After the Cabaret by Hilary Bailey Page A

almost every night, for three months. We became experts at knowing the weather conditions that would keep them off and studying the phases of the moon – they couldn’t come when it was too cloudy and dark. The RAF recovered from the devastation of the battle of Britain, guns were mounted to fire on enemy aircraft – they were as good as useless, but it helped morale. Sally spent a lot of time in the East End. The Communists down there were very noisy, probably because they knew the rule “Organise”, so she spent a lot of time agitating about the tube stations which were now being used as shelters where conditions were horrible. Also about the rest centres where people went when they were first bombed out, and about housing the homeless people. They laughed at her at Pontifex Street. She went on working at Cora’s, though. It was the only money she had coming in and it wasn’t much – Cora was not a generous employer. Andthere was never any question of Sally’s family helping her. She never stopped talking about Theo Fitzpatrick, though, “the only man I ever loved”.
    â€˜I can still see her,’ he said, ‘one evening, with her face covered in powder, big tired eyes, standing there singing, “Alexander’s Ragtime Band”, and old Vincent Tubman played his piano louder when a bomb went off nearby. The place was crammed with young men and women in uniform, girls in evening dress. There was a hammering on the door and three soldiers with girls were revealed when Cora cautiously opened the door. “This is a private club,” she told them.
    â€˜â€œCome on, Mother, let us in,” said one. “There’s an air-raid on.”
    â€˜â€œYou should take shelter in the tube, then,” Cora told him.
    â€˜â€œWe’re fighting for you,” he told her. She let them in, and Sally went on singing. Then we heard a bomb whistling through the air. Everyone threw themselves under the tables, Vincent and Sally were under the piano together. There was a deafening explosion. The walls – even the floor – shook. Dust came down all over them. Then came the sound of fire engines as they all got up and shook themselves off. Vincent Tubman started to play again vigorously. Everyone sat down and Cora went out with Pym and Sally and me to examine the damage. What a sight,’ Bruno said. ‘Searchlights lanced the sky and in and out of them you could see the black shapes of fighting planes. The firemen, tiny against the blaze, were spraying water on the house next door. A man in a tin hat markedARP told Cora, “You should be inside, dear” He said to Sally, standing there in evening dress, “What do you mean, bringing your mother out into all this?”
    â€˜â€œI’m the owner of the hotel there,” Cora said coldly, pointing. “Is it damaged?”
    â€˜â€œProbably not too bad. If they can get this fire out. Anybody in there, do you know?”
    â€˜â€œOnly the housekeeper, Mrs Harding, over there with her dog. The owners are in the country.”
    â€˜â€œVery nice for them,” he observed.
    â€˜Cora called, “I’ll put you up, Mrs Harding, till you’re settled.” She turned to Sally. “I think you owe me another couple of numbers,” she said, “Sing something cheerful, for God’s sake.”’
    Bruno looked round the busy pub. He greeted a woman in a shawl and dangling earrings with a nod. He turned back to Greg. ‘A different world,’ he said. ‘But I must get back to my shop, now. On Sunday,’ he said, ‘we shall meet again, but this time at Covent Garden. I haven’t been there for some time and it will be a chance to see what they have. I may buy something, who knows?’
    Greg would have preferred to go to Bruno’s flat where he could be sure of the quality of his recordings, but noted that since their first meeting Bruno had