Chapter Thirty-One

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

T he pantomime had to end some time. The cast dispersed, a new touring company came in, and Grace began, with Jack’s agreement, to lend a hand on the Empire Records project. After a morning spent going over contracts in Lillian’s office, she got up from her desk and went looking for Ruby.

‘Ruby, why does your office look tidier now that Tom is working in the factory all the time?’

She grinned. ‘Tom liked to feel useful, you know. He enjoyed finding things for me, so I never put any effort into keeping things tidy. I’ve always known where everything is.’ She slipped a sheaf of manuscript paper into a folder. ‘Do you think he ever wonders how I managed when he was away studying? He’s a man, of course, so probably not.’

‘I worry about him,’ Grace said, leaning against the wall next to the piano. ‘Making an enemy of his mother and sinking all his money into manufacturing records. Do you think he’s doing the right thing?’

Ruby pulled the patchwork quilt that hung over the back of her armchair free, shook it, and began to fold it.

‘His mother was his enemy already. And he’s taking a risk, of course, but he’s young, so now is the time for it.’

Grace found one corner of the quilt shoved into her hand, and began to fold.

‘Ruby, are you leaving us?’ Ruby tied a strap around the quilt, and added it to what Grace realised was a growing pile of her possessions.

‘I’m not leaving you, dear – you don’t work here.’ Grace flinched. ‘And I’m only going as far as Shed Number Four. I think Tom could do with someone to lean on as he sets things up. Grace, dear, what have I said?’

Grace swallowed. ‘I’m a goose. It’s about me not working here. You’re right, I don’t. Jack is happy for me to lend a hand with the shop, but I still feel on the edges of things. He has the marvellous Miss Chisholm to make all his phone calls now. And I don’t feel any more inspired to write than I did before the pantomime. I know I can be useful with the business side of Empire Records – contracts and so on – which gives me an excuse to be here, but that’s not exactly thrilling.’

‘Is Stella going to record?’

‘She’s left us. Just flew off after we asked her to step in for the panto. Honestly, Ruby, she seems determined to leave the stage.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that. And you’d better come up with a new project if you aren’t going to write. I think we can abandon knitting, even though we gave it a good try.’

‘But what?’

‘Goodness, Grace. I’m a composer. Why you young people insist on treating me as if I’m some sort of oracle, I have no idea.’

‘Because you’re terribly wise, of course,’ Grace said.

Ruby snorted. ‘Nonsense. I’m a foolish old romantic, always have been.’ She paused suddenly. ‘That’s it! Foolish romantic things are what you want to hear. That’s why you come to me.’

‘Now that sounded very wise indeed,’ Grace said, and Ruby giggled and tapped her arm with a rolled-up sheaf of manuscript paper.

Grace was still miming terrible injury when someone knocked at the door. Grace recognised the face peering round into the room as Sally Blow.

‘Oh, sorry to disturb, I thought you were alone, Miss Ruby.’

‘Sally! Don’t mind Grace.’ Ruby sat down on the piano stool and began riffling through another pile of papers before digging out a small sheaf. ‘Here you are. There’s an arrangement of “The Old Oak” there, and three new tunes. One cheery and the other two rather mournful. The words are only moderate, as my usual lyricist,’ she cast a black look at Grace, ‘has rather let me down recently. But they’ll do very nicely.’

‘I can’t take them, Miss Ruby,’ Sally said. ‘I told you, they’re wasted on me.’

‘And I told you that was nonsense. I shan’t take no for an answer, Sally.’ She clambered off her stool and thrust them fiercely into Sally’s pocket. ‘They’re yours. Sing them, don’t sing them, but they’re yours now.’

Sally bit her lip as if she was fighting off tears. ‘Thank you, Miss Ruby. I wanted to say goodbye. I won’t be cleaning at The Empire any more, and I wanted to say, singing with you . . . Well, it was some of the best hours I’ve ever had, that’s all.’

‘I loved every second of it myself. Haven’t had so much fun in years.’

‘You sing at the Bricklayers Arms,’ Grace said delightedly. ‘Tom’s mentioned you. I didn’t realise you were also the same Sally who is Mrs Briggs’s new favourite. I’m sorry to hear you’re leaving us. Is there anything I can do or say to get you to stay. Not that I work here,’ she added, glancing at Ruby, ‘but I do know you’ll be missed.’

Sally swallowed. ‘I . . . Thank you, Mrs Treadwell.’

‘You said something after the pantomime the other night, Sally . . . About circumstances,’ Ruby prompted. Then she pointed at the stool she used when she had students in. ‘Can you tell us about it? Think of it as payment for the songs – satisfy my curiosity. “Betrayal” was the word you used.’

