The Cornish Girls. Betty Walker

hands. ‘What am I going to do with you? Shirley, can’t you keep these girls in line?’

      Shirley turned, hands on hips, her heavily made-up face crinkled in lines of disgust. ‘I’ve told them, no boyfriends, or they’re out. But I can’t watch them every bleeding minute of the day, can I?’

      Head bent, Eva read the note with mounting excitement.

       Dear Miss Ryder,

       Forgive my impudence in writing this note, but I have admired you from a distance for too long, and one of the staff was so kind as to furnish me with your name. May I beg you to join me in a glass of champagne after your act?

       Your smitten admirer, Lt. Max Carmichael

      ‘What does it say?’ Karen tugged at her sleeve, her voice a high-pitched squeak. ‘Tell me, tell me!’ Wordlessly, Eva passed her friend the note, then laughed at Karen’s wide-eyed expression of awe. ‘Oh, doesn’t he write lovely? Furnish me with your name … And a glass of champagne? With a pilot? My word, Eva, you lucky thing! You always get the good ones.’

      Shirley grabbed the note and crumpled it up. ‘That’s enough of that nonsense,’ she hissed. ‘The curtain’s about to go up. Into position, girls, quickly now!’

      Everyone jostled into line behind the thick red curtain, seven girls in tight-fitting white uniforms and pillbox caps, listening for their cue as the band began to play their opening number. Eva was at the centre, as the tallest of the troupe, and arguably the most attractive, if you ignored the too-generous mouth and the upward tilt of her nose. But attractiveness, as she knew only too well, was not what ultimately mattered. Not with men. A pretty face was how you caught them. But not how you held on to them.

       The good ones …

      Eva said nothing, but she was thinking back over her past boyfriends with a flicker of chagrin. None of them had been ‘good’. Or at least, not to her.

      In fact, the men she seemed to attract usually turned out to be out-and-out bounders. They were only ever after one thing. And when she turned them down flat, they simply disappeared, running off to the next potential conquest. Leaving her broken-hearted and alone, wondering what she’d done wrong.

      Though she was rarely broken-hearted for long, it was true. Her nature was too bold and resilient for feelings of angst to last much longer than a few dismal months. Sometimes only a few weeks, depending on how much the man in question had turned her head. Then she would be back on form, smiling and batting her eyelids, and hoping for the best from whichever young soldier had caught her eye this time.

      Maybe she was a bit flirty at times. But, at only nineteen, she didn’t feel she needed to worry too much about that. It wasn’t time for her to settle down yet. And everyone said you had to kiss a lot of frogs to find your prince. Eva was intent on kissing as many potential princes as possible before the marriage trap closed about her. Though kissing was as far as it ever went, because she knew better than to encourage wandering hands.

      The curtain rose, and they danced out together, arm in arm, singing and kicking their legs as high as their tight skirts would allow. Eva avoided looking at the front table where the RAF pilots were sitting, focusing instead on getting through the complex routine without any mishaps. But towards the end, she risked a quick glance in their direction.

      Gosh, he was rather dishy!

      Backstage again, Eva checked her reflection in the big bulb-lit mirror that all the performers shared, elbowing each other for more space. Her face was glowing and needed a quick dab of powder before she was satisfied.

      The band was playing a slower number now, as the evening drew towards its official close. She checked the clock on the wall. It was nearly half past eleven. The club was only supposed to stay open until midnight, but few people regarded the rules these days. So long as there were no lights showing, nobody seemed to care. Some nights Walter kept the place rocking until the early hours.

      Suddenly nervous, she caught Karen’s eye in the mirror and guessed what her curious expression meant. ‘Five minutes,’ she told her friend, ‘that’s all. He’s probably just the same as the rest.’

      ‘Aren’t they all?’

      ‘But he is offering champagne …’

      ‘Yes, fair play to him.’ Karen grinned. ‘And he has the bluest eyes, don’t you think?’

      ‘I’m sure I didn’t notice his eyes.’

      ‘Of course not.’

      ‘Though I do love blue eyes.’

      ‘Me too,’ Karen said dreamily.

      ‘Especially when they belong to a gorgeous pilot.’

      They both giggled, much to the annoyance of Shirley, who had appeared in the doorway tight-lipped and with folded arms.

      ‘That’s quite enough noise in here,’ she grumbled. ‘Settle down, would you? The punters will be able to hear you.’

      Karen made a face at Eva, but said nothing.

      Eva deliberately snatched up a scarlet lipstick and leant forward, artfully applying it to her lips while the other girls stripped off their costumes around her. Shirley’s eyes widened.

      ‘Walter shouldn’t allow it.’ She tutted loudly. ‘You younger girls are under our care in this establishment.’

      Her patronising tone made Eva’s blood boil.

      ‘I’m not under anybody’s care,’ she declared, and thrust the lipstick into her handbag before waltzing past the older woman with a defiant look. ‘I’m nineteen, not nine, thank you very much.’

      ‘Well, I never!’ Shirley shook her head, lips pursed. ‘You’d better watch out, young lady, with that attitude. Walter will give you the sack if you bring this club into disrepute.’

      ‘Oh no, he won’t,’ Eva retorted.

      ‘Is that right?’

      ‘I’m his favourite. Walter would never sack me.’

      A gasp from Shirley and a stunned silence followed that bold statement. But at least Shirley didn’t bother to dispute it. Everyone knew Walter had a soft spot for Eva, and always gave her more leeway than the other girls.

      Eva walked off without looking back, hands on hips, walking daintily on her high heels. She wasn’t a big-headed girl, and she knew her luck was bound to run out one day. Luck had a nasty habit of doing that at the worst moments, she found. But for now, she intended to make the most of her natural advantages. Whatever the likes of Shirley might think of her.

      The handsome young RAF pilots all stood up as a group, hastily scraping back their chairs and smiling as she approached the table. A little breathless, amazed at her own daring, Eva slid into the seat one of the pilots had pulled out for her.

      ‘Thank you.’

      ‘I’m so glad you could join us, Miss Ryder.’ To her delight, she realised that Walter was right: the flight lieutenant was not English, but American! He had a marvellous twang to his accent, soothing as honey and like something out of the pictures. ‘I’m Max,’ he added, his eyes smiling, ‘and yes, I’m from across the pond. But don’t worry, I’m the only one. These other chaps are British.’ He then introduced her to his friends, starting with the young man next to him, who winked. ‘This is Mike, and that there is Eddie. The one with the stupid grin is Tommy, and the handsome devil on your other side is Mac. He’s Scottish, you know?’

      ‘Pleased to meet you all,’ she said politely, looking round at them all. ‘But do call me Eva. Miss Ryder sounds so stuffy.’

      The flight lieutenant sat down, and all the other airmen copied him. ‘A gal after my own heart, eh?’ He held out a tanned hand and she shook it, thrilling at the way his lean fingers curled about hers. ‘It’s a real