65 Short Stories (35 page)

At that moment the head barman came back from his supper. He caught sight of Syd.

‘Oh, Mr Cotman, Mr Espinel was looking for you, wants to see you particularly.’

‘Oh, where is he?’

‘You’ll find him around somewhere.’

‘We’ll be going,’ said Mrs Penezzi, getting up. ‘Come and ’ave lunch with us one day, will you? I’d like to show you my old photographs and me press cuttin’s. Fancy you not ‘avin”eard of the ‘uman cannon-ball. Why, I was as well known as the Tower of London.’

Mrs Penezzi was not vexed at finding that these young people had never even heard of her. She was simply amused.

They bade one another good-bye, and Stella sank back again into her chair.

‘I’ll just finish my beer,’ said Syd, ‘and then I’ll go and see what Paco wants. Will you stay here, ducky, or would you like to go to your dressing-room?’

Stella’s hands were tightly clenched. She did not answer. Syd gave her a look and then quickly glanced away.

‘Perfect riot, that old girl,’ he went on, in his hearty way. ‘Real figure of fun. I suppose it’s true what she said. It’s difficult to believe, I must say. Fancy ’er drawing all London, what, forty years ago? And the funny thing is, her thinking anybody remembered. Seemed as though she simply couldn’t understand us not having heard of her even.’

He gave Stella another glance, from the corner of his eye so that she should not see he was looking at her, and he saw she was crying. He faltered. The tears were rolling down her pale face. She made no sound.

‘What’s the matter, darling?’

Syd, I can’t do it again tonight,’ she sobbed.

‘Why on earth not?’

‘I’m afraid.’

He took her hand.

‘I know you better than that,’ he said. ‘You’re the bravest little woman in the world. Have a brandy, that’ll pull you together.’

‘No, that’d only make it worse.’

‘You can’t disappoint your public like that.’

‘That filthy public. Swine who eat too much and drink too much. A pack of chattering fools with more money than they know what to do with. I can’t stick them. What do they care if I risk my life?’

‘Of course, it’s the thrill they come for, there’s no denying that,’ he replied uneasily. ‘But you know and I know, there’s no risk, not if you keep your nerve.’

‘But I’ve lost my nerve, Syd. I shall kill myself.’

She had raised her voice a little, and he looked round quickly at the barman. But the barman was reading the 
Eclaireur de Nice 
and paying no attention.

‘You don’t know what it looks like from up there, the top of the ladder, when I look down at the tank. I give you my word, tonight I thought I was going to faint. I tell you I can’t do it again tonight, you’ve got to get me out of it, Syd.’

‘If you funk it tonight it’ll be worse tomorrow’

‘No, it won’t. It’s having to do it twice kills me. The long wait and all that. You go and see Mr Espinel and tell him I can’t give two shows a night. It’s more than my nerves’ll stand.’

‘He’ll never stand for that. The whole supper trade depends on you. It’s only to see you they come in then at all.’

‘I can’t help it, I tell you I can’t go on.’

He was silent for a moment. The tears still streamed down her pale little face, and he saw that she was quickly losing control of herself. He had felt for some days that something was up and he had been anxious. He had tried not to give her an opportunity to talk. He knew obscurely that it was better for her not to put into words what she felt. But he had been worried. For he loved her.

‘Anyhow Espinel wants to see me,’ he said.

‘What about?’

‘I don’t know. I’ll tell him you can’t give the show more than once a night and see what he says. Will you wait here?’

‘No, I’ll go along to the dressing-room.’

Ten minutes later he found her there. He was in great spirits and his step was jaunty. He burst open the door.

‘I’ve got grand news for you, honey. They’re keeping us on next month at twice the money.’

He sprang forward to take her in his arms and kiss her, but she pushed him away.

‘Have I got to go on again tonight?’

‘I’m afraid you must. I tried to make it only one show a night, but he wouldn’t hear of it. He says it’s quite essential you should do the supper turn. And after all, for double the money, it’s worth it.’

