so that she might be with you.'

Just in time Jay recognised that it might not be a good idea to awaken in Hettie too much sympathy for his wife. ‘You are kind, Hettie, but tragically your sympathy would be wasted on my poor Veronique. She barely recognises me any more, never mind remembers that I am her husband. In fact,' he allowed his voice to drop to a confessional murmur, ‘she cannot…we do not live…there is no longer that intimacy between us that should be shared by man and wife.'

Jay's mouth twisted sardonically. Well, that much was true. Veronique certainly did not recognise her duty to him as his wife, when it came to his husbandly rights, and had screamed at him that she never wanted him to touch her again after the birth of their second son.

‘Naturally I have made sure that she has the best of care, but her doctors say that it is best that she is allowed to have peace and quiet.'

Jay had drawn a most affecting and distressing
picture of his wife for her, and Hettie felt her eyes sting with compassionate tears. What a truly dreadful thing it must be for both of them that this poor wife could not be a true wife to him, and how noble of Jay to speak so caringly of her. Hettie's heart swelled with emotion for him.

There was a rap on the outer door to the suite.

‘Ah, that will be our dinner,' Jay predicted.

‘I am afraid I am not really dressed for dining at the Ritz,' Hettie admitted, as the doors opened to reveal a huge dinner wagon and several waiters.

‘Since we are dining here in my suite, it does not matter,' Jay assured her jovially. ‘But don't worry, Hettie, we shall make sure you have something pretty to wear before too long.'

Now he was on familiar ground, Jay acknowledged. He had never yet had a mistress who had not been delighted to receive pretty pieces of jewellery and couture gowns. He was looking forward to taking Hettie to Paris and buying her gowns from Worth and Chanel, almost as much as he was looking forward to taking her to his bed and initiating her into all the arts of lovemaking.

By the time she stepped on to a Broadway stage as the leading lady in his new musical, he wanted her to be ready for that role, and not an ingénue any longer.

The hotel staff had lit the candles in the suite's dining room and the waiters were standing ready to serve dinner.

Extending his arm for Hettie to place her hand on, Jay smiled at her and invited, ‘May I escort you in to dinner, Miss Walker?'

Jay made her feel as though she were gowned and jewelled like a duchess, Hettie marvelled gratefully as he led her into the dining room.

As soon as they were seated he turned to the waiters and told them coolly, ‘Thank you, that is all. We shall serve ourselves.'

When they had gone, Jay explained, ‘I don't want our private conversation being gossiped about through every kitchen in London. I have already drawn up a shortlist of possible singing teachers for you, Hettie. There is one in particular who has taught at La Scala who I think will be perfect.'

‘La Scala? But that is an opera house,' Hettie whispered. ‘And my voice is…'

‘Your voice is soprano lyric,' Jay stopped her as he stood up and walked to the buffet table. ‘Will you have some of the beef, Hettie?'

‘Yes. Yes, please…'

Just watching him carve the meat reminded her poignantly of Winckley Square and those happy Sundays at home when she had been a child.

‘I have checked with your old teacher,' Jay continued as he handed her a plate heaped high with mouthwatering slices of meat. ‘And she confirms what I believe myself, which is that with the right teacher you can look to take on leading female roles instead of merely second female leads.

‘Think of it, Hettie,' he urged, coming to her side and catching hold of her hands in his own, his whole face taut and bright with the golden glitter of his dream. ‘You will have the whole of Broadway at your feet, perhaps even be the must famous female singer Broadway has ever known.'

‘But why should you do any of this for me?' Hettie asked him shyly later when they had finished eating. ‘There are any number of singers who…'

‘Any number of
singers
, perhaps, but only one you.'

He paused as someone started banging loudly on the outer suite door, and a male voice called out, ‘Jay, it's me, Harvey. Let me in, will ya? Come on, Jay, I know damned well you're in there, and I'm not about to go away.'

‘I'm sorry about this,' Jay apologised to Hettie as he stood up.

As Jay opened the main suite doors, a short burly man thrust his way in, laughing loudly and triumphantly as he did so. ‘I knew it! I knew you were here even though those stuffed shirt jerks downstairs told me you weren't. Who've you got here then, Jay? Some little sweetie, no doubt.'

As he turned round and spied Hettie, he laughed again. ‘Say, she
is
a sweetie. Where have you been hiding her, Jay?'

‘Hettie and I were just discussing a private business matter, Harvey,' Hettie heard Jay telling him.

