Sister's Trio Squad

Chapter 28

Chapter 28

Again he drew his hand away and smiled. That's fine. The words of the song brought on a surge of the strange desire again. 'Be there at half-past ten and tell them I sent you.

Nancy was there at ten o'clock, as were at least a dozen other girls, all with the same air of hopeful anticipation. Some were chatting and laughing nervously, others were quiet and preoccupied, some smoking. She scrutinized them all closely, her eyes hard and calculating as she tried to pick out their faults. There seemed to be only two who, in her opinion, posed any kind of threat. A tall, blonde girl and a girl with very dark hair, shingled closely into the back of her neck. She'd seen them before while working the halls.

She changed into her dancing shoes and began to do a few of the loosening up exercises Charlie had taught her. A few of the others followed her example, giving her the opportunity to gauge the competition. She shrugged to herself. As Charlie would put it, most of them seemed to have two left feet. Then to her surprise the blonde girl came over to her. 'I've seen you before, haven't I?'

'Yes, I've done most of the Halls.'

'Me, too! Have one?' She offered Nancy a cigarette from

an engraved silver case.

Nancy shook her head, thinking the case must have cost

quite a bit. 'That's nice.'

A friend of mine bought it for me.' 'Who?' Nancy was always alert in the presence of anyone she thought of as opposition and the 'friend' obviously wasn't short of money. Perhaps it was the Producer which would give the girl an advantage.

'Oh, I don't think you know him, Freddie Mar shalsea?' Again Nancy shook her head; she'd never heard that

name. At least it wasn't the Producer.

'I'm Helen, by the way. Helen Mason.'

'Nancy O'Maxwell.' Helen inhaled deeply and blew out the smoke. 'God, I'm nervous! I'm pinning everything on getting in this

show. I'm sick and tired of the Halls!"

'I know what you mean. I always feel positively ill before

I go on. Do you know how many they need?" 'Six, so I've heard.' Helen looked around and then low ered her voice. 'Looking at this lot, I'd say we're in with a good chance, wouldn't you? Tell you what, if we both get in we'll go and celebrate? I won't feel like going back to my digs, the landlady's a harridan and her husband gives me the creeps!'

'I know the type. Do you come from London?' 'No, I'm from Manchester. I came down here for a good time and to get on. There's not much life in Manchester. You're Irish, aren't you?'

'From County Tipperary.' Helen laughed and began to hum 'It's a Long Way to Tipperary', but seeing the look on Nancy's face she stopped. 'Sorry, I'm always putting my big foot in it. How did you end in London?'

up Briefly Nancy told her.

Helen looked at her with admiration and some envy. 'Edward Vinetti! He's an absolute dish! Some people have all the luck."

I'd never thought of him like that. Most of the time I can't stand him and sometimes I absolutely hate him!'

'You're joking?' "That I'm not!

Sometimes he's so infuriating and insulting.' 'Oh, well, at least you're certain of a job here. 'No more than you are. Just because he's my agent

doesn't mean I'll get the job. If they don't think I can sing or dance well enough they won't take me on-Edward Vinetti or not! And I've just got to get this job! I'm going to get it!'

Don't be so intense. It'll be a b****y miracle if I ever hit the big time, but I don't mind all that much.' 'Why?' Nancy found it almost impossible to believe that

everyone was not like herself.

'As long as it's not a bad job and I'm having some fun out of life, who cares? You're only young once and I intend to make the most of my youth! "You're going to the bad, Helen Mason!", that's what my folks told me. But I certainly don't want to end up like them. Working all hours, scrimping and saving, just to put on a respectable front for the benefit of the neighbours. All you get out of that is grey hairs and wrinkles. You'd think was about sixty and she's not, but she's looked sixty for years. Well, I don't intend to end up like that!' my mother Nancy smiled. Helen posed no threat if that's all the

ambition she had.

'Even if they don't take me on, we can go and cel

ebrate. You're sure to be all right. Unless you've got other plans?' 'No, I'd like that.'

Helen's name was called and she sucked in her breath. 'Keep your fingers crossed for me and I'll wait for you, either way!' she called back. Helen had been called first and Nancy remembered the

girl who had won the Talent Contest. First was as bad as being last. But she hoped Helen would be successful, she liked her. She didn't have a friend and now that Helen had revealed the extent of her ambitions, she had warmed to her. Despite what she'd said about Edward, she realized he was her only friend. But she couldn't share confidences or gossip with him and that's where she'd missed her sisters. Yes, they'd go and celebrate afterwards, surely one of them would have something to be happy about? She was still nervous and she began to hum the tune of "Tea for Two' over and over in her mind. Her hands felt sticky and it was very warm and clammy. The minutes dragged by and she began her exercises again.

Suddenly she was clasped in a tight hug. 'I got it! Oh, Nancy, I'm so thrilled! Oh, won't it be just great if we're working together?' it! I got

'What did they say? When do you start? What was it like?' Nancy found herself caught up in Helen's excite ment.

Tomorrow! Oh, I was terrible! I was sure I'd made a right mess of it but when I'd finished they just said "Fine, be here tomorrow morning at ten". I'm down to my last few shillings but somehow we'll manage a bottle of wine!'

Nancy's name was called. 'Oh, Holy Saint Patrick!' she cried, crossing herself.

Helen pressed something into her hand. 'Here, take this with you, it's my lucky silver threepenny bit. Go on. If you get it, we'll have two bottles of wine!'

It was now or never. Her throat felt raw and dry and her stomach was churning. 'Stop being such a fool! If they've taken her, they'll take you!' Nancy muttered as she crossed the stage to where the pianist sat, waiting for her to tell him what she wished to sing.

