Chapter Twenty-Seven

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

‘S o, here we are then!’

There was quite a party assembled outside the doors to the old Tutankhamen Restaurant. The first week of the pantomime had been a huge success, and they were all, Jack knew, a little giddy with it. The Highbridge Gazette had called the show a triumph, and it looked as if it would run to full houses throughout January, and if their luck held, well into February. Now 1926 was behind them, and they had welcomed in 1927 at the Metropole to the strains of Mabel Mills. The sight of his wife laughing with Josie at one of the tables round the edge of the dance floor, while cascades of multicoloured streamers fell around them, was an image Jack was keen to fix in his mind – a talisman for the coming year.

While Grace worked with the cast to iron out any final problems with the show and incorporate into its fabric whatever extra bits of business the presence of an audience had inspired, Jack, Tom and Dixon had been at work. Standing on the grey pavement outside the old restaurant, Jack wondered if they had done enough, but he couldn’t delay sharing their plans any longer.

Grace had been at The Empire to watch the matinee, and Stella, Tom, Lillian and Nikolai had motored in from Lassiter Court with Dixon. At Lillian’s invitation, Dixon had abandoned the Metropole, and another of Lassiter Court’s many comfortable bedrooms had been made available to him.

Jack turned the key in the lock, pushed open the door and ushered them into the restaurant, then turned on the lights. They illuminated, rather too brightly, a sorry scene. He’d been so proud of the dining room and nightclub when it opened, and it hurt to see it looking so dusty and dishevelled. The street entrance led to a slightly raised level where arrivals could be greeted by the ma?tre d’, in full view of the diners and dancers, then led down a short curved staircase to the main floor. Half of the room was filled with tables and two rows of booths; the other half consisted of the dance floor and a low stage for the musical entertainment. The columns which held up the roof were in green marble, with gold palm leaves at top and base, and around the walls marched friezes of Egyptian pharaohs and gods.

It had looked absolutely splendid when it opened, but the gilt on the palm leaves had started to flake and the tables, without their linens and crockery, looked naked and ashamed. The dust had settled into the soft furnishings; the air was musty, and the chairs were stacked in the corners like wallflowers at a very unsuccessful ball.

‘It does look like a tomb,’ Nikolai observed, unhelpfully.

Grace rested her hand on Jack’s shoulder for a moment, and prevented a slump.

‘Jack, it’s huge,’ Dixon said in a whisper. ‘I hadn’t realised it was so big.’

Jack straightened his back and rubbed his hands together. From the ashes of the restaurant, a phoenix would rise – if he could just get them all to believe.

‘We propose setting up a record company,’ he said.

‘You propose what ?’ Lillian said, and glanced at Nikolai, but he only blinked, his expression one of polite interest. Grace’s expression, Jack noticed, remained cheerful, but he suspected the smile was rather fixed. He hurried on.

‘Tom and Dixon and I had a sort of brainwave on Christmas Eve, and that’s it. All the recording companies are in London, and we’ve got singers and songs that deserve an audience up here, too. You’ve heard the recordings – Dixon will be in charge of all that. Tom’s going to manage the manufacture of the records, and I’m going to sell them.’

‘What has this got to do with an old restaurant?’ Stella asked, running a finger along the dusty brass balustrade.

‘This isn’t a restaurant!’ He jogged down the stairs and opened up his arms. ‘I present to you . . . the Empire Recording Studio and Music Emporium!’ The looks he was getting were still a bit blank. ‘Look, just imagine it. If we put up a wall here, we can divide the space between the shop and the recording area. It will need to be soundproofed, naturally, but we can manage that. Two rooms, one for Dixon and his equipment, and one for the musicians.’

‘You won’t fit an orchestra in there,’ Stella said, blowing the dust off the balustrade, then leaning on it.

‘We can do that in the theatre,’ Jack said. ‘But for singers and small bands, we could do everything here, couldn’t we, Dixon?’

Dixon sneezed. ‘It would need to be dust-free, but yes. I don’t need much room for my equipment. A room with drapes and a carpet, say forty by thirty feet in total? Will that fit?’

Jack nodded and Dixon smiled shyly.

Jack rubbed his hands together. Grace bit her lip, but the fixed smile had gone and she had a sort of sparkle in her eyes. ‘Now for the shop. We can sell records from EMI or whoever, as well as our own, and sheet music, pianola rolls! Even instruments. And look at those booths we spent so much money upholstering. What if we could have a gramophone on every table? We’d have some records behind the service counter which customers could borrow and play, so they can check they like it before they spend their hard-earned shillings.’

‘Wouldn’t that end up making the most awful racket?’ Stella asked, walking down the stairs to join him.

He shook his head. ‘Not if we put padded barriers between them, and used the wind-up portables. It will be . . .’ He paused. ‘A merry conflagration of sound.’

Grace came trotting down the stairs to join Stella and Jack. ‘I see it! We could have racks of records there. And a cashier’s desk. And perhaps we could convert the bar, Jack? Serve coffee and cakes, like the Lyons teashop.’

The dusty space shivered in Jack’s vision and he began to see it full of young people, drinking their coffee and listening to records.

‘So we record the masters here, and sell the records . . . Dixon, might the recording studio have a window?’ Jack asked. ‘So customers can see the musicians playing?’

‘If we can soundproof it.’ Dixon was grinning now, too, wandering round the old dance floor while his fingers worked gleefully at the frayed cuffs of his coat.

Jack looked up at Lillian, who was still standing with Nikolai and Tom by the old ma?tre d’s station.

‘What do you think, Lillian?’

