The Girl Who Walked Away Read online

  THE GIRL WHO WALKED AWAY

  David Adkins

  © David Adkins 2018

  David Adkins has asserted his rights under the Copyright, Design and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.

  First published in 2018 by Endeavour Media Ltd.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Epilogue

  Chapter 1

  Tuesday 6th and Wednesday 7th February

  The alarm went off and I woke up, stretched, and reluctantly climbed out of my warm bed. It was yet another very cold day and the bed had been so inviting. I fought the urge to once again hide under the covers; being late for work was not my cup of tea, and I had a reputation to uphold. Peering out of the window at the frost-covered road and at the icicles hanging from my gutter, I shuddered before moving quickly through my apartment to have a quick wash and breakfast. Pulling on my jacket, I set off on the journey to work. It was a typical cold, unappealing winter’s day in February and everything seemed so ordinary. My breath was visible in the cold morning air, the birds were singing and the sun shone weakly down out of a clear blue sky. I arrived at the office at twenty minutes past eight, made myself a cup of tea and started work, settling into yet another day of routine.

  I left the office at my usual time of 1.00 pm and headed down the Strand towards Charing Cross Station and towards my usual lunchtime destination, the Lyons Tea House on the corner of the Strand and Charing Cross Road. I clutched my Times under my arm and I would finish reading it as usual while eating my lunch. The train journey from Lewisham was never long enough to fully peruse the lengthy and unwieldy newspaper. I knew that since the war years I had become a creature of tedious habit, but for me it was a comfortable existence. As the cold winter air that blew like a draught from the Arctic, I shivered and hastened my stride looking forward to the warmth of the Tea House and a hot cup of tea to warm me up.

  It was busier than usual and I supposed it was due to so many people wishing to get out of the near zero temperatures. I did not have time to take advantage of the waitress service and so I queued up at the counter clutching a tray and stood behind a pretty young woman who was buying a cream bun and a coffee. I ordered my teacake and pot of tea and then looked around to see if there was an empty table. Spotting one in the corner, I headed for it at a quick pace, hoping my movements wouldn’t alert anyone to my target. Just as I got there I found that I was beaten to it by the girl with the cream bun.

  She sat down quickly and looked up at me with a smile on her face. “I’m sorry. It seems I just got here before you, but you are welcome to join me if you wish.”

  “Are you sure you don’t mind?” I responded.

  “No, I don’t mind at all.” She sipped her coffee.

  I poured out a cup of tea from my white teapot and took a sip of my drink.

  Her eyebrows popped up as she watched me drink. “Don’t you take sugar?”

  “No, I don’t like it sweet,” I replied, trying to arrange my newspaper so that it wouldn’t knock about our food.

  “I like lots of sugar. If you sit opposite me then there will be room on the table to open your newspaper,” she suggested.

  I shuffled across on the cushioned bench until I was sitting opposite her. She really was a pretty girl. She had long, blond hair and deep blue eyes that you could lose yourself in. “Thank you,” I said, putting my paper on the table and wrapping my hands around the warm cup.

  “I had a boyfriend who insisted on reading a newspaper at the table so I understand.”

  “Did he stay your boyfriend for long?” I inquired, smiling.

  “I only tolerated him for a few months.”

  “Was that because of the newspaper?”

  She laughed. “Yes, because it does kill the art of conversation.” She played with her spoon before adding, ‘plus he had some other bad habits as well.”

  I grimaced, feeling rebuked. “I’m sorry.” I started to shuffle the paper back into it’s usual order.

  She laughed again, placing her hand on my arm. “I did not mean that you should not read it, but if we are to talk should we not introduce ourselves?”

  I was surprised by how forward this young lady was. “My name is Steve.”

  “I’m Cassie.”

  Her quick grin was blinding in its easiness, and I could not believe that I had started up a conversation with a beautiful, young woman who was probably more than ten years my junior. “That is an unusual name,” I offered.

  “It’s not so unusual. It’s short for Cassandra.”

  “Ah. Can you see into the future?” I asked.

  “That is a strange question,” she replied, but didn’t seem overly off-put by it, raising an eyebrow for an explanation.

  “Cassandra was a Trojan princess who could see into the future,” I explained.

  “From the Iliad?” she asked.

  “I think so.” That was the reference, but I did not want to appear to be a know-all.

  “Do you work around here, Steve?”

  “I work for a law firm at the other end of the Strand.”

  “Is it interesting work?”

  I thought about the question. “It is mostly boring with much paperwork but it has its moments.”

  She nodded and stirred her coffee. “I expect most jobs are like that.”

  “What about you? What do you do?” I asked.

  “I am a chorus girl at the Gaiety,” she smiled.

  I was surprised and probably did not hide it well. “You are a dancer?”

  “Well, hardly, for it is more a question of having long legs and being able to kick them high, but I have a dream that one day I will be a famous dancer.”

  “I think you are being modest,” I offered.

