16

‘Come on, Charlie, pedal to the metal!’ yelled Greg as they tore across the forest track at breakneck speed.

‘You just concentrate on the map and stop giving me orders. This bit is going to be tricky in the slush and mist,’ said Charlie Afton, Greg’s co-driver.

It was only the second time that Greg had navigated for his friend and he still hadn’t got the hang of it. They were making good time, but Charlie was cautious round the bends. Only he who dares would win this time trial. It was fun, but Greg knew he ought to be back supervising the guys on the building site. He didn’t trust them to keep at it without him beating the stick.

He navvying days were almost over, but if need be, he would take off his jacket and muck in with the best of them. He’d bought some land, just a derelict plot outside Headingley, jumped in quick and made an offer, and now he’d got four semis going up, with inside bathrooms, proper kitchen-cum-diners, in the American style.

All of them were sold just from the plans alone, and he was on a deadline and shouldn’t be out enjoying himself. But hell, it was good to be getting some fresh air.

‘Where next?’ Charlie said.

For a second Greg had lost concentration. ‘Sorry. Just keep going ahead, I think.’

‘Keep your flaming mind on the bloody job, Byrne!’

They were still arguing when the car skidded, crashed into the side of a tree and spun off the road into a ditch.

‘That’ll teach you to concentrate on the job. You can pay for the damage!’ Charlie was furious but unhurt.

‘You OK?’ Greg sighed, knowing he should’ve stayed in Leeds and got on with his building. He jumped out of the car and went for help.

The motor rally was in full throttle, engines roaring through the forest in the distance when Maddy Belfield arrived late for the photo shoot in the park. It was one of those dark winter snowscapes, a grey light, monochrome, with the old house etched against a darkening sky as a backdrop.

They wanted her to model the latest fur wraps and jackets, and she was frozen stiff standing in the muddy slush, trying to keep her teeth from chattering. There was a rush to get her hair coiled into a chignon. She must give her best Lady Muck look, standing by her sleek Daimler hired for the shoot.

Nobody had warned her how unglamorous being a photographic model could be. Piers, the flamboyant photographer, was fussing like an old hen, clucking about getting the right light and shadow for the glossy shots needed by Marshfields store, who were promoting this winter advertisement in a Yorkshire magazine.

As one of their favourite mannequins, they had demanded Maddy made herself available.

Her toes were numb in the patent court shoes and her make-up had to be touched up to disguise a blue nose. The assistant had shoved a hot-water bottle up the hidden back of the coat just to warm her through.

They’d borrowed the big Georgian house outside York where Bella’s family lived, so at least she had a bed for the night.

Since leaving Yorkshire Ladies’, Maddy’s feet had scarcely touched the ground, much to Miss Meyer’s dismay.

‘We didn’t train you up for you to go off and be a window dresser’s dummy,’ sniffed Hilda as she handed over Maddy’s certificates. ‘You young gals…where will it end?’

It was Miss Hermione who wished her good luck and slipped a lovely compact into her hands. ‘You enjoy yourself while you can,’ she whispered. ‘Don’t listen to her. We never got much of a chance after the Great War–no young men left for us. Hilda is bitter. I shall look out for you in the papers.’

Now her weeks were filled with fittings, rehearsals, shows, parades. Sometimes she was sent into the big warehouses for their seasonal show for buyers. It was hard work, stripping off and on, keeping her hair smart, pouring into waspie waist cinchers and silhouette corsets and huge petticoats, trying not to snag her nylon stockings.

Sometimes she did feel like a painted doll, especially when she looked in the mirror. In her eyes she was still plain Maddy with the gawky frame and hunched back, but now she could switch on and become ‘La Madeleine’ the minute she walked down the catwalk.

If Plum was disappointed in her new career she said nothing. She was too busy with her own business. Her sidekick, Gloria, ignored all the fuss over this new career and never showed any interest when her picture appeared in a local magazine.

Maddy preferred to think she was in demand because she turned up on time, didn’t complain when they stuck pins in her, was pleasant to buyers and tried to show off the clothes as best she could, even though some of the stuff was ridiculously froufrou and over the top with beading or lace. Tight waists were de rigueur now, full skirts à la Dior, which took yards of material, fussy hats and gloves that must be spotless, make-up that must not be smudged or look too theatrical. She suffered constant backache from standing in high heels, trying to look haughty and sophisticated, which gave her a fixed smile. This was the look for now.

For all the glamour on the outside, there was still a burning part of her inside that remained distant and uncertain, as if all this was happening to someone else who deserved this success, not her.

‘Madeleine, hold that faraway look,’ someone shouted. When she was tired her slow eye turned slightly, but no one seemed to mind and it didn’t show on the full shot.

Now, on this freezing slushy afternoon all she could think of was a hot bath and a mug of cocoa, of being wrapped in a thick silky eiderdown, but the roar of the engines kept whirring, disturbing her reverie and she turned.

‘Don’t move!’ yelled Piers. ‘Just one more.’

How many times had she heard that line? ‘It’s only a motor rally in the forest. Take no notice. They’ll be gone soon…’

But the engines seemed to be getting closer, and they heard a screech of brakes and the unmistakable crunch of metal against tree, and then silence.

‘What was that?’ Maddy shouted, turning as someone came running out of the woods in mud-splattered leathers and a helmet like a parachutist.

‘Where’s the nearest phone? There’s been an accident…’

Then he stopped, staring at this strange set, backing off.

‘Oh, I could use you for contrast…just move over closer to Mads,’ said Piers. For a second the man stopped again, distracted by the scene, and then he ran on.

‘Go up there,’ Maddy yelled, ‘to Foxup Hall…We ought to go and help too.’

‘No need, love,’ shouted the mystery man in his dark leathers. ‘Just need a bit of a shove out of the way. Only a prang, no bones broken.’

‘The driver?’ Maddy asked, wondering just how bad it was.

‘A bit shook up. We don’t want to hold up the race, though. The marshals are seeing to it.’

The man raced off up the drive and soon Bella and her father were racing down with the gardener.

‘Damn rally boys! I knew it was a mistake to let Alexander’s lot loose. This is all your doing, Bella. That bloody husband of yours…’

‘Oh, Daddy, it’s only a bit of fun, a practice run, and no one’s hurt–well, not too bad.’ She turned to Maddy with a smile. ‘Darling, you look absolutely frozen. Go back up and thaw out, the light’s going. You will stay for the party tonight?’