‘I think it sounds terribly expensive, Jack! I know you’re all excited, but this building work and all the equipment! How much do these portable players cost? Then we must pay for all the manufacturing and stock before we even begin!’

Jack took the hurdle at a leap. ‘I’ve been through the figures. I think seven thousand pounds would cover the conversion, recording equipment and initial stock, and see us through the first year with staff.’

Lillian gasped, but the tingle would not be stilled. Jack lifted his hands towards her. ‘Lillian! We’ll find a way, I know it. There’s what Grace and I put aside from Cairo Nights for a house. And I’m certain the bank will extend our line of credit.’

‘Jack . . . The money you put aside for your house?’ Lillian exclaimed. ‘Hadn’t you better consult your wife on that?’

Grace picked up one of the chairs, dusted the seat and sat on it, removing her gloves. ‘Blow the house, Lillian. I’d rather have a record shop.’

Jack went down on his knees to kiss her cheek and she laughed.

‘Oh, honestly, children,’ Lillian sighed. ‘Jack, do get up, the floor is filthy. I suppose it’s possible that Mr Fiell would like to buy rather than rent the grazing land to the north of Lassiter Court. Though the income has been rather useful.’

‘We’ll get more income from a record shop,’ Jack said. ‘I can feel it in my bones, Lillian!’ He bounced to his feet and dusted off his knees. ‘It’s just the shot in the arm The Empire needs. Just think of the excitement!’

A long silence.

‘Nikolai,’ Lillian said at last, ‘what do you think?’

Nikolai offered her his arm and they made their way down the stairs and joined the others at the table. His lips were pursed and his head down. Man knows how to milk a dramatic pause , Jack thought, with a mixture of resentment and admiration.

‘I come to this country with nothing . . . almost nothing.’ Jack felt his jaw clench, but caught Grace’s warning look and said nothing. ‘I come with only my father’s signet ring, and this diamond tie pin.’ He removed the pin from his cravat and, as the silk round his neck gracefully unfolded, he stared at it. ‘But I lay this down to contribute to the enterprise. Record the voices and songs of your people. Share them with the world.’

He placed the pin down on the table in front of them. Lillian sighed. ‘I guess we are all in then, Jack.’

Jack whooped and performed a creditable shuffle on the wooden boards. ‘If I might . . .’ Dixon said. ‘I’ve saved something from my allowance. I have two thousand pounds I hoped to invest.’

Nikolai discreetly picked up his tie pin again.

‘Goodness, are you quite sure, Dixon? I keep thinking you are on your uppers.’

Dixon followed the direction of his gaze. ‘My coat, you mean?’ He fingered the material. ‘I’m very fond of it. Mother keeps trying to persuade me to wear one of the new ones, but the cloth is so itchy.’

Lillian held up her hands. ‘Very well! I admit a shop for music and records here might work, and I was as impressed by Dixon’s recordings as anyone. But did you say manufacturing? Tom?’

Tom was still standing at the top of the stairs, looking rather shy. ‘We should make the discs in Highbridge, too, Lillian. So much faster than sending the masters to London, and we’d have control of the quality that way. That’s where I come in. I want to make the records.’

‘Tom,’ Lillian said slowly, ‘it’s been an awfully long time since I talked about factories and the like with your grandfather, but setting up an enterprise to actually make the records! It makes setting up a recording studio and a shop look like child’s play.’

‘I’m aware. But I have some thoughts. And this is in my blood, somewhere, Lillian.’

Lillian turned. ‘Jack . . .’

He held up his hands. ‘Lillian, I felt the same, but Tom’s convinced me he knows what he’s doing. And this was all his idea in the first place.’

Grace sat forward in her chair. ‘Are you sure?’

‘I’m convinced I want to try, Grace,’ Tom said. Jack watched him; he certainly had a glint in his eye. ‘And my mother’s attempts to make me learn accountancy had some benefits.’

‘But the costs . . .’ Grace said.

‘I have capital,’ Tom said. ‘I’ll invest that, and borrow the rest from Lassiter Enterprises.’

‘Tom, dear,’ Lillian said, putting out a gloved hand towards him. ‘What about your mother? You’re not twenty-five yet, so she controls your capital, and I can’t see Constance investing in any scheme which involves us.’

Tom gave a slightly crooked smile. ‘I know what my mother is like, Lillian. And I think you can leave her to me.’

Lillian still looked unhappy. ‘But, Tom, suppose you do persuade her . . . What if things go wrong? You could lose everything. What would you do then?’

‘I suppose I should have to work for a living, like everybody else.’

Lillian turned to Jack. ‘Jack, can you allow this?’

Jack thought carefully before responding. ‘I’ve always earned my living, Lillian. And I was sent off to fight when I was younger than Tom is now. It’s an enormous risk, but I think it’s up to him whether he takes it or not.’

Lillian lifted her hands. ‘Very well. Tom, Jack, Dixon, you have my support. Now I have two questions. Is there any serviceable champagne in the building, and who is going to explain all of this to your aunt Agnes?’

The street door opened, and Miss Chisholm appeared as dusk gathered behind her.

‘Oh, thank goodness you’re all here. Mrs Treadwell, Lady Lassiter, something awful has happened. I’m afraid we’re going to have to cancel tonight’s performance.’

Grace ran upstairs towards her, Jack at her heels. Miss Chisholm looked distinctly unwell. ‘What on earth’s happened?’ Jack asked.

‘I hardly know. The Metropole sent round a buffet tea for after the matinee today, and . . . Oh, dear. I’m afraid you’ll have to excuse me.’ Her colour changed from pale to ashen, and she fled back in the direction of the theatre.