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The Girl From The Savoy
Hazel Gaynor
‘Addictive, charming and gleaming with Jazz Age glitz’ The LadyThe fabulous new novel from the author of The Girl Who Came HomeDolly Lane is a dreamer; a downtrodden maid who longs to dance on the London stage, but the outbreak of war takes everything from her: Teddy, the man she loves – and her hopes of a better life.When she secures employment as a chambermaid at London’s grandest hotel, The Savoy, Dolly’s proximity to the dazzling guests makes her yearn for a life beyond the grey drudgery she was born into. Her fortunes take an unexpected turn when she responds to an unusual newspaper advert and finds herself thrust into the heady atmosphere of London’s glittering theatre scene and into the sphere of the celebrated actress, Loretta May, and her brother, Perry.All three are searching for something, yet the aftermath of war has cast a dark shadow over them all. A brighter future is tantalisingly close – but can a girl like Dolly ever truly leave her past behind?
Copyright (#u47f49e09-e0a7-5dab-8cdf-a533a2de869c)
Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
The News Building
1 London Bridge Street,
London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
Published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2016
Copyright © Hazel Gaynor 2016
Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2016
Cover photographs © Ilona Wellmann/Trevillion Images (girl); Shutterstock.com (http://Shutterstock.com) (pattern).
Hazel Gaynor asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books
Source ISBN: 9780008162283
Ebook Edition © June 2016 ISBN: 9780008162306
Version: 2016-04-14
Dedication (#u47f49e09-e0a7-5dab-8cdf-a533a2de869c)
For my sister, Helen.
With love, and a large G&T.
… men and girls came and went like moths among the whisperings and the champagne and the stars.
– F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby
Table of Contents
Cover (#u427c864b-bb17-5fbe-ac0b-d3bacd617bab)
Title Page (#ubd1a9726-4d7e-5586-a960-eaf6c5249028)
Copyright (#u13632ace-dee1-5609-a34b-48488274d932)
Dedication (#u0cf1a384-0236-5969-887e-7b2f8c69de45)
Epigraph (#u08ebc2e7-29ba-5c14-ad46-9ef99c9b3738)
Prologue (#u98cebb5c-21af-5723-996f-e9e10c92d8a6)
ACT I: Hope (#ua6d77b46-9fda-5367-9fa3-9fbfd30a43b4)
Chapter 1: Dolly (#u8cb13ffc-8cda-5e37-b9f3-e4fc24e27114)
Chapter 2: Dolly (#u7056cfd7-8e81-5aea-a395-70ae621e482d)
Chapter 3: Loretta (#u033096de-7459-50c7-8a24-3c23bbfd4f0b)
Chapter 4: Dolly (#u932e0245-80fd-583f-a611-eb7cd07557df)
Chapter 5: Teddy (#ub548f80a-341b-5494-a7c4-5f4f83c0204b)
Chapter 6: Dolly (#u32453ed9-755c-57bc-9c9c-6abe4d2e679f)
Chapter 7: Loretta (#u8ba741ee-4a83-5e3b-83ab-ccb5a4062671)
Chapter 8: Loretta (#u3dac7de2-61e3-5de9-861f-3270bac3a1b5)
Chapter 9: Dolly (#ub0b44074-2a5f-5119-bcea-04c3bfb59898)
Chapter 10: Dolly (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 11: Teddy (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 12: Dolly (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 13: Loretta (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 14: Loretta (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 15: Dolly (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 16: Teddy (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 17: Dolly (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 18: Loretta (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 19: Dolly (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 20: Dolly (#litres_trial_promo)
ACT II: Love (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 21: Loretta (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 22: Dolly (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 23: Teddy (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 24: Dolly (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 25: Dolly (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 26: Dolly (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 27: Loretta (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 28: Dolly (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 29: Dolly (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 30: Teddy (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 31: Dolly (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 32: Dolly (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 33: Dolly (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 34: Teddy (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 35: Dolly (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 36: Loretta (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 37: Dolly (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 38: Teddy (#litres_trial_promo)
ACT III: Adventure (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 39: Dolly (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 40: Dolly (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 41: Dolly (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 42: Dolly (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 43: Dolly (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 44: Loretta (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 45: Dolly (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 46: Dolly (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 47: Dolly (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Acknowledgements (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)
Also by Hazel Gaynor (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Prologue (#u47f49e09-e0a7-5dab-8cdf-a533a2de869c)
Lancashire, England
March 1916
In my heart, I always knew he would go; that they would all go, in the end. Now the dreaded day has arrived. Teddy is going to war and there is nothing I can do to prevent it.
Everything is a blur. I don’t remember eating breakfast. I don’t remember laying the fires or doing any of my usual chores. I don’t remember hanging up my apron or putting on my coat and hat. I’m not even sure I closed the door behind me as I set off for the station, but I must have done all these things because somehow I am here, standing on the platform, and he is pressing a bunch of daffodils into my hands. Somehow, he is really leaving.
‘I’ll be back before you know it,’ he says, brushing a tear from my cheek. ‘They won’t know what’s hit them when we arrive. Look at us. Tough as old boots!’ I glance along the platform. The assembled conscripts look like frightened young boys. Not soldiers. Not tough at all. ‘I’ll be back for your birthday and I’ll take you to the village dance, just like last year. You’ll hardly notice I’m gone before I’m back.’
I want to believe him, but we all know the truth. Nobody comes back. The thought breaks my heart and I gasp to catch my breath through my tears.
Mam had warned me not to be getting all maudlin and sobbing on his shoulder. ‘You’re to be strong, Dorothy. Tell him how brave he is and how proud you are. No snivelling and wailing.’ And here I am, doing everything she told me not to. I can’t help it. I don’t want to be proud. I don’t want to tell him how brave he is. I want to sink to my knees and wrap my arms around his ankles so that he can’t go anywhere. Not without me.
‘We’ll be married in the summer and we’ll have little ’uns running around our feet and everything will be back to normal, Dolly. Just you and me and a quiet simple life. Just like we’ve always wanted.’
I nod and press my cheek to the thick fabric of his coat. A quiet simple life. Just like we’ve always wanted. I try to ignore the voice in my head that whispers to me of more than a quiet simple life, the voice that speaks of rowdy adventures waiting far away from here. ‘Head full of nonsense.’ That’s what our Sarah says. She’s probably right. She usually is.
A loud hiss of steam pierces the subdued quiet of the platform, drowning out the muffled sobs. Doors start to slam as the men step into the carriages. Embraces end. Hands are prised agonizingly apart. It is time to let go.
I reach up onto my tiptoes and our lips meet in a last kiss. It isn’t lingering and passionate as I’ve imagined, but rushed and interrupted by my wretched sobs and the urgency of others telling Teddy to hurry along now. We part too soon and he is walking away from me. I can hardly see his face through the blur of my tears.
The shrill blast of the station master’s whistle makes me jump. Mothers and daughters cling to each other. Wives clutch their children to their chests as they bravely wave their daddy good-bye. Great clouds of smoke billow around us and I cover my mouth with my handkerchief as the pistons yawn into life and begin turning on their cranks. The carriages jolt to attention, and he is going.
I start to move, my feet falling in time with the motion of the train, slow at first, and then a brisk walk. All along the platform, women and children reach out, clinging for all they are worth to prolong the very last touch of a coat sleeve, a fingertip, the last flutter of a white handkerchief. And I am jogging and then running, faster and faster, until I can’t keep up and he is gone.
