Lucy feigned a weak smile, drawing away. She wasn’t used to being coddled or mothered, especially by a woman she didn’t know. How did she know Betty even liked her? Then again, Lucy was paying the woman rent, wasn’t she? She thought of her mother teaching her to put on a smile for the customers, her hoarse whisper, ‘We want their money, don’t we?’ Betty was just a businesswoman like her, keeping her new lodger happy.
Now, the woman seemed to be scrutinizing Lucy. ‘Has anyone told you that you look just like that actress, what’s her name? The one in that new film.’
The ladies began calling out random actresses’ names until one of them struck gold.
‘Marilyn Monroe!’ Hilda declared. ‘Only her hair’s lighter than yours.’
Lucy blushed. ‘Well, a few people have said that, but she’s ever so glamorous.’ She smoothed down her dress and sat up straighter, trying to live up to the comparison.
From the other end of the table, Shirley spotted her and ran over to throw her arms around her. ‘Lucy! You made it!’
Relief flooded through Lucy as she hugged her best friend. When her mother had been horrid, the bullies at school overbearing, Shirley had always been there, like a cup of hot chocolate on a cold, gloomy day.
‘You’ll love it here,’ Shirley declared. ‘And you’ll be living justdown the road from me in Camden. We’ll be able to pop into each other’s houses, just like home.’
Delighted, Shirley guided Lucy to a chair beside hers.
‘Thank you for getting the job for me, and a place to stay,’ Lucy said as she sat down.
‘I knew you’d be perfect for the palace, with all your mending practice.’
‘Actually, I wish I’d brought my sewing machine with me,’ Lucy confided. ‘I could do with something a bit more stylish.’
‘You can borrow some dresses from me, if you like. Some of the shops let you pay in instalments, too. You’ll be the beauty of the dance clubs.’
‘With you there, we’ll both be!’ Lucy turned to the others. ‘Shirley was the star of the dance floor back in Cornwall. I was onstage singing, and she would do the jitterbug.’ They both giggled. ‘We’ll have to go dancing soon. Maybe I can find a singing job with you dancing, just like old times.’
But her friend blushed. ‘I’m stepping out with someone now. It’s very exciting, but I don’t have much time for dancing.’
‘Oh!’ Lucy tried to hide her disappointment. ‘What’s he like?’
A glint came to Shirley’s eye. ‘He’s an accountant, working in the Privy Purse – that’s the queen’s own estate. We almost bumped into each other on the way out of the staff door one evening, and I dropped my handbag. He helped me gather up my belongings and insisted on buying me a cup of tea to make up for it.’ She grinned. ‘And we’ve been together ever since.’
Lucy looked around the crowded room. ‘Is he here? Can I meet him?’
‘He eats in the Senior Dining Hall with the bigwigs,’ she gushed. ‘Can you believe it, me with a proper educated gentleman! He has a house in the suburbs, too. It has one of those new kitchens with matching cabinets fitted to the walls.’ Eagerly, she sat forward. ‘I think he might propose soon.’
On the table, a women’s magazine was laid open, the title of the article, ‘The Perfect House for the Perfect Housewife’.
‘How wonderful,’ Lucy said, trying to take it all in. ‘But you’ll still have time to come with me to some auditions, won’t you?’
‘Look, Lucy, it won’t be so easy to get on stage here in London,’ Shirley said, unsure, but then she grabbed Lucy’s hand and grinned. ‘But there are plenty more men in the back offices. You can find a husband of your own.’ Shirley put an arm around her shoulders, pulling her in excitedly.
Lucy deflated like a balloon. ‘Oh, of course.’
But Shirley had gone back to the magazine, pointing at another article, ‘How to Be a Lady of Leisure’. ‘Look, Lucy, you could have all this, the hairdressers and manicures, spending your days buying clothes and decorating a gorgeous home. Just think! No more work, living in luxury, bringing up children. It says it here, we women have never had it so good.’
Lucy remembered how Shirley had always yearned to escape the poverty of her upbringing, and she squeezed her hand, a pang of shame that she’d been dwelling on her own problems.
‘And time is ticking,’ Shirley went on. ‘I’m twenty-one, and I can’t wait forever. My aunt was left on the shelf, waiting for Mr Perfect, and she ended up too old. All the magazines say you’ve got to be married before you’re twenty-five – before you’re my age if you can.’
From the other side of the table, Betty pointed at the open magazine. ‘Look at the cartoon at the bottom of the page.’ It depicted Princess Margaret, the queen’s younger sister, slim in her ball gown, a long cigarette holder in her hand, male suitors fighting to light it for her. The caption was, ‘Who Will the Beauty Choose?’ Betty mused, ‘Princess Margaret in the news again.’
Hilda’s voice boomed from across the table. ‘They want us women to be living dolls, all prettiness with no minds of our own. Women’s magazines are nothing like the ones we had during the war. They were about real things, signing up for military work, doing war work in factories and on farms, juggling jobs with childcare and bombing raids. Women were admired for their uniforms, their work, their skills, their bravery, not for how glamorous they were – nor for the wealth or status of the man they married.’
Laughing, Shirley shook her head. ‘But why waste time on a job or education when you’ll give it up when you marry? The magazines say that if you have to take a job, it’s best to be a nurse or a cook, things that’ll come in handy when you’re married.’ She flipped through the magazine to find the article, but then her eyes alighted on a model wearing a wedding gown. ‘Goodness, isn’t it divine?’
But Lucy’s attention was caught by an elegant yellow day dress on the opposite page. It was one of those New Look dresses, fitted to a slim waist and then flaring out into a full skirt. The tight half-sleeves were all the rage, the wide neckline exposing the fragile collarbones and the soft fabric plunging down to show the model’s cleavage. It was alluring, sophisticated, especially with the matching elbow-length jacket and gloves.
