Chapter Eight

SPRING WAS IN THE AIR.

So was music.

On the north side of Oxford Street, the Starlight Lounge announced itself in a pentacle of lights around a glittering archway, designed to make its dancers feel as if they were waltzing their way into the stars themselves. As the springtime darkness settled over the streets of Fitzrovia, Frank stopped his little crowd outside the archway and said, ‘It’s a new club. They opened it with a dance for New Year. You won’t think it’s like the Grand, but it has a different kind of energy. A different feeling. Doesn’t it, Rosa?’

Rosa, who had accompanied Frank to the Starlight Lounge three times already, nodded. She loved being here with Frank, even if she did sometimes find him swept away by other partners desperate to be shown the jive and jitterbug he’d been learning from Raymond de Guise. Those dances, so fresh to English shores, were alluring and freeing. They could never dance a jive in the Grand Ballroom. A dance like that was not for lords and ladies. It was for people who knew their worlds might not last forever. It was for people who didn’t care for rules and decorum, for being told what to do and when to do it; dances like this freed the soul – and that, Frank had decided, was what a boy like Billy Brogan really needed.

Nancy, Rosa and Ruth were already entering through the silver arch, but Frank held Billy back with a hand on his shoulder. It had only been a short moonlit stroll from the palatial town houses of Mayfair, but Billy had been squirming every step of the way. He’d had his hands stuffed into his pockets; he’d barely spoken a word – and this was so unlike Billy Brogan that the girls had surely started to think he was sulking. Only Frank really knew what manner of malady was affecting his friend.

‘It’s nerves, Billy. That’s all.’

‘I’ve never heard anything so ridiculous in my life,’ said Billy, drawing himself up in mock horror. ‘Me, Billy Brogan .?.?. nervous? No, you know me, Frank. I’ve chinwagged with princes. I’ve got Mr Charles’s ear. You know the kind of jobs I do for him at the hotel. By the Lord, he has me spying on ambassadors and archdukes. Every German dignitary coming into the place this year, he’s got me writing down their particulars. I can hardly be nervous of a little dance hall, now, can I?’

But Billy was blathering and fell quiet when Frank took him firmly by the arm.

‘We’ll have a little drink. That’ll give you courage.’

‘You haven’t been listening to one word I’ve said. I don’t need Dutch courage. I have the courage of the Emerald Isle!’

Frank smiled, and steered him through the arch.

*

Inside, the Starlight Lounge was already filling up. The great expanse of the glittering dance floor was surrounded by a balustrade painted in perfect black, and the lights in the ceiling above had been arranged to look like the wheeling constellations of a night sky. Some couples were already on the dance floor, just waiting for the band to begin – but Rosa and Ruth had set up camp at one of the tables on its edge, resolving to watch the lights until the revelries really began.

‘You’re going to have to lighten up, Ruth.’ Rosa grinned. ‘It’s a dance – that’s all it is!’

‘Then why do I feel like I’ve been press-ganged?’

Rosa creased her brow in a question.

‘Like they used to do to sailors!’ Ruth groaned. ‘They’d kidnap the drunk ones from the taproom floors, and when they woke up, they’d already be at sea.’

‘Ruth, you’ve been reading too many books! That’s why it’s good for you to be right here. You can get out of that head of yours. Just enjoy something for once. Trust me! I’m your friend, aren’t I? I’m practically your sister. Look, all you need’s a drink – and here comes Nancy now.’

Nancy, who had been threading her way back from the bar, sat down at the table with three gin cocktails, each garlanded with a twist of lemon.

‘Fancy!’ Rosa beamed, and winced as she took her first sip. ‘Go on, Ruth, live a little!’

By now, Frank and Billy had emerged through the starlight arch and stood at the other side of the dance floor, looking out across the spectacle.

‘Who’re you going to dance with, Nance?’

Nancy said, ‘I should think I’ll enjoy just watching.’

‘I’ll bet you’ll have gentlemen crawling all over you, a fine girl like you!’ Rosa seemed to be warming to her theme with each sip. ‘Will Raymond be jealous, if you’re up dancing with every eligible bachelor in this place?’

