‘Are yer ready?’ Angie banged on Dorothy’s bedroom door.
‘Nearly!’
A few seconds later the door swung open.
‘Ta-da!’ Dorothy flung her arms out theatrically.
‘Yeah, Dor, yer look fine. Now let’s get going or we’ll never get there,’ Angie said.
Dorothy screwed her eyes up and glared at Angie.
‘Why, Angela Boulter, I do believe you’re nervous.’ Dorothy was doing a very good impression of an accent from the Deep South.
‘Am not!’
Dorothy threw her head back and roared with laughter.
‘Well, you mightn’t be, but Ahh sure as hell ahhm!’
‘Dor, stop sounding like you’ve just stepped off the set of Gone with the Wind. Act normal.’
Dorothy gasped. ‘How can I act normal when we’re about to visit a house of ill repute?’
‘That’s exactly why I’m nervous,’ Angie bit back.
‘Aha, so you are nervous.’
‘Bloody Nora, Dor.’ Angie shoved past Dorothy and opened up the wardrobe. She carefully took out George’s uniform still in its dry-cleaning bag.
‘Better not forget the real reason we’re going there,’ Dorothy hooted, although by the high state of excitement she was in, there was a good possibility she would.
‘Come on, Dor.’ Angie marched down the hallway and opened the front door. ‘I’m going whether you’re ready or not.’
Dorothy watched Angie walk out in her lovely canary-yellow dress. It showed her curves off and went surprisingly well with her blonde hair.
‘I think you’ve forgotten something,’ she shouted after her as she grabbed both their winter coats from the tallboy. ‘Blue and yellow isn’t a good look.’
Quickly grabbing both their gas masks and locking the door behind her, she hurried down the stairs and caught up with Angie as she opened the main front door.
‘Ah Angela, how are you?’
Dorothy couldn’t see the face, but recognised the voice.
‘I’m fine thanks, Quentin. How are you?’ Angie said.
‘Hi Quentin!’ Dorothy squashed herself next to Angie, who had the clothes bag draped over her arm and was looking down at their neighbour standing at the top of the steps that led down to the basement.
‘Gosh, you both look very …’ Quentin hesitated.
‘Gorgeous? Stunning? Glamorous?’ Dorothy suggested.
‘Well, yes, all of the above,’ Quentin said, although his response was directed at Angie.
‘So, are you doing anything special for Christmas Day?’ Quentin asked, his eyes nervously flitting from the ground and then back up to Angie.
‘We are indeed, Quentin,’ Dorothy answered for her friend. ‘We are going to a Christmas wedding, and the reception is to be held at the Grand.’
Angie looked at her friend, who was now speaking as if she was on a visit to Buckingham Palace.
‘Howay, Dor,’ she said, making her way down the steps to the pavement. ‘And fling me my coat, I’m bloomin’ freezing here.’
Quentin smiled.
‘You up to owt?’ Angie asked as she handed over George’s uniform in exchange for her thick olive-green woollen coat.
‘Gosh,’ Quentin said, brushing back a mop of hair that was the same colour as Angie’s. ‘Nothing quite so exciting.’
‘So, what yer deein’?’ Angie persisted.
‘Well,’ Quentin shuffled on the spot, ‘just staying in. Listening to the King’s speech. That sort of thing. Chicken sandwich …’
‘Yer jokin’?’ Angie seemed intrigued. Didn’t posh people with names like Quentin have five-course nosh-ups on Christmas Day?
‘Right, best get a move on,’ Dorothy said, handing Angie the uniform back so she could put on her own coat and stop herself from turning blue. Red and blue also did not go.
‘Good evening, Quentin,’ Dorothy said, again in a voice of aristocracy-cum-royalty.
‘See yer,’ Angie said. ‘And happy Christmas!’
Her Yuletide cheer was met by a smile that spread across the entire width of Quentin’s pale but not unhandsome face.
‘Yes, I’ll say … Merry, merry Christmas!’ he shouted back.
He was still standing on the same spot when Angie and Dorothy turned the corner at the bottom of their street.
It took the pair twenty minutes to get to Lily’s.
They were both trembling with cold and nerves by the time they reached the front door.
Dorothy’s shaking had been exacerbated by nearly going head over heels on black ice a few times.
‘You knock!’ Dor said.
‘No, you knock!’ Angie said.
Dorothy took a deep breath and raised the brass knocker.
They both jumped back when the door opened on the second knock.
Lily had been waiting.
‘Mes chers!’ Lily opened the door wide. ‘Entrez! Entrez! Come in, come in!’
She gestured for them to enter the house.
Dorothy took a deep breath and stepped over the threshold.
Angie followed, her arm now aching from carrying the uniform, which was heavier than it looked.
Both Dorothy and Angie stood stock-still and gazed in awe at the huge Christmas tree in the hallway, at the magnificent chandelier, the polished parquet flooring and the wide, sweeping staircase.
As soon as Angie was in and the door shut behind her, Lily reached over and took the uniform from her.
‘Ahh, merci, merci beaucoup!’ she said, unzipping the front of the clothes bag and having a quick look.
