The Girl from the Opera House Read online

  ‘Who is this Augustus you keep talking about?’ Millie asked, unable to curb her curiosity longer.

  ‘Oh, Augustus!’ Irene answered. ‘I thought he was a friend of yours.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘The swell we shared a box with at the theatre the other night. You fixed it with him. I thought you knew him.’

  ‘Oh, him?’ said Millie. ‘I never knew his name. I can’t claim he’s a friend of mine. He’s just a patron – very regular these days, though.’

  ‘Well, he’s here. I invited him.’

  ‘You invited him?’

  ‘He told us he comes from London. Filthy rich. Bought some big factory locally. Can you remember what it was, Clarissa?’

  ‘Hell, no,’ Clarissa replied. ‘How would I know, being a Yank?’

  ‘You got to know him a bit then,’ Millie suggested. ‘Did you find out if he has a girlfriend in the show?’

  ‘I don’t believe he does.’

  ‘Fancy. I could have sworn…’

  ‘If he’s not already a friend of yours, then let me introduce you properly. He seemed very interested in you.’

  ‘Me?’ queried Millie, incredulous.

  ‘I got that impression, didn’t you, Clarissa?’

  ‘I sure did. Especially when he said he thought you were exotic.’

  ‘Me? Exotic?’ Millie laughed, amused, but exultant that he evidently thought so. ‘He doesn’t know me, though,’ she added disparagingly.

  ‘I’ll get him to come over,’ Irene said. She promptly stood up and left the table.

  Millie’s eyes followed her as she made her way to the opposite side of the assembly room, past elegant young couples swirling across the floor. She watched as Irene leaned over to speak to somebody hidden from view. Then she saw him stand up, tall, well-dressed and handsome.

  He followed Irene as she headed back towards their table.

  ‘Mr Johnson,’ Irene said above the din, ‘Miss Cutler. I think you two have already met.’

  Millie laughed. ‘How do you do, Mr Johnson?’

  ‘All the better for seeing you looking so lovely, Miss Cutler.’

  She offered her hand, but instead of taking it in a handshake, he held it to his lips and kissed it. Nobody had ever kissed her hand before and she thought how deliciously romantic it was, flattering, and yet so silly. Millie liked the taste of flattery just as she liked the taste of chocolate creams. And this was the man who had been secretly examining her and deciding she was exotic, while she took his money and issued him tickets. How very surprising.

  He asked her to dance, and she accepted in a haze of anticipation. On the dance floor he held her and she looked up into his eyes and smiled, but could think of nothing sensible to say to him, but he made up for it with small talk. He danced rather well – better than she, for dancing was not a part of her natural routine as a box office girl. When the music stopped they both stood facing each other.

  ‘Another?’ he asked.

  ‘By all means,’ she replied.

  So they danced again, yielding themselves to the music and the movement, and Millie was oblivious to everything else going on around her. It was wonderful.

  When he returned her to the table, he suggested they dance again very soon.

  ‘Well?’ Irene said. ‘Have you made your conquest?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ Millie answered. ‘But he’s asked me to dance with him again later. D’you think I should?’

  ‘You like him, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, I do.’

  ‘Then why the hesitation?’ Irene drew on a cigarette that was housed in a long black holder. ‘I wouldn’t take any second bidding, he’s gorgeous.’

  Millie, meanwhile, was overwhelmed at the growing realisation that this Augustus Johnson visited the Opera House regularly, just to see her and not some showgirl beauty as she had imagined.

  Twenty minutes later, Augustus came calling again, claiming his dance. Millie rose with a smile, and on the floor he again held her close as they whirled briskly to a quickstep. As she twirled around she caught sight of George Harrington watching her from the open doorway to the corridor. She stiffened. But next time she looked, he had gone.

  In case Augustus had sensed her sudden distraction Millie rewarded him with a broad smile that showed her lovely, even teeth, and he longed to kiss her lips. Another dance – a waltz this time. His right hand was around her waist, his left holding her right hand gently. It felt so smooth for a man’s hand. They had both established that they were single, and he was talking to her now quite freely as they danced, his confidence rising, making witty remarks that made her laugh. She sensed that he was indeed taken with her, and she was intoxicated by the realisation.

