Chapter Text
1929, London
The club was smoky and noisy, the babble of voices rising even higher than the plumes of smoke twisting through the air as Tom followed his friend deep into the melee. On a stage towards the back of the club, a band played, adding to the febrile atmosphere.
Already amiably tipsy, David stopped at almost every table, greeting friends and acquaintances, shaking hands with the men and kissing as many of the women as he could, more often full on the lips than on the cheeks. Ambling along behind him, Tom wondered idly how his friend hadn’t got himself slapped by an indignant woman or punched by a jealous husband yet.
Finally, they reached an empty table not too far from the stage, where a waitress was clearing the detritus left by the last party of guests.
‘Dolly!’ David crooned, slinging his arm around her slender waist and pulling her to him, his hand sliding down over the curve of her hip to squeeze her buttock. He puckered up again, planting a kiss on the young woman’s cheek as she turned her head slightly away from him. ‘When are you going to make me the happiest man in the world and run away with me?’
‘When you take me to meet your parents and introduce me to them as the love of your life,’ Dolly answered tartly.
‘Ah, you know I would, sweetheart, but Mater and Pater are not as forward-thinking as I am. They’d probably drop dead at the mere thought of the future Mrs Cheveley working for a living,’ David said, twinkling at her.
Dolly rolled her eyes. ‘The poor, delicate things.’
‘But you know that doesn’t dull my love for you, Dolly,’ David said, flashing her his dimpled smile as he released her. ‘I am yours, heart, body and soul.’
‘That may be so, but I’m still not sleeping with you,’ Dolly fired back, her smile as sweet as her words were sharp. ‘My old ma didn’t raise a foolish daughter. No wedding, no bedding.’
David clasped his hand to his heart as he slid into his seat. ‘You wound me, Dolly, darling, but it just makes me love you more when you break my heart.’
‘Get away with you,’ the young woman replied, rolling her eyes. She switched her attention to Tom. ‘Who’s this then? I’ve not seen you here before.’
David flapped his hand towards his companion. ‘Now, this is my friend, Tom Branson. He’s Irish, which means he knows how to drink, so you make sure you keep the alcohol flowing.’
Dolly gave Tom the once over, looking him up and down, favouring him with a smile when he nodded politely at her. ‘And what’s your poison, sweetheart?’
‘Whiskey. The Irish sort if you have it, please, though Scotch will do if you don’t,’ Tom replied, smiling back at the waitress.
‘I’ll see what I can rustle up for you,’ she said, with a wink and a nod of her head that set her bobbed curls bouncing.
‘Is Josephine on tonight?’ David asked as he took a cigarette out of his elegant, silver case.
Dolly checked the clock behind the bar. ‘She’ll be on stage in about half an hour.’
‘Oh, goody, I hoped she would be. Tom, here, hasn’t experienced the delights of seeing Miss Josephine perform yet,’ David said, shooting a gleeful look at Tom. ‘Tonight, we can pop his cherry.’
‘Hmm, lovely turn of phrase,’ Dolly said, dryly. ‘I’ll be back with your drinks shortly.’
With that, she sashayed away, expertly balancing the full tray of dirty glasses and ashtrays as she wound her way through the crowd.
‘Ah, what I wouldn’t give to have that girl in my bed,” David sighed, watching her go. ‘All of those curves. Just delicious.’
Tom snorted. ‘I don’t think she’s going to let that happen in a month of Sundays, David. Sounds to me like she’s well and truly got your number.’
‘You may be right. Anyway, you’re in for a treat tonight, Tom. Josephine may have the face of an angel, but she sings like she’d be a devil between the sheets,’ David confided, sparking up his lighter and touching the flame to his cigarette. ‘Every man here wants to know if she’s as filthy in bed as she sounds like she’d be when she sings.’