Maddy shook her head. ‘I’d better get on my way. I promised Aunt Plum I’d fetch her up for her birthday.’

‘That’s tomorrow. Saturday night is party night and you’re going nowhere. Come on, chop chop.’

‘Do you mind?’ yelled Piers. ‘We’re not finished yet! Mads, keep your pose.’

‘We’ll send you the medical bill if she catches pneumonia,’ Bella yelled back, unimpressed. ‘Slave driver…See you later, darling!’

Maddy had stayed up at Foxup before. She hadn’t gone to Bella’s wedding, making a feeble excuse. She’d not been feeling sociable for months but she’d asked Plum to find some beautiful skin fleeces and they’d sent them as a gift. Bella had written back to ask her over for a weekend to meet Alexander and somehow they’d stayed in touch. The house was a huge pile of grey stones and inside was as cold as a Frigidaire, full of grand furniture, portraits and stag horns on shields. It was twice the size of Brooklyn Hall but the family always made her welcome.

Bella’s brother, Morgan, was just out of the army and a bit of a handful. He and Alex spent every waking hour under the bonnet of some fast roadster. Bella and Alex tried to make them a foursome but Maddy found him a bit of a buffoon; anything on four legs or four wheels and he was off boring for England. Now they had made part of the forest a time-trial track for rally teams.

It was funny how out of all the girls at Yorkshire Ladies’, the two friends who’d stuck were Bella and Pinky, the farmer’s wife. Thelma and Ruth had never forgiven her for running out of the Hebron Hall meeting: ‘You’ve sold your soul to a worldly occupation. How can you parade yourself in peacock’s finery when half the world is starving?’

There was no easy answer to that but she was earning her own living, paying her way, and it kept her away from Sowerthwaite.

She needed no excuse to stay away from Brooklyn Hall as reminders of her secret shame hit her whenever she walked out of the station and smelled that fresh damp Dales air.

Gloria was still being cool and disinterested in her travels. Aunt Plum was full of how former evacuees had returned to see her. Big Bryan Partridge was now in the army and had roared up the avenue in a Jeep with his friends to show them where he’d spent the war.

Walking up the Avenue of Tears to Brooklyn brought back such painful memories. She hated going back, but tomorrow she must brace herself and make a special effort, snow or not.

Now she was too weary and chilled to protest when the housekeeper, Mrs Pilling, ran her a bath in the great roll-top tub and brought her a hot toddy of whisky, lemon and hot water on a silver tray.

‘Her ladyship’s orders,’ she smiled. ‘Get that down you. Dinner is at eight.’

Luckily Maddy had her best woollen two-piece in her overnight bag, which was otherwise full of accessories for the shoot. A mannequin needed to have gloves, scarves, bits to dress up the clothes if the dresser’s stuff was boring or plain awful. At least she had her Shetland wool spencer, light as gossamer, to wear as an extra vest. She had a paisley cashmere shawl that had belonged to Grandma, which wrapped round like a blanket and kept the draughts from howling up her skirts. It was a night for Gran’s pearls too.

Lady Foxup was wrapped in a white fox fur stole, Bella wore a fancy plaid jacket and Alex wore tweeds. The fire was lit but it usually made no impact on them sitting round the table. The best was to hope that one of the dogs took a fancy to her and warmed her feet under the table.

‘Will you take the horses out tomorrow after church?’ Bella’s mother turned to the girls.

Maddy shook her head. ‘I must get back. It’s Aunt Plum’s birthday tomorrow, we’re having a special tea.’

‘I was meaning to ask you about your aunt Plum. Was she, by any chance, a Templeton? Prunella Templeton of Underby Hall?’

‘Yes,’ Maddy smiled, her soup spoon pausing in the air.

‘Good Lord! Prunes and Custard…We came out together. Tell her Totty Featherstone was asking after her. She married Sir Jasper, didn’t she?’

‘No…Gerald.’

‘The same,’ grinned Totty Foxup. ‘We used to call him Sir Jasper. N.S.I.T–not safe in taxis! How are they getting on?’

‘Fine. Uncle Gerald works down in London most of the time.’ Maddy hesitated, not wanting to give too much away.

‘Do tell her to ring me and we’ll have lunch. What a hoot, Prunes and Custard being your aunt.’

The soup, made of indeterminable vegetables, was followed by roast lamb, then stewed fruit cobbler and cream: rib-sticking fare that warmed her through.

‘I’ve invited my rally cronies back for drinks, a bit of a party,’ Morgan said, smiling across the table at Maddy. ‘No bones broken this time but one of the chaps is a bit dazed. They’re down in the kitchen warming up. Pilling’s doing a grand job keeping them entertained and sorting out their boots. We’ll put the gramophone in the billiard room and they can have a bit of a singsong. Car’s a write-off, by the way,’ Morgan added. ‘An MG roadster, all souped up. Pity…some chaps from Leeds or Harrogate, new recruits. You girls must come and meet them all, chivvy them up.’

Maddy groaned, wanting to go to bed to be ready for an early start in the morning, but she was their guest so must oblige.

There was a bunch of guys hugging the fire in the billiard room, some faces she’d seen before, regular chums of Morgan’s, standing in steaming socks and leathers, sipping from crystal glasses and looking awkward.

Morgan did his best to introduce them all. ‘That’s poor Charlie–father owns a string of garages, and his co-driver over there. This is their first time and they’re a bit brassed off, losing their car like that. Silly mistake, eh, lads?’ Morgan was off round the room, trying to make everyone at ease.

Maddy recognised the tall young man in black leathers who’d shot out of the wood to raise the alarm. Without his helmet and gear he was handsome in a rugged Yorkshire sort of way, she thought, rough round the edges and looked you straight in the eye.

He was staring round at the panelled walls, the trophies and swords. There was something about his stance, his eyes, something familiar. Was it a trick of the firelight on that shock of fair hair, those lean features? Something about him tapped into old memories but she just couldn’t place him. It was a pity he’d not given his name but better not to embarrass him by singling him out in front of the others.

‘Now I want you to meet my friend Madeleine,’ Bella suddenly announced above the clatter. ‘She’s the poor soul trying to sell fur coats out of our driveway when you lot interrupted the proceedings, Mr Afton. Rallying can be a dangerous game but that’s what it’s all about, isn’t it?’

