“Is that 2210? Can I speak to Miss Margaret Shane, please?”
“Speaking. My God! What an hour to ring up.”
“Mr. Leon Low wants to speak to you.”
“Mr. Leon Low? Put him through.”
There was a pause and then a man’s voice.
“Good morning, Mouse.”
“Hullo, L.L. You’re damned early.”
“Sorry, did I wake you? Is it true you are thinking of letting your flat?”
“Yes.”
“What’s the trouble? Money?”
“Need you ask. The wolf’s gnawed his way right through the door and is having a meal off the hall carpet.”
“I’ve got an idea that might help. Would you like to lunch?”
Mouse giggled.
“Darling, were you thinking of keeping me?”
He laughed.
“Savoy Grill, one o’clock?”
“Right.”
Mouse put down the receiver and yelled “Mrs. Hodge,” then wriggled down into her pillows.
Mrs. Hodge was a sack of a woman held tightly in the middle by her apron strings, and bulging, above and below them, like the two halves of a cottage loaf. The bulge below was of such a size that had she not looked past the age for such things, she must have been taken for one expecting a baby in the immediate future. She was conscious that her figure was not what it had been, but she knew the reason. “It was on account of me goin’ to the ’ospital to have my Georgie, they never pressed me out after, like the nurse always done at ’ome.” If her age had been judged solely on appearance, she was an old woman, a husband whose alcohol-befuddled nights had been brought to an end by pneumonia, and the rearing of eight children on a minute income and much courage, had taken the colour from her hair, and caused most of her teeth to fall out, but she had a verve and gaiety which belied these things. “Oh, I ’ave ’ad a lovely time since my po’r Alfie was took,” she would say. “Even Georgie, my baby, is workin’ now, that’s how I can ‘do’ for people.” She had ‘done’ for several people before she had come to Mouse, and had found a certain excitement with them all, but now she felt in a world such as she saw on the pictures, a world in which anything might happen. “Of course, doin’ for people the way I do, life can’t help but be int’restin’, seems like w’ot ’appens to them, ’appens to you, but Miss Shane! She’s a scream! We do see life!”
In answer to Mouse’s yell, she opened the bedroom door, and looked at her inquiringly.
“Was you wantin’ breakfast or your Bromo Seltzer?”
“Coffee, and see it’s hot and strong; the stuff you made yesterday was foul.”
“Well, dear, that wasn’t the coffee, that was the way you was feelin’. I put in the same number of spoonfuls I always done.”
“Go on, you old fool. It’s half-past ten, and I’ve got to go out to lunch.”
As the door closed, Mouse picked up the telephone again, and dialled a City number. In answer to the impersonal Cockney voice at the other end of the line, she asked if Lord Menton was in. The Cockney voice said monotonously: “Who’s speaking?” And hearing her name, put her through without further questions.
“Hullo, Jim.”
“Hullo, Sweet.”
“I can’t meet you for lunch.”
“Why not?”
“I’m lunching with Leon Low.”
“Whatever for?”
“I’ve no idea. He heard I had to let my flat, and said he’d got an idea.”
“I like his nerve. If you must let your flat, I’ll let it for you. There’s no need for him to come butting in.”
“Don’t be silly, Sweet, he may have got an idea. There’s no harm in hearing it. Something’s got to be done, you know, or I shall be entertaining the bums and Mrs. Hodge wouldn’t like that, it isn’t what she’s used to.”
“I do wish you’d see reason, Mouse, I hate to think of you worried like this; why won’t you let me help?”
“Now don’t let’s go all over that again——”
“But——”
“There aren’t any ‘buts.’ Come in for a drink about five, and I’ll tell you the dirt.”
Mouse stared round the restaurant, and felt conscious that she looked her best, and that their table was the subject of gossip at most of the others. She took out her mirror. There was no vanity in the long scrutiny she gave her face, she had been looking at it for nearly forty years, and had watched it achieve almost perfection, and as well, had watched that perfection decline. She did not know exactly when the deterioration had started, but she knew all the landmarks that marked the road downhill. The touch of colour where her hair was losing its auburn, the hollows drawn from her nostrils to the corner of her mouth, the wrinkles round her eyes, the sag in the skin under her chin. Nevertheless, she was quite satisfied as she put away her glass, years could not alter the way her bones were made, all her days, the outline of beauty would be hers. She saw L.L. had been watching her, and nodded at him as she closed her bag.
“Old ladies like me have to watch their faces.”
“You’ve never had to worry.”
“I haven’t done much with it, have I?”
“You’ve done what you wanted, I suppose? If you couldn’t, no one could.”
“Yes, I’ve done what I wanted as far as limitations allowed.”
“Limitations?” He looked at her with raised eyebrows. “Does that mean you are always going to waste your time on that man of yours?”
“Jim?” She smiled. “I don’t find it a waste.”
“But it can’t lead anywhere. What about his wife?”
“Jasmine? Oh, she and I understand each other.” Her tone was a definite dismissal of the subject. There was a slight pause. “We didn’t come here to discuss my goings on, did we? What about my flat? Had you thought I could keep the wolf at bay by a return to the stage to play my well-known part of lady guest with one line to say?”
The waiter brought the sweet. L.L. waited till he had gone.
“It’s rather a long story. I had an audition last week for girls for the Follies at the Windsor. I sat for hours, usual business, forty-nine out of every fifty a dud. Then a kid came on—” he broke off, and looked thoughtfully at Mouse—“the first time I ever saw you, and that’s——”
“Go on, ducky, no need to start counting how long ago it was.”
