tell a lot about
you
from
your
hands.’
‘Ho yes? Like what?’
‘You’re divorced. Or you’re separated. Terribly unhappy, anyway.’
Mr Ware looked at her sharply, suspiciously.
‘What do you mean?’
‘You’ve taken your wedding ring off. Recently. Look.’
Mr Ware’s puffy ringer bore a red-looking ridge where the ring had been.
Icily, suddenly, Mr Ware got up, scraping his chair back. It was enough to make a few people look over, despite the din and the gloom and the music. He plunged his hand into his pocket and
jingled the change.
‘Checking that you’ve still got it?’ asked Eileen, shrewdly. This was evidently more than Mr Ware could take.
‘Well, it’s been very nice talking to you,’ he choked, his playful teasing now utterly abandoned.
‘Off home to your wife, perhaps?’ said Eileen, cruelly pursuing her advantage. ‘Do give her our best.’
Without another word, Mr Ware turned on his heel and walked out. Colin gulped down the rest of his drink and followed.
*
In Broadwick Street, a mixed group of servicemen and civilians were attempting a human pyramid. Three strong-looking men along the base and two more on their quivering
shoulders. Then, to form the apex, a woman in WAAF uniform was hitching up her skirts and trying to leap onto the middle pair, who were each holding one of her hands. She herself had been standing
on a car roof, which had begun to dent. With a final leap, she was up, to a huge cheer. But then, wobble, wobble, wobble, and the whole formation collapsed and the WAAF fell, and looked as if she
had hurt herself really quite badly. Somehow even this couldn’t cheer Mr Ware up.
Nine
Margaret sat up in bed, drinking cocoa. Bliss. She was reading the latest
Picturegoer
. Everything was calm now. It turned out that Elizabeth had not in fact returned to
the Palace quite yet. When they discovered this, some of the staff had got in a fearful bate with Hugh. Some of them were even saying that he should report to Their Majesties himself. Poor Hugh had
gone quite pale and said nothing. But then she, Margaret, had had a brainwave. She told everyone not to worry, it was just that she herself wanted to come home early but Elizabeth wanted to stop
out half an hour longer, and that Peter was naturally with her, and it was all perfectly in order.
What a cheeky fib. Margaret had actually caught Hugh’s eye while she was saying it, letting him know that she had jolly well saved his bacon! Hugh even nodded once, and sort of turned that
into a tiny submissive bow, and then said loudly that he would go back out and ‘rejoin Peter’ and that he was sure they would all be back soon.
Well, of course they would! What a lot of silly fuss.
Margaret considered. If there really
was
a row about tonight, she would just come up with a couple more fibs. Muddy the waters. She could say that Henry Porchester was with them. Porchy.
Porchy would back them up. Porchy was a good egg.
Here was an advertisement for Pond’s cold cream. ‘It’s still no easy matter to get hold of well-known and trusted creams, such as Pond’s – only a proportion of the
pre-war supply is allowed to be made,’ it said. ‘It should be used as sparingly as possible.’
Margaret looked complacently at the colossal pot of Pond’s on her dressing table. She snuggled further down under the covers, scissoring her legs deliciously against the linen, and
continued to read.
Mickey Rooney, it seemed, was getting paid a bonus of £40,000 by MGM – ’It is typical of the generosity MGM executives have always shown towards Mickey, who is regarded as
“their own boy”, since he was practically raised on the MGM lot.’
Goodness, forty thousand pounds, what a lot of money.
‘Was Lilibet having a good time?’ Margaret wondered.
She imagined that she
was
having a good time. Or even if she wasn’t, she would begin to enjoy herself by and by. Heavens, how stuffy Lilibet could be sometimes, and how often she
you
from
your
hands.’
‘Ho yes? Like what?’
‘You’re divorced. Or you’re separated. Terribly unhappy, anyway.’
Mr Ware looked at her sharply, suspiciously.
‘What do you mean?’
‘You’ve taken your wedding ring off. Recently. Look.’
Mr Ware’s puffy ringer bore a red-looking ridge where the ring had been.
Icily, suddenly, Mr Ware got up, scraping his chair back. It was enough to make a few people look over, despite the din and the gloom and the music. He plunged his hand into his pocket and
jingled the change.
‘Checking that you’ve still got it?’ asked Eileen, shrewdly. This was evidently more than Mr Ware could take.
‘Well, it’s been very nice talking to you,’ he choked, his playful teasing now utterly abandoned.
‘Off home to your wife, perhaps?’ said Eileen, cruelly pursuing her advantage. ‘Do give her our best.’
Without another word, Mr Ware turned on his heel and walked out. Colin gulped down the rest of his drink and followed.
*
In Broadwick Street, a mixed group of servicemen and civilians were attempting a human pyramid. Three strong-looking men along the base and two more on their quivering
shoulders. Then, to form the apex, a woman in WAAF uniform was hitching up her skirts and trying to leap onto the middle pair, who were each holding one of her hands. She herself had been standing
on a car roof, which had begun to dent. With a final leap, she was up, to a huge cheer. But then, wobble, wobble, wobble, and the whole formation collapsed and the WAAF fell, and looked as if she
had hurt herself really quite badly. Somehow even this couldn’t cheer Mr Ware up.
Nine
Margaret sat up in bed, drinking cocoa. Bliss. She was reading the latest
Picturegoer
. Everything was calm now. It turned out that Elizabeth had not in fact returned to
the Palace quite yet. When they discovered this, some of the staff had got in a fearful bate with Hugh. Some of them were even saying that he should report to Their Majesties himself. Poor Hugh had
gone quite pale and said nothing. But then she, Margaret, had had a brainwave. She told everyone not to worry, it was just that she herself wanted to come home early but Elizabeth wanted to stop
out half an hour longer, and that Peter was naturally with her, and it was all perfectly in order.
What a cheeky fib. Margaret had actually caught Hugh’s eye while she was saying it, letting him know that she had jolly well saved his bacon! Hugh even nodded once, and sort of turned that
into a tiny submissive bow, and then said loudly that he would go back out and ‘rejoin Peter’ and that he was sure they would all be back soon.
Well, of course they would! What a lot of silly fuss.
Margaret considered. If there really
was
a row about tonight, she would just come up with a couple more fibs. Muddy the waters. She could say that Henry Porchester was with them. Porchy.
Porchy would back them up. Porchy was a good egg.
Here was an advertisement for Pond’s cold cream. ‘It’s still no easy matter to get hold of well-known and trusted creams, such as Pond’s – only a proportion of the
pre-war supply is allowed to be made,’ it said. ‘It should be used as sparingly as possible.’
Margaret looked complacently at the colossal pot of Pond’s on her dressing table. She snuggled further down under the covers, scissoring her legs deliciously against the linen, and
continued to read.
Mickey Rooney, it seemed, was getting paid a bonus of £40,000 by MGM – ’It is typical of the generosity MGM executives have always shown towards Mickey, who is regarded as
“their own boy”, since he was practically raised on the MGM lot.’
Goodness, forty thousand pounds, what a lot of money.
‘Was Lilibet having a good time?’ Margaret wondered.
She imagined that she
was
having a good time. Or even if she wasn’t, she would begin to enjoy herself by and by. Heavens, how stuffy Lilibet could be sometimes, and how often she
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