‘It sounds like you did the right thing.’
‘No, no, the Party told me – I mustn’t make things personal like that. We have to organise for collective action, not go off on our own.’
Despite the darkness that surrounded them, Laura was intensely aware of Florence’s physical presence as she spoke, of her little sigh as she leaned backwards, her hands gripping the rail, and the scent of her – sweat, wine, laundry soap – which seemed so warm even in the chilly night air. She shivered.
‘I’m cold too,’ Florence said. ‘Let’s go down.’
‘Are you tired?’
Laura was disappointed at the thought of the evening already coming to an end, but Florence said immediately, ‘We can get a drink in that bar again.’
In her flat shoes, Florence was sure-footed on the iron stairs that led from the deck to the lower floor, but Laura clung tight to the rails. Florence said over her shoulder as they went down, ‘So why are you going to London – family, did you say?’
‘Yes, my mother’s sister – my mother is English.’
‘You sound English yourself.’
‘Do I? That’s only because of Mother.’
‘You remind me of an English actress I once saw in a movie—’
‘Who?’ She was desperate to know how she might be seen by others. Was there someone she was like? How did she strike people? But to her disappointment they were already at the door of the bar and Florence did not reply. There were not many tables free in the lounge now, but Joe waved to them from a table to their left, where he was sitting with two women. It would have been too pointed to ignore him and so, after a quick look at Laura, Florence walked forwards and Joe pulled chairs up to the table.
Introductions were swift; the two new women were called Maisie and Lily, and Laura commented immediately on their English accents. These two women were clearly sisters, with tightly marcelled auburn hair and wide-apart eyes and small mouths, which gave them a look of almost doll-like innocence. That look was belied by their conversation. One of them was telling a tale about a casting manager for a big New York show where they had been working, who thought he was owed favours by every woman in the chorus.
‘But he could never do the job,’ Maisie said with a mocking tone. ‘What he really liked was being told off for being a naughty boy …’
‘Isn’t that the English vice?’
‘Oh, American men are quite as bad,’ Lily said. Laura and Florence fell silent during the conversation, and quite soon Laura got up to say good night, and again to her pleasure Florence got up too and they went down the corridor together.
‘Wait a minute,’ Florence said at the door of her room, and Laura stood uncertainly as she went in and came out again. ‘I thought you might like to read this – yesterday’s now, but anyway.’ It was a copy of the Daily Worker, which Florence obviously thought more suitable reading for Laura than the Hollywood magazine she had seen in her cabin. Laura thought she might feel criticised, but as she walked down the corridor to her room, she realised that what she actually felt was – what was it? – noticed, singled out, even if found wanting.