‘A woman simply doesn’t have the same insight. The Cold War, Wall Street, the new atomic energy plants, these are the domains of men.’ Impatiently, he glared at her. ‘You need to be one to understand.’
Inside, panic took hold of her. She couldn’t get fired. Women rarely found employment in journalism as it was, and she couldn’t count on O’Hara for a good reference. She had no savings, no home, only a small widow’s pension, which was meagre compensation for all that she’d lost. She’d have to go back to her father’s house with Rae’s domineering presence, the sense that she was an unwanted guest.
And before she knew it, she blurted, ‘I can get an undercover job in Buckingham Palace, cover the queen’s coronation, give you all the dirt.’
‘Look, Miranda—’ he began, but then stopped short, his eyes meeting hers, narrowing in thought.
‘My aunt works there. She can get me work, and I can write a series of articles, longer features when I return to New York. I’ll give you everything you want, photographs of the gown, behind-the-scenesgossip, details about the queen, her marriage, her enemies. You’ll have an exclusive. Just think how much your bosses would like that.’
He lit a cigarette. ‘All right, Miranda, I’ll give you this last chance. Go to the accounts department and say you need a ticket to London. That’s all we’re paying you – the palace job can support you while you’re there. The rest is up to you.’
‘Really, sir?’ She could barely contain her relief.
O’Hara took a drag of his cigarette. ‘You’ll have to call me every week and dictate each piece to my secretary.’ Almost to himself, he muttered, ‘We could even make it a column.’
‘I’ll have to use a pseudonym.’ Her eyes went to the newspaper on his desk, the headlines about the hydrogen bomb tested on the Marshall Islands. ‘What about J. Marshall? No one needs to know I’m a woman.’ This was smart, appealing to his innate biases. ‘After the coronation, when I’m safely back in New York, we can print the longer features under my own name.’
‘Fine, we’ll use a pseudonym, but you’ll have to name your sources over there. We can’t put out facts without some kind of verification.’
‘Absolutely, sir, and thank you.’ She leapt to the door, spinning back around to add, ‘You won’t regret it.’
‘I’d better not.’
Back at her desk, she slumped down, facing her new reality. It wasn’t the best idea in the world, but at least she’d still have a job. She’d have to keep it secret, of course, but it would be easy to pull the wool over Aunt Betty’s eyes, wouldn’t it?
LUCY JONES
...
JUNIOR WARDROBE ASSISTANT
BUCKINGHAM PALACE,LONDON
January 1953
GLISTENING WITH CRYSTAL CHANDELIERS,THE GRANDcorridor gleamed with magnificence, the red carpet meticulously swept by three maids.
‘Wow!’ Lucy let out a gasp. In all her eighteen years, she’d never seen anything as majestic – indeed, she’d barely been out of the backwaters of Cornwall.
‘This is the main passage to the queen’s quarters.’ Lucy’s new boss, Caroline, was showing her around. In her mid-thirties, the poor woman looked like she hadn’t seen daylight in years. There was a weightlessness about her, as if a sudden gust of wind could simply blow her away. ‘You’ll find your way around soon. Don’t you have a friend working here? I’m sure she told you all about it.’
‘My old neighbour Shirley works as a maid. She got me the job here.’
‘You’re from the south-west, aren’t you?’
‘Penzance, at the very tip of the country. You couldn’t get much further from London.’ She took in a breath of the perfumed palace air. How different from the cramped house she’d left. Her mother had a mending business, and since Lucy could remember, she’d come home from school to face a never-ending pile of zips to replace and coats tohem. At best it gave her a skill; at worst it robbed every second of her childhood. She’d do anything for her family, yet Lucy had been invisible since her mother had remarried, more so after her little brothers were born. It was as if she wasn’t even there.
‘It was my dream to come to the city,’ Lucy said, and before she knew it, she confided, ‘I’m a singer, you see. This is my chance to get onto the big stage, show the world what I can do.’
‘Well, that’s quite an ambition!’
From Caroline’s careful smile, Lucy knew she was being polite. Lucy had seen it before, people thinking she didn’t have it in her, that she was too young, too naïve, too poor, to get anywhere.
‘I know it’s hard to get to the top, especially for outsiders, but I have my voice.’ Lucy bit her lip, her nerves showing through her bravado. ‘I simplyhaveto do it.’ Her eyes closed, as if in prayer. If there was anything she needed more, it was to show the world that she could be someone.
It was only when she was on the stage that everything felt right. When she sang, it was as if her words soared into every heart, holding the audience enthralled as she basked in their admiration.
‘Well, you certainly have the looks for it.’ Caroline smiled kindly, hurrying her along.