‘I’ll just go and put this somewhere safe,’ she said. ‘Go into the office and see Rosie. She was just about to leave. It being Christmas Eve and all that.’
‘Dorothy … Angie,’ Rosie welcomed them both as she opened the door to her office. ‘Come in! Thanks so much for bringing the uniform over. It’s been crazy today. I’ve got to get off in a minute and see Charlotte. Not fair to leave her on her own on Christmas Eve.’
Dorothy smiled as she walked into the office, trying her hardest to appear as though this was the most normal thing ever – popping into a bordello to drop something off for a friend!
Angie followed Dorothy, openly gawping at the sheer opulence of Rosie’s ‘other’ workplace. The floor-to-ceiling velvet curtains, the beautiful desk, the roaring fire, the chaise longue, the oriental rug … Everything. It was amazing. Beautiful and so stylish.
Just then, the doorbell went.
Rosie sighed and looked at her watch.
‘The clients should know to use the back.’
By the time she had walked across the office, Lily had already reached the front door.
‘You should be using the back entrance!’ Lily reprimanded, looking down at the suited man standing on the doorstep. ‘Sorry, but I’m going to have to insist you go around the back.’ She looked nervously at her neighbours to her left and right.
‘No, honestly—’ the man started to say.
‘Oh, all right then, come on in.’ Lily waved her hand impatiently. ‘Chop-chop!’
As soon as he was over the threshold, he too stared about the hallway in disbelief.
It was even more impressive than Peter had told him.
‘The girls are in the back.’ Lily turned around to see George coming out of the parlour. The sound of Bing Crosby’s ‘White Christmas’, along with a stream of cigar smoke and perfume, escaped into the hallway.
‘George will introduce you.’ Lily’s impatience was undisguised.
‘Sorry, I think there’s been a misunderstanding,’ the man said.
He looked at Dorothy and Angie standing in the front room.
And then at Rosie.
She was exactly as Peter had described.
He’d been too late to catch her at the yard and knew by this time she’d be at the bordello.
‘I’ve actually come to see Rosie,’ he said, walking into the office.
‘Well, she doesn’t work here as such,’ Lily said, following him. ‘Not any longer.’
Toby looked at Dorothy and Angie and then back again at Rosie.
He stepped forward and put his hand out.
‘Mrs Miller, I’m Toby, Peter’s friend.’
Everyone fell silent, all thinking the same thoughts.
No, please, God. No.
Not Peter. Not now.
‘Oh God!’ Dorothy couldn’t help herself.
Toby looked at her, then back at Rosie, who was standing there, mute. Her face full of fear.
‘No,’ he said, his face full of apologies. ‘No, it’s not bad news. Not at all.’
Rosie looked about her. All of a sudden, she felt faint.
She walked back to her desk and sat down.
‘That’s good to hear,’ she heard herself say.
Lily hurried over to the decanter of brandy, sloshed a good measure into a glass, took a quick slug herself and then handed it to Rosie.
‘George, can you get everyone a drink, please? I think we all need one.’
Lily turned to Toby.
‘Why didn’t you say who you were in the first place?’ She moved to the side of the desk and pulled out the top drawer to retrieve her Gauloises.
Toby opened his mouth to speak.
‘So, Peter’s all right?’ Lily asked, casting a look at Rosie, who had gone as white as a sheet.
Toby stuck his hand in the inside pocket of his suit and pulled out an envelope.
‘Peter’s well,’ he said. ‘He knew I was going to be in the area and asked me to pop in and see his wife.’
He looked over at Rosie, who was now listening intently.
As were the two young women.
‘He asked me to give you this.’
He held out the envelope.
Lily snatched it off him and handed it to Rosie.
She looked at it, but didn’t open it.
‘I’ll read it later,’ she said, sliding it into the pocket of the cream slacks she was wearing.
‘I’m afraid you’ll see it’s not Peter’s handwriting. It’s mine. It came over the wires.’
That was all Toby could divulge.
‘Here we are!’ George came into the room with a tray of drinks.
‘I’m afraid it’s a choice of brandy or brandy.’
George looked over at Rosie, then to Lily, who gave him a tight nod that all was well.
‘Here, let me take that,’ Dorothy said, seeing that George was standing somewhat lopsidedly as he’d had to hook his walking stick over his arm in order to carry the tray.
Like an experienced hostess, she took the tray to Toby first.
‘Thank you,’ Toby said, taking a large bulbous glass containing an equally generous measure of Rémy.
‘You’re welcome,’ Dorothy said.
The pair smiled at each other.
Dorothy then took the tray to Lily, to George and finally to Angie, before taking her own drink and putting the tray down on the coffee table.
George raised his glass.
‘A toast.’ He looked at Rosie and gave her a wink.
She smiled back but still looked a little dazed.
‘To Peter!’ he said.
Rosie raised her glass.
‘To Peter,’ she mouthed.
‘And a very merry Christmas to all,’ George added.
There was no doubt in his mind that this was the best Christmas present Rosie could wish for.
Rosie had a sip of her brandy and stood up.
