Chapter 3: Evie

Gertie slept in late the next morning and her mother allowed her to stay in bed a little beyond her usual time for once. Her father had already left for work by the time his daughter got up and listlessly put on her dressing gown. Gertie thought her left cheek looked really red in the bathroom mirror but when she went through to where her mother was sipping tea in the kitchen, her mother did not remark at all on the state of injury to her face but she did draw attention to her daughter’s overheard conversation.

“We ‘eard yer talkin’ to your young fella las’ night, Sweetie,” her mother said as Gertie entered the kitchen.

Her parents’ bedroom was at the front of the single floor flat immediately above the cobbler’s shop, so Gertie knew they were light sleepers and might well have heard at least a part of their conversation.

“He’s not ‘my fella’, Mum,” Gertie retorted as she sat down. “He’s just a rather nice respectable gentleman who happened to be at the theatre last night, and he helped comfort me after another much less respectable man gave me a nasty slap on the cheek after that certain rascal imposed himself upon me as he tried to get more than a little fresh with me during the interval. It was quiet as it was when most people were in the theatre watching the performance. The gentleman who escorted me home actually came to my aid helped me get to the boss’s office and organised a cup of tea for me while I recovered from the shock of being slapped. I had slapped the fellow first but then he caught me by surprise by smacking me back, look at my cheek!”

Her mother checked out Gertie’s slapped cheek.

“It don’t look too bad, Gert me girl, if you didn’t know it wus there, you wouldn’t even see it in this light. If it’s a bit brighter lit at work, well, yah could alwus put a little bit o’ face powder on it an’ no-one’d be any the wiser. Does it hurt, love?”

“No, it really only stung like mad at the time, and I was sent flying across the room onto my bum. Before anything else could happen to me the theatre barman and doorman, along with, Johnnie, the kind gentleman who walked me home, bundled the man away and Johnnie helped me to me feet and took me to the manager’s office to sit and recover. He got me a cup o’ tea and then he put me on the bus home.”

“He did more’n put yer on the bus, Sweetie, ‘e brung yer all the way ‘ome, it looks like.”

“Yes he did,” Gertie snorted, “he insisted and he was such a nice man that I let him. Oh Mum, he was so nice and gentle, a real proper gentleman he was.”

“You like ‘im then, dearie?” her mother asked.

“Yes, I do, Mum. I’ve seen him before, of course, over the last few months. He comes regular to the theatre with his mother, like he comes to shows a lot, and we’ve exchanged the usual few words over the cloakroom counter most of the times he came.”

“He takes ‘is mother to the fee-ater, then, not ‘is girlfriend or ‘is wife?”

“I don’t think so, Mum, he never said he was married, only that his Mum was something to do with running of the theatre and she usually sat with friends of her own sort during the intervals. I don’t think his intentions were at all untoward, Mum, he was very respectful and genuinely concerned as to my welfare.”

“That’s good, love. Well, I fink ‘e likes you, that’s obvious, and you like ‘im...?” Her mother raised her eyebrows during the sentence by way of teasing her daughter.

“Get away, Mum! Johnnie’s from a completely different world to us, honestly. He was an Army officer, a proper Captain no less, durin’ the war and a career professional officer at that, and now he’s working in a bank, not even an ordin’ry High Street bank but a fancy one for rich folk down in the City. He had to leave the Army and come home because his Dad had to give up work through ill health and Johnnie, that’s Captain Winter that is, had to come home and become the family breadwinner, although I think he hinted that he lives somewhere else other than with his Mum and Dad, yes, I think I’m sure that’s what he meant. His mum has her own car, too. Anyway, we are not the sort of people that his family would be comfortable with and we would feel uncomfortable with them too, so that’s that. Not that there was even the remotest chance of anything else, of course. Imagine me at a society ball, honestly! I am grateful for his assistance, though, he even got the manager to let me have the weekend off with full pay, so I don’t need to worry about the face powder, unless a bruise develops over the next few days.”

“Well, Sweetie, wot yer told me fit in wiv the part of your natterin’ wot yer Dad and me ‘eard, an’ yer Dad’ll be pleased that everfink’s kosher, when ‘e gets in from work.”

Her mother patted her gently on the back and said, “Yer let the nice young man down very sensibly, Gert. I’m sure ‘e got the message awright. Shame, though, cos that fella sounded really nice from where we wus list’nin’.”

Then there was a sharp ratta-tat-tat knock on the door in the street front at the foot of the stairs below the flat.

“Now, who’s that at this time of the bloomin’ morning?” Mrs Thornton asked no-one in particular out loud, “the milkman don’t collect the money until tomorrer an’ I’m sure the rent’s up to date this week, yeah, definitely yer Dad took the rent book in an’ paid it Wensd’y, I’m sure.”

Now, where the Thorntons lived, should a neighbour call on them, as friendly neighbours frequently did, they would just walk in the unlocked front door and up the stairs, calling out your name and announcing who they were as they did so. It was only the rent man and the man from the Prudential Insurance that bothered to knock on the door first and wait for an answer, oh and there was the milkman collecting his dues who called once a week for the doorstep deliveries, but then he always knocked and waited. Maybe he was early this week, they thought.

So, while her mother went to the door to see who it was, Gertie was busy emptying out the old leaves from the pot and making a fresh pot of tea from the ever present kettle boiling away on the kitchen range, because the cup she’d poured for herself from the already made pot on the kitchen table tasted stewed and was more like the industrial strength tea her father preferred to start his day on rather than her own lightly brewed preference.

When her mother came back to the kitchen to tell Gertie that there was a young gentlewoman, a real fancy lady, waiting in the front room to see her, Mrs Thornton was clearly quite agitated by her brief encounter.