  ‘Do you live far from here?’ he asked.

  ‘No, not far. Not far at all.’

  ‘Would you let me drive you home in my car later?’

  Would she? Oh, yes she would. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘That’s very kind.’

  So there was an unspoken accord that they would dance every remaining dance together. As he held her and they swayed to the music, she imagined the future with this gorgeous man, romantic, heady with warmth and contentment. She pondered fleetingly her life hitherto, living with her mother, the same daily and nightly routine.

  Oh dear. Her mother…Her mother would be fretting if she was late home.

  ‘What time is it?’ she asked Augustus.

  He let go of her hand and looked at his wristwatch that glistened in the stage lights as they turned. ‘Nearly one o’ clock.’

  ‘Goodness! I should be going. I didn’t realise it was that time.’

  He acquiesced unselfishly, led her from the dance floor and waited while she said her thanks and goodbyes to Irene, Clarissa, Vera and Violet. Outside, he opened the passenger door of the shining black beast he drove and she sat down primly.

  When he was seated beside her she said, ‘This is a lovely car. What sort is it?’

  ‘It’s a Rolls Royce.’

  ‘My!’

  She directed which way he should go, and all too soon they had stopped outside the little terraced house in Caroline Street.

  ‘May I see you again?’ he asked.

  Millie felt her heart flutter. ‘Why not? That would be nice. Thank you.’

  ‘When are you free?’

  ‘I have Sunday night off,’ she said.

  ‘Then I’ll pick you up from here. Seven o’clock?’

  ‘Seven would be ideal.’

  ‘Meanwhile,’ he said, ‘might I be honoured with a kiss? I’ve been dying to kiss you all evening.’

  She looked into his eyes and smiled, yielding blissfully to his embrace. They kissed, a lingering, delicious kiss.

  ‘Sunday then.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, elated. ‘Sunday. Seven o’ clock,’ and opened the door. As she alighted, she stood on the pavement and waved him goodbye in the darkness, watching the motorcar disappear over the top of the hill and into St John’s Road.

  Sunday evening came and Millie’s stomach was in knots with anticipation. She was wearing her loveliest dress, silk stockings and high-heeled shoes that enhanced the turn of her neat ankles. Her best coat was topped off with a matching and very fashionable cloche hat. At seven o’clock sharp she heard the rumble of a motorcar’s engine, and excitedly ran down the entry to meet Augustus. It was dark, but she perceived his smile, warm on her. He took her hand gallantly and opened the car’s door for her, and she sat down.

  ‘Where are we going?’ she asked, as he drove off.

  ‘I’m taking you to the pictures,’ he said.

  ‘Ooh, lovely.’

  They did not have to travel far. He stopped the car in a street called Waddam’s Pool, directly outside Bronco’s Picture Pavillion that used to be known as The Empire Theatre.

  ‘What’s the film?’ she asked.

  ‘Anne of Green Gables. I take it you haven’t seen it?’

  ‘No, Augustus, I’ve never s
een it.’

  ‘I think you’ll enjoy it.’

  She certainly did enjoy it. But she enjoyed it all the more when, sitting close together in the darkness on the back row, he put his arm around her and she snuggled up to him. She turned to see his face, lit only by the reflected flickering images that flashed on the screen. How handsome he is, she thought, and so gentlemanly. He sensed her watching him, and turned towards her. Their eyes met, then their lips, and they kissed lingeringly. That kiss set the sequence for the rest of the film, and so engrossed were they in each other that they missed much of it.

  Afterwards he took her to the Dudley Arms Hotel where they had the opportunity to talk over a welcome drink. He told her he had just paid a hundred thousand for a business locally and that, straight up from London, he was looking to buy a suitable house in the area.

  ‘Perhaps you’d like to help me choose it,’ he suggested, and quaffed his drink. ‘After all, a woman sees so much more potential in a house than a man does.’

  ‘If you think I can help, I’d be more than happy to,’ Millie replied, perceiving that he must be serious about her, yet so soon, to suggest such a thing. To her, this seemed half way to a proposal, and thoughts tumbled through her mind of her as the female occupant of his new house, in the role of Mrs Augustus Johnson.

