Belfast Girls Page 12

  “A woman needs to be able to look after herself in this life, Sheila,” she told her daughter. “If you have your qualifications, you can always be sure of getting a good job, whatever happens. If you get married, you won’t need it, but who knows?” Kathy belonged to a generation whose married women worked only in the home. “Mind you, you may well marry, you’ve turned out good-looking after all, but who knows even then? If you’re in a position to support yourself, you’ll never need to be dependant on anybody.”

  “What an attitude, Mum! Whether I marry or not, I’m not going to spend my life in the kitchen. But I don’t need this degree to get a job. Look what this letter says. I could make more in a month’s modelling than in a year’s teaching.”

  “Ah, but, Sheila, will it last? That’s the thing. In a few years’ time, maybe you’ll be out on the dole and with no degree behind you.”

  “Don’t fuss, mammy. I’ll save while I’m earning good money and who knows what it may lead to? I’ve got to take the chance, don’t you see?”

  “Maybe you could go back and finish the degree in a few years’ time,” speculated Kathy. “Though who’s going to pay for it, I don’t know. The Government will hardly give you another grant if you walk out now. And what’s your daddy going to say?”

  And at this thought, mother and daughter paused and looked at each other. The thought which had been at the back of both their minds suddenly thrust itself forward into prominence.

  “He’ll kill you, Sheila,” said Kathy at last. “He’ll not stand for it. That Beauty Contest business was bad enough, but this – he’ll never let you throw up your degree and leave Queen’s!”

  Sheila was thoughtful. She knew that Frank would be hurt and disappointed by her decision. She didn’t want to quarrel with him. But she had already made up her mind and there was nothing Frank could do or say to change it.

  When he came in from work, she was waiting and ran to fetch his slippers and the Belfast Telegraph for him to read by the fire while Kathy put the finishing touches to his tea.

  “Hey, hey, what’s all this?” Frank joked. “Getting spoiled, am I? You must be after something, Miss Sheila.”

  Sheila smiled sweetly, sat on the arm of his chair to put her arm round his shoulder, and kissed the top of his head.

  “Can’t fool you, daddy, can I? Yes, I want you to be specially nice and wise and sensible, like you always are, and listen to me. Now, don’t say anything until I’ve finished.”

  Frank looked suspicious. “If this is about borrowing my car again –” he began.

  “No, no, nothing like that, Daddy. The fact is, I’ve been offered a job – a really good job. But taking it means leaving Queen’s now, not finishing my degree. I want to finish, naturally, but this is an opportunity that may not come again. Mum thinks I should stay on but I think you’ll be more sensible about it. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life teaching and regretting that I missed this opportunity.” She fastened big, serious eyes on him. Frank melted.

  “Sheila, I hear what you’re saying, love and there’s a lot of sense in it. But your mammy has a point, too. A degree’s something well worth having. If you don’t finish it now, maybe in a year or two you might regret it badly. Anyway, what is this job? A lot depends on how good it really is.”

  “It’s working with a fashion designer, Daddy. Modelling clothes.”

  “What!” Frank’s roar brought Kathy rushing from the kitchen in dismay.

  “Now, Frankie, don’t be shouting at the child. She’s got a right to live her own life, not just to do what we want.”

  To Sheila’s amusement, Kathy seemed to have about turned in her opinion.

  “I’m not doing anything,” said Frank indignantly. “But surely you don’t want our Sheila to give up all her good prospects for a miserable job like this?”

  “It’s not a miserable job, Daddy,” said Sheila urgently. “Look, here’s the letter, see for yourself. He’s offering top rates. That means as much in one month as I could make in a year teaching! Models are really well paid nowadays if it’s one of the top designers. I could save enough in the first year to go back to Queen’s if it ever came to that, but why should it? Once I get a start, who knows how far I could go?”

