The Christmas Rose: The most heart-warming novel of 2018, from the Sunday Times bestseller

Eugene opened his eyes. ‘Is it over?’

Cecilia smacked him with her fan. ‘You philistine.’

‘It’s the interval,’ Rose whispered. ‘You were snoring, Guvnor.’

‘I was just resting my eyes.’ Eugene rose to his feet. ‘I’m going to the bar for a tot of whisky. Would you ladies like to join me?’

Cecilia sat bolt upright. ‘No, you’ve embarrassed me enough this evening.’

‘What about you, Munday? You might hear a bit of gossip you could use.’

Rose glanced at Cecilia’s disapproving profile. She was bound to offend one or the other, but if she wanted to be taken seriously as a reporter she knew what she had to do. She stood up, placing the programme on her seat. ‘Yes, all right, Guvnor.’ She was close behind him as he joined the stream of people making their way up the aisle.

‘You might like to start the article with a few words about the splendid electric lighting,’ Eugene said in a low voice as they edged their way towards the bar.

‘It is amazing. Do you think it will catch on?’

‘Almost certainly, and I’ll install electricity at Greenfields, my property in the country, as soon as it becomes possible.’ Eugene placed a protective arm around Rose’s shoulders as they reached the crush at the entrance to the bar.

Rose glanced inside at the sea of male bodies and she refused to move. ‘I think I’d better wait out here. It doesn’t look as though women are welcome in the bar.’

‘Nonsense, you’re with me, Munday. You’re a newspaper man now and you’ll find yourself in places where other females wouldn’t dare to tread.’ He propelled her through the throng of men clamouring for drinks.

Rose tried to look unconcerned, but she felt the colour flooding her cheeks and the remarks she overheard were not flattering.

Eugene ordered a glass of champagne and a whisky and soda, ignoring the disapproving looks from the barman.

‘There you are, Munday.’ He pressed the champagne glass into her hand and raised his drink in a toast. ‘Here’s to your future success.’

‘You shouldn’t bring a lady into a place like this.’ A distinguished-looking man with silver hair and a waxed moustache turned his head to glare at Eugene. ‘We have to draw the line somewhere, Sheldon.’

‘This young woman is a fledgling reporter on my newspaper,’ Eugene said loudly. ‘If anyone has anything to say, then say it to my face.’

A sudden hush seemed to suck the air from the crowded bar.

Rose could feel the undercurrent of resentment swelling like the incoming tide and she raised her glass. ‘I drink to your health, gentlemen. I might be the first female newsperson to enter a predominantly male domain, but I won’t be the last.’ She downed a mouthful of champagne, placed the glass on the counter and marched out of the bar, but when she reached the foyer her courage ebbed and her knees threatened to give way beneath her.

‘Well said, Munday.’ Eugene had followed her and he gave her a brief hug. ‘Maybe I should have patted you on the back as if you were a chap, but you’re a sight for sore eyes. No wonder the fellows were confused.’

‘I shouldn’t have spoken out like that. I’m sorry, Guvnor.’

‘Nonsense, you’ve just written your own headline. Wait there, I’ll fetch my sister and we’ll take a cab to the office. This story will be on the front page in the morning, I can see it now.’ He paused, smiling ruefully. ‘Sorry, Munday, I was forgetting – this is your story. You can call it what you like. Think about it while I get Cissie and retrieve our coats from the cloakroom. You and the redoubtable Millicent Fawcett have a lot in common, but this is your big moment.’

Rose waited anxiously, trying hard to look unconcerned, but she knew she was attracting attention for all the wrong reasons, and she tried to ignore the salacious remarks she received from one man who had obviously drunk far more than was good for him. It was a relief when Eugene appeared, followed by a sulky-looking Cecilia.

‘This is ridiculous, Gene,’ Cecilia snapped. ‘Walking out in the interval is stupid and very bad manners.’

‘Nonsense. This is Munday’s chance to get her piece in the Monday morning paper. The other chaps will do the same thing. Wait there, I’ll get a cab.’ He hurried out into the street.

‘You shouldn’t encourage him,’ Cecilia said, sighing heavily. ‘Gene always manages to create a stir wherever we go.’

‘Then perhaps you should be used to it by now.’ Rose was in no mood to take the blame for something that was beyond her control.