‘Private business, eh? I'll bet it was. Aren't you going to introduce us?'

A little grimly Jay did so, announcing curtly, ‘Hettie, allow me to introduce to you Mr Harvey Meyerbrock. Harvey, Miss Hettie Walker.'

‘Charmed, I'm sure.' Harvey Meyerbrock began walking towards Hettie.

Immediately, Hettie stepped back from him, unable to stop herself. Something about him repulsed and frightened her, though she could not explain even to herself just what it was. It was true that he wasn't a handsome man like Jay, but it wasn't his lack of good looks that made her recoil from him so much as the lascivious way in which he was looking at her, his shiny, too red lips parting as he slipped a wet tongue tip over them in a way that made Hettie shudder.

‘That's enough, Harvey,' Hettie heard Jay saying curtly. ‘Hettie is the seond lead singer in the operetta I'm backing, and I wanted to talk to her about the singing lessons I am arranging for her in order to improve her voice.'

‘Yeah, yeah,' he smirked. ‘I get the picture, Jay. I know you, remember? Well, she is a dainty little morsel and no mistake. And when you've finished with her…'

He hadn't taken his eyes off her the whole time he had been speaking to Jay, and somehow he made Hettie feel that if she herself looked away he might actually physically pounce on her. The thought horrified her. ‘I must go,' she told Jay unsteadily, her face still burning from being
subjected to Jay's friend's uncouth remarks and his predatory scrutiny.

‘I'll ring for someone to escort you down to the lobby and call you a cab,' Jay told her.

Inwardly Jay was cursing Harvey's untimely arrival, but he knew from past experience that there was no point hinting to the other man that his presence was
de trop
because then he would only delight in remaining. Like Jay himself, Harvey was a gambler and an American, and he was also, or so he had claimed to Jay, involved in the making of silent movies. Harvey had struck up a friendship with Jay when they had sailed across the Atlantic together en route for England.

Hettie could feel Harvey Meyerbrock's hot greedy gaze on her body as Jay took hold of her arm and escorted her towards the door. Something about the way Harvey watched her reminded her of Mr Buchanan, only with Harvey Meyerbrock her awareness of being in danger was a hundred times stronger.

‘I'm sorry about this, Hettie,' Jay whispered to her as they stood in the corridor. He had pulled the door to, so that Harvey could neither see nor hear them.

‘It was time for me to leave anyway,' Hettie told him. ‘I don't want to be late for rehearsal in the morning.'

The lift had arrived and Jay watched as the bellboy helped her into it.

‘Cute little tootsie, Jay.' Harvey grinned when Jay walked back into the room. ‘Wanna go shares?'

‘Miss Walker is a professional singer, Harvey,' Jay told him coolly, ignoring the other man's grinning mouth and knowing wink and continuing, ‘And, as I have already told you, our relationship is strictly business.'

‘Don't give me that! There ain't no way you would be wining and dining her up here if
that
were true.' He laughed coarsely, and then shrugged. ‘Fine, keep her to yourself if you want.'

‘What are you doing here, Harvey?' Jay asked him sharply. ‘What do you want?'

Harvey gave another shrug. ‘I'd heard as how there was a big game coming off and I wanted to know if you knew about it.'

Jay sighed. As he had quickly discovered, the really big money gambling in London took place in private, in the kind of gentlemen's clubs where you needed blue blood and a pedigree longer than a prize bull to get so much as your nose through the door.
‘Right now the theatre is about as much gambling as I want to do,' Jay told him firmly.
‘'Ettie,
at last
. I've bin worrying meself sick about you. Where the 'ell have you bin?' Babs asked crossly when Hettie let herself into their shared room.

‘Jay Dalhousie wanted to see me,' Hettie explained.

‘So I 'eard. But that were hours ago. Don't tell me you've bin with him all this time,' Babs demanded suspiciously. ‘It's gone midnight.'

‘Jay…Mr Dalhousie…wanted to talk to me and, and so he invited me to have dinner with him.' Hettie was almost stumbling over the words, her face a guilty red.

‘What? Where did he tek you?'

This was something she hadn't been prepared for, Hettie admitted as she struggled to be discreet whilst at the same time trying to calm Babs. ‘We had dinner at the Ritz hotel.' ‘What? 'Ettie, for gawd's sake, you didn't let 'im persuade you to go back to 'is room with 'im, did you?' Babs asked as sharply as a mother hen.

