The Runaway Daughter Read online

  It was only now that she noticed a girl running through the traffic, dodging the umbrellas as she held on to her green felt cloche hat. Anna didn’t want to stare, but the girl looked impossibly glamorous, as if she had stepped right off the cover of a fashion magazine.

  She was wearing a long green coat embroidered with what looked like Chinese figures, with fur trimming grazing her emerald suede shoes, which were adorned with sparkling rhinestone buckles. Anna had never seen anything so extravagant. But the girl seemed to be wearing this outfit as easily as if it were a factory tunic.

  She was still gorging her eyes on every detail as the girl came right up to the front of the theatre, just along from where Anna was standing, and she had to rip her gaze away before she seemed rude. Oh my goodness. Did the girl work here? Could she possibly be one of the actresses, or one of the dancers on the poster?

  But as she sneaked another glance, she saw the girl looking at the silver watch on her wrist and then over in Anna’s direction, as if she were looking for someone. Her eyes were heavily lined in kohl, her lips an alluring, glossy red, her pink cheeks bright from the rain.

  Anna stared ahead, banging her carpet bag against her knees, feeling dull and grey by comparison, her humming fizzling out as her heart hammered. It was ridiculous standing here, pretending to have a purpose, when she had anything but. And she’d been caught staring, so she had to go on pretending.

  But it was so hard not to stare. Goodness, the girl was lovely. How did you get to be like that? How did one get to look so carefree and yet so styled?

  ‘I say – you’re not waiting for anyone, are you?’ the girl called over to her, as if she’d suddenly been struck by a thought. It took a moment for Anna to realize that the girl was addressing her. She had a twangy American accent. ‘You Edith’s friend, by any chance?’

  The girl’s eyes searched out Anna’s, and she realized this was her moment – the moment to cut her off and deny any knowledge of what she was talking about.

  Or not. The moment to do the opposite – to truly become someone else. The moment to become Verity Casey.

  The young woman suddenly darted forward and put her hand out and grabbed Anna’s arm and, without waiting for a reply, laughed. ‘Because what if you are? Wouldn’t that be a hoot? And so typical of naughty old Edith to stand you up, but then after last night, I doubt she’s even been to bed,’ she added in a confidential aside. Then she laughed.

  Do it. A voice inside Anna spurred her on, stronger than her fear. Go on. Do it.

  ‘You know Edith?’ Anna said. She’d never pretended such an audacious thing before, but she couldn’t bear the girl to leave. She was so desperate that taking such a monumental risk seemed worth it.

  ‘Ha! I knew it. I just knew it. The moment I saw you. Edith said you were pretty in that . . . well, understated way. But she’s quite wrong, of course. You’re simply lovely,’ the girl said, before linking her arm through Anna’s and leading her along the pavement. Simply being near her was like being lit up by starlight. ‘We’d best hurry. You don’t want to know what a beast Mr Connelly is, if we’re one moment late. Edith will just have to meet us there. Taxi!’

  12

  Taxi

  ‘Hot diggity dog. It’s turning into quite a squall,’ the young woman exclaimed, as she sat back on the maroon leather seat in the taxi cab and sighed with satisfaction, having given instructions to the driver to go to the Savoy Hotel.

  Wasn’t that where rich, society people went? Anna thought. The Savoy! She was on her way to the Savoy with this amazing, sophisticated young American.

  Anna watched, spellbound, as the girl opened the clip of her snakeskin handbag and pulled out an embossed gold compact and checked her perfect make-up, dabbing pressed powder onto her shining cheeks. She was tempted to tell the girl that this light London drizzle was nothing like a squall. Nothing like the horizontal rain that drove down the Pennine hills at the back of Darton Hall, and which could drench you in seconds. That was a squall. This was . . . well, this was . . .

  Nothing short of a miracle.

  But this had to stop! Right now, Anna told herself. Didn’t it? But with each passing second she was tumbling deeper and deeper into this wonderful young creature’s misguided assumption. Just when she’d had nothing at all but possible destitution facing her, or worse – the prospect of having to become one of Rose’s ‘ladies’ – this was a lifeline, one that she couldn’t bring herself to break by telling the truth.