  Frank took the letter. He was bewildered. Sheila was his only child. He had always wanted to see her well established. And this modelling – was it any more respectable than showing your legs in public? But both his women seemed to see it differently. The money Sheila talked of was a surprise to him. It was certainly an opportunity anyone would hate to miss.

  All his life Frank Doherty had taken risks with his own career, moving on when something good was offered at the risk of losing security. He looked at Sheila’s eager, anxious face, and knew that he couldn’t stop her from taking the same risk. She was his daughter, after all.

  “I can’t say I’m happy about it, love. But, there – I suppose you’ll do it anyway, eh?”

  “I don’t want to fight with you, Daddy,” Sheila said.

  Frank grinned. “But you will, if you have to, won't you love? Obstinate as a mule, always have been.”

  “And where does she get that from, Frankie Doherty?” remarked his wife.

  “All right, Sheila. I tell you what. You think about it for a few days. Don’t jump into anything. And if you’re still set on it, I won’t say no.”

  “Oh, Daddy!” Sheila flung her arms round him in delight.

  “But, now, make sure you get a contract signed before you do anything drastic. There’ll be no need to let them know anything about it at the University for a month or so, anyway, till you know how it’s going.”

  “That’s very sensible, Frankie,” approved Kathy. “Listen to your daddy, Sheila, and don’t be burning your boats till you see if it’s going to work out.”

  “Now, mind, I want you to think about it first. Maybe when you wake up tomorrow morning you’ll see it all differently. Or maybe in another day or two.”

  “But he says to let him know straight away, Daddy,” Sheila argued anxiously.

  “It’ll do no harm at all to keep him waiting a few days,” Frankie said shrewdly. “From the tone of his letter, he’s very keen to have you. Don’t make yourself cheap. It never does any harm to look as if you’re not overly keen. You don’t want to look ready to jump at a moment’s notice.”

  With this Sheila had to be content. She went to bed that night with her head in a whirl and, when sleep came at last, dreamt of fame and fortune, of famous men falling in love with her, and of clothes, clothes, clothes.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  In the morning, Sheila hadn’t changed her mind. It was a bit like her decision to enter the Beauty Contest – she couldn’t help being a little frightened, but mostly she was excited and eager to go ahead.

  The opportunity to talk to Phil about it came after their first English lecture that morning. Phil was almost as excited as Sheila.

  “You could end up a film star – that often happens to really famous models,” she told Sheila. “Go for it, kid. You’d be mad not to.”

  They were drinking coffee in the Union, elbows on the table and heads close together in the familiar gossipy, giggly way. Sheila felt a sudden pang at the realisation that there might be only a few occasions when they would ever to do this again. But the feeling was momentary.

  “Here's the letter,” she said, fishing it out from her shoulder bag. Phil read it with interest.

  “This is the guy you met at the Prof’s Christmas party last year?” she asked. “Well, you watch out for him, then. You know he’s after you.”

  “I can look after myself, don’t worry,” said Sheila light-heartedly.

  “Oh, yeah? What about your man after the Beauty Contest? Gerry turned up just in the nick of time, didn’t he?”

  “Okay, but I’d have more sense now,” Sheila protested. “I didn’t think what I was letting myself in for. I’d know better another time.”

  “Well, let’s h
ope so.” Phil didn’t sound convinced. “So have you rung this Francis Delmara yet?”

  “No, Daddy made me promise to think about it for a couple of days first. I’ll ring him tomorrow.”

  She rang Delmara’s number the next afternoon when once again she had the house to herself.

  “Francis – It’s me, Sheila. I got your letter.”

  “Ah – Sheila.” The drawling voice sent a familiar shiver down her spine. “So. I hope you’ve got good news for me?”

  “That depends.” Sheila spoke cautiously. “Would there be a contract? And what exactly would the agreement be?”

  Francis laughed. “For you, beautiful, anything. Yes, a contract by all means. I would want to sign you up for at least a year at an agreed rate – towards the top of the scale, as I said in my letter. Then we’ll see.”