Hettie's expression gave her away.

‘Gawd, 'Ettie, 'ave you no sense?'

‘It wasn't a room. He has a suite,' Hettie defended herself swiftly.

Babs looked at her in despair. ‘Haven't you 'eard a word of what we've bin saying to Mary? What did he say to you?' she demanded before asking anxiously, ‘'Ere, you haven't let him have his way with you already, have you?'

‘No!' Hettie told her, her face burning. ‘And it wasn't like that anyway.'

‘Come off of it, 'Ettie,' Babs told her scornfully. ‘It's allus like that with men like 'im and girls like us.'

‘He wanted to talk to me about business. About my singing,' Hettie insisted stubbornly, trying not
to show how much Babs's comments were upsetting her. ‘He says he wants me to have a singing teacher.'

‘And you believed 'im? Why the 'ell would
you
need a singing teacher anyway? I'm surprised at you, 'Ettie. I didn't think you was that sort of girl,' Babs told her loftily. ‘I thought you was a proper decent sort.'

‘I am,' Hettie insisted, but Babs had already turned over in her bed, and pulled the bedclothes up over her ears.

‘'Ettie, the postman's just been and there's a letter 'ere for you…'

Hurrying down the stairs, Hettie picked up the envelope Aggie was waving in the air, her heart thudding against her chest wall as she recognised Gideon's writing. ‘It's from me Da,' she told Aggie as she hurried to open it.

‘Well, you'd better read it quick, like, otherwise we'll be late for rehearsals.'

‘Oh, it's all right, I've been excused this morning,' Hettie told her absently as she pulled the sheets of paper out of the envelope. ‘Jay wants me to meet this new singing teacher he's found for me.'

She was too anxious to read her letter to notice the exaggerated eye-rolling look Aggie gave Babs before saying sharply to Hettie, ‘Oh ho, it's all right for some, isn't it? Private singing lessons. Next thing we know you'll be going to rehearsals in a chaffeur-driven car, wiv your nose stuck up
in the air. Well, seein' as how as we ain't considered good enough to have private lessons, we'd better be on our way,' Aggie said sharply. ‘Come on, Babs.'

‘Give us a minute,' Babs begged her. ‘'Ettie, you won't forget that we're all going to Sam's Chop House tonight on account of it being Sukey's birthday, will you?' she asked, opening the front door to their lodgings and letting in a gust of raw February air that made Hettie shiver.

‘Of course I won't forget,' Hettie assured her as she closed the door after her friends.

As she climbed the stairs, Hettie admitted to herself a little guiltily that she was quite pleased that she would have their room to herself so that she could read her letter in private.

Gideon started off by saying how pleased he and Ellie both had been to read the reviews Hettie had sent them, and how proud of her they were.

‘You will be pleased to know, Hettie, that your Mam is much recovered, both in spirits and in body, and that we intend to make our way home to Preston.'

There was a second page to the letter and when Hettie turned to it, she gasped, quick tears filling her eyes as she recognised Ellie's writing.

Her hands trembling she spread out the single sheet and read it eagerly.

‘Hettie, love,' Ellie had written. ‘I am sorry to have caused you all so much anxiety and worry, but as Gideon has written I am now much more
my old self. Hettie, I so much want to see you, my dearest. Could you,
would you
come home to us at Easter? I shall understand if it is not possible for I have read your reviews and know what a famous person you are become. We are both so proud of you, Hettie, and so excited for you.'

Ellie had signed the letter, ‘Your loving Mam.'

Laughing and crying at the same time Hettie read it again and then a third time. Just as she had previously been glad to have their room to herself, now she wished equally intensely that Babs were here so that she could share her happiness with her. Only now reading the words Ellie had written to her, could Hettie admit how much she had feared that Ellie was lost to her for ever and that she would never recover from her grief.

Hurriedly she searched for her writing paper. They would not have returned to Preston yet, of course, but she wanted her letter to be there waiting for them when they did so that they could know how happy she was and how much she was looking forward to seeing them.

Half an hour later, on her way to the theatre to meet the singing teacher Jay had chosen for her, Hettie stopped off to post her letter.

The match sellers were already standing in a huddled row outside the theatre itself, waiting for the matinée audience. The sight of them, once brave fighting men but now reduced to poverty, tore at Hettie's heart and she remembered how
both Ellie and Gideon had always shown generosity to those poorer than themselves.