‘She’s a looker then, this singer?’ Tom asked, sitting back and surveying the club, watching the revellers smoking, drinking and hanging off each other, men and women casually touching, groping and exchanging kisses, everything as free and easy as it got in the Roaring Twenties.
‘Oh, yes, she’s gorgeous. An absolute stunner. All ebony hair and ivory skin. You’ll soon see. And not only that, she is sexy like you wouldn’t believe. Not curvy like Dolly, but she just oozes sex appeal. She sings in a way that will make your old boy stand up and beg for attention. She’s got legs up to here, and all you’ll want to do is bury either your prick or your face between them. You won’t even care which.’
Tom huffed out an amused but surprised laugh at his friend’s explicit assessment of the effect of the singer on men. ‘How much have you already had tonight, David?’
‘Nowhere near enough, my friend, nowhere near enough.’
Dolly wound her sinuous way back with their drinks, giving Tom another wink when he thanked her for his, and the two men settled in to talk and knock back shots, Tom relaxing into the atmosphere of the club. Eventually, a man sauntered onto the small stage only yards from their table and announced the imminent arrival of the much-heralded Josephine.
‘And now, ladies and gentlemen, a bit o’ hush, please!’ he called out, attracting the attention of the patrons. ‘It’s the moment you’ve all been waiting so avidly for. I give you the most celebrated chanteuse in all of London! Nay, all of England! The one… the only… Miss Josephine!’
Tom glanced around as the noise level in the club built to a crescendo, then fell away when the stage lights dimmed and a spotlight flicked on, trained on the black velvet curtains at the back of the stage. Flanking a walkway down the centre of the stage, the house band began to play a slow, bluesy number.
As Tom watched, a foot clad in an elegant high-heeled shoe appeared through the curtain, giving way to a pale, shapely calf. As he stared, a woman’s voice began to sing I Wanna Be Loved By You, a popular song from the previous year. The original song had been upbeat, sung by a woman with a strong, nasal American accent. This version, sung in a low register by a purer voice, was slower, sexier, altogether filthier, hinting at sexual love instead of romantic love. Already, Tom was beginning to understand what David had been talking about. This singer knew how to create an atmosphere.
He continued to watch, his eyes glued to the tantalising glimpse of leg as more and more of it was revealed, right up to the thigh, until eventually the owner of the leg made an appearance in front of the curtain. She wore a long evening dress, a rich, deep plum colour, beaded so it shone in the lights, twinkling and sparkling as she slunk sensually to the front of the stage, oozing sophisticated sex appeal every step of the way.
Tom stared, his eyes travelling up her lithe body, taking in just how scandalously high the split in the dress went and how the vee of the neckline plunged daringly almost to her waist. A long jet-black necklace fell between her breasts, the slight swell of them provocatively visible at the edge of the neckline of the sparkling dress. Higher and higher his eyes went until he finally reached her face, and then his mouth dropped open.
She’d cut her hair into a stylish bob since he’d last seen her, and he’d certainly never seen her in a dress as high split or low cut or downright revealing as the one she was currently wearing, but he knew her. He’d even heard her sing before, a lifetime ago during the Great War, although never like this.
‘Didn’t I tell you she was something?’ David said, grinning at the slack-jawed look on his friend’s face. ‘Isn’t she magnificent?’
‘I know her,’ Tom murmured, unable to take his eyes off her.
‘What d’you say, old chap?’ David asked, not quite catching Tom’s words.
‘Do you know her?’ Tom said, still staring at the chanteuse.
‘I wish. I’ve tried to meet her, but she doesn’t take callers. It’s part of her mystery and her allure. The sultry singer everybody wants, yet nobody gets to take home.’
Tom sat through the rest of her set, only taking his eyes off her to look around at the crowd in the club, all of them, men and women alike, putty in her hands as she exuded sex with every note of every song she sang.
When she finished her set, she dropped a single graceful curtsey to acknowledge the crowd’s appreciation, a scandalous amount of leg showing through the split, then she slunk back down the stage, looking over her shoulder to blow a kiss to her adoring audience as she sashayed through the black, velvet drapes.