  “I’d like to read the contract before I agree to anything,” Sheila said firmly. “And I need to know a bit more about what would be involved.”

  “You would be agreeing to model exclusively for Delmara Fashions for the specified period,” said Francis. He sounded amazingly business-like all of a sudden. “This would include dress shows in various locations including Dublin and New York if I can set it up. It would also include photographic sessions for magazines, etc. You would be prohibited from modelling for any other fashion house or undertaking any outside work without the written permission of Delmara Fashions – i.e. me. But if it was going to be good publicity for us, I would give permission, naturally. Travel to the various locations, and accommodation where appropriate, would be paid for by the company.”

  Sheila, who had been silently reacting to the mention of Dublin and New York, recovered herself sufficiently to sound businesslike in return.

  “And this would be in writing?”

  “Sure thing, honeychile,” drawled Francis, with a return to his familiar manner. “Suppose you call at my office tomorrow afternoon? I can have something ready for you to sign by then. Vetted by my solicitor, so you needn’t worry about it.”

  Warning bells rang in Sheila’s head. Solicitor?

  “I think I would like my own legal advisor to read the contract before I sign,” she ventured. “I’ll bring him with me, if he’s free tomorrow. If not, I’ll let you know when would suit him.”

  “Fine by me,” said Francis. “See you then, beautiful.”

  He rang off.

  Sheila sat with the receiver in her hand for a breathless moment, then hurriedly pressed the hand rest and dialled Gerry’s number.

  “Gerry? You know the way you’ve almost qualified now, and have this trainee post lined up with these solicitors? Well, do you know anything about contract law? You do? Oh, brilliant! Listen, I want you to do something for me ..."

  Gerry owned a suit, purchased in anticipation of his expected graduation this summer. On Sheila’s instructions, he was wearing it and had combed his hair with great care when they met by arrangement at the City Hall the next afternoon.

  “You look great, Gerry,” Sheila told him enthusiastically. “Okay, now the main thing is to look as serious as possible. It will make you seem older, mid-twenties or so, an experienced solicitor. I just hope you know as much about contract law as you think.”

  “No problem, Sheila. I passed that module last year and I had a read through my notes last night after you phoned. I know as much now as I will after I’ve qualified as a solicitor, so what’s the difference?”

  “A few years of experience, maybe,” Sheila said. “But never mind, Francis Delmara won’t know any better. I want to impress him as businesslike, Gerry – but I also want to make sure that I don’t sign anything stupid.”

  “I can see to that for you, Sheila. I know enough law to make sure it’s all in order. Quietly confident, that’s the story.” Gerry grinned, at once making himself look about sixteen instead of twenty-something.

  “Don’t grin!” Sheila ordered him bossily. “Get into practice looking serious, for goodness sake.”

  “Sorry,” said Gerry unrepentantly. “Just one other thing, Sheila. I’m doing this as a friend, not as an agent, so no percentages this time. I just wouldn’t have time these days to take on the work that would be involved. So once the contract’s signed, you’re on your own, baby – okay?”

  “Fair enough, Gerry,” Sheila nodded. “Thanks for today, anyway. Okay, then, let’s head.”

  They strolled round to Delmara’s office, above a shop in Upper Arthur Street. There was a name plate saying ‘Delmara Fashions’ on the door beside the shop front, which opened into a porch where an arrow pointed to a flight of stairs. They went up slowly, trying to look adult and dignified.

  At the top of the stairs was a passage, and off it a newly painted door said again ‘Delmara Fashions’. They knocked and went in, and were in a small ante-room furnished with a modern looking desk, telephone and computer, but with little else except the thick, expensive-looking carpet and one modern print on the left hand wall.

  A secretary, very fashionably dressed, as befitted the company she worked for, was sitting at the computer keyboard, typing, and she looked up and smiled as they came in.

  “Yes? Can I help you?”

  “Sheila Doherty to see Francis Delmara,” said Sheila in a firm, pleasant voice. It was at times like these that she found her height an advantage.