Maddy caught the driver eyeing her up with interest. She walked over in his direction. ‘Hello, I’m Madeleine,’ she smiled. She smelled the whisky fumes on his breath. He’d been knocking them back. ‘I hope your friend is recovering.’

He laughed. ‘I knew a Madeleine once, long time back.’

Charlie Afton rose to greet her. ‘You never told me about that one, Greg. Watch him, miss.’

Maddy was searching his face with renewed interest. ‘Greg?…Not Gregory Byrne?’

‘Who’s asking?’ he replied, as light bulbs of recognition went on in both their eyes. ‘Not…Maddy Belfield of Brooklyn Hall? You were the girl in the fur coat freezing down on the drive. Maddy? I don’t believe it. How’s everyone? Mrs Plum and Gloria and old Mr Batty…? Surely not? This is Maddy, one of the evacuees I was telling you about, Charlie. Maddy, is it really you?’

‘I’m afraid so. I knew you were in Leeds. Gloria told me.’ They shook hands, laughing. Maddy drank him in with relish. ‘It’s incredible! After all these years…’

‘You are now speaking to Byrne Bespoke Builders Inc,’ Charlie interrupted. ‘He’ll give you his card given half a chance,’ he laughed. ‘And he wrote off my MG this afternoon.’

‘Ah, that’s definitely the Greg I remember. Tell Charlie about the motor bike on battery field. I can’t believe it’s really you, and here of all places.’

‘It’s a bit grand for the likes of us,’ Greg said, Charlie nodded.

‘And me too,’ Maddy smiled. ‘But Bella’s my friend from college. We borrowed her grounds for the shots. I work for Marshfields store. As you saw, I was nearly frozen to the spot.’

Greg stood before her, rough hewn, broader, but still the same straw hair parted neatly, and those electric-blue eyes flashed. Suddenly the rest of the room faded into a blur as the noise in the crowd silenced and she stood fixed to the spot. It was as if all the lights in the room were turned off and just the spotlight surrounded them. How strange on a freezing winter’s night to feel such a warm glow, such a sense of peace. It was Greg, her old friend, but when she looked at him it was not friendship she was feeling but that strange excitement she once felt for Dieter.

Greg stared down at Maddy as she circled around the room, no longer a lanky schoolgirl with a turn in her eye but this slender, elegant vision in lavender. How strange that their paths had crossed once more. How strange to find her in here, in this barn of a mansion–but then why not? This was her world, after all–a private education, a finishing school, county friends, horses–a world away from his tough building sites. This was not where he’d expected to spend his Saturday night. To think, he’d nearly done a bunk to the nearest pub.

Charlie’s rally cronies were a wealthy lot and thought nothing of racing all over the county over borrowed land, cadging hospitality where they could. Now they were waiting for the garage to bring out a towing truck to get the roadster back to dock. It looked a crumpled mess but there was just a chance the big end had not gone for a burton.

When he was nervous Greg drank too much, gulped too fast on an empty stomach. He’d met Arabella once before. She was OK but he couldn’t stand the usual toffee-nosed ‘gals’ who’d never done a day’s work in their lives, poring over the sports cars in the garage, feigning interest, draping their long legs in and out of the seats, knowing that they looked good. They were all the same and made him nervous. Coming to Foxup Hall was a first, and he felt out of his depth with all this old money and grandeur, but they’d made them all welcome.

Now he felt such a scruff in these old cords and jumper. He was so busy ploughing money back into his business that he never bothered to put it on his back like Charlie and the others. But Maddy seemed genuinely pleased to see him, so warm and so welcoming. His heart skipped a beat at the sight of her.

Could this really be his old mate? How could that skinny kid become the perfect princess of his dreams, handed to him on a plate by the fates, the sort of girl he’d always wanted to find? All his firm resolutions crumbled at the sight of her. Just one look was all it took to hear himself mutter under his breath, ‘I’m going to marry that girl.’

Then icy reality gripped him. Why should she look twice at a scruff like him, a jumped-up labourer with nothing to offer but hopes and in uncertainties. He was not in a position to court a princess, especially one who’d known him since he was in short pants. It wasn’t part of his plan. She’d come too soon into his life and yet…For once he was gobsmacked by the coincidence.

‘What a beauty!’ Charlie whispered. ‘Blimey, I’d go for her myself but she seems to be eyeing you up with interest. So go for it!’

‘I can’t…not yet.’ Greg hesitated. All sorts of obstacles flashed before him: lack of money, a decent car, his rough callused hands, not even a decent suit to his name. How could he even think of it?

‘Don’t be a fool. Take your chance or it might not come again. Morgan Foxup is hovering over her like a vulture and I never took you for a coward.’

Greg felt sick as he strode up behind Maddy. He straightened his collar, slicked his hands through his hair and swallowed hard, trying to look casual.

‘Now that we’ve met up again there’s so much to catch up on. Are you around tomorrow? We could go for a walk. It looks as if it will stay fine. I’ll be staying here until we sort out the car.’

‘Pity,’ she smiled. ‘I’ve got to go back to Brooklyn. It’s Aunt Plum’s birthday and I can’t miss it again.’ They both paused with a kind of sigh. ‘There’s not a chance you could come too?’ she asked. ‘It’ll be a lovely surprise for her, and you’d see everybody then. I’m going by train but you could come on, later.’

Greg knew that he ought to go and check the brickwork on the building site, but it was a Sunday and they weren’t allowed to work then. Charlie’s car was a wreck, however, and it was going to be difficult to get transport.

‘I’ll try,’ he said, ‘but now I know you’re in Leeds, perhaps we could meet up again.’

She looked at him and smiled. ‘Of course, but I’m here, there and everywhere where the work is.’ Maddy scribbled her address on the back of an envelope she’d pulled from her handbag. Then she turned away to circulate again among the other drivers, glancing at him from time to time, while he stared like a tailor’s dummy, transfixed by this unexpected meeting. He just had to get to Brooklyn tomorrow. There was only one thing for it. Grabbing another drink, he shoved it in Charlie’s hand.

‘Can I ask you the most almighty favour?’

Charlie had already read his mind. ‘Just get that wreck back to the garage first. Never let it be said I stood in the way of true love.’

