offered one to Janet, who shook her head. Smoke curled from between Dorothea’s bright red lips. She waved the cigarette holder like the conductor of the London Philharmonicand brought one of Charlotte’s favourite sayings to mind.
Smoking is a social prop. It’s a weakness. I am not weak.
Dorothea was saying, ‘He’s not a bad catch, you know.’
‘Then you marry him.’
Dorothea sniggered like some comedian in an end of the pier show. ‘I would if I could. But Henry and Stephen? They call that bigamy, don’t they? Mind you,’ she dug her elbow into Janet’s arm, ‘two men in one bed! That would be fun.’
Janet managed a strained smile as she flung her stole around her shoulders, anxious to be as far away from both Henry and Stephen as possible. There was only one problem. ‘I’m going home now. Have you got any money for the taxi? I gave the pound note I had reserved to the waiter.’
Dorothea’s eyebrows soared skywards. ‘You drank that much!’
She explained things in the sort of tone her mother would have used. ‘I had one drink. He didn’t have any change. Then I dropped my purse. It must have fallen out.’
The excuse was accepted and two half crowns were handed over. Dorothea shook her head forlornly. ‘Well, fancy going home this early on Coronation Night. You may never see such a colourful spectacle again, darling.’
Janet dropped the money into her purse. ‘Never mind. There’s always Rodgers and Hammerstein.’ She didn’t mention Doris Day and the film they’d seen, one she was never likely to forget.
But Dorothea was adamant.
‘Oh, come on.’ She grabbed Janet’s arm and almost frogmarched her back into the cloakroom. She wriggled provocatively. ‘You can at least give me a hand with this girdle. It’s got to come off.’
Janet brushed her arm away. Her voice was cutting. ‘Get Henry to give you a hand. I hear he’s had plenty of experience!’
‘Janet! Don’t go!’
She made for the exit. People were milling around in the reception hall, a richly decorated place of wood panelling and brass handrails. She pushed her way to the front doors, stepped on someone’s foot and glanced back over her shoulder to offer an apology. As she did so she espied the waiter who had interceded between her and the drunk.
‘Miss! Miss!’
He was waving his hand high in the air. Did he want her gratitude? Well, he’d be out of luck. A long line of taxis waited outside and she got into the first one and slammed the door behind her.
‘Excuse me, but I think I was here first.’
She was speechless. What an idiot! She’d been in such a hurry to escape the crowd and, more specifically, the waiter and his foreign accent, that she hadn’t noticed the taxi was already occupied.
‘I have to have this cab,’ she blurted and threw a nervous glance out of the cab’s back window. The waiter was standing on the edge of the pavement, a confused, crestfallen expression on his face. A piece of paper fluttered from his raised hand. He was waving her pound note in the air.
The other occupant of the cab followed her gaze and did an immediate appraisal of the situation whilst the cab driver regarded them over his shoulder, patient amusement flickering over his face.
‘Obviously I have acquired a lady in distress. Drive on, cabbie.’
‘Where to, chum?’
‘Just drive. I’ll let you know where Miss …’ He paused expectantly.
Janet was nervous. She was in a cab with a strange man. After reminding herself that the cab driver was a witness to anydifficult situation that might arise, she found her voice. ‘Hennessey-White. Janet Hennessey-White.’
The cab pulled away. The man sitting beside her settled himself more comfortably, crossing one leg casually over the other. She felt his eyes upon her, but chose not to look at him.
‘Your father, wouldn’t be David Hennessey-White, would he?’
She stopped staring out of the window and looked at him instead.
He was dark-haired,
Smoking is a social prop. It’s a weakness. I am not weak.
Dorothea was saying, ‘He’s not a bad catch, you know.’
‘Then you marry him.’
Dorothea sniggered like some comedian in an end of the pier show. ‘I would if I could. But Henry and Stephen? They call that bigamy, don’t they? Mind you,’ she dug her elbow into Janet’s arm, ‘two men in one bed! That would be fun.’
Janet managed a strained smile as she flung her stole around her shoulders, anxious to be as far away from both Henry and Stephen as possible. There was only one problem. ‘I’m going home now. Have you got any money for the taxi? I gave the pound note I had reserved to the waiter.’
Dorothea’s eyebrows soared skywards. ‘You drank that much!’
She explained things in the sort of tone her mother would have used. ‘I had one drink. He didn’t have any change. Then I dropped my purse. It must have fallen out.’
The excuse was accepted and two half crowns were handed over. Dorothea shook her head forlornly. ‘Well, fancy going home this early on Coronation Night. You may never see such a colourful spectacle again, darling.’
Janet dropped the money into her purse. ‘Never mind. There’s always Rodgers and Hammerstein.’ She didn’t mention Doris Day and the film they’d seen, one she was never likely to forget.
But Dorothea was adamant.
‘Oh, come on.’ She grabbed Janet’s arm and almost frogmarched her back into the cloakroom. She wriggled provocatively. ‘You can at least give me a hand with this girdle. It’s got to come off.’
Janet brushed her arm away. Her voice was cutting. ‘Get Henry to give you a hand. I hear he’s had plenty of experience!’
‘Janet! Don’t go!’
She made for the exit. People were milling around in the reception hall, a richly decorated place of wood panelling and brass handrails. She pushed her way to the front doors, stepped on someone’s foot and glanced back over her shoulder to offer an apology. As she did so she espied the waiter who had interceded between her and the drunk.
‘Miss! Miss!’
He was waving his hand high in the air. Did he want her gratitude? Well, he’d be out of luck. A long line of taxis waited outside and she got into the first one and slammed the door behind her.
‘Excuse me, but I think I was here first.’
She was speechless. What an idiot! She’d been in such a hurry to escape the crowd and, more specifically, the waiter and his foreign accent, that she hadn’t noticed the taxi was already occupied.
‘I have to have this cab,’ she blurted and threw a nervous glance out of the cab’s back window. The waiter was standing on the edge of the pavement, a confused, crestfallen expression on his face. A piece of paper fluttered from his raised hand. He was waving her pound note in the air.
The other occupant of the cab followed her gaze and did an immediate appraisal of the situation whilst the cab driver regarded them over his shoulder, patient amusement flickering over his face.
‘Obviously I have acquired a lady in distress. Drive on, cabbie.’
‘Where to, chum?’
‘Just drive. I’ll let you know where Miss …’ He paused expectantly.
Janet was nervous. She was in a cab with a strange man. After reminding herself that the cab driver was a witness to anydifficult situation that might arise, she found her voice. ‘Hennessey-White. Janet Hennessey-White.’
The cab pulled away. The man sitting beside her settled himself more comfortably, crossing one leg casually over the other. She felt his eyes upon her, but chose not to look at him.
‘Your father, wouldn’t be David Hennessey-White, would he?’
She stopped staring out of the window and looked at him instead.
He was dark-haired,
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