Nancy grinned. ‘Raymond has nothing to worry about.’

She lifted her finger to flash the engagement ring she was wearing in the spectral light. She got to wear it so rarely, up and down the Buckingham halls – and, even though she was not the sort of girl who’d grown up dreaming of diamonds, even Nancy was drawn in by the way it glittered, and all that that glittering foretold about the future of her life.

‘Here, let me have another look,’ said Rosa.

‘Have you started thinking about a dress?’ asked Ruth.

The girls were so lost in the conversation that they hardly even noticed as Frank and Billy sauntered over, rum cocktails in each hand, and deposited themselves into the seats around the table.

‘How’re you feeling, Ruth?’ asked Billy.

Frank could tell he was trying his best, but he’d drawn his seat altogether too close to Ruth and it was plain for everyone – except Billy – that the girl was uncomfortable.

‘Like a fish out of water, Billy, but I s’pose you know how that feels as well.’

‘Not me, Ruth, never!’ Billy exclaimed – and, to Frank’s horror, he promptly drained his glass dry. ‘See, a young man like me knows where to fit in almost anywhere. High or low, plush hotel or street market, it’s all the same to me. I pride myself on it, see. It’s how Mr Charles has been tutoring me.’

Frank felt like hanging his head in his hands. It would, he reflected, have been much more endearing if only Billy might have agreed with Ruth, and told her that he felt the same. Then, perhaps, they might have had something to talk about. And, besides, he thought, it was the truth! Billy was so uncomfortable that he could hardly sit still. He needed another drink – and fast. But no sooner had Frank got to his feet, meaning to thread his way back to the bar, than the stage doors opened and, out of a portal of bright light, the orchestra appeared.

‘There he is,’ said Frank, leaning close into Rosa’s ear. ‘That’s Woodrow Lloyd. Follow his family back far enough, and they were stars of the music halls. His mother starred on Drury Lane. Showmanship runs in families.’

Woodrow Lloyd was leading an eleven-strong orchestra, with trumpeters, trombonists, three saxophonists, and a cornet player sitting at the side of the stage. As for Woodrow himself, the stage at the Starlight Lounge was dominated by his jet-black piano, across which the lights were cascading to give the impression of yet more stars. They looked classical, thought Frank, and in many ways they were – the Woodrow Lloyd Orchestra were regularly played on the radio broadcasts to which Raymond had introduced Frank – but they had the devil in them too. That was what Raymond called it: the devil. And as soon as the music began, the devil appeared.

‘Come on, Rosa, let’s go!’

Frank took her by the hand and, in a second, they were down on the dance floor. Most orchestras thought they needed to warm their clientele up. They would break out a couple of standards, ‘Body and Soul’ or ‘Embraceable You’, and gently up the tempo, leading the dancers on like they were puppets on strings. But not so the Woodrow Lloyd Orchestra. The first song was a veritable assault on the senses. Frank needed no other excuse to start improvising on the dance floor, leading Rosa through an energetic jive, of swinging hips, and flicks and kicks and spins. Nor was he the only one. As Nancy looked down, she could see the jive spreading, like fire, from one couple to another. Her little brother, a superstar in miniature! And what better place for a star than this?

‘You fancy it then, Ruth?’

Ruth, who hadn’t budged an inch, looked round at Billy.

‘Perhaps in a little while, Billy. Why, someone’s got to save our table, don’t they?’

Billy nodded. ‘That’s right, and I’m happy to do it with you. It’ll give us some time to get better acquainted.’ He smiled. Frank had been right; this was easier than he’d thought it would be. All you had to do was try. Open your mouth, and sometimes the words just started flowing. ‘You know, Ruth, I don’t know if I remember you coming to the Buckingham. How long’s it been?’

‘Oh, a little while. Three years? Four? I can hardly remember.’

‘It gets like that, doesn’t it? The years just bluster by! Where you from?’

If she wasn’t going to dance, she might talk – and this, at least, gave Billy some hope that the evening was not altogether lost. In no short order, Ruth had told him about the family home in Finchley, where she’d lived with her mother and grandmother since she was small.