  Afterwards he drove her home, and as they kissed goodnight in his car she allowed him the liberty of fondling her breasts. Well, why not? He was obviously serious about her anyway. She was practically the new Mrs Johnson already.

  ‘When can I see you again?’ he asked when they broke off their romancing.

  ‘I can have Wednesday night off,’ she said. ‘Myrtle – one of the girls at The Opera House – will work in the box office.’

  ‘Shall we say eight o’ clock?’

  ‘Perfect,’ she replied.

  On Monday afternoon, when they had finished their dinner and before she was due to go to work, Millie heard a knock at the front door. Now the front door was seldom opened, so she went to the back door and walked down the entry to see who was there. As she poked her head round the side of the house she was astonished, and yet not entirely surprised, to see George Harrington standing there. She stiffened.

  ‘George! What on earth brings you here?’

  ‘I need to talk to you, Millie,’ he said, and he looked preoccupied. His clothes were hardly the height of elegance and his hair was a mess – not like Augustus Johnson – not even like the George she used to know.

  ‘Talk to me about what?’

  ‘Things.’

  ‘Well this is not the ideal place,’ she said sharply.

  ‘Can we go in the house then?’

  ‘No, we cannot. Mother’s there. You’ll get short shrift from her.’

  ‘Look, I have to talk to you, Millie. Will you walk with me then?’

  ‘Must I?’

  ‘Please.’

  ‘Oh, all right,’ she huffed impatiently. ‘Wait there. I’ll get my coat, but it’d better not take long – I have to go to work.’

  He waited. Millie fetched her coat and told her mother she had to go out for half an hour.

  ‘So what is it, George, that you’re so desperate to talk to me about?’ she asked as they began to walk up the hill. ‘What’s so important that you have to come knocking on our front door of a Monday afternoon, after all these years.’

  He sighed, but didn’t answer.

  ‘Anyway, how’s Aimée?’ she questioned, indifferently.

  ‘Aimée died two years ago, Millie.’

  She gasped. ‘Oh, George, I had no idea. I never heard a thing, I’m so sorry. What was the matter with her?’

  ‘She died in childbirth. After she’d had our Lauren. Septicaemia, the doctor said.’

  ‘Oh, George, I’m so sorry to hear it.’ And Millie was genuinely sorry. ‘And the baby?’

  ‘Oh, Lauren is well. She’s a lovely little thing. I adore her.’

  ‘So do you manage all right?’ She turned to look at him, and saw tears were trickling down his cheeks. ‘Do you?’ she asked, but softly, tenderly now.

  ‘Mother and Father have her in the daytime while I’m at work. But it’s not so much how I manage. I manage well enough one way or another.’ He took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his eyes. ‘The thing is, Millie, I made a dreadful mistake when I took up with Aimée and married her. I was missing you so much when I was in France, and she came along and she seemed to soothe me. She took my mind off you. She took to me good and proper, and I took to her. It was never love the way we were in love, but somehow it was inevitable where it would lead…and she fell pregnant.’

  ‘But your letters, George. You never so much as gave me a hint until…’

  He shrugged. ‘I never intended to do it, Millie. I wasn’t looking for it. It just happened. Quite suddenly really. But it was a big mistake.’

  ‘It’s a bit late in the day to realise it,’ she remarked pointedly.

  ‘Well, I realised it almost from the day I knew she was carrying my child. I realised then that I was still in love with you, but I felt obliged to do the right thing by her, so I married her. I’ve always been in love with you, Millie, but I know I didn’t treat you right. I know it and I can never apologise enough. And when I saw you the other night…I…’

  ‘I’m dumbfounded,’ she breathed. ‘I don’t know what to say.’

  In fact, she was flattered that he still felt that way. Furthermore, she was moved by him and his apparent unhappiness. But for him to suddenly burst in on her life like this was not only grossly unfair, but badly mis-timed. After all, she was over him, and at the beginning of a very promising romance with Augustus Johnson, gorgeous and wealthy, if he still wanted her once he knew all about her. She could hardly now conceive of reconciling with George, perhaps marrying him and having to rely on him for succour. And why should she be mother to a little girl delivered of the woman who had usurped her, who had broken her heart in the process?