Gloria hugged her secret to herself on the train back to Bradford on her day off.

Was it only three weeks ago since she’d followed her hunch, knowing the photographer’s card was burning a hole in her handbag? She’d taken extra care with her appearance, rolled up her curls, bathed and powdered her white skin, dressed with care, polished her shoes for the interview.

Maddy was not the only one to be a photographer’s model. Now she was one of his regulars and this was going to be Gloria’s most daring session yet.

It all started when Ken Silverstone and his ‘wife’ arrived for a weekend at the Brooklyn six weeks ago. He’d booked the best suite and Plum thought they might be on honeymoon, but Gloria, sharp-eyed as ever, saw that the girl had no ring on when she’d first taken off her gloves. It had only appeared, when they turned up for a late breakfast.

Ken was very chatty to Gloria as she served on the table, but his girlfriend looked daggers at her when he kept going on about her red hair.

‘I’d bet you’d look good in a bathing costume. I do a lot of catalogues. They’re always on the look out for unusual colourings–you know, a touch of the tar brush or Rita Hayworth hair is always in demand.’

‘Is that where you met your wife?’ she snapped, waiting for the girl to blush.

‘Who, Dulcie? She’s not—’ he began, and then a wince screwed up his face as she kicked him under the table.

‘I’m a secretary,’ sniffed the bottle-blonde Dulcie. ‘Nothing to do with Ken’s business. Come on, darling, time for our bracing walk,’ she giggled.

Not in those high heels you’re not, thought Gloria. She’d seen the state of their bedroom. It smelled of yeast and perfume, and something else that stirred her interest.

It was when they were packing their suitcase into the boot of the Jowett that he slipped her a business card along with a tip.

‘If you ever fancy a change from changing beds, come and see me. I’ll do some shots for free and see where that leads,’ he winked, leaving her on the steps, trying not to laugh. The cheek of him!

Still, it was a change from the humdrum routine of the Brooklyn. Much as she loved it, things got dull in the week. Some weekends they were rushed off their feet, others were yawning gaps of boredom, but this week was Plum’s birthday. Maddy would be gracing them with her presence and this time Gloria was not going to be outdone by all her glamorous assignments. She’d had one of her own.

The studio was up a side street not far from Forster Square, next to a pub, up a flight of rickety stairs; a bit of a dump, if she was honest, but artists in the films always seemed to prefer studios with character.

Ken Silverstone’s studio was smaller than she imagined, really just a bare room. On that first visit she’d opened the door gingerly, clutching her handbag. ‘I thought I’d look you up,’ she lied. ‘I was doing some shopping in town.’

The walls had black sheets on them. Silver umbrellas and headlamps, a cloth screen like the ones round hospital beds were the only bits of furniture. He was busy in a dark room and came out at the clanging of the bell on the door, recognising her at once.

‘Ah, little Miss Redhead, I thought you might be tempted.’

Gloria smiled. ‘I am interested to see. I wouldn’t mind a shot at some modelling. I have a friend in the business,’ she added.

‘It’s not those sorts of mannequin shots, love, more the glamour end of the market.’ He took her over to a table strewn with papers and photos, opening to a page full of brassiere and corset adverts, girls in lacy undies and see-through nighties.

‘For this sort of work you have to have the right sort of figure, full and shapely so the lingerie looks good,’ he winked again.

‘I see.’ Gloria gulped at the sight of so much flesh on display.

‘Very tastefully done, of course. Good lighting and subtle poses make the best shots. We have to check there are no awkward blemishes or angles. I need to take a few tasteful shots first.’

‘I see.’ Gloria gulped again. ‘Do you think I’d be any good?’ Part of her was wishing she was a hundred miles away from this dark room once she’d seen those photos.

‘With your figure, fantastic, a natural,’ he replied. ‘Shall we try out a few poses first so you get used to it?’

‘I’ve come all this way so I might as well have a trial, but no stripping off. That’s not what I want to do.’ Better to be firm and state her case. There must be no misunderstandings. She was a good girl.

‘Of course not, love, but we need to do artistic shots, discreet but classy. If I had a body like yours I’d want to show it off. You can go behind the screen, keep your slip on and your panties. Then I can judge how you’ll match up…just head shots, at first.’

On that first visit it was chilly and she felt stupid. Thank goodness she’d put on her silk slip and French knickers, peach with coffee lace, which Maddy had bought for her last birthday. They were nicer than anything in his catalogues she’d seen so far.

He sat her on a chair and fussed with the lights and made her turn this way and that until her back ached. This was boring and she yawned.

‘Fancy a little snifter?’ he smiled, waving two glasses and a bottle of brandy in her direction. ‘I always keep a bottle handy to warm us up. Just let the strap down off your shoulder–that’s better–and your hair up is not right, it needs ruffling onto your shoulders. Shame to waste curls like that.’

Before she could protest he’d unpinned her hair and spread it like a cape over her shoulders, pulled down her bra so her breasts were almost hanging out.

‘Much better, just relax…splendid, gorgeous. You’ve got great tits, shame to hide them.’

Gloria felt herself tensing up. This wasn’t quite what she was expecting but she’d posed many a time in the mirror and her breasts were high and full. The spirit had gone to her legs and she smiled, slid off the bra and leaned forward so both breasts were out. ‘Like this?’ she said.

‘Gorgeous. Now we can let the dog see the rabbit.’

On the second visit and another tumbler of the fiery spirit, she felt her reserve vanishing a little more. Then he posed her again, this time on a fur rug.

‘Let’s get those legs on display, perfect, turn round, oh yes. I can see we’ll get a lot of work out of those, beautiful. What a bum! Just one more…Can we get rid of those frenchies and have a peep…?’

No! It was as if cold water was thrown over her. What was she doing, half naked in front of a stranger? This didn’t feel right. Maddy didn’t do these sorts of poses.

‘That’s enough. I didn’t come here to do a strip!’

‘I know, love, but there’s no modesty in this business. You have to be prepared to give the customers what they want,’ Ken argued, giving her a tight hug. ‘A girl like you should be proud of her assets. Why not show it off–tastefully, of course?’

‘I thought I was going to do corsets and bras,’ she replied, confused by his suggestion.

‘Come on, Gloria, that’s bread-and-butter stuff. You can do more than that and it will be good money. Glamour shots for a specialist magazine.’