‘I’m not like you, Billy, with all those hundreds of brothers and sisters of yours. Me, I’m an accident, you see. My dad was away at war and .?.?. Well, I suppose you know how it goes. He never did come back and I never did get to meet him. Mum and Nan looked after me as best they could after that. Kept me on a tight leash, you might say. They were horrified to think of me taking work at the Buckingham. They’d be even more horrified if they could picture me here – in a dance hall, of all places!’

‘It’s a big wide world,’ said Billy, with an air of wisdom (though, in truth, he had no idea what he was being wise about). ‘They’d probably like the Buckingham. Have they ever visited?’

‘Oh Lord, no! To them, London’s the other side of the world. And they’re only in Finchley. I think it’s because of the Great War. It made them small. They don’t like to think about places too far away – and, for them, that means the corner shop at the end of the street.’ She paused. ‘But I think they would like it in the end, wouldn’t they, Nance?’

Nancy had been standing at the balustrade but, when she heard her name, came back to take her seat at the table. Billy frowned; he liked Nancy, had always liked her – perhaps at one point a little too much – but he would much rather have spoken to Ruth alone.

‘For instance,’ Ruth went on, ‘there’s a lovely old gentleman I’ve been taking care of, Mr Bauer. He’s the one taken up residence in the old Park Suite. Such a sweet old soul, with his books and his studies and the German newspapers you concierges sort out for him. My mum and nan would approve of that sort of a man. They think the big wide world’s full of blackguards, but there are gentle souls out there too. Mr Bauer’s one of them. Makes me proud to do his scrubbing, if you know what I mean. He trots down to the Queen Mary every night and just likes to sit there, watching the world go by.’

‘That’s what you like too, is it?’

Ruth screwed up her face. ‘Sorry?’

‘Just watching the world go by?’ Billy grinned, because he knew – he just knew – that this was his moment. ‘That’s to say, we might get down and dance, if you .?.?.’

Ruth had frozen and, in that same instant, Nancy – who had been politely staying out of the conversation – stood up, snatched Billy’s hand and hoisted him to his feet. ‘I’ll dance with you, Billy.’

‘Oh, that’s kind, Nancy, but I was hoping that—’

‘I said I’ll dance, Mr Brogan!’

Before Billy could put up another protest, Nancy was leading him – or perhaps hauling him – down the steps, through the balustrade, and into the storm of dancing couples. The Woodrow Lloyd Orchestra had launched into a blistering rendition of ‘May Day May’, one of their own best known numbers, and as the saxophone took flight, driving Frank and Rosa – somewhere in the heart of the maelstrom – to their most energetic dancing yet, Frank putting his arms around Rosa’s waist and lifting her up so that she seemed, almost, to soar with the saxophone’s song, Nancy needled Billy in the side and said, ‘Billy Brogan, you blunderbuss!’

‘What?’ he gasped, buffeted on either side by dancing couples. ‘What did I do?’

‘You’re ruining what hopes you ever had with Ruth. You mustn’t bully her into it. You can’t bludgeon somebody into dancing with you. If she wants to dance, she’ll dance.’

‘Nance, you got it all wrong. It might loosen her up!’

‘That’s for her to decide, you silly boy.’

Nancy dragged him yet further into the throng, then positioned herself so that he might take her in hold. Tentatively he did it, but all the while his eyes were cast over her shoulder, at the table where Ruth now sat alone. She didn’t even seem to be watching him.

‘Keep your eyes off her. Goodness, you’ve a brain in there, Billy Brogan! Put it to work. If Ruth wants to dance with you, she’ll say it. And if she doesn’t .?.?.’

Billy froze. A terrible truth was dawning on him.

‘If she doesn’t, Nance, well, then what?’

‘Well, then’ – she smiled, blunt and simple – ‘you can dance with me. I might have a gammy leg, but I daresay I can show you a thing or two.’