  ‘Now,’ the girl said, ‘I can’t remember your name. I’m Nancy, but you probably knew that already,’ she said, followed by that tinkling laugh of hers.

  ‘Oh, I’m Verity. Verity Casey,’ Anna lied, deliberately trying out an accent – one that she hoped seemed modern and didn’t given even a hint of her northern roots. She wanted Nancy to think the best of her.

  ‘Verity? Oh. I thought Edie said it was something else.’ Nancy’s perfectly arched eyebrows puckered together for a minute, and then the thought was gone. She looked up from the compact and Verity noticed that her eyes were green, her nose slightly turned up. She was younger than her chic clothes had implied. ‘Hmm, well, I shall call you Very. No, no, that’s quite wrong – you can be Vita. Yes. That’s much better. My very own little Vita. I do so admire Miss Sackville-West.’

  Anna had never heard of the woman that Nancy mentioned, but she was too entranced by the girl. ‘Vita,’ she said. ‘I like that.’

  She rolled the innovation around her mind as she looked out of the window, smiling to herself as they drove down Charing Cross Road, past the Hippodrome towards Trafalgar Square. Vita. She could be Vita. Couldn’t she? I’m Vita. Vita Casey, she said to herself. Vita, Vita, Vita. The more she said it in her mind, the more she liked it. As if she were trying on a fanciful new coat and finding that it fitted.

  If Nancy believed it was possible, then surely it was. She pressed her lips together hard, a heady feeling rushing up her chest that suddenly made her want to laugh and then to blurt everything out. But she couldn’t. She wouldn’t. Not ever.

  Nancy snapped the compact shut. ‘So, tell me, dear Vita, how many auditions have you been to before?’

  Auditions?

  ‘Um—’ she began, bracing herself to speak up, but Nancy immediately interrupted.

  ‘Well, don’t worry. It’s more to do with whether your face fits than how fast you can dance. Since Loretta ran off with that ghastly little man, our troupe has been quite up the swanny. And Edith has vouched for you,’ she added, ‘although I don’t know why Mr Connelly has such a soft spot for Edith. I suppose you might know better than me why she’s stuck on that old lounge lizard . . .’

  In the confusing monologue that followed, the only thing that became clear was that Nancy had taken it for granted that ‘Vita’ knew all about Edith, who sounded – as far as Anna could make out – like some sort of lapsed society girl. The implication was that Edith’s relationship with this Mr Connelly person was more personal than was strictly professional, and this wasn’t the first time that ‘wicked’ Edith had used her ‘considerable charms’ to finagle her way into work.

  Anna listened, awestruck. It was like she was suddenly part of a thrilling game. How wonderful to be embroiled in such trivial gossip, when her mind had been so occupied with much darker thoughts.

  She glanced out of the window to hide her blushing cheeks, as Nancy continued, chattering on about Mr Connelly. There was Nelson’s Column, sliding by beside her, and she craned her neck to look out of the cab window to see the top. It was huge. Almost as huge as the deception she was creating.

  ‘I mean, I’m American, so I’m hardly shockable, and not one to judge anyone commandeering a sugar daddy, but how Edith could bring herself even to touch that man, I can’t imagine.’

  But now she became aware that Nancy had finally paused and it was her turn to respond. Amazed at herself – that she was really doing this – Anna cocked her head conspiratorially towards Nancy.

 
‘Well, Edith has mentioned a few things about him,’ she ventured, letting her comment hang. Nancy’s eyes widened with the heavy hint of gossip that she’d implied. Then, really going for a dramatic tone, she added, ‘But I can’t really say more. It wouldn’t be right.’

  Nancy raised her eyebrows and gave a wicked smile, clearly intent on finding out the ‘more’ that Vita might be hiding.

  Anna felt giddy with the boldness of the lie. Its decisiveness, its unknowable consequences. And proud, too. That she could be this risqué person.

  ‘Stop here,’ Nancy said suddenly, and the driver pulled over in the traffic. Anna saw the Savoy Hotel on the other side of the road. ‘It’ll take ages to turn.’