Having taken Cecilia back to Tavistock Square, Eugene and Rose returned to the office where, despite the fact that it was late evening, Rose worked on her review of the opera for Monday’s edition. When both she and Eugene were satisfied with the result, it was left for the typesetters to put into print, and Eugene saw her safely back to Black Raven Court.

‘We must address this problem urgently, Rose,’ he said as he handed her from the cab. ‘I don’t like leaving you here.’

‘I’ll be all right, Guvnor. I’ve got Cora and Flossie looking out for me.’ Rose hoped she sounded more positive than she was feeling as she stepped inside and closed the door.

Having slept for most of Sunday, Rose was up early on Monday morning. She dressed hastily and rushed out to buy a copy of the London Leader from a stall outside Fenchurch Street station. To see her words in print for the very first time would be a thrill, and she could scarcely wait to get back to her room. In her excitement it was even possible to ignore the pangs of hunger that gripped her stomach and the chill of a late autumn morning. With her shawl wrapped around her head and shoulders she trudged back to Black Raven Court. She did not notice Regan until it was too late.

Chapter Seven (#ulink_75828c56-fee2-5482-8aaf-bfafd67a6a80)

Rose came to a sudden halt at the sight of the man who ruled the lives of the women in his house, and was about to turn and run when he grabbed her by the arm and dragged her inside.

‘Cora is a poor liar,’ he said, pressing Rose up against the damp wall. ‘She told me you’d gone, but Nat Regan is nobody’s fool.’

‘I won’t be here much longer. I can pay rent.’

Regan curled his lip. ‘Only girls who work for me are allowed to live here, sweetheart. I got plenty of clients who would pay good money for your favours.’ He glanced at the newspaper she was clutching to her chest. ‘And you can read, too. I ain’t sure that’s a good thing.’

‘Let me go.’ Rose glared at him, too angry now to feel fear. ‘I’m leaving today.’

He pinned her to the wall with surprising strength for a small man. ‘That’s up to me. This is my place and what I says goes.’

‘I’ve got a job, Regan,’ she said boldly. ‘I’m a reporter on this newspaper, and if you don’t get out of my way you’ll find yourself headline news in the next edition.’ It was a vain boast, but it had the desired effect and Regan released her, taking a step backwards.

‘You’re lying, you little bitch.’

Rose leafed through the newspaper, searching desperately for the article that bore her name. She found it, even though it was tucked away beneath a list of other social events. The print was small, but her name was there and she waved it under his nose. ‘There’s the proof in black and white. And if you don’t let me go I’ll be late for the office.’

Regan stared at her in disbelief, his mouth working silently. Rose seized the moment and slipped past him. She raced down the steps and kept running until she was out of breath and had to stop and take shelter in a doorway. One thing was for certain: remaining in Black Raven Court was not an option. Thanks to her bragging, Regan knew her name and where she was working. She had made a tactical error, but the main thing now was to get to the office on time.

Nicholls was already at his desk and he looked up, his expression hardening when he spotted Rose. ‘You’re late again, Munday.’

‘I’m sorry, Mr Nicholls. I was unexpectedly delayed.’

‘No matter what Mr Sheldon says, I’m the head clerk, and, if you’re late again or you don’t do as I tell you, I’ll report you to Mr Radley.’

‘Yes, Mr Nicholls.’ Rose decided that arguing with Nicholls was a waste of time and she forced herself to answer meekly.

‘Get to work, Munday,’ Nicholls snapped. ‘Your days are numbered, so make the most of your five minutes of glory.’

Rose could hear the two more junior clerks sniggering, but she ignored them as she marched into Eugene’s office, resisting the temptation to slam the door. They were determined to make her life as difficult as possible, but Eugene had given her a chance to prove herself and she had no intention of letting him down. That aside, her most pressing problem was where she would sleep that night, and how she would retrieve her things from the boxroom in Black Raven Court. It was fortunate that the clothes given to her by Cecilia were still in Tavistock Square, waiting until she had found more permanent accommodation.

Rose sat down in front of the typewriter, running her fingers over the keys. The night before last she had felt proud and elated when Eugene allowed her to write her piece about the theatre, and seeing her name in print for the first time was undoubtedly a thrill, but working in a man’s world was going to be an uphill struggle. She took a sheet of paper and inserted it in the machine. There was work that Eugene had left for her and it must be done; even so, she was finding it hard to concentrate, and she was still sitting there when he breezed into the office half an hour later.

‘What’s the matter with you, Munday?’ he demanded. ‘I thought you would be beaming all over your face this morning.’