Ellie (68 page)

‘Ellie hasn’t been asked,’ Bonny said, playing with the wax dripping from the candle. ‘That’s the reason I haven’t agreed yet. She’d be upset if I went alone and she isn’t a good enough dancer for this job.’

Magnus found it hard to credit that anyone could lie with such cool ease. She didn’t blush, and she could look right into his eyes while she told such whoppers. He couldn’t imagine what her motives were. ‘You might be doing her a favour,’ he said, trying to keep a straight face. ‘She could get a straight acting job without you around to hamper her.’

‘Why do people always say things like that?’ she snapped. ‘I carry Ellie most of the time.’

Magnus often wished he’d had the nerve to advise Ellie to branch out on her own. Bonny held her back in more ways than one. Bonny was a brilliant dancer, there was no denying that, but she lacked the drive necessary to become a big star. Recently he’d noticed she had even stopped those fluffy childish dreams of Hollywood which had once been so much a part of her personality. In his opinion her temperament was more suited to being a rich man’s plaything than a career girl.

‘Let’s go back to my room.’ Magnus signalled for the waiter to bring the bill. He was glad he’d rattled her a little; she was easier to cope with when she was angry.

Magnus was staying at a small hotel in Prince of Wales Road, overlooking the heath. His intention was to tell Bonny tonight that their affair must end. But although he’d planned to sit her down and talk seriously, Bonny gave him no opportunity even to pour a drink, let alone talk. She tore off her clothes and drew him into making love.

There were times when Magnus seriously considered that Bonny might be a nymphomaniac. She was always ready for sex, whether they were in a car, in a dressing-room, or in a train. In eighteen months he’d seen no gradual cooling of this passion; just a kiss was enough to set her off. When Magnus was away from her this was another thing to be suspicious about, wondering just how she survived without him. But she had only to wind her arms around his neck, to press that beautiful body against his and he was lost, forgetting all the little betrayals, the lies and his own deceit.

Tonight he kept it in his mind that it would be the last time and the pain inside him made it even sweeter. His lips lingered on every inch of her body, breathing in the smell and taste, imprinting it on his mind for all time. But as always she touched his heart as well as his body and at the moment of climax he found himself crying.

‘Why the tears?’ she asked, snuggling against him, her legs wound tightly round him, her eyes half closed with sleepy satisfaction. ‘Was it that special for you too?’

He wiped his eyes on the sheet. Half his brain was demanding that he stalled telling her until another time, but the other half insisted he behaved like a real man and tell her now. ‘That was the last time,’ he blurted out before he could lose his nerve. ‘Never again, Bonny. We have to end this affair for good.’

‘But why?’ She moved in his arms, her eyes flying open in shock. ‘Why now? Because you’re going to Leeds?’

‘No. I’m moving on to Leeds to be nearer home and to stop myself from being tempted again,’ he said. ‘Ruth’s expecting another baby, Bonny.’

He expected her to jump up, to hit him or start throwing things, but to his surprise her eyes welled up with real tears. ‘A baby! You can’t have! Not with her!’

‘She is my wife, Bonny.’ He leaned up on one elbow and stroked her hair. ‘I always told you I would never leave her and I could hardly stay but never make love to her. I haven’t ever lied to you.’

‘But it should be me who’s having the baby!’ Her tears spilled over, running down her face. ‘Not her, she’s old!’

‘Oh Bonny!’ Magnus gulped. He hadn’t expected her to say that. He was glad now that he’d always been careful, even when she’d insisted it was a safe time of the month. ‘You’re not interested in babies.’

‘I am, I’d love one,’ she sobbed. ‘Not just any baby but yours. How could you do this to me?’

‘Bonny you are a dancer, a performer. Even if it was possible for me to marry you and for us to settle down, you wouldn’t be happy with it for long.’

She didn’t reply, but curled up into a ball and sobbed. Magnus lay down beside her and stroked her hair; her pins had all come loose and he removed the last few, letting it tumble down on to her back. This was the side of Bonny he hadn’t seen before, but it reminded him poignantly of his own children when they were upset. Even at eighteen, going on nineteen, she was still very much a child and this made him feel even more guilty.

‘When’s the baby due?’ she asked eventually in a strangled, small voice.

