LUCY
She’d even walked past the Apollo Theatre to see the posters outside. Among the plays and bingo nights, there it was:
MISS SPRING SUNSHINE
RUNNER-UP:
A WEEK IN A BUTLINS HOLIDAY CAMP
Instead of being a forgotten little nobody, she’d be Lucy Jones, Miss Spring Sunshine 1953. After years of being ignored and put down, she’d be a beauty queen.
Cautiously, she tiptoed up to Room 33 and knocked.
Inside her mind, Richard had become the answer to all her worries. If her life were a Hollywood movie, he was the hero who would whisk her out of the gutter and into a life of glamour and romance.
He might even help with another problem.
Money was becoming increasingly short. Her meagre wage barely covered the rent.
She couldn’t afford even a down payment for the yellow dress, and how would she pay for the haircut she badly needed?
Without the right style, how was she supposed to perform in the West End, be the glamorous woman on the arm of an important man?
She had to see Richard, make sure she didn’t let his attention slip away.
‘Come in,’ a voice called, and as she opened the door, excitement mingled with nervousness as her eyes landed on him.
Today, he was seated at the desk, surrounded by documents. Standing beside him, the sandy-haired assistant was going through some kind of a list, far more absorbed than Richard, who immediately got to his feet, grinning as he strode over.
Her eyes pricked with relief – finally someone who was happy to see her!
‘Oh, my Sleeping Beauty!’ In a single, fluid motion, he took her into his arms. ‘You came to find your Prince Charming again!’
She blushed. Could he read her mind?
‘I d-didn’t know if you’d be too busy to see me,’ she stuttered. ‘Shall I come back another time?’
‘No, no, no!’ He made a sweeping gesture to the assistant. ‘We can catch up on this later, Morris.’
‘But the meeting is in an hour, sir.’ Morris began shuffling documents into a battered briefcase.
However, Richard had already taken Lucy’s hand and was leading her to the sofa.
‘Some things are more important. Now, be a good chap and run along.’ As the door closed, Richard turned his entire attention to Lucy.
It was disarming yet thrilling. ‘Do excuse Morris. He’s a bit of a taskmaster, and we all know how dull they can be, don’t we? ’
Lucy covered a giggle, suddenly feeling a little shy.
‘I’ve been waiting for you to come back to me.’ He moved closer. ‘I wanted to apologize.’
‘Whatever for?’
‘For being so horribly drunk the last time we met. Goodness knows what you must have thought of me.’ He hung his head in mock penitence, and she couldn’t help but laugh.
‘Of course I forgive you! I thought you were charming.’
‘I’m so glad,’ he said, wriggling his arm around her shoulder.
‘Because I thought exactly the same of you.’ He grinned, his face close to hers.
‘Only you’re far, far more beautiful.’ He sat forward.
‘But where are my manners? Why don’t you tell me what you want, and I’ll do what I can.
Wine? A cocktail? Champagne – although that one might be a bit more tricky .
. .’ He strode over to a drinks cabinet and peered inside. ‘Why don’t I make us both a martini?’
While he poured the drinks, she looked at the magazines on the coffee table. Among them, poking out, was a book. She picked it up, murmuring the title, ‘The Catcher in the Rye. Isn’t that the one everyone’s talking about?’
At that, Richard lifted his head, then, smiling, he reached over and plucked it from her hands. ‘I’m not sure it’s quite your thing, darling,’ he said, sliding a magazine into her hands before going back to mixing the drinks.
She looked down at it. The Tatler was for the upper classes. On the cover, an unattractive woman in an ugly tweed skirt suit posed in front of a stately home. ‘The new Lady Rickerby-Willis moves into Alchester Manor’.
Flipping through the pages, she saw articles about the coronation: ‘Who’s Invited to the Abbey?’ ‘Which Banquets and Events to Attend’.
It was a different world from Woman’s Weekly, with its tips for finding a good spot to watch the procession or the parks where you could pitch a tent. People with windows overlooking the route were renting out rooms for a fortune.