She felt a little steadier on her feet.
She felt for the letter in her pocket, reassuring herself it was safely tucked away.
‘Thank you, Toby, for coming here.’ She moved around the desk and shook his hand again. This time with more vigour. ‘Peter always talked about you fondly.’ She looked at him and smiled.
‘I’m guessing that you didn’t just drop by because you were in the area, though – you’ve probably had quite a journey to get here?’
Rosie knew that Toby was based mainly in Scotland when he wasn’t over enemy lines.
Toby chuckled. Peter was right. She was smart as well as a damn good-looking woman.
‘Some things are worth making the journey for,’ he said simply.
‘Well, if that’s the case,’ Lily chirped up, ‘why don’t you stay and enjoy yourself? Unless you’ve got to get back somewhere straight away?’
Toby caught Dorothy’s eye.
‘No, I’m here until Boxing Day,’ he said.
‘Well then,’ Lily said, forever the businesswoman. She had spotted the cut of his suit and it said in no uncertain terms that he was well heeled. Very well heeled. ‘You might want to enjoy the company of one of my girls to tide you over the Christmas festivities?’
Dorothy and Angie both took large gulps of their brandies. Never in a million years had they expected to see Lily in her role as madam. All they needed now was to have a peek in the back parlour where they could hear ‘the girls’.
‘Well, that might not be such a bad idea,’ Toby said.
He looked at Dorothy in her stunning red dress. It had taken all his concentration to stay focused on the job in hand.
‘Well,’ Lily said, turning to lead the way to the back parlour, ‘let me introduce you to the girls.’
‘Oh, I don’t think there’s any need for that,’ Toby said, smiling at Dorothy. ‘I’d be very happy if this young woman would be my companion during my short stay. I’m sorry, I don’t even know your name?’
Everyone was now looking at Dorothy.
Angie had gone bright red and was desperately trying to stop herself from having the screaming heebie-jeebies. They were going to be in stitches when they left.
‘It’s Dorothy, but everyone calls me Dor.’
Dorothy was suppressing a smile.
Lily was just about to say something when Dorothy beat her to it.
‘I’m afraid, though, Toby,’ she allowed herself a half-smile, ‘that I don’t work here. I’m not one of Lily’s girls.’
Dorothy forced herself not to look at Angie, otherwise she knew she’d have a fit of the giggles.
‘Gosh, I’m so sorry.’ Toby looked mortified.
Everyone chuckled.
‘I can introduce you to some of the girls who do in fact work here, though,’ Lily said. She took a good slug of her brandy. This Christmas Eve was turning into one she would remember for a variety of reasons.
‘No … no thank you …’ Toby stammered. ‘I was only really interested in Dorothy here.’ He shook his head at his own stupidity. ‘I’m so sorry.’
He looked at Angie.
‘I’m guessing you two are friends?’
They both nodded.
‘We work with Rosie. At the yard,’ Dorothy explained.
‘Ahh, you’re welders,’ Toby said. ‘How fascinating. I’d love to know more.’
He paused.
‘Would it be rude of me to ask, having made such a huge faux pas, if you would go out for a drink with me?’
Everyone was now watching with interest.
‘Well – ’ Dorothy looked at Angie and knew she would hate her for what she was about to suggest ‘ – there’s a rather spectacular wedding happening tomorrow.’
Toby showed his surprise.
‘Yes, I know, on Christmas Day of all days,’ Dorothy said. ‘And as it happens, my “plus one” has just been called away on important business, which means there’s a vacancy there, if you’d like to take it.’
Dorothy saw Angie’s face change out of the corner of her eye.
‘I most certainly would like that,’ Toby said. ‘Very much indeed.’
After they all finished their drinks, Toby offered to drop Rosie off at Brookside Gardens and then Dorothy and Angie at Foyle Street, before heading back to his ‘digs’.
Pulling up outside the flat, it was agreed he should pick Dorothy and Angie up at half-past twelve in time for the wedding at one.
After Toby drove away, Angie rounded on Dorothy, but before she had a chance to get her words out, Dorothy jumped in.
‘You’re going to ask Quentin,’ she said simply. It wasn’t a suggestion or an order, just a basic statement of fact.
She looked at her watch.
‘It’s not too late and look, his light’s still on. Probably up reading Chaucer or something.’
‘But—’ Angie started to say.
‘This is not a time for “buts”, Angie dear. You heard the poor bloke. He’s going to be sat at home on his lonesome, eating chicken sandwiches and listening to the King’s speech. You’ll be doing him a massive favour, and in return he can teach you lots of things you’ve been wanting to learn about being posh.’
Angie opened her mouth to object but stopped.
She did want to learn more about being ‘posh’. More about everything, really.
‘He can show you which knives and forks to use,’ Dorothy said, now spurred on by Angie’s lack of objection. ‘He can even teach you how to waltz properly. All that kind of stuff.’
Deciding to take the bull by the horns, Dorothy quickly went down the steps to the basement flat, knocked on the door and hurried back up again.
‘Go on then,’ she said, gently pushing her friend into action. ‘Go and tell him he’s your plus one.’