‘In June.’ Magnus sighed deeply. Ruth was so very excited, and Sophie and Stephen were already digging out all their old baby toys for their new brother or sister. Magnus too was thrilled at the prospect of a new child, and hoped it would help to bring back all the idyllic happiness they had as a family before he met Bonny. ‘But you have to understand why it has to end now. Not just because I can’t bear being torn in two, but because Ruth needs me and she deserves more than I’ve been giving her for some time. After tonight it’s over between you and me.

Bonny sat up slowly, her face crumpled and swollen with tears. She knew he meant it. Magnus never said anything he didn’t mean. That was one of the reasons she loved him so much. ‘You’re wrong about me,’ she said putting her hand on his cheek, her eyes looking deep into his and her voice hiccuping with sobs. ‘I would’ve been happy to settle down with you and have children. I don’t care about being on the stage. All I want is to live with you and have your baby.’

Magnus saw right through her eyes into her soul. Despite all the lies she’d told him, this time he knew she was speaking the truth. He had a feeling he’d just removed the last wrapper and that this was the real Bonny, naked and truthful. His pain grew ever greater.

‘I’m going home now,’ she said, reaching for her clothes.

‘Not now, not like this,’ he said quickly.

She didn’t look at him, but slipped on her knickers and a camisole. ‘I have to go now,’ she whispered brokenly as she put on her stockings. ‘If I stay I’ll try and force you to change your mind.’

Magnus gulped. Would she exact some revenge? Would she really just go quietly? Just the way she fastened her suspenders, one leg up on the bed, was a reminder of all those sensual, beautiful moments with her. Could he bear to see her walk out of the door?

‘I do love you, Bonny,’ he said once she was dressed. ‘I probably always will. But I have a duty to my wife and children. Do you understand that?’

She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and tossed back her hair. The forlorn look in her eyes had changed to one of defiant pride. ‘Yes. I don’t like it, but I understand,’ she said. ‘I hope you’ll be happy, Magnus.’

He expected something more – one last burst of spite or pleading – but instead she just put on her coat and opened the door.

‘Wait! Let me get dressed.’ He picked up his trousers. ‘I’ll drive you.’

‘No, I’ll walk. I need the fresh air.’ Her head tilted up proudly. ‘Goodbye, Magnus.’

He pulled back the curtain and watched her walking across the heath towards Lewisham. There was frost on the grass and it sparkled like diamonds in the moonlight. She walked so gracefully, almost gliding like a skater, blonde hair standing out against her dark coat, as pale as the moon.

Tears rolled down his cheeks unchecked as he watched her go. There was no satisfaction in knowing he’d done the right thing, no relief that twenty months of deceit and treachery were finished. He felt as if part of him would shrivel and die before the night was over.

Ellie woke to find Bonny getting into her single bed with her.

‘What is it?’ she whispered, but as she touched Bonny’s icy hand, she guessed.

‘It’s over,’ Bonny whispered, a sob in her voice. ‘Just hold me, Ellie. Don’t ask questions.’

‘Bonny won’t be able to manage it,’ Ellie told Eric, the booking clerk from Bloomfield’s on the telephone. He had rung to speak about booking them into a show in Birmingham. ‘She’s not well and she’s going home to her parents until after Christmas at least.’

Ellie held the receiver away from her ear as Eric launched into the expected tirade about being let down at the last minute – ‘Did Bonny think she could just work when she felt like it?’

Ellie made suitable sympathetic noises and said it was ‘women’s troubles’. She guessed that would shut him up, and it did. It wasn’t true, of course, but a broken heart could be just as bad as an infected womb. Bonny had managed to struggle through the last week’s performance, but now she had her case packed to go home to her mother’s, and nothing would make her change her mind.

Eric said he’d look for something else for Ellie alone and promised to phone her back later.

‘Was he very angry?’ Bonny asked when Ellie got back into their room.

‘No, not at all,’ Ellie lied. She didn’t want to upset Bonny further with what had really been said. She felt Bonny had been through enough: she was pale and listless, and she needed the comfort of being with her parents.

‘But what about you, Ellie?’ Bonny began to cry again. She seemed to have been crying incessantly all week. ‘I’ve messed things up for you too.’

‘I’ll be fine,’ Ellie insisted, hoping she would be. ‘Eric may find me something. If not I’ll take Edward up on his offer to spend Christmas at his grandmother’s.’

‘You could come to my mum’s?’ Bonny caught hold of Ellie’s hand tightly. ‘After Christmas I’m going down to Aunt Lydia’s, you’d be welcome there too.’