‘You mean, like Titbits?’ she asked.

‘Perhaps…but you have to relax and give them everything they ask.’

‘I’m not sure. I need to think about that,’ she hesitated. ‘Do I get these shots to keep?’

‘I’ll pick out the best and let you know when you can view them.’

‘Send them through the post,’ she suggested. It was costing her to come by train, and she’d not earned anything yet.

‘I’d rather you came back. We could have another session. Fancy a drink next door? You’ve been a good girl and I’d like to use you as my model.’

‘Would you?’ Gloria was relieved and flattered. She was a natural and perhaps she might just take her clothes off. He’d not suggested anything improper. Ken had his girlfriend. He was dark and short with a thin moustache, too old, and not her type at all.

‘I’ll think about it. When shall I come back?’

Now she was back a week later on her Saturday off. If she was going to make some money there was no time to lose. They had the usual drink that seemed to fill her limbs with jelly, and set to work as usual

The shots he’d taken were what he called ‘exotic’ poses. Some of them were a bit naughty and she was glad there was only her and Ken. The drink seemed to make her go dopey and silly, and then she didn’t care where she put her arms and legs, or her clothes, which always ended up piled out of sight, leaving nothing now to the imagination. Ken said her shots were exciting and provocative, whatever that meant.

Gloria staggered back to the station with her head swimming. As the train rattled northwards, she began to shiver at what she’d just done. Had she gone too far? Was she making herself cheap? It wasn’t very ladylike, but as Ken insisted, it was her duty to show off her lovely body. There was nothing wrong in nudity, was there? It was art, after all. She was a proper artist’s model now, but it must be a secret, a delicious secret. Little Miss Redhead was going to give La Madeleine a run for her money

It was turning out to be a lovely birthday, even though Plum was now almost fifty Archie and Vera Murray called in for drinks and afternoon tea. Gloria and Grace had baked a Victoria sponge with jam and cream filling. Maddy came up on the morning train from Leeds, carrying a gorgeous bunch of cut flowers, extravagant blooms to fill the vase in the hall.

Maddy looked so grown up in her lavender suit and Pleasance’s pearls. She was turning into a beautiful young woman, with a sparkle back in her eyes.

Even Gerry had sent Plum a card. They’d still not divorced, but lived apart, and she hardly gave a thought to him or the fact that he lived with Daisy Abbott as his wife. It was all very civil, and yet unfinished business between them. How would she ever break free and start again?

The Brooklyn was her life now. Bookings were spasmodic but enough to keep Gloria on. Yet sometimes in the evenings, when there was only the wireless for company and the dogs wrapped round her feet, the house groaned and creaked and she missed the bustle and complaining of the oldies during the war. How had it all shrunk down to this?

Maddy sat tucking into their Sunday tea with gusto, full of the discovery that Bella’s mother was her old school friend Totty Featherstone.

‘Good heavens, so that’s where she went, bagged Hugh Foxup…I’ll give her a ring some time.’

‘She called you “Prunes and Custard”. What’s that all about?’ Maddy laughed, seeing her blush.

‘She was the custard blonde and I, well, with a name like mine…Better than some of the laxative nicknames they dished out. It was all terribly competitive, this débutante thing, being presented at court, finding rooms for parties and balls. It nearly beggared my parents but it was the done thing then, you just did what you were told. Totty and I were up from Yorkshire and shared a few dos but she had a title and got first pickings. It was such a farce, like some glorified cattle market for fine-bred heifers, but it served its purpose, I suppose, in making sure we didn’t step out with unsuitable boys from the wrong backgrounds. Well, well…Totty Foxup. I’d love to see her again.’

Just thinking about those far-off days made Plum sad. She and Gerry were thrown together, too young and silly to know they were unsuited. She would make sure Maddy made her own choices in that department when the time came.

It was lovely that Maddy was going to stay for the night to catch up–that was the best present of all. She hoped tomorrow she’d be up early, in her old togs, mucking out and gossiping with Gloria in the kitchen like old times. They were her family now.

She was always grateful for Archie and Vera’s company, her friends on the WVS committee, but young voices filled the house with chatter and noise and such energy.

Gloria came to life when Maddy came back. Sooner or later her young helper would up and marry away. This was no life for a lively girl. She’d trained up well and was a spotless cleaner. She’d made the guesthouse business possible, with her eye for detail. You couldn’t fake that sort of eagle eye, and Gloria had flair. She suggested changes to the way the furniture was laid out, little adjustments that made all the difference to their comfort. Plum herself had no time for fussing around the rooms. There were still estate matters to distract, horses to exercise, dogs to walk and the garden to keep in some sort of shape. Gloria was proving a reliable member of staff.

‘This is delicious,’ said Maddy with cream on her lips. ‘Who made it? Grace?’

‘No, me,’ smiled Gloria, looking smug. ‘I’m not just a pretty face.’

‘So I see.’ Maddy paused, hearing a scrunch of brakes on gravel. ‘You’ve got another visitor, I think.’

Plum stood up to peer out of the window. She was not expecting anyone else. There was a dark green sports car parked up and a tall young man in a blazer and grey flannels was striding towards the steps.

‘He must be one of your friends, Gloria,’ she said, making for the door. ‘We’ve no guests booked in, have we?’

‘No, I kept it free…Let me see to it. But I don’t know anyone with a car like that.’

Plum examined the smart vehicle, puzzled. Then suddenly there was a roar from the hall.

‘Mrs Plum! Look who’s here? You’ll never guess in a month of Sundays. Come in…come in!’ Gloria ushered in the young man, who stood in the doorway, hesitating.

‘Mrs Belfield, it’s Gregory…Gregory Byrne. I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve been meaning to call for some time.’

‘Greg! How wonderful.’ Plum darted forward at once to greet him. ‘My, how you’ve grown, so tall! You’ve filled out. What brings you to these parts? Last time I heard you were in Leeds. Come and meet my guests. Remember the Reverend and Mrs Murray?’ She pointed in their direction. ‘Greg was one of my first evacuees,’ she reminded the vicar and his wife.

Everyone stood up to shake hands except Maddy, who for some reason looked away, flushed, and smiled.

‘Maddy, look who it is!’

‘Hello, Greg. We meet again,’ she grinned, and they stared at each other. He just couldn’t take his eyes off of her.