  She smiled in acknowledgement of the compliment, then sipped her coffee before asking, “Do you ever go to the Gaiety?”

  “I have been to the theatre but not the Gaiety Theatre. It is surprising really, for it is almost opposite my office.”

  “You must go.” She took a bite from her cream bun as I watched her dubiously. “I never put on weight no matter how much I eat.”

  I had completely forgotten about my teacake, so I followed suit and took a bite. “Are you on stage most nights?”

  “I have Wednesdays and Sundays off, but the other days I rehearse in the afternoons and perform in the evenings.”

  “It sounds like hard work,” I said.

  “It is, but I live nearby and I have a lie-in most mornings. I am actually due at rehearsal shortly,” she said, finishing her cream bun. “Are you interested in history and legend and that sort of stuff?” she added, changing the subject.

  “I suppose I am.” I answered, wondering where the conversation was going.

  “So you read a lot then.”

  “I do… and now I sound very boring.” I shook my head.

  “It is not boring. I read the Iliad a few years ago and the Odyssey too and they were interesting. Chorus girls do have brains.”

  “I never thought for one minute they didn’t,” I smiled.

  She started to gather her things. “I have to go now for I have to get to that rehearsal. Will you be here at the same time tomorrow, Steve?”

  “I will be if you are.”
I could not believe what I had just said.

  She laughed. “I will be here for I would like to continue our chat. You can then tell me more about your work.” She stood up. “Au revoir, Steve,” she said.

  “Au revoir, Cassie,” I replied and watched her walk out of the tea house. She did have long legs and she had made quite an impact on me. I should have asked to walk back to the Gaiety with her. I cursed myself for being slow.

  “Are you finished, sir?” My introspection was broken by the waitress.

  “Yes, thank you.”

  The waitress removed our cups and plates. I remained at the table for several minutes before I left. I could not believe my good fortune that a beautiful young chorus-line woman from the Gaiety Theatre had chosen to speak with me and that she wanted to do so again tomorrow. At the age of thirty-six I had lost the habit of talking to women outside of work. After the war, I never returned to the dating scene, and I had become aware, of late, that the world was passing me by. Did this young woman offer me the chance to throw off the cobwebs and get a life again outside the confines of my busy office? These were my thoughts as I walked back to the law firm of Butler and Robinson for another hectic afternoon.

  I could not believe what I was doing when I actually left work early that evening and I spotted the poorly concealed glances of surprise from my colleages as I left. I must have worked late almost every day since Christmas as if I had no other life to go to. I could barely believe it either when I found myself sitting in a seat at the Gaiety Theatre that evening. It seemed these shows were popular, because the only ticket I could get on short notice was well back from the stage. The entertainment was good if sometimes risqué, but my eyes were there only for the girl from the tea house. Cassie made sporadic entrances during the evening and even from the distant stalls I could, with the help of the small theatre binoculars, see her fine figure and her flowing blond hair and very high kicks. I smiled remembering her self-deprecating comment about this dance style, but thought she was selling herself short. Each kick was tantalizing in her short skimpy dress as she danced about the stage like a Greek Goddess from Mount Olympus.

  When I left the theatre I found that dense smog had descended on London, and I cursed for I knew that it would probably make the journey home to Lewisham difficult. After departing the train, I had to be careful not to get knocked over by a tram or bus as I crossed the High Street as I could not get Cassie out of my mind. Quickly inserting the key into the lock, I entered my dark foyer, the sound of the door shutting echoing off the tall ceilings. The house had been left to me by my father who had been dead for just over a year as I was the only family left. My mother had died earlier and my brother had been killed in action in Burma. It was far too big for one person, but I had never got around to moving since I had inherited it at his death the previous year. My return was several hours later than usual and my home was cold, but it was not worth lighting a fire. Instead I went straight to bed and the house seemed strangely more empty than usual.

  The next morning I found it difficult to concentrate on my newspaper on the journey to London. I also found it difficult to concentrate on my work once I was in the office and I wondered if anyone had noticed. My eagerness to see if the chorus girl would be in the Lyons Tea House as promised had upset my routine.

  My lunch break started after my colleague and deputy, the reliable Jenny Morgan, had returned. Jenny almost always returned early but she chose this particular Wednesday to be late. When she arrived back at five after one, I dashed out of the office and made my way down the Strand like a sprinter.

  I entered the tea house with a sense of both anticipation and trepidation. She was sitting in the corner at the same table at which we had sat the previous day. She smiled and waved when she saw me and I walked straight over to the table, a warm feeling overrunning my nervousness.

  “I got your pot of tea and tea cake,” she said. “Then I got worried… I wondered if you weren’t coming.”

  “Thank you and sorry but I was delayed in the office.”

  “These things cannot be helped. You’re here now but drink your tea before it gets cold.”

  I did as she bid. “Did you have a good evening?”

  “Yes, it was a good show and the audience was very appreciative.” She grimaced. “But it’s not like it’s a real performance anyway.”