‘You’ve got a lot of bridges to mend in both those places.’ Ellie squeezed the hand in hers. Although Bonny had visited her parents since returning to London, she did it with a bad grace, almost always returning with tales of arguments. Lydia Wynter wrote every week without fail, but Bonny rarely made the effort to write back more than a few lines. ‘You don’t want me around. Anyway, I’m sure to get something. It’s Christmas, after all – someone must want a fairy, a clown, or the back end of a horse.’

Bonny smiled weakly. ‘Why don’t you ever say “I told you so”?’

‘Because it doesn’t help.’ Ellie tweaked Bonny’s small nose. ‘I’d rather say “There’s someone else out there waiting for you to make miserable”. Isn’t that a more cheerful prospect?’

‘You felt just like this about Charley, didn’t you?’

Ellie nodded glumly. She hadn’t forgotten one moment of that heartache, the nights spent crying, feeling utterly alone. Sometimes she despaired of ever finding a man to love again. But she wasn’t going to tell Bonny that now. ‘Yes. But I got over it, and so will you. Now come on. I’ll walk down with you to the station.’

Ellie lay down on her bed when she got back from the station, suddenly exhausted. She felt guilty at feeling such a sense of relief now Bonny was gone, but there was only a certain amount of sympathy any one person could dole out and she’d come to the end of the line with hers. She pulled the eiderdown over her and dropped off to sleep.

The telephone ringing woke her with a start.

‘Miss Forester, it’s for you,’ Mrs Wheddle her landlady called out.

‘Coming,’ Ellie yelled back, stuffing her feet into her slippers and smoothing down her skirt.

It was Eric from Bloomfield’s again. Ellie was breathless from running down two flights of stairs. She listened while Eric asked if she thought she could handle being Prince Charming in
Cinderella
at the Little Theatre in Hampstead.

Ellie’s heart leaped with excitement. ‘Of course I can,’ she said gleefully.

Eric sounded a little uncertain. He said that there would be no time for a proper audition, as the original girl chosen for the part had left the company in the lurch in the middle of rehearsals. He asked if she could get there within an hour to meet Kennedy, the producer.

The line went dead before Ellie could ask any further questions. She rushed back up the stairs to brush her hair and collect her dancing shoes.

It was close to four in the afternoon, minutes to go before the deadline, as Ellie arrived at the stage door. She had run from the tube station and she was out of breath. She wasn’t in any way dismayed by the Little Theatre being shabby and small; it had a reputation for excellent plays and packed houses.

‘I’m Ellie Forester,’ she gasped out to the doorman. ‘I’m to meet Mr Kennedy here.’

‘I ’ope you’re the cavalry.’ His thin, lined face broke into a wide grin. ‘Can’t ’ave Cinder-bleedin’ella wivout ’er Prince Charmin’, can we?’

Hearing the man’s cockney voice was like going home. It seemed like the best of good omens. ‘No we bleedin’ can’t, cock,’ she said lapsing into her old way of speaking.

He looked startled for a moment, then burst into laughter. ‘Gawd love us,’ he said, holding his sides. ‘We all thought you was gonna be some snooty bint from up west!’ His hand shot forward. ‘Alf’s the name,’ he said, brown eyes twinkling. ‘Come on in, ducks. We don’t stand on ceremony ’ere. Mr Kennedy’s out front now, waiting for yer.’

‘Ellie,’ she said, shaking his hand. ‘And I’m very pleased to meet you.’

As Alf led Ellie into the gloomy theatre a surprisingly young man came forward. He was thin, only a couple of inches taller than herself, with unruly curly brown hair and a boyish, broken-toothed smile.

‘Well done, Miss Forester,’ he said, shaking her hand as Alf made the introductions. ‘When I heard you had to come from south London I thought I was pushing my luck expecting you to be here within an hour.’

‘I’d have flown to get here on time.’ She smiled, remembering Marleen had always said it paid to look keen, but her stomach was churning with nerves and she wished she’d had time to put on something more attractive than her old checked skirt and a somewhat shrunken jumper. ‘I’m usually known as Ellie,’ she added.

Kennedy was perhaps thirty; he had a deep, resonant voice and blue-grey eyes. He looked a happy man, very relaxed in an ancient tweed jacket and trousers which needed a press.

‘I’m known as Ray to everyone,’ he said. ‘I am the producer, but in this theatre that’s a bit of a misnomer. I’m stage-manager, prompter, and often flunky too.’