She went through a short dance routine, choreographed

by Charlie for just such occasions. It incorporated all the

steps she knew and would need. Then she walked to the

front of the stage. As usual, she could see no one but a

voice from the void called to her to 'Carry on!' She nodded

to the pianist and began the first verse, putting everything

into it, but when she started to go into the second verse the voice from beyond interrupted her. "Thank you, Miss O'Maxwell, that's fine!' The smile froze on her lips as she glared into the darkness. No one was going to rob her of this chance,

too much depended on it! No one interrupted her.

'No one cuts me short! I'll carry on until I've finished,' she shouted back, nodding to the bemused pianist. He shrugged and started to play and she went into the second verse with spirit and vivacity, her nerves gone, quelled by anger.

At the back of the theatre, Edward Vinetti smiled to himself. That was typical of her and it was enough to ensure that she got the part. He'd watched her dance and he'd listened to her, knowing how much everything depended on this audition. He was almost certain that she'd got it, but when she'd shouted her defiance, he knew she wouldn't be overlooked or forgotten. His dark eyes became serious. He had invested in her and it would now pay off, for she had a talent that couldn't be hidden forever on the Halls, but as he listened to her and watched her, he wondered if he hadn't placed a cuckoo in the nest. He also told himself that any affection he had for her would have to be kept firmly in check. Nancy was on her way and would no doubt break a few hearts, but his wasn't going to be one them!

They could only afford one bottle of wine after all, but after half of it they'd exchanged life stories and by the time the bottle was empty they were both giggling like school friends who had known each other all their lives. Nancy was far more tipsy than Helen, not being used to drinking. 'We'd better go, people are giving us funny looks,' Helen

suggested.

You're drunk, Helen Penel... Pen... Sure, why did they give you such a desperate name as Pen... ope?' Nancy concentrated hard and sounded it out. el. Helen giggled, then tried to look serious. They thought it was posh. Posh Penelope, isn't that funny? Where are we going now?' We can't go back to Rose's like this, she'll throw me out!'

'We can't go to Gertie's either, she'll kill me!'

'We can't stay here! P'raps we'd better go for a walk, we're quite tipsy you know, isn't that altogether desperate!'

'Oh, Nancy, I love the way you talk. I know, we'll go to Freddie's." They got up, trying to appear completely sober, and arm

in arm they walked out into the street and almost collided with Edward.

'I've been looking for you!" 'Edward! We're going to Freddie's.'

little trouble with her words.

Nancy was having a

'You're not going anywhere like that, either of you!" "This is my friend Helen. Helen Pen... Helen Mason

and we're going to Freddie's. He's her friend.' 'I know Helen and I know Freddy and neither of are going to Freddie Marshalsea's!' you

'Why not?' Nancy demanded loudly.

'Because you're a disgrace, both of you, and Lord Mar shalsea's butler would call the police! Now don't you start your tricks, Nancy. Get in the car, both of

of

any you. At first Edward had been amused. It would do her good to relax for a change and he was glad she at last seemed to have found a friend although Helen wasn't one he'd - have chosen. She liked a good time and mixed with rather a 'fast' set, but his amusement had turned to annoyance. He hadn't realized Nancy was quite so intoxicated and they were making a spectacle of themselves which wouldn't do any of them any good. Thankfully Nancy had decided not to pur sue the matter and he bundled them both into the car.

'Where are we going now?' Nancy asked. "To my place where you can both sober up, and I hope it teaches you a lesson, Nancy. You're going to have an almighty hangover.'

The news from home was bad. With every letter she received and with nearly every newspaper she read, it got worse. Margaret folded Sarah's latest letter and put it back in its envelope. Was there no end to it all? In August, Michael Collins who had been a prominent founder member of Ireland's fight for freedom and who was much loved and respected, had been murdered and in his own home County of Cork. Now it seemed that, with the Emergency Powers Act in force, it was open season - on both sides for anyone caught carrying a g*n. Sarah's letter had reported the first incident of real trouble in Clonmel. A group of Anti-Treaty Nationalists had attacked and burned down Feehey's butchers. Mr Feehey was the Mayor and very outspoken in his condemnation of the 'Irregulars' as they were now being called. The shock had caused Mrs Feehey to have a heart attack and she was very ill. Michael was being no help at all for he sided with the Irregulars, although he didn't actively participate in the outrage.

Sarah thanked God that Matty was too busy to be much involved with either side. Everyone else was well, under the circumstances, and had she heard from Lisa lately? She'd had a letter from Nancy, telling her how grand it was being in such a wildly popular show, and she was beginning to worry a little less about her daughter all alone in wicked London.

Margaret sighed. Nancy was doing just fine, but she hadn't heard from Lisa for over a month now, although she'd written four times. She looked at the kitchen clock. Ellen would be home soon and she'd better get started with preparations for supper. Ellen was doing well at school now and there had been no more trouble. She smiled, picking up a half-finished piece of embroidery. It was a tray cloth she had persuaded Ellen to make for Elizabeth for Christmas, as a peace offering.

Elizabeth still treated Margaret coldly, but she had returned to visit her father, accompanied by her husband - a tall, thin young man with a perpetually harassed look on his face. It was obvious who wore the trousers in that house, she had thought the minute she'd set eyes on him. Ernest Winskill was no match for his wife's waspish tongue or overbearing manner. She wasn't sure exactly what he did for a living. 'Something in shipping' was how Elizabeth explained it, but she thought privately that it was Lewis Vannin who contributed most to that household. Elizabeth never wore the same outfit twice.