  “Mr Delmara is expecting you, Miss Doherty,” said the girl. “I’ll just let him know that you are here.”

  She pressed a button on the telephone and spoke into it. “Mr Delmara will see you now,” she said, and stood up to open the door which was behind her to the right. Sheila and Gerry walked meekly in.

  It was all much more formal and awe-inspiring than Sheila had expected.

  And yet, after all, when Francis, rising from behind a similar desk in his own office, came forward to greet her, it was just Francis.

  “Sheila, my lovely,” he murmured. “How delightful. And this must be your legal advisor.”

  “This is Mr. Maguire. Gerry Maguire,” Sheila said.

  Francis shook hands with Gerry solemnly. “How do you do, Mr. Maguire? Do sit down, both of you. Coffee?”

  “That would be lovely,” said Sheila, trying not to giggle.

  It was really strange to see Gerry and Francis pretending to be adults – for that was how she thought of it. Sheila was pretending to be grown-up, and so were they, but was it any more of a reality for Francis than for Gerry and herself? And did they know all the rules?

  Then she remembered that someone had actually backed Francis with real money, enough to run this place, pay a secretary and design clothes for a real dress show.

  Perhaps everyone was only playing at being grown-up all the time. Perhaps everyone felt inside as if it was all a game. A game without any clear rules, Sheila thought, a game whose rules seemed made only to be broken.

  “I wanted Mr Maguire to look at the contract before I made any decision,” Sheila said.

  “Very wise,” Francis purred. “I have it here. A standard form, as signed by my other models, and vetted by my own solicitor. You can take a copy away with you, if you like, and come back to me when you feel happy about it.”

  “That may not be necessary, if the contract is as standard as you say,” Gerry said.

  He was balancing the cup of coffee produced by the secretary, holding the saucer in one hand and taking careful sips from the cup.

  Sheila thought he looked worried about breaking it or spilling it. At least it prevented him from grinning and giving away his age.

  Francis lifted the form from his desk and passed it over. There were several closely written pages and Gerry settled down to read them with care. Francis Delmara smiled at Sheila.

  “You’re looking especially bewitching today, beautiful. I love the hat. But you shouldn’t cover up your hair.”

  He reached over and twitched off the black velvet cap Sheila was wearing, releasing her red-gold curls so that they tumbled about her shoulders.

&n
bsp; “Ah, yes,” Francis sighed to himself. “Yes, definitely.”

  It occurred to Sheila, memories of her previous meetings with Francis springing up, that she would have to keep tight control of herself if she and Delmara were going to spend much time together. It would never do if certain episodes were repeated, especially if they were to maintain a good working relationship.

  “When do you expect to have your next show?” she asked, to relieve the tension in the atmosphere.

  “There’ll be several in the late summer – my autumn and winter lines. I’ll give you some training between now and then. And in late winter, there’ll be my spring lines. I'm planning to go to Dublin for that one.”

  Gerry coughed importantly.

  “There are one or two points, Mr. Delmara. Firstly, the photographic sessions mentioned. It appears that the terms of the contract, as stated at present, allow Miss Doherty no veto on the type of work involved. If she should be unhappy with the work suggested, she would have no option other than to break the contract or to co- operate. We would like an option inserted giving Miss Doherty the right to veto any work she deems morally unacceptable.”

  “That will be no problem, my dear Mr. Maguire.” Francis Delmara seemed unmoved. “There is no intention of involving Miss Doherty in anything of a sleazy nature. Delmara Fashions has no desire to acquire that type of reputation.”

  “Good. Then, as to the terms, I suggest that after the first six months, the rates should be raised by ten percent. That seems reasonable, since Miss Doherty will by then have absorbed any necessary training and will be a much greater asset to you.”

  “H’m. Yes.” Francis paused in thought for a moment, tapping his slim fingers on the desk. Then he leaned forward, smiled sweetly and said in a tone which brooked no argument, “Seven percent.”