‘I made it. Charlie lent me a show car. I’m so sorry to be late.’ His cheeks were flushed as he stood fiddling with a cufflink.

‘We met at Bella’s house last night,’ Maddy grinned. ‘Couldn’t believe it was our Greg. Would you know it, he wrapped his rally car round a tree at Bella’s and got out without a scratch?’

‘You should’ve said he was coming,’ Gloria sniffed. ‘I would have made extra.’

‘Sorry, I didn’t know…’

‘Come and sit down. Grace has already gone to fetch another cup and plate. How lovely to see you. You must stay the night so there’s time for you to tell us all about yourself. We’d almost lost touch with you. Oh, what a super end to my birthday. The unexpected guest is always the most welcome…I can’t believe it!’

How wonderful, out of the blue like that, like the long-lost hero from the wars returning, Gloria sighed. How dare Maddy not tell them Greg was coming?

When had he grown so tall and handsome and confident? Gloria couldn’t take her eyes off him for one second. She was preening her feathers, flirting, offering him cake, knowing she was being ridiculous but she didn’t care.

Soon he was settled by the fireside, telling them about the army and Germany, full of his new business, his plans for the future. He kept pausing to look at them both, smiling like the cat that got the cream.

Gloria couldn’t tear her eyes away from Greg’s face. It was a film star face, with a blond Brylcreemed quiff, slicked back at the sides, those piercing blue eyes, and his car, the racing-green sports car with an open top, outside for all to see. It was a Morgan on loan on pain of death from his friend Charlie’s garage. He’d just swanned in like the old times. He was always Mrs Plum’s favourite evacuee.

Gloria was so glad she’d got on her new tan dress, bought from a proper dress shop with coupons Ken had given her for doing that extra bit of business yesterday in Bradford.

She felt hot thinking about how he made her pose, straddling the seat of a chair as if she was riding a horse with a whip and a top hat and high heels but nothing else.

‘You’re a natural, Gloria, and gorgeous!’ he’d kissed her on the lips and she’d not resisted.

He’d still not told her where he sold her pictures and she’d not done one straight corset shot yet. When she’d asked to see them he just waved his hand.

‘Your body is wasted covered in pink cotton and whalebone. It needs to be admired. You’ll be proud of my glamour shots…just one more.’ How she hoped he knew what he was doing. Some of the poses made her feel silly.

Yet the thought of Greg peering down at them made her squirm. What would he think of her? He might not understand their artistic value. Nudes were OK in museums and art galleries, but just in a plain photo…Why had she let Ken coax her into doing some of this stuff?

For all that he was short and dark and a bit greasy, he made her feel good and important and special, and she didn’t mind when he kissed her. He was the first man to make her feel like a real woman. Here was the second.

‘I can’t believe it’s you, after all these years,’ she whispered.

‘And here you are, just as cheeky and just as bonny,’ he laughed. ‘And Maddy here is a real mannequin at Marshfields. Charlie does old man Marshfield’s cars…the Bentley coupé and the Daimler. How long have you been working there?’ He turned back to Maddy, looking straight through Gloria as if she was glass.

‘She was at a typing school and got spotted, didn’t you? Now she’s all over the place–Manchester, London, it’ll be Paris next,’ Gloria added, not wanting to be ignored. ‘I’ve been doing a spot of photographic modelling myself, not like Maddy, but it pays well for knitting pattern books, catalogues,’ she lied, but it sounded good when she said it out loud.

‘Really?’ Greg smiled, turning back to Maddy. ‘How about going for a spin tomorrow before I go home…out into the hills and I’ll put the Morgan through its paces?’

‘Jolly good!’ Gloria could hardly contain herself. She could see herself whisked through the country lanes with all heads turning to see who it was.

‘And you too. I suppose I could squeeze three of us in at a push,’ Greg added.

‘I’d love to, but I ought to exercise Monty first,’ Maddy replied. ‘How’s poor Charlie?’

‘Just a bit sick,’ he replied. ‘He’s in bed today. He’ll be fine in the morning.’

‘I’ll be ready even if Maddy’s not,’ Gloria piped in, not wanting to be ignored.

Why was Maddy looking daggers at her? What had she said? It was no skin off her nose if Maddy didn’t come. One less distraction, and Greg would be all hers for the morning if Mrs Plum gave her the time off.

‘I think that’s an excellent idea,’ said Mrs Plum. ‘But Maddy should have some fresh air too. Her face is much too pale.’

‘I can take Monty out for a hack, the exercise will do me good and then I really must get back to Leeds.’

‘I’ll give you a lift back?’ Greg offered without any prompting.

Gloria felt panic rising. Why was he making a fuss of Maddy and not her?

‘That’s kind, but enjoy your trip down memory lane with Gloria first. Aunt Plum will have lots of things to show you. We can catch up later,’ she said, blushing pink.

Well, goody goody, gumdrops, Gloria thought. It left the coast clear for her own invasion plans. Gregory Byrne was the best thing to drive into town since the army left for good. She was going to make sure he returned.

Greg paced over familiar territory in the chill November wind, down the field track, over cow pat fields, to the Old Vic. Everything seemed smaller, shabbier, but just as green and beautiful. The smell of peat smoke, coal fires, horse dung and hay–still that real country aroma.

Sowerthwaite hadn’t changed since he was here as a vaccy: the grey stone church tower where they went bat hunting, the squat wide market square with the three-storey houses lining the cobbles, the low Dales cottages, the hostel still as it was, but empty and sadder, somehow, for being so.

He’d been happier here than anywhere; up the Victory Tree, spotting planes and hiding from old Ma Blunt, swopping picture cards and marbles.

Now the tree stood bare, its branches stripped by the wind, a carpet of rusting leaves at his feet. He looked up, expecting to see a line of dangling legs, the rope ladder and tree house where they’d always been. It brought a lump to his throat.

He was so glad he’d come back and could prove he was somebody, not just a scruffy evacuee. He’d come with his tail up, even if it was in a borrowed car. He had to see Maddy again. He couldn’t get her out of his head.

He was on the road to success, given time. There was cash in his pocket. He knew his trade and he had the gift of the gab to sell himself but one look from those flashing eyes and he was lost. When she looked at him, he was knocked sideways. There was something so imposing about her on horseback, or lounging in the drawing room, that stirred him; her eyes, her warmth and attractiveness roused him even as he thought of her. She stirred desire inside him, a longing even before he’d known who she was. It was as if he’d been struck stupid all over again, just like the night before.