  ‘Right-ho, Miss,’ the driver said. He’d been listening in to the conversation. He caught her eye in the driver’s mirror and smiled.

  Anna stood on the pavement as Nancy paid for the cab, and watched a smart car turning into the driveway of the hotel. That was a Rolls-Royce Phantom, she was sure of it. Her father had said that he was going to order one, now that production in the mills was at an all-time high.

  This was her moment to bolt, but it was already too late. Nancy grabbed her arm and linked hers through it and then, holding onto her hat with her other hand, walked along the pavement. There were a few appreciative honks from the cab drivers. A tram bell clanged, along with the church bells of St Martin-in-the-Fields.

  ‘Oh, goodness,’ Anna murmured under her breath. It was as if she were on a helter-skelter going far too fast. And she knew, with absolute certainty, that sooner or later she was going to crash.

  13

  The Dressing Room

  She would never have noticed the side-alley along the Strand, or the unassuming stage door set back from the street, but Nancy led her right through it, into a tunnel-like corridor. The walls were of plain brick, lit only by sparse gas lamps. Anna had to squint to get used to the sudden gloom.

  ‘Welcome to the Zip Club,’ Nancy said, her heels clicking on the stone floor. ‘It’s nothing much back here, but we have quite a reputation.’ She laughed and did a pose over her shoulder, putting a finger to her pout.

  ‘Oh?’ What exactly did she mean by reputation? Anna – no, Vita – was finding it difficult to breathe.

  ‘Darling, didn’t Edith fill you in? We’re only one of the best nightspots in the whole of this crazy town. You must have heard of us?’

  Nightspot? Anna remembered how she’d wanted so badly to become a flagrantly immoral type, but she hadn’t really believed it might happen. And now all her bravado deserted her. Her parents would positively kill her, if they knew she was here. But they would never know, she remembered. Even so, what on earth was she getting herself into?

  She was saved from answering by a man with a clipboard, wearing turned-up tweed trousers and rolled-up shirt sleeves, who bustled down the thin corridor towards them.

  ‘Onstage in five. You’re late,’ he barked at Nancy, who rolled her eyes and pulled a funny face.

  ‘Don’t mind Jerome. He’s musical. And highly strung,’ she said, as she threw open a dark-green door and ushered Anna in.

  A dressing table ran all along the back wall, the surface of which was covered in various pots of powder and jars of make-up brushes, along with several impressive bunches of flowers in china vases, which were now past their best. The space above the dressing table was covered with mirrors, with elaborate headdresses hanging on hooks between them. The air was thick with perfume and the smoky smell of electrics.

  Nancy, entirely missing how awestruck her guest was, walked over and collected a pile of envelopes, then slung her bag on the dark-green leather armchair and plucked a dress that was hanging over the back.

  ‘Looks like the others have already changed. Here, you can put this one on,’ she said, throwing it over to Anna, who caught it with difficulty, as she was still holding onto her carpet bag. ‘It’s a spare. You can change behind there,’ she added, now distracted by the envelopes. She gestured to a black enamelled screen in the corner, over the top of which hung several pairs of pink stockings, ‘Although around here there’s really no point in being modest. We’ve seen it all before.’

  Anna looked down at the cream silk slip-dress draped over her arm. It was the most daring garment she’d ever seen. A dancer’s dress. She was actually holding it. And it was so flimsy. Barely more than a petticoat slip with sparkling fringing. She couldn’t put that on . . . could she?

  ‘You heard what Jerome said. We’d better get out there,’ Nancy added, throwing down the envelopes on the chair and starting to strip off herself. ‘Connelly’s got himself in a bit of a stew about our routines.’

  She threw the coat away with wild abandon, to reveal a very fancy green-and-black lace dress, daringly cut just below the knee. A black silk sash was tied in a floppy bow around her slim hips, which made her figure look enviously boyish.

  But before Anna could admire the detail further, Nancy lifted the dress over her head in one easy movement and stood there unashamedly in her pretty pink slip, like she was the model on the front of a pattern.

  Anna had hardly ever been face-to-face with another girl in their underwear, let alone one so clearly confident in her own skin. Nancy looked . . . well, stunning. She never knew that such a lovely garment could exist. She longed to touch the silk and run her fingers over the lace. Her pulse throbbed in her cheeks.