She flung herself down on the floor and this time burst into a storm of tears. ‘I can’t, Syd, I can’t. I shall kill myself.’

He sat down on the floor and raised her head and took her in his arms and petted her.

‘Buck up, darling. You can’t refuse a sum like that. Why, it’ll keep us all the winter and we shan’t have to do a thing. After all there are only four more days to the end of July and then it’s only August.’

‘No, no, no. I’m frightened. I don’t want to die, Syd. I love you.’

‘I know you do, darling, and I love you. Why, since we married I’ve never looked at another woman. We’ve never had money like this before and we shall never get it again. You know what these things are, we’re a riot now, but we can’t expect it to go on for ever. We’ve got to strike while the iron’s hot.’

D’you want me to die, Syd?’

‘Don’t talk so silly. Why, where should I be without you? You mustn’t give way like this. You’ve got your self-respect to think of You’re famous all over the world.’

‘Like the human cannon-ball was,’ she cried with a laugh of fury. ‘That damned old woman,’ he thought.

He knew that was the last straw. Bad luck, Stella taking it like that.

‘That was an eye-opener to me,’ she went on. ‘What do they come and see me over and over again for? On the chance they’ll see me kill myself And a week after I’m dead they’ll have forgotten even my name. That’s what the public is. When I looked at that painted old hag I saw it all. Oh, Syd, I’m so miserable.’ She threw her arms round his neck and pressed her face to his. Syd, it’s no good, I can’t do it again.’

‘Tonight, d’you mean? Ifyou really feel like that about it, I’ll tell Espinel you’ve had a fainting fit. I daresay it’ll be all right just for once.’

‘I don’t mean tonight, I mean never.’

She felt him stiffen a little.

Syd dear, don’t think I’m being silly. It’s not just today, it’s been growing on me. I can’t sleep at night thinking of it, and when I do drop off I see myself standing at the top of the ladder and looking down. Tonight I could hardly get up it, I was trembling so, and when you lit the flames and said go, something seemed to be holding me back. I didn’t even know I’d jumped. My mind was a blank till I found myself on the platform and heard them clapping. Syd, if you loved me you wouldn’t want me to go through such torture.’

He sighed. His own eyes were wet with tears. For he loved her devotedly. ‘You know what it means,’ he said. ‘The old life. Marathons and all.’

‘Anything’s better than this.’

The old life. They both remembered it. Syd had been a dancing gigolo since he was eighteen, he was very good-looking in his dark Spanish way and full of life, old women and middle-aged women were glad to pay to dance with him, and he was never out of work. He had drifted from England to the Continent and there he had stayed, going from hotel to hotel, to the Riviera in the winter, to watering-places in France in the summer. It wasn’t a bad life they led, there were generally two or three of them together, the men, and they shared a room in cheap lodgings. They didn’t have to get up till late and they only dressed in time to go to the hotel at twelve to dance with stout women who wanted to get their weight down. Then they were free till five, when they went to the hotel again and sat at a table, the three of them together, keeping a sharp eye open for anyone who looked a likely client. They had their regular customers. At night they went to the restaurant and the house provided them with quite a decent meal. Between the courses they danced. It was good money. They generally got fifty or a hundred francs from anyone they danced with. Sometimes a rich woman, after dancing a good deal with one of them for two or three nights, would give him as much as a thousand francs. Sometimes a middle-aged woman would ask one to spend a night with her, and he would get two hundred and fifty francs for that. There was always the chance of a silly old fool losing her head, and then there were platinum and sapphire rings, cigarette-cases, clothes, and a wristwatch to be got. One of Syd’s friends had married one of them, who was old enough to be his mother, but she gave him a car and money to gamble with, and they lived in a beautiful villa at Biarritz. Those were the good days when everybody had money to burn. The slump came and hit the gigolos hard. The hotels were empty, and the clients didn’t seem to want to pay for the pleasure of dancing with a nice-looking young fellow. Often and often Syd passed a whole day without earning the price of a drink, and more than once a fat old girl who weighed a ton had had the nerve to give him ten francs. His expenses didn’t go down, for he had to be smartly dressed or the manager of the hotel made remarks, washing cost a packet, and you’d be surprised the amount of linen he needed; then shoes, those floors were terribly hard on shoes, and they had to look new He had his room to pay for and his lunch.