Even with her leg complaining as it was tonight, Nancy was a far better dancer than Billy. She could tell that Frank had shown him some steps, because at least he knew how to take her in hold and make an attempt at some simple box-stepping. But every few steps, something seemed to go wrong for him. His feet got tangled with hers, or they got entangled with each other, or he had a sudden outburst of ambition and, seeking to turn Nancy around on the spot, instead ended up with her pinned against the balustrade.

‘Don’t panic, Billy,’ she said. ‘The thing is not to panic. You’ve just got to let it flow. That’s what Raymond says.’

‘Let it flow?’ Billy muttered. ‘What’s that even mean?’

He tried again, and wound up stranded in the middle of the dance floor, without even Nancy to hold on to. He tried again after that, and somehow found himself beached again. By the time he got back to Nancy, she had been approached by a man in a dark navy suit and silver tie, who promised her a dance of the utmost satisfaction. She politely demurred, and turned back to Billy. This time, when he took her in hold, she was determined to steer him correctly. But, half a song later, they were entangled again – and no amount of encouragement from Nancy, nor cajoling from Frank, could keep Billy on the dance floor.

‘Ruth had a lucky escape,’ he grunted, dusting himself down from his latest stumble. ‘I’m going to sit down, have a drink, and a chinwag. That’s what I’m good at. That’s what—’

‘Oh, Billy,’ Nancy ventured. ‘Billy, please.’

He turned and, with the dancers fanning out around him, gave an ostentatious little bow. Beaten, thought Nancy with a wry smile, but not yet defeated – that was Billy Brogan all over. And yet, as he tramped back through the dancing throng, she fancied she could see the gears turning in Billy’s mind, churning up all sorts of troubling thoughts. No matter how charming a person was, there was one thing you truly couldn’t disguise: even worse than having two left feet on the dance floor was being embarrassed about it. Being embarrassed was like poison to a dancer. And the way Billy had pushed his hands into his pockets, feigning nonchalance, told Nancy that he was embarrassed beyond measure.

By the time Billy was climbing the steps out of the dance floor, he was already rehearsing the things he’d say to Ruth.

‘Better off just sitting here, I should think,’ he said, under his breath. ‘See, I’m used to dancing on a sprung floor – just like they have in the Grand. These ordinary floors, they don’t feel right to me. My body just doesn’t like them. No, only the finer things for a gentleman of my estimation.’

He was so focused on rehearsing these lines that he was almost at the table by the time he realised Ruth was no longer alone. Sitting by her side, and evidently engaged in a conversation much more riotous than any Billy had ever dredged out of her, was a petite dark-haired girl with striking blue eyes. Her dark hair was cascading around her shoulders and, in the starry lights of the club, the silver pin on her collar glittered like a cluster of diamonds. Billy saw, with some surprise, that her fingernails were painted with tiny scenic landscapes. Evidently, this girl had some elegance of her own.

‘Oh, Billy,’ Ruth began, on seeing him approach, ‘meet Martha. Martha’s like me – not much for dancing.’

‘Oh Lord, no!’ Martha crowed. Her Estuary accent was even stronger than Rosa’s. ‘My husband drags me along, of course, but we have to bring my sister with us. They’re dancing down there right now.’ And she lifted her dainty hand to wave at him, somewhere below.

‘Oh, stop it, Martha!’ Ruth cried, throwing her head back to laugh. ‘You’re distracting them!’

Billy had never heard Ruth laugh so uproariously before. It was a beautiful sound. He took his seat and picked up one of the glasses left there. It was probably Frank’s, but that didn’t matter; Billy drained it in one.

‘You should try it,’ he began. ‘Dancing, I mean.’

‘Oh, I’ve tried it,’ Martha returned. ‘It’s just not for me, and there’s not a thing in the world that’s going to change that.’

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said Ruth. ‘Sometimes I think, if I had a little more confidence, it’s the sort of thing I might like.’ She gave a non-committal shrug. ‘Well, maybe one day. Right now, I’m glad there’s others like me in these clubs.’

And she reached out and squeezed Martha by the hand.

‘It’s not so hard if you do want to try it, Ruth,’ said Billy. ‘It’s just about .?.?. letting go.’