‘Well, I suppose it makes no odds.’ Sally sat on the edge of the stool, folded her hands in her lap and, with her eyes cast down, told them about Noah and what had happened to him, and how she had found out all the ins and outs of it over Christmas.

‘So I can’t carry on, not hearing the Lassiter name flying about everywhere. See, since my Noah died, I’ve always felt him urging me on, telling me to keep my chin up. And since I’ve learnt exactly what happened in those last weeks—’

‘You don’t hear his voice anymore?’ Grace asked.

Sally half-laughed. ‘Oh, I hear it right enough, Mrs Treadwell, but it hurts me.’ She laid her hand over her heart and looked up, and Grace realised for the first time what a strangely pretty face she had. She was not beautiful in the way Stella was beautiful: her nose was a little too long, and her jaw too square, but she had the most wonderful eyes, and a twist to her lips that was sad and funny at the same time. ‘I know you and Mr Treadwell have nothing to do with the factories,’ Sally went on, ‘nor with what happened to him, nor Lady Lassiter either, but . . .’

She looked at her hands again.

‘The theatre was bought with Lassiter money,’ Ruby said sadly. ‘And then there’s Tom.’

Grace raised her eyebrows, but Tom’s transformation – and his sudden sense of purpose – made a little more sense.

Sally sniffed, wiped the corner of her eyes quickly with her thumb, and nodded.

‘Yes. So there it is. Now I know exactly what happened to Noah it feels poisoned. I’ve got morning shifts cleaning at the Metropole – don’t worry, I shan’t eat the chicken,’ she added. ‘So me and Dougie will manage. He loved the panto so much.’ She glanced up at Grace. ‘We were there the night Lady Lassiter and Mr Kuznetsov were on. He thought the rat was terrific.’

‘I wish we could persuade Jack of Harry’s virtues,’ Grace replied. ‘And I’m glad. Bring him any time.’

‘Thank you.’

Ruby studied her for a second. ‘Sally, I have a pupil, a ruffian but a natural musician, to play with you in the pub. He has his own accordion. Name of Clive. I’ll send him along, if I may. You and he will work well together, and he’ll give you a bit of support. See what you can do, but don’t let him near your tip jar unsupervised.’

‘Thank you, Ruby. I’d be glad to know him.’

‘He’s not as good as me, of course,’ Ruby said comfortably. ‘But I can’t be there all the time, and he’ll be better than a pianist who never turns up.’

‘There is really nothing we can do to persuade you to stay?’ Grace asked. The more she looked at Sally, the more interesting she became.

‘I’d rather you didn’t, Mrs Treadwell. It’s not easy to go, but I do feel like I’m betraying Noah working here, and that hurts me.’ She put her fist to her chest again. ‘Hurts me here. Like I can’t deserve any good thing because of it. Might sound daft, but there it is.’

She stood up, took the pages that Ruby had shoved into her pocket and folded them more neatly. ‘And thank you for this, Miss Ruby. I shall think of you whenever I sing them.’

Then she left, quickly. Grace studied the panelling of the door as it closed behind her.

‘Betrayal . . . It’s a terrible word, isn’t it, Ruby?’

‘Yes, my dear, it is. But you’re not thinking about poor Sally now, are you?’

‘No, I’m thinking of Stella. What’s behind this refusal of hers to step on the stage, even to help us out. And then to run away.’

‘You think it might be something like this?’

‘Perhaps,’ Grace said, folding her arms and staring at the polished floorboards.

Ruby returned to her piles of manuscript pages and printed music, neatly organising the stacks. Grace realised she’d become still for a second.

‘Ruby?’

‘Nothing, dear. A bit of a turn, that’s all. You know, it might be a terribly selfish thing to say, but I’m rather glad Stella didn’t step in, I’d forgotten what a wonderful voice Lillian has. And it fits so beautifully with Nikolai’s. It’s given me an idea.’

‘What idea is that?’

‘I’ve been collecting my material, like a pigeon building a little creative nest, dear. The day the lift broke, seeing Mabel again at the Metropole and hearing Lillian. Come along to the rehearsal rooms tomorrow afternoon. We’re going to try something out, and I think you might want to hear it.’

‘I’ll be there. Oh, and I forgot to say why I came to bother you in the first place. We’re going to the Metropole to celebrate the launch of Empire Records. Mabel has agreed to record for us, once we’ve built a studio and a factory, and a shop . . .’ She swallowed. ‘Well, anyway, she’ll announce it this evening from the stage. Can you join us?’

‘I should be delighted, dear.’

‘Marvellous. Seven o’clock.’ Grace put her hand on the doorknob. ‘Poor Sally, though.’

‘“Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, and waste its sweetness on the desert air”’ Ruby quoted as Grace left, her mind already elsewhere. Then she heard Ruby add in a murmur, ‘And we can’t be having that.’