  ‘Millie, I just want you to know that I’ve had this in my heart for years. For two years I’ve wanted to say it. If only I could turn back the clock, things would be different.’

  ‘But now you seem to be expecting me to fall at your feet and heap thanks on you for lifting me off the shelf, because, let me tell you, I don’t consider myself to be on the shelf – not by any means. I lead a full life, George. I work – I like my job – I have plenty of friends and more besides.’

  ‘I’d be surprised and disappointed in you if it was otherwise,’ he responded.

  ‘And if you imagine I would be prepared, on just an admission of your undying love for me, to become mother to your little girl, then you are living in cloud cuckoo land.’

  They fell silent for a while. She wondered whether she had been too harsh, too unfeeling in her attitude, especially with regard to the child. While they were talking, they were unwittingly heading towards the Buffery Park; its flowers still in bloom, beds neatly edged, grass recently mown, trees beginning to shed their golden leaves. They reached it in silence, and at the first bench George sat down, took her hand and pulled her beside him.

  ‘I’ve heard what you’ve said, Millie, and I can understand your feelings. I’m not asking anything of you particularly, I just want you to understand that I really do love you and always have. But I would like you to do me one favour anyway…’

  ‘All right, if it’s something I’m able to do.’

  ‘Will you see me tomorrow and meet my daughter Lauren?’

  Millie put her head in her hands, for suddenly she found herself entangled in an unanticipated emotional crisis. There was something she had never told George, and had vowed she never would. But maybe he should know what it was, and maybe now was the right time to tell him. She sighed deeply before she made her reply.

  ‘George, I will gladly meet your daughter…if you will return the favour.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘Well…after you were conscripted – about two months aft
er, in fact – I realised I was carrying your child—’

  ‘Dear God, Millie, you were what?’

  ‘I was carrying your child, George. I didn’t let you know then, because I didn’t want to burden you with it, stuck in France fighting, as you were. I knew that when the war was over and you came back, that we would be wed anyway. But once you’d let me know that you had met your Aimée I had no intention of letting you know, in case you returned home with her and fought to get custody of my child.’

  ‘Millie, this is one hell of a shock to me. I wish to God you had told me. Things would’ve been different. Very different.’

  ‘It’s water under the bridge now, George. But if you agree to meet my Elizabeth, I’ll meet your Lauren. I could bring Elizabeth along with me.’

  George smiled. It was the first time she had seen him smile since their unanticipated meeting on Friday night. All at once he was like the George she knew before.

  ‘I’d like nothing better,’ he said. ‘Elizabeth, eh? What a lovely name. She must be four now?’

  ‘Not quite yet. She was born in December 1916.’

  ‘S’truth, I can’t wait to see her, Millie. My god! I’ve got another daughter, my own flesh and blood. Oh, if only I’d known.’

  ‘Tomorrow afternoon then, George. You’d better give me your address.’

  On her way to George’s rented home, Millie had to pass the old town hall. Elizabeth was toddling alongside her clutching her hand. As they approached, a black Rolls Royce was disgorging what appeared to be a local dignitary and his well-adorned wife. The motorcar’s rear door was being held open by a handsome man, tall and well-dressed in chauffeur’s uniform. At sight of him, Millie froze, her heart in her mouth. It was Augustus Johnson.

  He had told her and everybody else that he was a businessman up from London who had bought a thriving manufacturing concern in Dudley. He had not specified which factory, not that it would have mattered. The fact that he was clearly just a chauffeur mattered not – she could accept him as a chauffeur, yet he had so obviously lied, and that hurt Millie enormously. Obviously, he’d done what he’d done, and said what he’d said, to gain her admiration and awe, with the ulterior motive of bedding her, of course. He had asked her to choose a house with him, the implications of which had filled her heart with joy. Now she was in no doubt it was just a ploy, the purpose of which was to obtain a house key – to any house, preferably furnished – claim it was to inspect the property and, once alone with him there, to seduce her; and she, poor beguiled soul, would have happily, whole-heartedly yielded. Now she felt she had been taken for a fool, looked upon as some impressionable girl he could easily take advantage of. Well, how fortunate that she had discovered the truth so soon, however sad it made her, however disappointing it was to acknowledge it.