A Christmas Gift. Ruby Jackson
candles, red, silver, gold stood among the holly leaves and in the hall an enormous Christmas tree proclaimed the glories of Christmas past. In the late afternoon, after their prepared performance and their spontaneous carol singing, the troupe joined ambulatory patients, medical staff and even a few family members in a paneled dining room where they enjoyed a Christmas tea.
They returned to London on Boxing Day and Sally found herself working harder than ever.
Max, having received more requests for performances than they could possibly handle, was not in the best of moods, and after the barest of civilities brought them up to date with his immediate plans.
‘I’ve sketched out a few new ideas. Everyone’s thoughts are welcome – if you have an idea, share it. It seems musicals are the things to cheer the troops, comedians, of course, and divinely lovely girls – that’s you, Sally. What do you think you’d look like in a blond wig?’
‘An idiot in a blond wig.’
‘Keep your comedy for the war-wounded.’
‘Sorry.’
‘Take a tea-break everyone; we can’t use the stage today since another group has first dibs and so let’s meet in twenty minutes in the storeroom.’ He saw the disgruntled looks and attempted to mollify his tired troupe. ‘I know it’s full of scenery from The Dancing Years, filing cabinets, costumes from everything under the sun, but at least for this afternoon they have promised not to bring in anything else and so we will have some space.’
‘You grab two mugs of tea, Sally, and I’ll beetle off and snaffle two chairs. It’s every man for himself today,’ said Sebastian.
His clever if somewhat selfish plan did get them two comfortable chairs – for once all four legs of each were the same length.
Sally, who had been about to tell him that she’d just heard of the tragic death of Grace’s sister, Megan, in an air raid over Dartford, decided not to spread any misery but concentrate on the morning’s work. ‘I’ve blotted my copybook with Max, Sebastian. What did you think of what I said?’
‘You expressed my exact thoughts, but you are – for the moment – only a tiny spoke in a great wheel. The powers that be say they need you to be two different girls. Can you do a Scottish or perhaps an Irish accent?’
‘Not so I’d fool a native.’
‘Trust me, you’ll be able to fool anyone when Lalita has finished with you.’
‘Who on earth is Lalita?’
‘Lalita Cruz; she’s Mexican. Isn’t that incredibly exotic? She’s fluent in only the Lord knows how many languages and each spoken with the correct accent; frightening woman. She used to do miracles with tenors in the opera, but came to us saying actors were more biddable, and besides, it’s for the war effort.’
‘Is she nice?’
‘Brewer, Sally, Miss, you do ask the most irrelevant questions. “Is she nice?” Who cares, little one? All that is important is whether or not she can teach and, believe you me, she can. But I’ll warn you that she doesn’t take prisoners. So work hard today, get yourself off to bed as early as poss, have a good night’s sleep and you’ll be brilliant at nine tomorrow morning.’
‘Well, look who’s grabbed the best chairs.’ The others arrive en masse. ‘Sally in the alley; the boss’s favourite.’
‘That’s enough—’ began Sebastian but he was stopped by a forceful hand.
‘Shove over, Seb,’ said Ken Whyte, one of the actors, ‘and make room for your elders and betters.’
Obligingly Sebastian removed himself from the chair and went to sit down on the floor with his back against the wall, where he attempted to make Sally laugh by pulling funny faces. Max ignored him, merely stepping over the long legs stretched out, and announced, ‘I’ve agreed to put on shows at two military bases in the south of England, and later in the year, possibly March, a third base in the north-east. Unfortunately none of these bases has one of the fantastic new purpose-built garrison theatres, but never mind. We’ll take what we’re given. Our programme for the next few months will be more or less the same each time, and so by the time we hit Northumberland – if that’s where we’re going – you should be word-, note- and step-perfect. By the end of this bloody war, I’ll have you all on Broadway, the West End, luxury liners sailing to tropical climes; you name it, we’ll do it.’
‘Any real chance of a trip to Europe, Max?’ asked Millicent Burgess, a former member of a professional ballet company, who had joined their ranks just before Christmas.
‘So far only those prepared to lay down their lives for their friends and enemies are being offered European holidays, love, but with some of the greats prepared to chance it, who knows what’ll happen? Any particular holiday resort in mind?’
There was no reply to Max’s sarcasm but Sally saw that the slim young woman looked absolutely devastated. She had turned so pale that the blusher she had put on her cheeks stood out almost like the make-up of a circus clown. Surely Max’s words hadn’t upset her to that extent. Sally waited until they were dismissed and moved in beside Millicent as they returned to the dressing rooms.
‘Max isn’t usually so unpleasant, Millicent …’ she began.
‘Millie’s fine. And Max is a rank amateur where pain-in-the-arse directors are concerned.’
They walked on in silence and Sally was at a loss. She tried again. ‘I’m so looking forward to seeing you dance. I’m ashamed to admit that I’ve never been to an actual ballet performance.’
‘Take yourself off to Sadler’s Wells. You won’t get “an actual ballet performance” from me. I think I was hired as a hoofer, not a ballerina. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Miss Goody Two-Shoes, I’m starving.’
She opened a dressing-room door and shut it behind her with an almighty crash. Stunned, Sally stood for a moment looking at the door and then went to the dressing room that she shared with several other women. There she was welcomed warmly.
‘Great Christmas, Sally?’
‘Lovely, thank you. You?’
Still reeling from the surprising dislike in Millie’s voice, Sally was happy to make light conversation.
A day or so later Sebastian caught up with her as they were leaving the theatre.
‘Let’s see if we can find some hot food and then I’ll see you home.’
Immediately Sally felt more confident. Every evening it was becoming more and more difficult to leave the theatre. Bombing raids had intensified, as the enemy seemed determined to destroy the capital completely. Each evening Sally wondered whether it was safer to hide in the theatre and risk being bombed there, or to go out into the street and face the possibility of being caught in an air raid on her way to the hostel.
‘They won’t come till later, will they, Sebastian?’ she pleaded, although she knew it was impossible to guess when a raid might begin. One night it might start as early as seven o’clock and last until two or three next morning, the next night it might not start until much later or, if the sky was clear and bright with stars, raids could begin very early in the evening and last, she supposed, until all the bombs were dropped.
‘I have no idea, Sally darling, but what I do know is that we can’t allow ourselves to live in fear. We must be sensible, not take foolish risks, but live as happily as we can. So, are you game? Shall we defy Jerry and find hand-cut potatoes deep fried in the best imported oil and served with something masquerading as the finest poisson?’
‘In other words, smarty, fish and chips.’
He laughed. ‘My way sounds better. And not rationed either, better still.’
His easy charm cheered her and she tucked her hand into his arm and, almost gaily, walked along beside him as he adapted his slightly