It was then he met Stella. It was at Evian, and the season was disastrous. She was a swimming instructress. She was Australian, and a beautiful diver. She gave exhibitions every morning and afternoon. At night she was engaged to dance at the hotel. They dined together at a little table in the restaurant apart from the guests, and when the band began to play they danced together to induce the customers to come on to the floor. But often no one followed them and they danced by themselves. Neither of them got anything much in the way of paying partners. They fell in love with one another, and at the end of the season got married.

They had never regretted it. They had gone through hard times. Even though for business reasons (elderly ladies didn’t so much like the idea of dancing with a married man when his wife was there) they concealed their marriage, it was not so easy to get a hotel job for the pair of them, and Syd was far from being able to earn enough to keep Stella, even in the most modest pension, without working. The gigolo business had gone to pot. They went to Paris and learnt a dancing act, but the competition was fearful and cabaret engagements were very hard to get. Stella was a good ballroom dancer, but the rage was for acrobatics, and however much they practised she never managed to do anything startling. The public was sick of the apache turn. They were out of a job for weeks at a time. Syd’s wrist-watch, his gold cigarette-case, his platinum ring, all went up the spout. At last they found themselves in Nice reduced to such straits that Syd had to pawn his evening clothes. It was a catastrophe. They were forced to enter for the Marathon that an enterprising manager was starting. Twenty-four hours a day they danced, resting every hour for fifteen minutes. It was frightful. Their legs ached, their feet were numb. For long periods they were unconscious of what they were doing. They just kept time to the music, exerting themselves as little as possible. They made a little money, people gave them sums of a hundred francs, or two hundred, to encourage them, and sometimes to attract attention they roused themselves to give an exhibition dance. If the public was in a good humour this might bring in a decent sum. They grew terribly tired. On the eleventh day Stella fainted and had to give up. Syd went on by himself, moving, moving without pause, grotesquely, without a partner. That was the worst time they had ever had. It was the final degradation. It had left with them a recollection of horror and misery.

But it was then that Syd had his inspiration. It had come to him while he was slowly going round the hall by himself Stella always said she could dive in a saucer. It was just a trick.

‘Funny how ideas come,’ he said afterwards. ‘Like a flash of lightning.’

He suddenly remembered having seen a boy set fire to some petrol that had been spilt on the pavement, and the sudden blaze-up. For of course it was the flames on the water and the spectacular dive into them that had caught the public fancy. He stopped dancing there and then; he was too excited to go on. He talked it over with Stella, and she was enthusiastic. He wrote to an agent who was a friend of his; everyone liked Syd, he was a nice little man, and the agent put up the money for the apparatus. He got them an engagement at a circus in Paris, and the turn was a success. They were made. Engagements followed here and there, Syd bought himself an entire outfit of new clothes, and the climax came when they got a booking for the summer casino on the coast. It was no exaggeration of Syd’s when he said that Stella was a riot.

‘All our troubles are over, old girl,’ he said fondly. ‘We can put a bit by now for a rainy day, and when the public’s sick of this I’ll just think of something else.’ And now, without warning, at the top of their boom, Stella wanted to chuck it. He didn’t know what to say to her. It broke his heart to see her so unhappy. He loved her more now even than when he had married her. He loved her because of all they’d gone through together; after all, for five days once they’d had nothing to eat but a hunk of bread each and a glass of milk, and he loved her because she’d taken him out of all that; he had good clothes to wear again and his three meals a day. He couldn’t look at her; the anguish in her dear grey eyes was more than he could bear. Timidly she stretched out her hand and touched his. He gave a deep sigh.