A Fall from Grace - Maggie Ford (have you read this book TXT) 📗

‘I’m not accustomed to picking up men. We’ve not been introduced,’ she hissed. But Dolly gave a low tinkering laugh.

‘We’re not picking them up, love. We’re just passing the time of day – or night – with them.’ She laughed at her own joke. ‘No harm in that. If we stay in a crowd no harm will come of it. They may even buy us a drink. Lord knows, we can’t afford much ourselves. Come on, love!’

But it was already too late. Standing back, they’d been ignored as the young soldiers concentrated on the four who were happy to exchange banter for banter which was growing more enthusiastic by the moment.

‘But we can’t go off without our other two friends,’ Hilda was saying. ‘We can’t leave ’em behind.’

‘Then let ’em come along,’ quipped one in a jolly tone, ‘all the more the merrier, eh?’ At which the girls giggled.

‘By the way, I’m Joe,’ he went on with a faintly East Anglian accent. ‘This ’ere is Bob, an’ Arthur an’ Stan, OK? An’ what’s your names?’

While he was being told, Dolly and Madeleine included, the soldier named Stan gave Madeleine an appreciative glance only to quickly lower his glance as her wide-eyed, guarded stare met him, making him turn hastily back to the friendlier girls, leaving her aware that she had frozen him out with what must have appeared a haughty, stand-offish response.

Beautiful features or not, striking figure or not, he was a fighting man waiting to be sent to The Front and certainly not prepared to be spurned out of hand by someone who thought herself a cut above the rest. Madeleine could almost hear him saying the words to himself. ‘Too stuck up for me!’ The trouble was, Dolly, hovering almost protectively beside her as they moved off together, was losing out too. Without her, Dolly might have been one of the lucky four. But Dolly had stayed with her and it made her feel wretched. She wasn’t enjoying this evening half so much now as they tagged along in the wake of the now giggling, wisecracking eightsome.

Seven

They were wandering down Piccadilly towards Green Park so Dolly told her.

‘That’s where the Ritz Hotel is,’ she said proudly as if she were giving a guided tour. ‘Where all the rich lot stay or have high tea and banquets.’

Madeleine had a mad idea that they might be considering going into this grand place for something to drink. Moments later she realized what a silly thought that was. These ordinary young soldiers would never have that kind of money.

Instead, long before they reached there, Joe, who seemed to be the leader with the most to say, pulled up to gaze down a side street. ‘That looks like a decent boozer, respectable-looking enough for you ladies if you don’t mind going into a public house.’

Madeleine felt herself recoil inwardly. She had never been inside a public house in her life but Bess gave a little whoop. ‘I know this place. Me and Florrie have been here before, with an escort of course – wouldn’t dare go in alone! But it’s got a snug, a saloon, and that’s quite decent for women.’

‘Come on, then,’ cried Joe, steering them into the side street towards the place, Madeleine and Dolly compelled to follow.

Inside was quite pleasant, and quiet, only a few drinkers. The noisier crowd would turn out later from cheap theatres, cafes and restaurants.

They found a secluded corner of the saloon. Joe and Arthur, after collecting their orders, went to get them, port and lemon for the women, beer for themselves. Seeing the readiness with which they were willing to pay out for their female companions, Madeleine felt that they expected later to get some reward for their generosity and was glad that none of them had singled her out. Knowing this, she now felt slightly easier.

Through the open door of the saloon flowed the deep boom of men’s voices but here it was much quieter. Sitting on a long bench by the far wall with Dolly one side, Hilda the other with Arthur’s arm already about the girl’s waist, next to them Millie being similarly mauled by Stan, she sipped her drink, glad that no one’s arm was about her waist.

Conversation flowed easily back and forth, no one noticing that she sat quietly. Seated on a chair next to Florrie, Joe had been trying to kiss her cheek which she was resisting with much giggling and wriggling.

Suddenly she leapt up almost knocking Joe sideways off his chair. Having glanced through the open door between saloon and public bar as Joe tried again to get her attention with another slobbery kiss, she burst out, ‘Oh, look! That chap in the bar, I know him!’

She leaned over the beer-stained table, calling out, ‘Coo-ee… Alfie! Over here! In here!’ making those in the saloon look round at her.

Moments later she was out of her seat, making for the open door, hobble skirt impeding her efforts to run.

Disappearing through the doorway, she could still be heard calling out: ‘Alfie!’ though more muffled now.

Moments later she’d returned, her arm through that of a young naval rating. Trailing behind them another young seaman, obviously a friend, was looking a little bewildered.

‘Everyone,’ she announced. ‘This is Alfie. We met quite a while ago. When was it?’ she asked, turning to him, ‘Around Christmas, wasn’t it? He was on leave. And I found out he lives in the next turning to me. We met just by accident and got talking and went out for the evening. I’ve not seen him since, have I, Alfie? Come and sit down. Your friend too. And you are…?’

‘George, me name’s George,’ issued the faltering reply.

‘Well, come and sit down then, George,’ Florrie piped. ‘Joe, move up, there’s a love, and give him room.’

Begrudgingly, he moved to oblige, compelled to squeeze himself on to the bench, his body so close to Madeleine’s that she found herself mentally cringing away from its