A Christmas Gift. Ruby Jackson

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       FOUR

       Late 1940

      On the first day that the whole company assembled after the bombing, Max reinforced Sebastian’s comments that it would probably be years before the building was ready to reopen as a fully working theatre.

      There were gasps from all corners.

      ‘Now what? Have the powers that be found us a new venue or are most of us back on the breadline?’

      ‘Neither,’ said Max with a cheery grin. ‘Believe it or not, ENSA is staying put. We don’t use the rear circle; we’ll manage without the pit, and so all we need do is make some adjustments as to availability of dressing rooms and rehearsal space.’

      Everyone heard the collective gasp of relief.

      Max seemed to look directly at each and every one of them. ‘Right, so look for notices on doors because what was a storeroom last week may well be a VIP’s office now. At last count there were twelve companies in ENSA but there may well be more as the need grows, and the managerial staff from each one will have to come here for general meetings. So, be thoughtful. I know you’ll give it your best and in a few days we’ll be completely at home again.’

      Sally, who had managed to get home for a few hours to put her mother’s mind at rest, was aware that it was a while since she had spent any time with her oldest friends and she missed their closeness. Rose Petrie was still hard at work in the Vickers munitions factory and Grace, according to Mrs Petrie, was working on a farm somewhere in the wilds of Scotland. But the most amazing and exciting news of all was that Daisy – little Daisy, who was always thought to be delicate – had been learning to fly an aeroplane and had actually joined the WAAF. Would any or all be home for Christmas? Would she, or was Christmas without family a very small sacrifice that she would be asked to make?

      How strange. A picture of a sailor had come unbidden into her mind. Thousands of sailors, soldiers, airmen, nurses – indeed, everyone involved in this blasted war – would probably not be going home for Christmas.

       They’re all in great danger every minute of the day and night and they get on with the job. Grow up, Sally, you’re in no danger, not every day, anyway. I’ll think of them wherever they are: the Petrie brothers, Daisy, the chap who’s teaching her to fly – and … Jon, Just Jon.

      Sally did mean to be brave, but during a morning break she found herself asking Sebastian if they might be given a day off during what she had used to call the Christmas holidays.

      ‘A day off? Sally, you’re not serious. “You’re in the army now”,’ he sang.

      Sally, her heart still somewhere in the pit of her stomach, looked up at him and, for once, did not find herself thinking how very beautiful he was, perhaps too beautiful. ‘Does that mean we don’t celebrate Christmas?’

      ‘Have one of these biscuits; Grandmamma sent them and I swear there’s an egg and a teaspoon of sugar in them somewhere.’

      Sally took one of the drab-looking biscuits and dunked it in her tea. ‘Are you ever serious?’

      ‘Of course. When I tell you you’re practically perfect, I’m serious.’

      Sally pretended to believe him. ‘And what do I need to be absolutely perfect?’

      He smiled but Sally thought that it was not his usual smile but one with a tinge of sadness. Why should joking with a chum make him sad?

      ‘I wouldn’t expect you to love me as I love you, Sally Brewer, champion fairy guard of the Tiny Tots dance troupe, but if you could love me a little …?’

      ‘But I …’ Sally had been about to say, ‘But I do love you, Sebastian,’ when some instinct stopped her. She did love him, of course she did. When close to him or even when apart, she felt somehow different; something in her had changed. How could she not love someone who was kind and gentle, unfailingly patient and polite and amazingly handsome? Again, the image of the man in naval uniform flashed across her mind but melted away as quickly as it had appeared, leaving her somehow frustrated. What is this? He stays in my head like a tune that keeps repeating.

      She forced herself to ignore Just Jon. ‘You’re being silly, Sebastian, and haven’t answered my question.’

      ‘Very well, mon ange, we will acknowledge the advent of Christmas this year but leave is, I believe, totally out of the question. I hear – and should not be telling you so “Mum’s the word” – that we are taking Christmas joy to some casualties of this blasted war. Now, control yourself when I tell you that you are going to be the Christmas fairy dispensing little gifts to children – yes, I know, someone should tell the War Office that children do get hurt when bombs are dropped on their homes – and after what passes for cake and fruit juice, I will, in my Prince Charming satin suit and buckled shoes, waltz you out of Children’s to Maternity – don’t groan, darling, it’s Christmas – and after that we’re doing a slightly naughty little play in Men’s Casualty; Spiced Shakespeare, I think they’re calling it.’

      ‘Just the two of us?’

      ‘Of course.’

      He saw her expression of abject dismay and took pity on her. ‘No, silly, everyone in our group will be there and, with luck, a few more seasoned performers will join us. It’s for our war wounded and I know they’d prefer George Formby, but quite a few of them will feel much better after a discreet glimpse of your lovely legs.’

      Her heart beating with excitement, Sally smiled. At last she had a starring role – as a fairy – but at least she was the only fairy. She decided that it would be quite fun to dance with Prince Sebastian along the hospital corridors. What she would be required to say in a spiced-up version of something from the huge canon of the Swan of Avon, she shuddered to think, but it was in a good cause.

      ‘I’m actually going to be billed as a member of an ENSA troupe, Sebastian?’

      ‘You are indeed. Eventually we will all have uniforms, just like the other Services.’

      ‘Uniforms? For actors and singers, comedians and hoofers?’

      ‘For ENSA and, unlike the other services, we automatically become officers.’

      ‘Officers? I rather like the sound of that.’

      ‘It simply means you can use NAAFI canteens. Now to work.’

      Sally was no Vera Lynn but she created what the director termed ‘a pleasant sound’ and as a result of concentrated professional teaching she was improving in every way. Besides, she was pretty, taking her loveliness for granted so that few СКАЧАТЬ