Opening her purse she hurried up to the first of the men and gave him several pennies, hurrying down the whole line of men to do the same thing until her purse was empty.

‘Bless you for that, Miss, and for your kind heart,' the last one told her hoarsely, tears shining in his eyes.

Jay had told her that she was to go straight to his office, and when she got there she found that he was already inside, speaking with a woman so large that there was scarcely any room for Hettie herself to squeeze in to the room with them.

‘Oh Hettie. Good, you are here. Madame Bertrice, please allow me to introduce to you my protégée, Miss Hettie Walker.'

The large body somehow swivelled in Hettie's direction, a sharp glance from two small dark eyes, the colour of raisins, raking her from head to foot.

‘She does not have the bosom for a powerful voice,' Madame Bertrice announced dismissively.

‘Nor has she had the benefit of your famed teaching skills,' Hettie heard Jay saying smoothly. ‘Unfortunately, the bosom we cannot do anything about, but as for your teaching…'

‘Ah, you hope to persuade me to take your protégée as a pupil by flattering me, Monsieur. Well, I will tell you that I am not easily flattered, not even by a man as handsome as you.'

Not easily flattered and not easily bought,
either, Jay decided cynically, reflecting wryly on the amount Madame was demanding as her fee.

‘You, girl.'

Hettie tried not to react when the Madame Bertrice woman jabbed a finger into her ribs.

‘Let me hear your scales.'

Uncertainly, Hettie looked at Jay, who gave a small nod of his head.

Taking a deep breath, Hettie began.

‘I thought you told me the girl could sing?' Madame told Jay derisively when she had waved Hettie into silence. ‘That is not singing.'

‘Maybe not, but you will acknowledge that she does have a remarkably clear, if untrained, soprano lyric voice,' Jay said coolly.

Madame Bertrice shrugged dismissively. ‘Oui, she does have a soprano voice, but what of that? Pfff, it is nothing. To be a truly great diva one needs to possess a truly magnificent voice.'

‘But I do not want to be a diva,' Hettie said fiercely.

The sharp gaze raked her again. ‘No? Then why do you waste my time?'

‘What Hettie means is that she does not want to be an operatic diva,' Jay explained, giving Hettie a quelling look.

They both looked at Hettie, making her feel both self-conscious and angry.

‘I do not know what I can do with her,' Madame Bertrice declared disparagingly.

‘Thank you, Hettie, you may go now,' Jay told
her abruptly, opening the door for her to leave.

Madame Bertrice was not leaving, though, Hettie saw crossly. No doubt the moment she had gone Madame would start telling Jay that he was wasting his time even thinking about lessons for her.

It was over an hour before Hettie was summoned back to Jay's office.

‘I do not want you to waste your money on singing lessons for me, Jay,' she told him fiercely. ‘Madame Bertrice made it plain that she does not think my voice is good enough.'

‘We can discuss this better tonight – over dinner.' Jay smiled at her. ‘Hudson will be waiting for you in the car after the show, and I shall instruct him to take you to the Ritz.'

‘Oh Jay, I'm sorry but I can't.'

His smile gave way to a frown. ‘Why not?' he asked her sharply.

‘It's Sukey's birthday and we're all going out to Sam's Chop House,' Hettie explained uncomfortably as Jay continued to frown, very obviously displeased.

‘Surely your career is more important to you than this Sukey, whoever she might be,' he remarked irritably.

‘Sukey is one of the chorus girls,' Hettie explained earnestly.

‘Oh, a chorus girl.' Jay shrugged dismissively. ‘Why should she be of any concern to you, Hettie?'

‘She's one of my friends,' Hettie told him, shocked by his attititude and his casual dismissal of Sukey. ‘And if I don't go…'

‘What do you mean,
if
you don't go?' Jay challenged her curtly. ‘I thought we understood one another, Hettie, and that we were agreed that nothing should come in the way of our shared ambition to see you succeed on Broadway. That is, after all, why I am paying for you to have singing lessons as well as commissioning Archie to write a musical that will showcase you.'

Guiltily, Hettie realised how ungrateful she must seem.

‘And besides,' Jay continued. ‘If this Sukey is so much of a friend to you as you say, she is bound to understand.' He gave a small shrug. ‘You can have supper with her another night, after all.'

John reached inside his jacket and removed Gideon's letter from his pocket as he opened the door to his private quarters. The letter had been there since the post had arrived much earlier in the day, but he had had a busy morning with two flying lessons booked, and this was his first opportunity to have some time to himself.