  “What do you mean?” I inquired.

  “I want to be a real dancer or singer. I want a solo under the lights that will leave the audience breathless and everyone talking. I thought my manager was going to help but it came to nothing and so I am stuck with being just a chorus girl.”

  “You will get your chance,” I assured her but I was hardly an expert on such matters working in the office of a legal firm as I did.

  She sighed and changed the subject. “Who do you work for?”

  “Butler and Robinson,” I answered.

  “I have seen their offices on the other side of the Strand from the theatre. They have a grand entrance.”

  “Not as grand as the Gaiety Theatre entrance,” I grinned. “Do you live near the theatre, Cassie?” I asked trying to make my question sound as innocent as possible.

  “Not far, I have a flat over a shop in Tottenham Court Road. It is small but it is handy for work and the rent is cheap.”

  “Does chorus line work not pay well?” I inquired.

  She laughed. “Very badly, but we all do it in the hope of better things to come. If it does not work out then perhaps I will soon have to find myself a proper job.”

  I took my last mouthful of tea cake and noticed that she was not eating. “No cream bun today?” I asked as she sipped her coffee.

  “My boast yesterday though mostly true was not entirely so. I do watch what I eat. In my line of work, you can’t afford to put on a few extra pounds.”

  “You do not have anything to worry about there.” I could not believe I had just said that to a young woman so much younger than myself and whom I had only met the day before.

  She obviously caught the admiration in my words. “Thank you kind sir,” she smiled.

  “My pleasure,” I smiled back. “Now I must pay you for the tea and cake.”

  “Don’t be silly I do not wish to take your money.” I caught a twinkle in her eye as she leaned forward. “You could more than pay me back by buying a poor girl dinner this evening, for it is my night off.”

  I had been plucking up courage to suggest exactly the same thing myself. While the Lyons Tea House had brought us together, it was not the best of places for conversation amidst all the noise and bustle. “I would love to,” I responded. “A short time in a tea house is not ideal for talking to a lovely lady.”

  “You are a perfect gentleman but a bit of a flatterer, Steve.”

  “I am not usually a flatterer but you seem to bring it out of me.” I glanced at the clock on the wall. “I have to go back to work now, but where shall we meet?”

  “What time do you finish work?”

  “I can finish about 6 pm,” I replied.

  “Then I will be waiting for you outside your office at six,” she said, standing up.

  I rose. “I am going back to the office now.”

  We exited Lyons together. We paused awkwardly before she smiled and pointed her thumb back over her shoulder. “I’m walking up Charing Cross Road.”

  “Yes of course Cassie, I will see you at six.” I watched as she made her way towards Trafalgar Square and then I turned and started back to the office feeling almost in a daze. I had a proper date with a beautiful, young woman. My life had certainly taken a turn for the better I happily told myself as I walked jauntily along the Strand.

  *

  I left my office at five minutes to six and to my surprise Cassie was already waiting for me. “You should have stepped inside out of the cold.” I said.

  She shrugged and smiled. “I’ve only just arrived. I have a warm, snug coat and I’m not feeling the cold.”

  “Well I
don’t like to think of you catching a cold on my account,” I smiled and started walking down the Strand towards Trafalgar Square.

  “Are you always so protective and considerate?” she asked.

  “Only when it is someone I like,” I smiled.

  “Where are we going, Steve?”

  “Leicester Square. There are plenty of restaurants there, but I’ve been given a recommendation for Stone’s Chop House.”

  “I like chops,” she said.

  “You don’t have to have chops.”

  “I know,” she laughed.

  Stone’s was, in fact, one of the more elegant restaurants around Leicester Square. Menus had improved considerably in the six years since the war and rationing on certain food products had recently been lifted. The restaurant was obviously popular and quite busy but we were fortunate enough to get a table. We were shown to a table for two by the window and I looked outside to see darkness was descending on a calm and still evening.

  Cassie followed my glance. “It is beginning to get lighter in the evenings,” she observed.

  The waiter took our coats and Cassie took my breath away. She was wearing an emerald green dress which clung to her toned figure emphasizing her slender but curvy frame. We sat down as the waiter informed us he would be back shortly. “You look stunning.” I said in a trance.

  She laughed but I detected a hint of anxiety in her amusement. “Is something wrong?” I inquired feeling strangely apprehensive.

  She evaded my question. “It is my only best dress. Do you like it, Steve?”

  “Yes, I love it,” I said with obvious admiration.

  The waiter had returned. “Would you like something to drink, sir and madam?” he asked.

  “Wine is good for me.” I looked at Cassie.

  “Yes wine is fine for me too. Please order Steve.” She still sounded nervous and that was not like the young woman I had come to know in the last couple of days.

  I turned to the waiter. “A bottle of your house white please.”

  “Yes sir. I will return to take your main order shortly.” He left us and I looked at the menu. My old favourite Scottish venison was there but so was sirloin of beef and it was a long time since I had had sirloin.