She stopped at a page filled with photographs from a society wedding, men in tailcoats and ladies in gowns, heavily adorned with jewels. Some even wore tiaras.
Then, suddenly, her eyes focused on a man in a group of four. She glanced up to double-check. The same dark-brown hair, the same lilting smile.
She’d guessed that Richard was upper-class, but to be featured in a magazine like this, he must be almost royalty. She wondered about his family estate somewhere in the countryside. Could he give her a life that was far, far better than anything she’d ever dreamed?
With a smile, she imagined her wedding, how her mother would pull her into the heart of the family, the adoring mother of the bride.
‘Here we are!’ Richard strode back over with the drinks, taking a seat beside her, glancing at the magazine.
‘That was the most frumpy wedding dress I’d ever seen.
’ He kissed her head. ‘Not like you, my darling. You’d make a beautiful bride, radiant.
And that country church is far too rural for my liking.
My preference would be London, St Paul’s if possible, and a reception in the Savoy.
’ He grinned at her. ‘Don’t you think that would be just the place, darling? ’
She let out a laugh. Was he asking where she’d like their wedding to be? ‘St Paul’s Cathedral?’
Gazing up at him, she met his eyes lingering on hers, smiling in that way he had, making her feel more at home in that guest room than she’d ever felt in her life.
‘Right,’ he said, leaning over behind the sofa to pull out a carrier bag. ‘Why don’t you try this dress on in the bathroom? It’s for the beauty contest.’
Glaring, she stammered, ‘I-I couldn’t possibly take anything from you.’
‘Remember, we agreed that you’d pay me back with your winnings. In any case, what else would I do with it? It isn’t my colour at all.’
Laughing, she took it to the bathroom, quickly changing out of her uniform.
The dress was a pale blue, close-fitting with thin straps over her shoulders. It was extremely elegant, quite unlike anything she’d usually wear.
‘I hope it’s not too cold in there,’ he called to her.
She laughed as she came out, tottering in the high heels that had also been in the bag. ‘There’s not a lot of material on the top.’ She’d had to take off her bra as it was so low-cut, skimming the side of her breasts, a deep V showing off her cleavage.
He was standing by the desk, watching her in clear admiration. ‘You look incredible!’ Walking around, he tweaked the material, smoothing it over her waist and hips.
‘Do you really think so?’ she asked.
He tutted. ‘No more talk like that! You’re a stunning woman, Lucy Jones. We need to see more confidence. Walk up and down, pretend you’re a model, stand up straight and let your body shine.’
At first she was self-conscious. The heels were making her wobble, and she felt exposed without a bra. But his relaxed presence, his appreciative gaze, made her feel glamorous. For once in her life, she felt valued, wanted.
‘It’s all about posture.’ He went over to her, gently pulling her shoulders straight, his hands on her skin, warm and reassuring. ‘Let’s try again.’
And this time, she walked out with her head held high, delighting in his gaze on her.
‘I can’t wait to see what the future holds for you, my angel.
’ He went over and took the pins out of her hair, letting it fall down her back.
‘And when you visit the hairdresser, ask them to dye your hair a little lighter. It would suit you.’ He pulled her closer. ‘Blondes always stand out, don’t they?’
The sensation of being so close to him was both exhilarating and disconcerting.
She hadn’t had a lot of practice with men, just a bit of fumbling with boys.
Even though she longed for him to scoop her into his arms, inwardly she panicked – was she going too slow, too fast?
What if he was used to more experienced girls and she wasn’t racy enough for him?
He seemed to read her mind, pulling back, tilting his head to look into her eyes. ‘Are we going too quickly, my sweet? You have to let me know. We can go as slowly as you like.’
She bit her lip. ‘It’s nothing. I just haven’t ever been, well, so close to a man as this.’ She turned to hide her embarrassment, praying that her words wouldn’t make him pull away.