She was his Maddy, his friend, the first good deed he’d done on that station all those years ago when Plum had entrusted him to find her.

Gloria was lovely, bubbly, cheeky and full of fun. She’d not changed, eager to be included, pretty and curvaceous, a head-turner in her own way, but she wasn’t Maddy. He’d not be ashamed to have her on his arm if there wasn’t a first choice. She was more of his own class than the young lady at Brooklyn Hall.

Why was he feeling so angry and anxious? He hadn’t come north to face all this being stirring up, but it was mixed up with being here as a child: so many memories crowding into his head, his lonely childhood and longing for a family of his own.

The Aftons were kind to him but it was work that kept loneliness at bay, work that gave him satisfaction, work that gave him pride. Bella and Alex’s crowd were not his type. They had too much money and life had been too easy for them.

Coming back here reminded him that he was poor, alone, an orphan, and how much he had lost in life. The Old Vic had brought a family of sorts, as had the army, and staying with the Aftons. He didn’t belong at the Brooklyn, however welcoming Mrs Plum was to him.

He must put all this sentimental nonsense behind him. Now was the time to grab his chance, have some fun and forget all that stuff–but how could he do that if he didn’t have Maddy Belfield by his side?

Maddy woke sweating from a dream. It was a nightmare of explosions and railway stations where she stood trying to catch a train that wouldn’t let her on board. She was being carried far away, against her will and she couldn’t reach the train home to Plum and Monty. The stables were burning, Monty was trapped, and she couldn’t rescue him. She was tearing the bed sheets and woke gasping for breath, sitting bolt upright in the darkness. Where was she?

Then she recalled it was Sunday night, she was safe in her own room, and along the corridor was Greg Byrne in the blue guest room. Her feelings had turned upside down in twenty-four hours, all because of his arrival in her life.

Out of nowhere he’d turned up and shaken her to her boots. It was the shock of seeing him grown, handsome, so physical in his leather suit the first time she saw him in the snow. She could almost sense him in her nostrils like a horse senses fear or danger or attraction.

She felt wary, uncertain, curious and confused. She’d wanted to stay safe. The last time Maddy had let her emotions rule, look what had happened. That must never happen again. Yet there was something in his stride, his long limbs, the curve of his stance, his enthusiasm, she was finding hard to ignore, like a stallion let loose in a field of brood mares. It made her feel hot all over.

Aunt Plum had quizzed him all evening, and the Murrays were all ears about his travels in Europe. He’d asked about Pleasance and the oldies, the Battys, the other evacuees, as if he was really interested. They talked about his letters and the terrible trek through Northern France.

She’d seen the shutters closing over his eyes when he talked about the war. He was filtering what he said to them. Everyone sat listening, enthralled that this was their Greg, returned to them.

Gloria sat with her hands wrapped over her knees, gazing adoringly into his face in the firelight, willing him to look at her and admire this devoted attention.

Greg kept glancing at Maddy all evening and she stared back, holding his gaze as if sending a signal that she longed to be alone with him. She sensed how nervous he was, seeing through his bravado.

He’d had a tough time as a soldier and now he was trying to forge a new life for himself. She sensed it was a struggle. It was Charlie’s money that brought them to the rally. Who was she to look down on his efforts? He’d had none of her advantages and that made him all the stronger in her eyes.

She was just a clothes horse, showing off expensive outfits to women with more money than sense. There was not great merit in her work and yet she was admired for the mere accident of her figure and face, neither of which were any of her doing. The configuration of her limbs and features were an accident of birth. Only her eye had been tampered with.

She fitted the clothes because of her thinness and height. She was there to emphasise the cut and design of the fabric, nothing more. She was no more than a doll for dressing. She’d not battled across the Rhine against gunfire and shrapnel. She’d not watched her friends shot to pieces or starved in war-torn cities.

They’d lived out the war in comfort, even though she’d lost all her family. He’d never had any family to mourn. The war felt like some strange dream now, so unreal, shoved to the back of the cupboard of her mind along with all the other stuff.

Greg’s arrival brought it all back, her memories of the war, and his kindness to her at the station. How he’d stuck up for her when she was bullied.

They were both orphans, children of war, evacuees and refugees. How could you–forget all that? They had so much in common.

Maddy lay back with a sigh. He really was quite a dish.

‘How do you get enough petrol?’ screamed Gloria, clinging on to the side of the car as they spun round a bend. She was terrified and feeling sick, a silk scarf wrapped round under her chin, but she was enjoying the run too much to spoil his showing off. Greg looked so dashing in his thick army coat and racing goggles.

They’d taken the high road to Malham and kept stopping to open gates. They scared sheep, which scattered in all directions. She’d posed by the gatepost to show off her shapely pins and ankles, pulled in her waist belt until it hurt and tried to look cool and sophisticated, windswept and mysterious, like the stars did in the pictures.

Greg was such a fast driver, with no sense of danger, that her heart was in her mouth but she tried to imagine they were in Monte Carlo.

‘This is fun!’ she yelled, strands of hair whipping her eyelids, though the urge to retch was getting stronger by the minute. ‘Stop and let’s have a look at the view,’ she suggested, knowing she was going to be sick.

Greg jerked to a halt and stared across the expanse of moorland.

‘I’d forgotten how grand this scenery is. One day I’ll build myself a house up here in the hills, just for the summer,’ he announced with a wide sweep of his arm.

‘You could always stay at the Brooklyn now Mrs Plum’s made a go of it,’ she suggested, but he was not listening to her, his eyes were roaming over the fells in a daydream.

‘What happened to Gerald? Was he killed?’ he asked, fumbling for his cigarette case in his pocket.

‘Nah, he went off with his fancy woman. I’m not sure if they’re divorced. She never says anything but she still wears her wedding ring.’ He offered her a cigarette and lit it with his lighter just like a film star on screen.

‘And your family. Where’s Sid?’

‘On a farm up the dale, happy as a pig in muck…You know Mam came back for us, after you left? She was going to marry a Yank but he was killed in France, or so she said. You never know with Mam. I couldn’t stick the city and ended up back here when Mrs Plum got me a job as a mother’s help. Now I’m a housekeeper but I do my modelling on the side with Ken Silverstone Associates.’ Why had she lied to him, when it was Maddy who’d brought her back here?