  Quickly averting her eyes, and terrified that Nancy would see her blushes, Anna ducked behind the screen. Her hands were shaking as she fumbled with her gloves and unbuttoned her thin cotton jacket. She looked down at the worn assortment of clothes she was wearing. Her long skirt underneath her dress was still stained with the mud that had gathered on the hem on her flight from Darton Hall. Her best Sunday blouse, which had always been her favourite item of clothing, now seemed hopelessly dowdy and old-fashioned. She thought about the worn boned corset she was wearing, its fabric yellowed with age and sweat. This had to stop. She had to tell Nancy the truth. Right now.

  But she’d gone too far. How could she extricate herself now?

  Maybe she could just get changed very slowly, and kill time while she worked out what she was going to do. But then she heard a new voice. A man’s voice.

  ‘I was sent to look for you. The others are already out there.’

  She craned her neck and looked in the mirror, realizing she had a clear view to the door. A young man with smooth boyish skin stood there, with a tape measure around his neck. He was wearing small tortoiseshell glasses, a blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up, a woollen sleeveless jumper and natty light-blue slacks, the kind that her father might consider appropriate attire for a golf course.

  ‘Howdy-doody, Percy. I was collecting Edith’s friend,’ she heard Nancy say.

  Anna realized that Percy had a direct view of her in the mirror.

  ‘Vita, come and meet Percy. He’s a perfect lamb,’ Nancy called.

  Percy nodded to her and, as his eyes met hers, she wondered if he could tell how terrified she felt.

  14

  Right Foot First

  I’m Verity Casey . . . Vita. Vita for short, she told herself, trying not to succumb to rising panic as Nancy pulled her towards the middle of the stage. She should have taken her chance and bolted before she’d put the costume on, but Nancy hadn’t left her alone – or stopped talking – for a second.

  But now each long moment stretched out, as Anna’s eyes adjusted to the lights and she took in the Zip Club, wanting to pinch herself that she was actually in a London nightclub – albeit during the day. And not just in it. Onstage.

  She could see a shadowy area in front her, and empty tables dotted further back around a sprung dance floor. At the back were dark booths. The air smelt dusty in the lights, and of stale alcohol and smoke. It was simply wonderful.

  ‘Where is Edith?’ Nancy said, in a confused whisper, as if Anna should know. ‘She’s a flake, as we all know, but she’s never usually this late.’ She w
as clearly vexed that Anna’s introduction had fallen to her.

  In her costume, Nancy looked astounding. She had perfect skin and, although she was short, she seemed to have very long legs. She appeared to exude class and effortless style and, next to her, Anna felt painfully self-conscious. Knowing that she was hurtling towards the moment when she’d be found out felt terrifying, but oh, she so wanted Nancy to like her.

  Anna watched as Nancy fluffed the fringe of her jet-black bob with her fingertips, and she had to suppress the urge to copy her.

  Quickly she looked around, to the wings of the stage, as if she too were perplexed by Edith’s absence, but actually looking for an escape route, should she need to run . . . which was getting more likely by the second.

  She saw the other girls – four of them, dressed just like Nancy – fanning out behind her, taking up positions on the stage. They were all looking at her with intense curiosity. Beneath the glare of the lights, she might as well have been naked. A tight knot of anguish grew and grew inside her, until she almost couldn’t breathe. One of the girls, with lustrous wavy black hair, gave her a friendly wave. Anna smiled weakly back. Did they honestly believe she could be one of them?

  ‘Mr Connelly, this is the new girl. Edith’s friend,’ Nancy piped up, grabbing Anna’s wrist and pulling her towards the front of the stage, putting up her hand to shield her eyes in the lights. ‘You said she could have an audition. She’s a doll, don’t you think?’ She pronounced it dahl.

  Nancy turned and held her hands out towards Anna with a big grin, like a magician presenting his assistant, but there was no response from the dark shadows, only a low murmur of male voices. Nancy’s arms dropped and she shrugged, then winked at her for reassurance, but there continued to be a distinct lack of response.