But instead, he put his arms around her and scooped her up, twirling her around. ‘Have no fear, my Sleeping Beauty, we can do whatever you want. My wish is your command.’
She giggled, leaning her head into his shoulder. ‘I can’t even begin to tell you how lovely it is to have someone who pays attention, someone who understands.’
He set her back down on her feet. ‘You’re like a delicate butterfly, and I just can’t wait to see you open your wings and fly.’
She beamed at him, feeling her insides explode with joy.
Then, from beside him on the floor, he brought out another, smaller bag and handed it to her. ‘This is something else I got you for the contest. Why don’t you try it on?’
Peering into the bag, she murmured, ‘Another dress?’
‘No, it’s for the swimwear round.’ Seeing her face, he took her hand in his. ‘You’ll be fabulous, darling. I just know it.’
Inside the bathroom, she pulled on the daring two-piece swimsuit, also in pale blue. It was one of the modern ones with the midriff showing and not a lot on the bottom or top.
If the other girls were wearing two-piece costumes, she had no option but to do the same.
When she looked at herself in the mirror, she gasped at the effect. She looked like a movie actress, both extraordinarily beautiful and incredibly sexy, a real grown-up woman. Suddenly, she knew she was entering the fashionable, cosmopolitan world of London, at the very cutting edge of style.
And she would live up to it.
‘Are you ready?’ Richard called from outside.
With a deep breath, she went out.
He whistled softly under his breath. ‘Very lovely, Lucy. You look like a dream. Your proportions, well’ – he put a hand onto her naked stomach – ‘they’re perfect. Your waist is so small, and your . . .’ His eyes went to her breasts. ‘Everything is incredible!’
Adjusting one of the shoulder straps of the bikini top, he ran his finger down so that it grazed the side of her breast. ‘My apologies, darling. It’s a hazard of the job. Don’t mind me.’
She laughed, savouring the buzz that shot through her.
And then he adjusted the bikini bottoms, too, but there was no grazing there, and she felt slightly disappointed, worrying in case he didn’t like what he saw.
After all, she needed to keep him interested, didn’t she?
He took her hand, like she was a child, and led her back to the sofa. ‘Why don’t we sit down and talk for a while, help you get used to it.’ His manner was relaxed, like they were friends.
‘You’re a true gentleman,’ she said, smiling up at him. ‘I bet all the girls think so.’
But he shook his head. ‘I’ve been too brokenhearted to notice, unable to even look at another girl.’
That made her sit up. ‘Oh no! What happened?’
‘It was a year ago. A young lady decided that I wasn’t good enough for her, and I haven’t been myself ever since.’
‘Well, I’m sure a good-looking man like you won’t have any problems finding someone new.’
‘No one seems that interested in me.’
She shuffled closer to him, and she wondered if he’d kiss her again. ‘I’m sure they are.’
But a sound from the hallway made them jump apart, and then a knock on the door sent Lucy racing into the bathroom.
Frantically, she changed. By the time she went back into the room, Richard was at the desk, Morris shuffling notes in front of him. The younger man’s eyes glanced at her briefly, taking in her dishevelled demeanour, no doubt wondering what she’d been doing there.
But Richard got up to walk her to the door. ‘Sorry, darling, duty calls! I’ll see you next Friday at the Apollo, and don’t look so fearful – you’re sure to be the most beautiful one there.’
And with a brief kiss on the cheek, he went back to his documents, leaving her clutching her bags in the open doorway, only too aware of Morris’s lingering gaze.
Closing the door softly, she found herself alone in the silent corridor, suddenly cold away from Richard’s warmth. The meeting had ended so abruptly. It hadn’t even been a proper kiss.
Deflated, she headed back to the queen’s wardrobe.
‘Where have you been? The laundry was supposed to go down half an hour ago.’ Caroline bustled in with yet another pile. ‘Was there anyone in the guest rooms?’
After a moment’s pause, Lucy replied, ‘No, no one at all.’ And as if it had never happened, she went back to sorting the clothes for cleaning.