“Gertie, I’ve on’y gone an’ invited into our flat a tall, young woman, very smartly dressed, wiv ‘er chauffeured car only gone an’ parked right outside the front door, fer all the bloomin’ neighbours to gawk at,” she said, white as a ghost, “The very fing of it, the only motor wot ain’t completely lost when it came down our street, is the Corporation dustcart!”

“Whoever is it?” Gertie asked.

“She says she’s yer friend Johnnie’s sister. Says ‘er name’s Miss Eveline, an’ now she’s sittin’ all prim’n’proper like on one o’ the ‘ard chairs in the front parlour, the best room in the ‘ouse. An’ she’s perched on the edge like she might crease ‘er bloomin’ skirt if she relaxed at all. Yer’d better get in there sharpish girl, and not keep ‘er ladyship waitin’. I mean she looks so grand I even curtsied when I left ‘er wivout even finkin’ about it. Let me finish mashin’ the tea fer yer, love, while you goes an’ sees ter yer guest and I’ll bring a cup for you both an’ see if you need rescuin’.”

“Thank goodness she sat on one of the hard chairs,” Gertie said, “the sofa in that room is far too soft for comfort. Oh blimey, Mum, whatever do you think she’s doing here?”

“Has she had come to warn you off seein’ ‘er brother, do yer fink?”p

“I don’t know, Mum. I think I better go see her, get this over with, tell her that there’s nothing to worry about, there’s nuffink happening, and that it was all over before anyfink started.”

Gertie hurried along to the front room, which was immediately next to the stairs leading down to the front door, which was squeezed between the two shop fronts on the street. Most of the one or two storey flats spread over the pair of narrow shops were let out to tenants, with the shop owners living in more respectable neighbourhoods well away from Limehouse. This particular pair of narrow shops had three floors above it, all accessed through the same front door. Most of the buildings in this row were two or three hundred years old and were showing their age. The bombing during the war had not been kind to the area round about them.

Gertie entered the room, the best room in the flat, that was hardly ever used much unless guests came calling from distance or it was a special holiday, like Christmas. There, looking stiff and formal, sat a young woman, not much older than her but to Gertie she looked so grand, yet also cool and bright. Everything about her, the clothes she wore, her perfect make-up and hair, was absolutely spot on perfect, like she was lifted off the front cover of the Woman’s Own magazine.

“Hello, Ma’am, I’m Gertie Thornton,” Gertie said, unconsciously allowing a little wobbly temerity to creep into her voice, the woman in front of her looked more like a Princess than anyone else she’d ever seen up this close. No wonder her mother curtsied. “I believe my mother said you was wanting to see me?”

“Indeed, Miss Thornton, I do indeed,” the young woman stood up and spoke in a voice that you would normally only hear on the BBC Home Service, or from a small select section of the better quality attendees at the West End theatre where Gertie worked. The voice wasn’t put on, it was just an unhurried way of speaking that was clear as crystal yet soft, as if every syllable was as important as the next and needed caressing before being released to charm every ear in range to listen and pay attention. The vision of perfection smiled and held out a hand for Gertie to step up and shake lightly.

“I’m Eveline Winter, Johnnie’s sister, well, actually I’m now Mrs Eveline Gervaise, very recently married, you see, and still getting used to being Lady Dorset. You can call me Evie though, I hope you will allow me to call you Gertie? Good, excellent. I’m here bright and early, Gertie, to get you up to speed, so we really do need to get started straight away. So, shall we get you dressed and ready to face the outside world of department stores and fashion houses?”

Gertie smiled, more than a little confused, “Get started?”

“Yes, absolutely, there’s really no time to lose, young lady. For a start you need to get yourself dressed and I really do need to see what clothes you have in your wardrobes.”

She pulled out a tiny notebook and fountain pen from her purse, unscrewed the top of the pen and started firing Gertie questions.

“I’ve got your address already, of course, from Johnnie. Now, what’s your telephone number?”

“We’re not on the telephone here, Ma’am—”

“Evie, dear, please do call me Evie.”

“Er, well, Evie, we do not have a telephone, no-one has round here, but there is a public telephone box at the crossroads next to the corner shop up on the main road, though.”

Evie tut-tutted and shook her head displaying her displeasure that the Thorntons had no telephone. But she did write down Gertie’s answers to enquiries about her dress size, shoe size, etc.

“Right, we need to get you dressed next, come on, come on,” Evie ordered, chivvying Gertie out of the room and down the passage way, following Gertie to her little bedroom at the back of the flat and ignoring all of Gertie’s mumbled protests along the way.

Once there, Evie sorted out what best to wear for now and checked what clothes and shoes, coats and hats that the young girl had, giving the impression that she would have to start from scratch. While they were going through the contents of the tiny and rather battered old wardrobe in Gertie’s compact bedroom, Gertie’s Mum brought through a cup of tea for Evie and said she had already taken another one out for the driver.

Then Evie sat on the edge of Gertie’s unmade bed while Gertie put on the clothes that Evie had looked out for her and, once she’d finished her tea, she took Gertie off in her smart motor car and liveried driver, and they went clothes shopping.

And Gertie just blindly went along with her, like Evie was an irresistible force of nature!

The pair of them piled into what appeared to Gertie as the largest and most beautiful highly polished motor car she had ever seen, certainly down any of the streets in Limehouse, and they drove up to Knightsbridge in the West End of London, where all the large department stores were and they shopped all morning and most of the afternoon.

Once Evie started the conversation between them they never stopped talking about the cut, colours and styles of clothes that passed before Gertie’s eyes before she was cajoled into trying them on and parade before Evie’s critical eye. It was so strange to Gertie. Clothes rationing in England had only stopped the year before, so nobody from around where the Thorntons lived were used to shopping for new and fashionable clothes, they had all worn hand-me-downs or make do and mends for the best part of a decade.