“You’re welcome, lovely Eve,” he said with a little bow. “So did I pass the test? Will you come with me to the Savoy next week?”
“Of course! I already told you I would . . . but I have one condition.”
“Name it.”
Her heart hammered. “You have to meet me there.”
“That’s outrageous!” He tried to look shocked but couldn’t erase his smile. “A gentleman always calls for a lady at her home. He might want to bring her a bouquet of flowers or pin a corsage on her gown. And I have a smashing new car.”
“Sorry—that’s my condition.”
He crossed his muscled arms, the fabric of his jacket pulling tight against them. “It almost seems as though you don’t want me to know where you live.”
“I prefer to remain a lady of mystery awhile longer.”
“Might you be Cinderella? Will you dash away at midnight and leave your glass slipper behind?”
“You have a wonderful imagination, Mr. Clarkson.” She briefly touched his arm. “I’ll see you at the Savoy at seven. And thanks again for a lovely afternoon.” Eve waited for him to leave so he wouldn’t see her taking public transportation. She floated down the stairs to the Underground with a smile.
She liked Alfie Clarkson. Far more than she had planned to. There was no question of guarding her heart against being bruised. Her heart had escaped from her control, fluttering and skipping and hammering dangerously the entire time they’d been together. She couldn’t wait to see how it felt to be held in his arms while they danced. And if the touch of his hand on hers had made her melt inside, what would his kiss do?
Eve just missed a train back home to her boardinghouse. As she waited on the platform for the next one, she changed her mind and crossed the platform to take a train to the Clarksons’ town house instead, hoping her mum would be there—and that Alfie and Audrey wouldn’t be. She found Mum reading in her bedroom on the top floor.
“What a wonderful surprise, Eve! What brings you here on this wintry afternoon?” They hugged, and then Eve sat on the bed across from Mum’s chair.
“I need your help. A very respectable gentleman asked me on a date—and it’s at the Savoy. Can you help me find a dress and do something with my hair?” She ran her fingers through it, untangling the snarls the wind had made. She hoped Mum would be happy for her, but she looked worried.
“Are you certain this man isn’t married? Some gentlemen are scoundrels in disguise and they take pretty young mistresses from the working class when they get bored with their wives.”
Eve blushed, remembering the warmth of Alfie’s hand on hers. “I know for a fact that he’s single.”
“Well, even single gentlemen have been known to use working girls for their pleasure and then discard them.”
“I know,” she said, staring at the floor. “It isn’t serious between us yet. And he doesn’t know that I’m just a working girl. I’m sure that will be the end of it when I tell him. But before I do, I would love to have just one unforgettable night to live like a princess and enjoy dinner and dancing at a posh place like the Savoy.”
“I understand. But please be careful, Eve. Don’t fall into the trap of envying the rich. For all her money, Lady Rosamunde is a very unhappy woman. I’d rather be poor and happy and in love with an honorable, hardworking man than be rich and miserable.”
“I’ll be careful, Mum. I want to marry for love.” But that wasn’t entirely true. Wasn’t she already dreaming of being the mistress of Wellingford Hall, dressed in diamonds and furs, with handsome Alfie Clarkson by her side? Yet why choose one over the other? Was it out of the question that she and Alfie might fall in love? Mum had once warned her that Audrey would outgrow their friendship—and she’d been right. Alfie and Audrey were very different, but they were raised in the same household by the same parents. And like Lady Rosamunde, Audrey never seemed to be truly happy. Would that be Eve’s fate if she married Alfie?
Mum rose to sit beside her on the bed, wrapping an arm around her. “What other dreams do you have for your life, my darling girl, besides finding true love?”
Eve sighed, playing with a loose thread on the bedspread as she searched her heart. “I dreamed of taking the typing course for so long . . . and then I dreamed of getting a good job and being on my own. Those dreams have come true, Mum. I have all of that, now—a nice job, independence, a shilling or two of my own to spend as I please. But I don’t really know what’s next. I’m not ready to marry and start a family.”
“Of course not. You’re barely eighteen. I married young but times were different back then.”
“Sometimes I go dancing on Saturday night, and while the other girls all try to attract a bloke and pair off with him, none of those fellows appeal to me.” Eve twisted the loose thread around her finger. She suspected they would be even less appealing after an evening with Alfie. “They’re so loud, and they make crude remarks after a few pints. That’s why I accepted this gentleman’s invitation to go to the Savoy. For just one night, I would love to be Cinderella.” She looked up at her mother, hoping she would understand.
Mum hugged her tightly, then stood. “Lady Rosamunde discards gowns the way we discard old newspapers. I can take one or two of them apart and resew them into something lovely for you. And if you come here beforehand, I’ll pin up your hair for you.” She lifted Eve’s hair off her shoulders and loosely shaped it on top of her head before letting it fall again. “You’ll be beautiful.”
Joy bubbled up inside Eve. Maybe fairy tales really did come true.
The soft, beaded gown Mum sewed fit Eve like a dream, hugging her torso, then falling loose from her hips in swirls of swishy fabric. Instead of kinking Eve’s sandy hair in waves, Mum draped it loosely on her head so it looked sophisticated yet natural—the way Alfie preferred. None of Lady Rosamunde’s shoes fit Eve, so Mum snuck into Audrey’s room and borrowed a pair. “I’ve talked to Williams,” Mum said when Eve was ready, “and he insists on driving you to the Savoy to meet your mysterious date.”
“That’s so sweet of him.” She would have to get out at the corner so Alfie wouldn’t see her arrive in his parents’ car.
The other servants applauded when Eve descended the back stairs to leave. Tildy had tears in her eyes as she hugged her. Williams did, too. “You are a beauty, Eve Dawson,” he said as he helped her into the car. “But we knew that all along, even when you were scrubbing pots in the scullery.” He spent the entire journey to the Savoy giving Eve fatherly advice about the dangers of men in general and of rich men in particular. “Hold your head high, darling girl,” he said as he helped her from the car. “You’re somebody special.”
She timed her arrival so she would get there before Alfie, hoping he didn’t catch her gaping at the ornate ballroom in naive wonder. Rich girls walked into splendid palaces like the Savoy cool and aloof, immune to gold-embellished ceilings and pristine marble floors, the dazzling tables set with heavy cloths and candles and sparkling china and silver. Wealthy girls didn’t hold their breath to better hear the rich, warm sound of the string orchestra.