He made his way into his neat kitchen, where he filled the kettle and lit the gas stove. Whilst he waited for the kettle to boil he opened the envelope and removed the letter. Several newspaper cuttings fell out. Frowning slightly, John leaned over to pick them up, studying them curiously.

‘Miss Hettie Walker
is
Princess Mimi.'

His heart struck a sledgehammer blow against his chest wall, almost depriving him of breath.

Still frowning he put the cuttings down on the table, carefully smoothing them out, and then began to read them, Gideon's letter forgotten until the shrill whistle of the boiling kettle jerked him out of his concentration.

Almost absently he reached for the kettle, then switched off the gas before pouring the boiling water into the teapot, still reading and re-reading the critics' praise for Hettie. He replaced the kettle on the stove and searched through the cuttings, and then the letter itself and the envelope, wondering if there might be a cutting which contained a photograph of Hettie. He felt both disappointed and relieved once he had assured himself that there wasn't.

He poured himself a cup of tea, stirred it, then took his drink and went to sit down at the small kitchen table so that he could read Gideon's letter. The news it contained about Ellie eased some of his tension. He was relieved to read about her recovery, both for her sake and for Gideon's.

He frowned suddenly as he heard someone knocking on the door to his private quarters. No one normally disturbed him when he was here unless it was urgent. He got up and pushed back the chair before striding through the kitchen and past the small, almost Spartan parlour into the narrow hallway, dodging the mounted stag's head,
complete with antlers, that the previous occupant of the flat had left on the wall.

‘John. At last. I was beginning to think you weren't going to let me in.'

‘Lady Polly!'

Polly shook her head vigorously. ‘How many times must I beg you not to call me “Lady” Polly, John?' she appealed to him, pulling off her driving gloves as she hurried in, leaving John with no option other than to close the door behind her and then take the fur-lined coat she was holding out to him.

‘I do so hate February. It is the very worst kind of month, at least here in England. I have tried to persuade Alfie to take me ski-ing, but he says he is too busy. Do you ski, John? Winter sports are frightfully jolly.'

‘No, I don't,' John told her, a mental image of the snow-covered slope in Preston's park flashing inside his head, along with an image of himself sitting on the sledge he had made for Hettie, with her sitting in front of him, clinging to him as they sped downhill, her small rosy face alight with pleasure.

‘John, come back, you aren't listening to me,' he heard Polly complaining.

‘I'm sorry.'

Polly laughed and put her hand on his arm. ‘Oh John, you are such a darling. It would be so very easy for me to fall in love with you, if only things were different and I wasn't still so very much in
love with my dearest Ollie. I suppose you are going to tell me that I am interrupting your work, and that you are very busy.'

She was all bright chatter but John was still uneasily aware of the stark despair he could see in her eyes. She was lonely, and she wanted to fill the empty place in her heart and her life. John knew exactly how that felt. But there was a huge social gulf between them and he was also aware that her frequent visits to the flying school were beginning to make her the subject of innuendo and gossip.

‘We are busy,' he agreed, ‘and in fact I was just about to go back to the office.'

‘You just want to get rid of me, don't you?' Polly remarked as John started to walk towards the kitchen intending to get his jacket. ‘You don't want me here.'

‘What I don't want is for anyone to accuse me of behaving improperly towards you,' John corrected her quietly.

‘Oh, for heavens sake, why should it be improper for us to be friends?'

They had reached the kitchen. John removed his jacket from the back of the chair and started to put it on. ‘You know why.'

‘Because you are a man and I am a woman? Or because I am a Lady and you are not a Lord?' Polly demanded emotionally.

‘Both,' John replied equably.

‘Oh!' Polly exclaimed, suddenly distracted as
she looked down at the table. ‘I didn't know you were interested in the theatre?'

‘I'm not,' John responded shortly.

‘But you are obviously interested in Miss Hettie Walker?' Polly quizzed him archly.

‘Hettie is my sister Ellie's step-daughter.'

‘Oh. Oh, I'm sorry, John. You must be very proud of her. What is it, John? What's wrong?' Polly asked him when he made no response.

‘I've got someone coming for a lesson in fifteen minutes.'

‘You don't want to talk about her, do you? Why not? Is it because she is more to you than merely your sister's step-daughter? Oh John, she is, isn't she?' Polly guessed when he didn't respond. ‘You love her, don't you, and you can never love anyone else, just as I can never love anyone other than my Ollie…'