‘Letting go?’

Billy floundered as he searched for the next words. What was it Frank had tried to tell him? That dancing wasn’t about being so studied and practised that things never went wrong. That dancing was about .?.?. the experience, not the art. Was that it?

‘Well, you know, it’s all about the heart,’ he said, and clutched two hands over his chest. ‘It all happens in here.’

That was the thing about conversation, the thing at which Billy truly excelled: if you had enough confidence, you could make the world believe almost anything at all.

‘The heart?’ Martha said, squinting up at him.

‘That’s right.’ Billy slipped into the seat beside Ruth. ‘You’ve just got to let go and find a way to love it. Now, Ruth, I know that sounds frightening – but it’s nothing of the sort. You’ve just got to .?.?.’ He sent his mind cartwheeling backwards, searching for something affecting and profound that he might say. ‘You’ve got to lose your fear. Shed your inhibitions. The music wants to get into your body, you see. You’ve just got to give yourself over to it. Let it flow .?.?.’

Billy smiled to himself. It was good to feel confident again. Dancing might not have come easily to him, but bluster most certainly did.

And then Martha spluttered with sudden laughter.

‘That’s what you were doing down there, was it? Giving yourself to the music! Well, now I’ve heard everything! Now, even I want to dance!’ Her eyes fell on the dance floor, picking out her husband and sister in the throng. ‘Hugo! Hugo, get up here!’

Down on the dance floor, the man named Hugo let go of his partner and picked his way through the dancers to meet his wife.

‘Here – Billy, is it? – tell my Hugo what you just told me. Tell him all about the way to dance.’

But Billy, who knew he was being made a fool of, simply said, ‘I’ll leave you to it, shall I? There’s things more important in this world than dancing, you know. Don’t you know a war’s coming?’

He was purpling with indignation as he marched away. He scarcely even heard Ruth calling after him, nor the apology she was trying to make as he scythed his way back through the dancers and inveigled his way directly between Rosa and Frank, reaching the height of their dance.

‘Bill,’ Frank began, seeing the way he was holding himself so rigidly, ‘what’s happened?’

‘I got a proposition for you, Frank Nettleton.’ Taking Frank by the arm, he hauled him to the edge of the dance floor. ‘You want to become a hotel dancer, don’t you? You want to start doing the demonstrations in the Grand, and maybe even one day dance with the guests at the balls as well? Well, don’t you?’

‘You know I do, Billy, but what’s this .?.?. ?’

‘Well, see.’ Billy’s words were coming out like artillery fire, such was the power of his indignation. ‘I’m a social climber, aren’t I? I’m a confidant of Mr Charles. I’m going places at that hotel – you see if I don’t! And maybe there’s ways I can help you. A word in Mr Charles’s ear, perhaps. A favour for a favour – that’s how it works at the Buckingham. So, listen here, Frank. If I help you get a try-out in the Grand, you help me do some dancing of my own.’

‘I already showed you a few steps.’

‘Not just a few steps!’ Billy declared. ‘I want you to teach me, just like Raymond de Guise has been teaching you. Now, I know I’ll never be a master – I know that – but if you can teach me a tenth of what Raymond’s teaching you, well, I’ll be able to hold my own in a place like this. And Ruth up there, she says .?.?. Well, she says all she needs is a bit of confidence, and then maybe she’ll dance too. So that’s the deal – you’ll give me that confidence, and I’ll pass it on to Ruth, and then we’ll all come back here, all of us, and dance the night away – and I won’t once end up flat on my face and, who knows, maybe, maybe then, Ruth might want to go for a Sunday stroll with me, or .?.?.’

Billy had quite run out of steam. His words petered into nothingness, and for a time both he and Frank stood there, with the light of the stars cascading over them and the music of a strident Argentine tango filling the air. Rosa backed away, hiding a smile.

‘So that’s the deal, Frank. Shake on it?’

Frank clasped Billy’s hand in his own and shook it firmly.

It was the very first time he’d felt Billy Brogan trembling, or seen him afraid.