A Christmas Gift. Ruby Jackson

Elliott’s favourite words.

      ‘Elliott, you are kind. I’d love to but … my parents tend to worry, especially if I’m out late. We’d be really late getting back, wouldn’t we?’

      He looked at her sadly. ‘Dahling, was I misinformed? They assured me that we were hiring an adult, a woman of the world. Come on, London’s not very far away. We’ll take my car; up and back in three shakes.’

      Sally felt deeply embarrassed: a child who needed Daddy’s permission to do anything. Her parents had heard of Elliott. When she had told them excitedly that a real actor, who had been in a film and had acted in theatres in London, was both the senior actor and co-owner of the theatre, her father’s tone told her nothing of his opinion of the actor.

      ‘Well, what d’you think of that, Elsie? Elliott Staines, of all people? Goodness, he used to be famous; come down in the world a bit, hasn’t he?’

      Elliott’s sarcasm had made her blush but she promised to ask her parents’ permission. Knowing perfectly well that she would get it, she decided to run around in her lunch break looking for a dress suitable for a visit to the Theatre Royal, on Drury Lane, a theatre whose name she saw in huge capitals in her mind. Elliott hadn’t exactly said, but surely his friend would say hello. There were one or two experienced actors in Dartford Rep but Constance Marshall, Elliott’s chum, was known worldwide. As a young actress, Constance had been famous for her portrayal of Shakespearean heroines; in later years she had played queens but now she tended to appear in small character parts. To meet her would be so exciting and Sally was sure that there was absolutely nothing in her very well-stocked wardrobe elegant enough to be worn in a London theatre.

      She was passing the second-hand clothes shop on the High Street that had recently been opened by the WVS when, in the large picture window she saw, not a dress but a cloak. A cloak designed for magical evenings, for nights at the opera, for moonlit strolls, and certainly it was perfect for wearing by an aspiring actress who wanted – needed – to be noticed.

      ‘Mum’ll have a fit,’ said Sally to herself as she walked in. She had never been in the second-hand shop where her friend Grace’s sister worked but she knew immediately that this was a very different place. The single room was large, airy and spotlessly clean. The clothes were hanging on racks that were not too crowded, the better to show off each item. Even the two women who stood one behind the counter, the other primping a rather dashing hat on a stand near the window, were different. It was obvious that neither would ever need to buy from a second-hand shop.

      ‘May I help you?’ asked the one behind the counter and her voice reinforced what Sally had just been thinking. She wondered now if she could learn to speak like the lady. That accent would be perfect for some parts.

      ‘I’d like to see the blue cloak in the window, please.’

      ‘Exquisite, isn’t it? Maude, you’re closer. Be an angel and bring the young lady the evening cloak.’

      ‘In a jiff, Fedora.’ Maude’s voice was pleasant but not in the same league as that of the elegant Fedora.

      Sally tried to memorise the sounds – as well as the strange name.

      And then, somehow she was before a mirror and the cloak was on her shoulders. The blue of the velvet made her eyes appear bluer, deeper and brighter than ever. Whatever it cost, she had to own this wonderful cloak.

      ‘What a picture,’ said Fedora. ‘Honestly, Maude, doesn’t it look as if it was made for her?’

      Maude looked at Sally, seeing her neat skirt, well-ironed blouse and hand-knitted cardigan. ‘Not frightfully practical, but yes, very lovely. For something special, may I ask?’

      Sally had been bursting to tell someone, anyone. ‘I’m going to London, to the Theatre Royal, actually; it’s more or less on Drury Lane. I’m a guest of Miss Constance Marshall.’

      ‘Good heavens, surely all theatres closed a few days after war was declared?’ said Maude. ‘And as for Connie Marshall, I thought she retired years ago.’

      ‘Obviously not.’ Fedora turned to Sally. ‘Forgive Maude, she’s decided not to read the newspapers until the end of this ghastly war.’ In a louder voice she added, ‘The theatres have been reopened, Maude.’ She turned back to Sally. ‘That does sound like a perfectly lovely evening, my dear. I’m afraid the cloak is rather expensive. It’s by a top designer, and the money is going to war charities.’ She looked as if she was at war with herself.

      ‘We’ve had it three weeks and no one has even looked at it,’ Maude reminded her.

      ‘Two pounds ten shillings,’ said Fedora at last. ‘I know that’s a lot but I can’t let it go for less.’

      Sally had winced but she had to have the cloak. It was as if the designer had had her in mind when he had created it. ‘I have five shillings in my bag but I have the rest in my Post Office account.’ She fished her purse out of her bag and emptied the coins it contained onto the counter. ‘Could I put this as a down payment, please? I have to go back to work now but I’ll take the money out tomorrow. Honestly, I will come back.’

      ‘I can’t let you take it with you, dear, not without payment.’

      ‘I understand, but please take my five shillings – a deposit, as it were. I swear I’ll come back tomorrow with the rest.’

      ‘Of course we’ll take it. The cloak was made for you, wasn’t it?’ said Maude.

      A few minutes later, Sally, feeling as light as a soap bubble, left the shop and hurried back to the theatre. Her father would be unhappy about the amount of money she had spent on a cloak for one evening but he would also say that it was her own hard-earned money and, if she chose to waste it, that was entirely up to her.

      Neither parent had been particularly happy about her going to a London theatre with an actor older than her own father.

      ‘Of course, seeing and hearing Ivor Novello is quite wonderful, pet,’ said Elsie, ‘but we just don’t like the idea of our young daughter being alone with this man, with any man.’

      ‘Mum, he’s my boss and he was famous once – even you and Dad know that. And I’ll only be alone with him while he’s driving us to London and back again right after the performance. Don’t spoil this, please. What if I actually meet Miss Marshall?’ She dreamed of meeting Novello, the star, but surely that was much too wonderful even to mention.

      ‘Very nice, I’m sure,’ said Bert. ‘I think we should let her go, love,’ he turned to his daughter, ‘but he picks you up here, Sally, and he’ll shake my hand and tell me exactly what time you’ll get home – and it had better be not long after the play ends.’

      Just over two weeks later, Sally sat, a mere five rows from the stage of the Tamise Theatre, admiring the classic profile of the world-famous Ivor Novello as he starred in his own musical The Dancing Years. Only now, towards the close of the performance, was she able to breathe properly, for Fedora had been perfectly correct and the production had been forced to change theatres early in September. Elliott had been so sure of himself that he had never examined the tickets and had driven to Drury Lane to find the theatre completely deserted. There he lost his temper and shouted some words that Sally was glad she did not understand, but recovered in time to drive to the Tamise Theatre where he again embarrassed Sally by pushing his way through the waiting crowds.

      At last she was relaxed after twice resorting to pinching her arm to assure herself that she was indeed in a London theatre, that she was enveloped in a strikingly lovely blue velvet cloak, and that the great man himself had actually spoken to her.

      She’d been so excited to meet Connie Marshall, who was rather grand and gracious. It was just before curtain up, and visitors shouldn’t have been backstage, but Connie found time to ask Sally very kindly about her theatrical career and Sally was saved from revealing the disappointing truth when her mouth literally dried up at the sight of the great – and very handsome – star of musical theatre approaching behind