“She’s a little like you were then. Something the same effect, but quite a different type. She’s small, well-made, hair so fair that it’s almost white, but something of your forehead and your nose, and that width here.” With his fingers he spanned the place between his eyes.
“And you got up in the stalls and said, ‘Gi’me, gi’me, gi’me.’”
“No. I just engaged her, and someone took her name and address.”
“She’s going into the Follies?”
“She was, but two days later she sent back the contract and said she couldn’t do it. I’d been thinking quite a bit about her in the meantime, so I sent a letter asking her to come and see me.”
“That’s new for you. I thought girls stood in queues on the chance of working for you.”
“You’ve not seen her. I tell you she’s the find of a generation or my flair’s gone.”
“Did she come?”
“Yes. And told her story. She’s had a rough time. As a small kid her father went to the war, just as a private, he had to give up his job, and of course that meant there was very little money at home, and they had no servant. The child didn’t like to see her mother slaving all day, and managed to get taken on at a school of dancing, and through that, as soon as she was old enough, got some work, and as far as I could gather, practically kept, the home going. When the father came back from the front, instead of being grateful, he knocked the kid about, and made her stop working and come home to be a household drudge.”
Mouse sniffed.
“I do hope you’ve got a spare handkerchief, darling, this story always has made me cry, but she should have been a clergyman’s daughter.”
“Well, I’m not usually fooled, I think it’s true this time, don’t believe the girl could tell a lie. Simple little thing, with the most honest blue eyes you ever saw.”
“My poor L.L., this is most affecting. What’s the little pet’s name?”
“Flora Elk. Unbelievable, isn’t it? Of course we’ll have to change that.”
“Change it? She is going on the stage, then, in spite of a cruel father?” She looked enquiringly at L.L. “Where do I figure in this story?”
“When I was in America I bought ‘Looby.’”
Mouse giggled.
“Did you think that was a secret? Don’t you ever read your gossip column? ‘I ran into L.L. at the Savoy Grill last night, he was looking very well, I thought, after his strenuous time in New York. While there, he bought ‘Looby,’ Broadway’s latest success. I understand we are to be allowed to see it soon, the cast is not yet completely settled, but Clara Drew will play the name part, her first appearance since her honeymoon.’ Like to hear any more?”
“Since that stuff appeared Clara’s started a baby.”
“Accident? Or did she mean to?”
“Being under contract to me, she says it’s an accident, but she and Ted are both pleased. Ted’s doing the ‘Home isn’t a home without a child’ stunt.”
“He’ll need to feel that way when he comes in late after the show and the baby howls all night.”
“Later on, it will be good publicity for Clara, but it’s put me in a hole over ‘Looby.’ I’ve guaranteed production in six months, they’ll give me a short extension, but not enough to get Clara on her feet. Given the right sort of glamour, that show’ll run a year.”
“And Flora Elk is the right glamour?”
“I think so. She can dance quite enough, she can sing reasonably, and her face would fill any theatre.”
“Well, that’s a help to you, but how’s it going to help me?”
The waiter brought the coffee, L.L. waited patiently till he had poured out both cups, then he handed Mouse a cigarette, lit one for himself, and drew his chair a shade closer to hers.
“This Elk girl has a flaw. She has the worst refined accent I have heard in years, she says ‘Oh fency,’ and ‘Thenks ever so,’ and ‘Oh ai sa-ay’—it’s excruciating. I’ll send her to Myra Ling for elocution and singing, and that’ll put her right as far as the part is concerned, but if she is to make the sort of success I see her making, she’s got to get rid of that accent on and off. It’s a funny thing, Mouse, have you ever noticed, you can get away with any commonness in London, but you must not be refined. After I had that talk with the Elk, I brought Ferdie down to see her—he’ll direct ‘Looby’—he’d seen her at the audition of course, but not to talk to, and he agreed with me that she was a diamond, but he was dubious about getting her ready in six months; he said her accent was lousy, and the only chance we had was to get her away from home to live with somebody who spoke the King’s English, and knew what was what.”
Mouse nodded, pleased at having solved the puzzle.
“Me.”
“That’s what we thought, you’re perfect for the job.”
“Will the cruel father allow it?”
L.L. shrugged his shoulders.
“I don’t know. He might if you persuade him, if not I’ll try money, but sometimes that rough type can be got round by a woman.”
“Me persuade him!”
He saw she disliked the idea, he patted her hand.
“You can try, Mouse: plain clothes and no paint, ‘Lady of the Manor’ stuff, you know. I’ll lend you my car, of course. It’s worth your while to try, because if you get her, you can shove her in your empty bedroom, and I’ll pay your entire rent for six months.”
There was a pause while Mouse studied her cigarette, then she raised her head.
“You know, L.L., nobody admires the professions of Pimp and Procuress more than I do, but they don’t happen to be mine.”
L.L. looked horrified.
“My dear Mouse! What are you imagining? This is simply a business matter. I shall put the girl under long contract and get my money back. Surely you know me too well to suppose——?”
“I know you far too well to suppose your intentions are honourable; they never have been, why should they be now? I’m not criticising you, my sweet, but simply stating facts.”
“You’ve got me all wrong, I’ve only one idea in my head, and that’s to get this girl drilled up to play ‘Looby.’ Come on, Mouse, be a sport, don’t hold out on me.”
Mouse laughed, she picked up her bag and gloves.
“I’ll come back to the office with you, and well get the whole scheme laid out, but,” she stood up and looked at him squarely, “I’ll agree just so long as there’s no funny business. The day you start that, the Elk goes back to Daddy.”