quite easily fry himself an egg,’ Lizzie said when she called one evening to see Eliza. ‘Although he doesn’t believe eggs and frying pans should be a man’s work.’
Nancy had sewn a set of muslin masks and her cousin wore one as she hovered uncertainly at the bedside. The women all agreed that little Tommy must be protected from infection, but there was also an understanding that Lizzie couldn’t be involved in caring for anyone who was ill. She was not a nurse, she would have insisted, and she had no talent for such things.
Lizzie had been unable to hide her shock at Eliza’s changed appearance. She chatted to her a little too brightly and disconnectedly through the layers of her mask, and was relieved when Nancy led her away before Eliza got overtired.
The cousins retreated downstairs. Lizzie stood by the kitchen range, tapped a cigarette on her thumbnail and expertly clicked a lighter. She had shortened her skirts and her hair and had recently started painting her lips. The dark lipstick stained the butt of the cigarette.
Exhaling sharply she exclaimed, ‘Poor Nancy. What a ghastly time you have all been through.’
Nancy accepted a cigarette and puffed inexpertly.
‘She’s getting better, that’s all that matters.’
‘She looks terrible.’
Lizzie was always blunt. To change the subject Nancy said, ‘What about you?’
Lizzie shrugged. ‘Tommy’s happy. He’ll start school in the autumn. My life’s all work, more’s the pity. I’d like a nice new boyfriend. I expect you would too, eh? You and I are both going to deserve some proper fun quite soon, darling.’
Devil had said the same thing.
‘Soon,’ Nancy said. She would have liked to believe it, and sometimes as she did the endless household chores she allowed herself a fantasy in which Gil Maitland’s cream Daimler drew up outside the house or in front of Lennox & Ringland. He knew where she lived and her place of work, but as the days passed and there was no evidence of him she told herself that of course a man like Gil was not going to materialise and sweep her off her feet. He had whiled away an hour in her company and given her a lift home because it was raining. Nothing more.
You are not Cinderella or a princess in a fairy tale. You are Nancy Wix. You can dream, but a dream is all it is.
Lizzie winked at her and began to talk about business. She quickly became animated. People needed novelty and some little luxuries, she declared. With the shipping routes open again and overseas trade growing, she was establishing a network of relationships with importers of exotic fruits. Pineapples from South America, mangoes from India, figs from the Mediterranean shores, all these could be brought in the holds of cargo ships and unloaded at the London or Liverpool docks. The dewy fruits would make their way, via the modern wholesale warehouse Lizzie had encouraged her father to acquire, to every quality greengrocer in the country. The miracle of refrigeration made all this easy, Lizzie explained, waving her hands. She still wore her wedding ring, Nancy noted.
‘Just wait and see. There will be a fresh pineapple or a peach on every table, I promise you. Not only in the great houses where the dukes and lords have their own hothouses.’
Nancy wondered if the war had been fought even partly to make a pineapple available to everyone who might desire one, but she said nothing. There had been so many unexpected outcomes of the conflict that the real impact seemed impossible to discern. Married women and those over thirty could vote and one of them had even been elected to Parliament. After all the suffragists’ meetings, and the broken windows and arson and arrests and prison sentences, it had taken the greater war to win the battle for them.
‘The how doesn’t matter,’ Jinny insisted. ‘It’s the what that counts.’
After a week at home, during which his growing distraction and restlessness reflected Eliza’s steady recovery, Devil announced that he must get back to the Palmyra.
‘Anthony Ellis does his best,’ he said, which meant that the manager’s best wasn’t good enough.
He confessed to Nancy that there was a crisis of loyalty to deal with because some of the artistes had not been paid for their most recent performances. They had refused to go onstage and he had been forced to cancel shows. There was an embarrassment concerning available funds, he said. Audiences had been sparse for weeks because people feared the influenza, but an almost empty theatre still cost the same to run as it did when full.
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.