‘He’s your boyfriend, this Ken?’

‘Not really. He’s my manager and finds work for me,’ she lied.

‘And Maddy–does she have someone too?’ He turned away, staring out again as if he wasn’t interested but she knew he was quizzing her for information.

‘Dunno…never in one place long enough to go steady. I’ve never heard of one but you see how she is. Never still for a moment.’ Gloria stopped smoking, feeling her belly in her throat and groaned. ‘Oh shit!’ She shot out of the car to throw up by the stone wall. This was not how it was supposed to be. You never saw that in the pictures, except in comedies.

‘Sorry,’ she croaked, getting back into the car, feeling foolish.

‘Better out than in!’ Greg laughed, until he saw her green face and drove sedately back to Sowerthwaite on the main road.

They turned into the drive just as Maddy was on the doorstep with her case. Plum was down the stairs in a flash.

‘Gregory, dear, you will give Maddy a lift to the station?’

‘I told you I can do better than that. Hop in and I’ll give you a lift back to Leeds. It’s the least I can do. I have to return this Cinderella carriage to the garage before it turns into a Morris Minor.’

Gloria fell out of the car on wobbly legs. She was still feeling sick and also miffed, knowing that she’d have to get on with her chores and leave them to it.

‘Time we had another afternoon get-together one Saturday, Maddy. Meet you outside the Queens as usual?’ she offered. It was worth a try to revive their friendship.

Maddy smiled. ‘That’ll be good. Tea and the pictures, it is?’

‘You and your friend Charlie might like to join us?’ said Gloria, not one to miss an opportunity. ‘A foursome would be fun. I can always stay over with Maddy, if it’s my weekend off.’ She threw a look of desperation to Mrs Plum, hoping for the next weekend off.

‘I’m sure we’ll think of something, Gloria. I might come and do some shopping myself and make a day of it,’ shouted Plum. ‘Keep in touch, young man.’

No, no no! Gloria groaned, not you as well. How can I get to know Greg again if the whole of the Brooklyn is watching? A chaperone was the last thing she needed.

‘We can’t both be off at the same time,’ Gloria said, hoping to nip this idea in the bud.

‘Silly me, of course not. No, you’re right. Another time, perhaps.’

‘But I’d like to take you to tea, Mrs Plum–just a little thank you for your hospitality. Perhaps the others might like to join us. I shall write and confirm a date,’ said Greg, roaring the engine back into life.

‘Tea’ll be lovely.’

No it won’t, thought Gloria. If she goes, I’ll have to stay, and it’ll be Maddy who gets the treat, not me. It’s not fair. She waved them off half-heartedly.

‘They make a lovely couple, don’t they? Very distinguished,’ whispered Plum as she watched the car roar down the avenue.

‘Do you think so?’ Gloria replied. ‘I don’t think Greg is Maddy’s type at all. He’s only a builder.’ The east wind blew across her face and she shivered. Why didn’t all of them recognise that he was just Gloria’s type of bloke? What must she do to make him look at her twice?

They drove as far as Skipton in silence. Maddy shivered and Greg stopped to put the roof on the car when it started to sleet. They both spoke at once, breaking a strange silent tension that had grown on the journey, each aware of the other one sitting close, aware that this was the first time they had been truly alone together but not knowing what to say.

‘Thanks for the lift. I’m glad you came,’ said Maddy. ‘Do you remember picking me up outside school that time? It did the trick.’

‘I do, and those awful girls…If they could see you now…We didn’t get much time to talk, did we?’ said Greg.

‘There’ll be other times. We mustn’t lose touch again.’ She smiled, turning to him.

Greg grinned back and his eyes sparkled like dancing water. ‘The Brooklyn hasn’t changed, spruced up a bit but still the same old place, and Plum is just as kind.’

‘I wish she’d sell the damn place and get herself a real life. She must get so lonely,’ Maddy replied, relaxing into the bucket seat.

‘Gloria’s a laugh, quite the little glamour girl. I’m surprised she’s hung around so long, what with her new career and her Ken.’

‘This Ken is very elusive,’ Maddy said. ‘According to Plum he’s not given her quite the opportunities she was dreaming about. No one has ever seen any of her portfolio shots. She’s very secretive but so desperately wants to do what I’m doing. She thinks my world is so glamorous and I keep telling her the truth of it. You saw us all hunched in the snow, standing frozen, waiting for the right light, take after take. Sometimes I get so fed up I want to scream, but it pays well, and I do get to some interesting places. I never know who I’m going to meet.’ They both laughed.

‘I bet there’s not many jobbing builders on your sites.’

‘There is now,’ she smiled, turning to him.

‘Oh, aye? And who’s that then?’ he joked. ‘Do you get much free time?’

‘Oh, it’s either a famine or a feast–frantic fittings for shows, photo shoots and sittings for magazines, and then sitting around waiting for the phone to ring. Miss Ffrost, my landlady, is not amused if I’m late with the rent.’

‘Could I take you out to dinner sometime soon, when you’re free?’ he asked, and his cheek was twitching with nerves.

‘I’d like that; then we could catch up properly. You have to tell me all about rally driving if you can bear to. I must say it looks pretty dangerous…’

They smiled and nodded and sat this time in companionable silence. She kept pointing the way to the nearest bus stop but he’d have none of it and drove her straight home to Arncliffe Road.

‘Now I know where you live I can pick you up, but it won’t be in a Morgan, I’m afraid.’

‘Four wheels will be fine or shanks’s pony,’ she laughed. She hadn’t felt this happy for years.

‘Just the two of us, on Thursday night then?’

‘Thursday night it is,’ Maddy said as she made to get out of the car. ‘Thank you.’

‘Remember when I rescued you last time, I got a reward,’ said Greg, leaning over the seat to kiss her.

She didn’t resist but kissed him back on the cheek, waving him off until the car had gone from sight. Suddenly her suitcase was lighter, her step springier. He was still the old Greg after all.

There was a message waiting on the hall table from Marshfields, asking her to report for some big buyer’s bash in Manchester from Wednesday until Thursday. Poor Greg would have to wait for his date and that thought gave her no pleasure at all.