The Windmill Girls
A compelling wartime drama from the author of The Street, perfect for fans of Pam Weaver and Kitty Neale.The Windmill Theatre was one of the most famous clubs of the 20th century. Its heyday was during WWII when it famously ‘never closed’ and it became famous for its ‘tasteful’ nude performances. Dawn is a pretty and feisty blonde. Losing her job as a chambermaid, she goes to work as a dancer at The Windmill Theatre. Despite refusing to appear on stage naked, Dawn is taken on and soon gets a glimpse of London’s dark and seductive underbelly. She meets Olive, Renee and Rosie, women all with their own secrets to bear. Each of them will be have to draw on their courage to survive, not just Hitler and his bombs, but by the life they have chosen and the men that they cannot escape…
Читать The Windmill Girls онлайн беплатно
Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
1 London Bridge Street
London, SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain by Harper 2015
Copyright © Kay Brellend 2015
Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2015
Photography by Henry Steadman; Background scene © Imperial War Museum (D 5597)
Windmill Theatre photographs © Getty Images; three girls in their dressing room © Hulton-Deutsch Collection/Corbis
Kay Brellend asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of 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.
Source ISBN: 9780007575282
Ebook Edition © January 2015 ISBN: 9780007575299
Version: 2014-11-22
For Mum, who worked as a telephonist at Holborn Exchange during the height of the Blitz and went fire-fighting after shifts.
For Dad, who served in the RAF as a Leading Aircraftman, keeping the planes flying.
For all those people who didn’t see active service, but helped to win the war, working behind the scenes.
Contents
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Also by Kay Brellend
About the Publisher
‘You shouldn’t risk going out on a night like this!’
‘I must … I want to see how my mum is.’
Gertie Grimes blew a cautionary hiss through her teeth. ‘Take it from me, there’s going to be a bad raid tonight, I can feel it in me bones. And if that weren’t enough I’m getting a fright from that moon out there. It’s like a peeled melon.’ Gertie shook her head. ‘You know how Fritz likes to come over on a full moon. You should stay here, love, tucked up safe and sound.’
That remark earned Gertie a dubious frown.
‘I’ll look after you, Dawn. Don’t you worry about that,’ Gertie chuckled slyly. ‘I can see off a randy sod for you with one hand tied behind me back.’
Dawn Nightingale didn’t doubt the older woman’s promise to protect her virtue. Her wry expression was due to her understanding the reason behind Gertie’s mirth: the staff at the Windmill Theatre, where Dawn had just finished her shift as a showgirl, had been allowed to bed down on the premises since the start of the London Blitz. Some stagehands welcomed the arrangement as it provided opportunities for sexual shenanigans. The management insisted on segregated quarters and lights out after the theatre closed at eleven but a few men had been discovered creeping about to try their luck.
But Dawn wasn’t interested in any nocturnal visits from fumbling Romeos. She had a boyfriend in the RAF and though she hadn’t seen Bill for months, she would never be mean enough to casually two-time him.
‘Best get off now; don’t want to miss my bus home.’ Dawn whipped her coat from the peg and slipped it on.
‘You take care of yourself.’ Gertie watched her colleague doing up her buttons. ‘Get yourself down the underground sharpish if the sirens go off.’
‘Will do …’ Dawn gave a wave as she set off along Great Windmill Street.
She kept her head lowered as she walked, protecting her cheeks from the bitter late January night air, her mind preoccupied with thoughts of her mother. She hoped Eliza was feeling better, yet doubted she would be. If anything, her mother seemed to be getting worse. And Eliza could only blame herself for that.
Eliza Nightingale liked a little nip, as she called it, and had done so for very many years. By anybody’s standards, the woman had had a run of bad luck that might send her to the bottle. She’d lost her husband to pneumonia when her daughter was just five, then her intended second husband had scarpered, leaving her pregnant with her son. But according to Eliza she felt unwell not because she drank too much but because of the weather. It was too hot or too cold, too dry or too damp, for a body to be healthy, she’d mumble while stacking up the empties under the sink.
