Hettie gave him a small nervous smile.
It was over two weeks now since she had made her debut at the Adelphi, and two more frocks had been added to her wardrobe, via a shopping trip with Connie. Connie had wanted to treat her niece to something special after her successful debut and Hettie reluctantly agreed, but only after Connie said it would be an early Christmas gift from her.
They had gone to George Henry Lee’s where Connie had bought her a modern sleeveless silky dress in green with white spots on it, its neckline dipping to a ‘V’ at both front and back, trimmed with white braid with its dropped waist also sashed in white. Plus a second dress – in deep cornflower blue, with a big white collar and pin tucking all down the front – which they found reduced in price because of a small mark on the back which Connie had said could easily be removed. The advantage of their choices was that Hettie was able to wear her white t-bar shoes, and her long white gloves, with both frocks.
She tried to tell herself that if John wanted to be nasty and not get in touch to explain why he had not come to her debut, then that was his affair, and she certainly wasn’t going to waste her time worrying about it. But she had been upset and a part of her still was.
Mr Buchanan was patting her arm, and Hettie longed to move away from him.
‘I have applauded Mrs Buchanan, my dear helpmate and wife, for her excellent choice. You are a pleasure to have around, my dear, unlike your ungrateful predecessor. Now, what is it you wish to ask me? If you wanted my opinion on whether or not you should add another song to your repertoire, then…’
‘No, it isn’t that.’ Hettie stopped him hastily, taking a deep breath before plunging doggedly into the speech she had been rehearsing all week. ‘When Mrs Buchanan spoke with my mother, she told us that once I was singing here at the Adelphi you would give me the whole of my wages, less my bed and board, and not just a small amount of spending money because then I would not have to pay for any lessons.’
‘Yes?’
‘Well, it has been two weeks now and I have not had any wages…’
Mr Buchanan had started to scowl at her and Hettie could feel her stomach churning nervously. ‘I see. Well, yes of course you must have your wages, Hettie, since you have been promised them. But I am surprised that my good lady wife seems to have forgotten to have told you that there are certain expenses that have to be deducted from them first.’
‘Expenses?’ Hettie faltered.
‘Indeed. There is the cost of your sheet music for one thing, and then the cost of the room we use to practise, plus the refreshments you have.’
Hettie could feel her spirits sinking lower with every word he spoke. Her spending money had not even covered the cost of her food and she knew that without the good-hearted generosity of the other girls many a night she could have gone to bed on an empty stomach. She had been looking forward not just to having a little bit more money in her pocket but also to repaying them for their generosity, but now, from what Mr Buchanan was saying to her, it looked as though she was not going to be any better off.
‘There, Hettie, I can see how glum you are looking. You are a good girl and I don’t want to see you upset. Let me have a little think and see if there isn’t some way we can make things a bit better for you. It is a pleasure to have the company of such a pretty, biddable girl, and I dare say you know how to make a man appreciate your beauty to its full, my dear. But no saying anything to Mrs Buchanan, mind, she will chastise me if she thinks that I am being over generous to you.’ Smiling genially at her, Mr Buchanan slid his hand down her back to her bottom and very determinedly squeezed one cheek, causing Hettie to cry out in protest and jump away from him.
‘Now, Hettie, that wasn’t very appreciative of you,’ he chided her sharply. ‘I had looked for a more grateful response to my generosity. We will say no more about it on this occasion but I hope you will remember in future that if I am to be generous to you, then you will have to be correspondingly generous to me. Ah, poor child, I can see that I have upset you. Come here and let me make you feel better.’
To Hettie’s horror, he had grabbed hold of her before she could escape, forcing her back against the piano with the weight of his body. She could feel his moist, panting breath against her neck, and as she tried to push past his restraining arm he put his free hand on her breast, and squeezed it.
No man had ever attempted such an intimacy with her and nor had she ever imagined that they might do so. Ellie had been a loving and very protective mother, anxious, although Hettie did not realise it, to safeguard her children from the unhappiness and danger she herself had experienced as a young girl, vulnerable and alone after her mother’s death.
Hettie felt close to fainting. The sensation of Mr Buchanan’s slack wet mouth pressing against her skin made her feel sick with loathing.
‘I knew you would be a hot-blooded little thing. I’ve heard how you orientals know a thing or two about pleasing a man.’ Mr Buchanan was panting. ‘Come, my dear, and give me your hand and let me find pleasure in your hold…’
Mr Buchanan’s voice had gone thick and both it and he were shaking with excitement as he pressed his body into hers, Hettie recognised in trembling fear. He was plucking, no tearing at the fabric of her blouse, and her breast hurt from his rough handling of it.
‘Mr Buchanan. No…Please, let me go,’ she begged him frantically, but instead of obeying her he simply grunted and pushed himself harder against her.
Her head had begun to swim with panic, a horrible cold, weakening feeling taking her strength, and Hettie was mortally afraid that she might actually faint and be left to his mercy. But then to her relief someone started to turn the door handle of the practice room and, with a speed that astonished her, Mr Buchanan not only released her but stepped away from her, smoothing the black strands of hair over his forehead and keeping his back to the door as he intoned, ‘Yes. As I was saying, Hettie, about adding another song…’
When he broke off, feigning surprise at the entrance of the housekeeper, Hettie took advantage of her opportunity to escape, hurrying out of the room, not caring that her housekeeper might think her behaviour odd.
She was still trembling several minutes later when she had left the hotel and was standing on Lime Street, longing for the comfort of Ellie’s arms around her and her soothing voice assuring her that what had happened would never happen to her again.
Mr Buchanan had mentioned her red dress, though, and she hadn’t forgotten how angry John had been when he had seen her wearing it. Was it somehow her own fault that Mr Buchanan had behaved the way he had? He had certainly given her to understand that it was.
Her head ached and she felt sick. If she couldn’t go home to Ellie then at least she could telephone her. There was a public telephone box in the station and she hurried over to it, pulling open the heavy door and stepping inside.
When the telephonist asked her what number she required, she was trembling so much she could hardly speak, but at last she managed to say the number. Gripping the receiver with one hand and her money ready in the other, Hettie waited for someone to answer.
When at last they did it wasn’t, as she had hoped, Ellie’s voice she heard but instead that of Mrs Jennings, her cook-come-housekeeper.
‘Oh what a shame, Hettie, yer ma and pa have gorn up to the Lakes,’ she told Hettie.
Tears filled Hettie’s eyes. She replaced the receiver and walked back to Lime Street, feeling more alone than she ever had in her life.
John re-read the letter he had just written, and then got up to go and stand at the cottage door and look across the airfield. At the far end where the flying machine hangar had once stood, there was now a pile of twisted metal and charred rubble, all that remained of his hopes and dreams.
He had attended the funerals of each