Molly was really hungry now; she hadn’t eaten anything except a bun since noon. Her feet hurt, she thought a blister was coming up on her heel, her arms throbbed with carrying her case and she was icy cold. She could have stood it if she had been on the way to a warm place with a bed for the night but, knowing that the reality was a bench on the Embankment, she began to cry.

Wiping her eyes on her coat sleeve, she tried to sniff back the tears, but it was no good; she was too desolate to control her emotions, and she put her suitcase down, turned towards a shop window with a display of old books and let the tears fall.

‘Is that bookshop so tragic it makes you cry?’

Molly’s head jerked round on hearing the man’s voice. Its owner was about thirty, stocky, with a round, very pink face, a receding hairline. He was wearing a camel coat with a velvet collar and looked concerned for her.

‘What on earth could make you cry that hard?’ he asked.

‘I’m tired, hungry and cold,’ she blurted out. ‘And I’ve got nowhere to go.’

‘Is that so?’ he said, looking at her hard for a moment or two as if weighing up whether she was conning him. Then he smiled. ‘Well, suppose we sort a couple of those things out by getting something to eat in a warm café, and then you can tell me why you’ve got nowhere to go.’

Her mother had told her a hundred times not to talk to strangers, but as she had found out today that people who know you well can be treacherous, too, her mother’s advice seemed superfluous. ‘That’s very kind of you,’ she said in a small voice, and dabbed at her eyes with an already damp hanky.

‘I’m Seb,’ he said. ‘That’s short for Sebastian, but no one but my granny calls me that. What’s your name?’

‘Molly,’ she said, giving him a watery smile. ‘Molly Heywood.’

‘Well, Molly Heywood,’ he said, bending to pick up her case, ‘they do a good fish and chips just down here, and you can tell me your troubles while you eat.’

Five minutes later, sitting in a wooden booth at the back of a fish-and-chip shop, Molly felt more hopeful. It was very warm in the café, the fish and chips would be in front of her in just a few minutes and her cup of tea was just as she liked it: strong and very sweet. She liked Seb, too; he had a forthright manner, a lovely speaking voice and he was kind and a good listener. ‘So why did they sack you?’ he asked.

As Molly explained the reason and how humiliated she felt, she began to cry again. ‘As God is my judge, I didn’t let anyone have anything without paying. I don’t know anyone in London aside from the other staff at Bourne & Hollingsworth, so who would I give stuff to?’

‘That is really appalling,’ he said, and took her two hands in his and squeezed them. ‘But I have a friend who works in Personnel. I could contact them for you tomorrow and find out the legal position. I’m sure you have to catch staff red-handed to be able to dismiss them. You might be entitled to compensation, or at least your job back.’

He sounded so confident and knowledgeable that Molly’s spirits soared. The fish and chips were brought to them then, and she ate hungrily.

‘Can you recommend a cheap guest house for a few nights?’ she asked him, explaining how she’d called the Braemar already and it had been full.

‘I can do better than that,’ he said. ‘I know some girls living in a flat just down the road from here. They’re all around your age and they’ll be happy to put you up for a while. They might be able to help you get a new job, too, if you can’t go back to the shop.’

‘Really! You’d do that for me?’ she gasped.

He smiled and patted her hand. ‘I never could resist a damsel in distress. And you’ve been treated very badly.’

As Molly polished off the last of her fish and chips she felt reassured that everything would work out fine. If she could get a job right after Christmas, and was able to pay rent, maybe these friends of Seb’s would let her stay on with them permanently.

Although the street lighting in Greek Street was poor, Molly’s first thought when Seb pointed out the flat, which was above a barber’s shop, was that if the girls let her stay, her first job would be to clean the windows. Even in the dark she could see they were filthy.

A door beside the barber’s was open, revealing a litter-strewn, bare wood staircase and peeling distemper on the walls.

‘I know it looks a bit rough,’ Seb said, ‘but the landlord is too mean to get it smartened up. He claims the rent is too low to make it worth his while.’

‘All of London is a bit rundown after the war,’ she said. ‘I’m quite used to it now.’

He led her up two flights of stairs, past three or four closed doors, and then knocked on one very battered one to the front of the building. It was opened by a dark-haired woman of perhaps forty. She was wearing a grubby pink dressing gown and had curlers in her hair.

‘Hullo, Seb. What brings you round? If I’d known you were coming, I’d’ve baked a bleedin’ cake,’ she said. Her accent was pure cockney and her smile was bright.

‘I found this young lady crying in the street; she’s lost her job and has nowhere to go,’ he said, half turning towards Molly. ‘This is my friend Dora, and, knowing how kind she is, I was certain she’d give you a bed for a few nights.’

‘Oh, you poor love!’ Dora exclaimed, taking a couple of steps nearer to Molly, her dark eyes soft with concern. ‘You come on in and we’ll get you sorted. I got a spare bed up top as it happens, ’cos Jackie went home for Christmas.’

‘I don’t want to impose,’ Molly said. She had a lump in her throat at this unexpected kindness. ‘I could give you a bit of money.’

‘I wouldn’t hear of it,’ Dora said. ‘Now, come on in. The place is a mess, but it’s warm and homely.’

Dora poured Molly a glass of sherry, saying it would warm her up and make her sleep well. Molly didn’t really like sherry, but she was too polite to say so. As she sipped it, she surveyed the room.

Dora had been right in saying it was a mess. It was like Paddy’s market, with clothes, make-up and unwashed dishes all over the place. The double bed wasn’t even made but, clearly, Dora felt embarrassed by it and quickly pulled up the covers and smoothed out the pink satin bedspread.

‘Some days, you just can’t seem to get into a routine,’ she said with a chuckle. ‘I bet you’re a real tidy person, Molly?’

‘Not at all,’ Molly said diplomatically, though in fact she was. She’d had to be: clutter and slovenliness were things her father had ranted about.

The warmth from the gas fire was making Molly feel sleepy. Dora and Seb were talking about noise from a club nearby; they said the music went on till four in the morning.

‘You, my girl, are ready for bed,’ Dora said, touching Molly’s shoulder to rouse her. ‘I’ll show you up there now. Sleep’s a great healer. Nothing will look so bad tomorrow.’

CHAPTER TEN

‘She was so sleepy she didn’t even take her clothes off, just lay down on the bed and zonked out,’ Dora said when she returned from showing Molly the way upstairs.

‘So the knock-out drops worked?’ Seb grinned. ‘I saw her grimace when you gave her the sherry. I didn’t think she’d drink it.’

‘Well-brought-up girls with nowhere to sleep will always down a drink, however nasty, out of sheer gratitude,’ Dora sniggered. ‘Thanks for bringing her my way, Seb. With her milkmaid complexion, good figure and lovely eyes, she’s perfect for my more discerning customers. I don’t have to ask if she’s a virgin, it bloody well shines out of her; and I don’t think she’s got any fight in her either.’

‘She told me she couldn’t go home because of her father. My guess is he knocked her about.’