Chapter Fifty

CHAPTER FIFTY

‘W hat are you singing?’ Tom asked the next woman in the queue, a rather alarming female of a certain age, with a hooked nose and rather heavy powder on her yellowish face. They had had all sorts turn up. The news that the Prince of Wales was coming to Highbridge and would be attending the Search for a Star Pageant had meant queues of hopefuls around the theatre for the first of the audition days. Most were not very good, but Grace insisted on listening to a whole song from each of the performers who turned up. She was sitting in the front row of the stalls, her feet up on a pile of sequinned cushions from the props department, with Jack sitting next to her. Tom, who really should have been at the factory, had offered to step in at the piano when Mr Porter looked as if he was about to keel over.

‘Oh.’ The woman gave a little laugh. ‘I’m not performing. My daughter is Baby June Dudley. I’m Mrs Dudley.’

‘Oh.’

‘It’s ridiculous that my daughter – “the little tyke who charmed the Tyne”, the papers call her – has to participate in this elimination round. I shall tell my – I mean her – agent, Mr Worton Webster, about it the moment he arrives. No doubt he will read Mrs Treadwell the Riot Act, but for the moment, we must obey our masters, I suppose. You’’ll have heard of Baby June?’

Tom made a sort of non-committal noise in his throat and pretended to arrange his music.

‘Yes, my daughter has that uncommon combination of talents which make for a real star. She has the voice of an angel, and can dance like an . . .’

‘Angel again?’ Tom supplied.

‘Indeed, there is no other way to describe it. But she also has superb comic timing, and all of that brilliance is wrapped up in such God-given innocence and joy. Though, of course, nowadays recording companies only want to make records which reek of . . .’ She leant over confidentially. ‘S . . .E . . .X.’

‘I’m sure Empire Records could make use of some innocence and joy,’ Tom said, trying not to blush, and looked round Mrs Dudley in search of this little paragon. No sign of her. ‘And where is Baby June?’

‘I would not tire her out queuing!’ Mrs Dudley replied tartly. ‘She’s over there, resting in the stalls.’

Tom peered out over the seats, searching for a little girl. There was none. Only a sulky-looking young woman of at least twenty with her hair in straw-coloured ringlets and a dress covered with pink ruffles.

‘And has Baby June been on the stage long?’ Tom asked.

‘She’s fourteen,’ Mrs Dudley said crisply. ‘Come, June dear!’

Baby June approached slowly down the aisle. She slouched terribly.

‘I can’t breathe with this thing round my chest,’ she grumbled at her mother as she stomped onto the stage.

Mrs Dudley looked round quickly and Tom pretended to be busy with his music again.

‘Shush, June! Now, even if this is just a little sing-through, remember – eyes and teeth, eyes and teeth!’

June’s heavily powdered face transformed into an odd grimace that Tom supposed was technically a smile, but made him think of an illustration of a vampire.

‘Baby June Dudley?’ Grace said from the stalls. ‘We’re ready when you are.’

June thrust a sheet of music at Tom, and he played the opening bars.

‘This the sort of tempo?’ he asked as Mrs Dudley bustled off stage.

She lisped a couple of lines about being ‘Daddy’s Little Girl’. Tom went pink. She was in tune, though, and Tom suspected there was a decent voice under there. He looked up at her, noting her mother was at a safe distance.

‘Look, you’ll not get past Mrs Treadwell with that act. Can you play it for laughs? And sing out properly.’

June’s fixed smile was replaced by a spark of genuine interest. She nodded, and Tom gave her the bars again. Her voice, when she came in, became knowing, and a little desperate, and at once the horrible dress and curls became funny. Tom played with pleasure, enjoying the genuine power of the girl’s voice without the lisp. When they finished, they turned towards Grace and Jack. Grace raised an eyebrow, but Jack nodded. Another slot on the running order filled, though turning the song onto its comic edge meant it was now positively dripping with S.E.X.

Baby June was the highlight of the afternoon, but Tom stayed to the end. Sally didn’t come. Tom told himself that she might be waiting till the following week, and went home feeling heavy and slow.

After the second day of auditions, Grace was happy they had a decent show. She worked on the bench under the window, by the half-light of the long summer evening and the extra illumination cast by their now powerful sign, while Miss Chisholm typed away at her desk. The noise of the keys, Grace found, was strangely soothing.

There was one slot left to fill and two possible acts to choose between, neither of which filled Grace with enthusiasm.

Someone tapped at the door, and as she looked up, Tom and Stella came in.

‘Stella, darling! You’re back in town. But you know the show isn’t till Thursday?’

Stella laughed, and dropped down on the bench next to her.

‘Of course I know that. Have you got all your acts yet? Good evening, Miss Chisholm. You’re working horribly late.’

Miss Chisholm pulled the page from her typewriter and tucked it into a folder on her immaculate desk. ‘Good evening, Miss Stanmore. I’m just off, as it happens. There are a couple of messages on Mr Treadwell’s desk,’ she said to Grace. ‘But nothing urgent.’

She put on her coat and hat and wished them goodnight.

‘I have no idea how we ever managed without her,’ Grace sighed as Miss Chisholm left. ‘I’m just deciding on the last act now. So why are you here, Stella?’

‘Oh, signing record sleeves, and recording a couple of new tunes with Dixon. Then I thought I’d pop up to Hope Valley and see the Cooks. If I’m very, very good, do you think Mr Poole will give me guest tickets for them for Thursday?’

Grace ran her hand over her stomach. The baby seemed to like Stella’s voice, and squirmed like a delighted eel whenever she was nearby. ‘Stella, you’re starring in the show. Of course Mr Poole will give you tickets.’

‘Did she come today?’ Tom asked, coming further into the room.

‘Sally Blow?’ Grace shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, Tom. She didn’t.’

He sat down opposite the two women in one of the straight-backed office chairs and glowered at the carpet. ‘But she has to,’ he said. ‘She’s brilliant. And she’s refusing this chance because of me.’

‘Because of her husband, really,’ Grace said.

‘What’s this?’ Stella asked.

Grace explained to her about Sally’s husband: how she had said the fear of betraying her husband had tainted the idea of being at The Empire.

‘It was her saying that which made me determined to have it out with you, Stella.’

Stella leant against the edge of the window, so the light from the sign cast a subtle silver over her. ‘So it was because of this Mrs Blow that, instead of living a life of misery, I have a lovely new show, and only have to put up with Mrs Cook teasing me about being jealous of Ruthie occasionally?’ Grace nodded. ‘Not that I was that jealous – just a very little. Once. Is this Mrs Blow any good?’

‘I told you, she’s brilliant,’ Tom said.

‘Yes, but you’re obviously in love with her, Tom, so I’m ignoring that.’

Grace laughed, not unkindly. ‘I’ve never heard her sing, but Ruby sent one of her pupils to be her accompanist, and gave her a couple of songs.’

Stella arched an eyebrow. ‘Then she has to be in it. Hold your final slot for her.’

‘But Stella, if Sally really doesn’t want to be on our stage—’

‘Not as if you gave me any chance in the end. Grace, listen to yourself, do! Ruby gave this woman a song! She didn’t do that for just anyone. Please. Let me do this. For you and her, and for Tom, too.’

‘Very well,’ Grace said. ‘I’ll hold the slot. She lives at the Bricklayers Arms on Victoria Road. And if you can’t get her, you’ll simply have to do another solo yourself.’

‘I’ll endeavour to give satisfaction one way or another,’ she said, shaking her curls. The baby twisted joyfully under Grace’s heart.