Tom was staring at the curtains as they swung back together, going back and forth over what to do, when Dolly appeared with more drinks for them. He grabbed her arm as she set his drink down.
‘Dolly, I need to speak to Josephine. Can you arrange it?’
The waitress shook her head as David laughed beside him, clapping him on the shoulder. ‘Ah, love at first sight, is it, Tom? Join the club. Didn’t I tell you she does things to a man?’
‘Josephine doesn’t take callers,’ Dolly told Tom firmly.
‘But I need to speak to her.’
‘You and every man here, sunshine. Half the women, too, come to that,’ Dolly said, raising an eyebrow. ‘Doesn’t matter what you want. She doesn’t take callers.’
‘Can you give her a message for me? Please? It’s important,’ Tom persisted. ‘I’ll give you half a crown if you’ll give her a message for me.’
He fumbled in his pocket and took out the coin, pushing it across the table at Dolly. She gazed at him, then picked it up, slipping it into her cleavage. ‘Well, it’s your money to waste, I suppose. What’s the message?’
‘Just tell her “Sybil.”’
‘Sybil?’ Dolly said with a frown. ‘That’s it?’
‘Yes.’
Dolly shrugged then disappeared off into the crowd, snaking her way expertly through the revellers.
David leaned back against the booth, blowing a smoke ring skywards. ‘I shouldn’t get your hopes up, Tom. I’ve never known Josephine to take a caller once in all the time she’s been here. And I doubt your cryptic message will change that. Especially when it’s the name of another woman.’
‘Maybe, maybe not,’ Tom answered, wondering whether it even mattered in the end. Perhaps he should just leave the past firmly in the past.
Five minutes later, Dolly was back, looking perplexed. ‘She said she’ll see you.’
Tom got to his feet, straightening his tie, as David gawked at him in disbelief. ‘You jammy sod! How on earth did you manage that?’
Tom winked at him, trying to cover the nerves that were suddenly attacking him. ‘Some of us have it, Davey boy, some of us don’t.’
‘Well, I won’t wait up for you. And if you get lucky with her, give her one for me,’ David cackled, pulling out another cigarette.
‘Follow me and I’ll take you backstage,’ Dolly said to Tom, then set off, leaving him to hurry after her.
She led him through a door at the side of the bar, the noise of the club dwindling as she shut it behind them.
‘I can’t believe she’s actually seeing you,’ she said, flicking him a curious glance as if sizing up what he had going for him that all the other men who’d asked to see Josephine didn’t.
Tom said nothing, not willing to reveal anything when he didn’t know the situation here. Dolly eyed him again but said no more until they reached an unremarkable wooden door. The waitress stopped and knocked on it.
‘Come in,’ a woman called from inside, the voice familiar to Tom despite the intervening years since he’d last spoken to her.
Dolly tipped her head towards the door. ‘Go on then, lover boy. That’s your cue,’ she said, and then headed back the way they’d come.
Tom took a deep breath, twisted the handle, swung the door open, and stepped into the room.
Sitting at her dressing table, she met his eyes in the mirror and for a moment they simply stared at each other, and then she turned on her stool to face him, the split in the evening dress shifting to reveal one long leg.
‘Tom. It is you,’ she said, her voice low, her accent exactly as cut glass as he remembered.
‘Mary. I mean… Lady Mary,’ he said, suddenly not sure how he should address her.
She shook her head, her shiny black hair falling perfectly back into place. ‘No, you were right the first time. We’re still family. Besides, no-one here knows my real name or about the title.’
‘What… what are you doing here? I mean, why are you here? How are you here?’ Tom asked, at a loss to understand how Lady Mary Crawley was the star attraction in a club in the heart of Soho.
‘That’s a long story,’ she said with a sigh. ‘Close the door and come in. We have some catching up to do.’