It Ends with Revelations (5 page)

She would quite have liked to join them at dinner, as they suggested when they found she would be on her own. But she felt she should get to the theatre earlier than dinner at the hotel would permit; also, once she thought about getting to the theatre her appetite deserted her. She was always nervous for Miles on first nights, and the fact that she had scarcely given him a thought while chattering to the girls added a sense of guilt to the nervousness which now took possession of her. She dressed quickly and hurried to the theatre – and then found herself at a loose end for well over an hour. True, Miles talked to her avidly for a few minutes but his dressing room was then invaded by a stream of people – the cast, the stage management and, of course, Peter Hesper, to all of whom he talked with equal avidity. She wondered if he would ever get his
make-up
on. But it was not her job to clear his dressing room. She lovingly wished him good luck, and then made a goodwill tour of all the dressing rooms. Cyril-Doug thanked her ‘ever so for the chocs’. Already made up (by Miles, she learned) he looked not a day over eleven. His understudy, a genuine fifteen, looked years older than Cyril did.

Waiting for Tom Albion in the foyer she felt her spirits rising. The incoming audience was dressed with an elegance she had never before seen in a provincial theatre. It was, on the whole, an elderly elegance and few of the long, graceful dresses were on bowing terms with fashions
of the moment; but it seemed to Jill that the Spa Town ladies achieved a distinction that was timeless, and they were certainly doing their best to honour the re-opening of their old theatre.

Tom, as they went into the stalls together, said, ‘The Night of the Long Gloves – haven’t seen so many since I was a boy. God, this place is a backwater.’

‘But a charming backwater, surely?’

He shook his head with faint disapproval. ‘Backwaters get stagnant. But I’ll admit this looks a well-disposed audience. And let’s hope they take those gloves off to clap.’

‘Much you care if they clap or not. You want the show to fail.’

‘I don’t want to
watch
it fail. I suffer agonies for the actors when things go badly, even when one of them isn’t one of my top clients. But don’t worry. There’s bound to be at least a polite reception tonight because of the occasion and also because of Miles. They can’t have had an actor of his standing here for well over ten years.’

Jill’s nervousness dwindled even as the curtain rose and the very peculiar set got a round of applause. It was wonderful what audiences could take when in the mood to enjoy themselves, as this audience most obviously was. And it had, she decided as the act got fully into its stride, quite a lot to enjoy. The play certainly had a dramatic story line and a star actor was giving a first-rate performance – though in the stalls bar, during the first interval, she and Tom overheard almost as much praise for ‘that marvellous little boy’ as for Miles. Young Cyril might alternately shout
and choke himself with glottal stop but the audience loved him.

Only at the end of the second act did Jill’s nervousness return. Surely even this audience could not but realize how Cyril failed to carry it? But Cyril did not fail. He yelled his little head off and brought the curtain down to tumultuous applause – during which Tom whispered to Jill, ‘If Peter doesn’t re-direct that before you open in London, there’ll be a huge roar of laughter.’

The third act went even better. The audience lapped up the melodrama and were then deeply moved by the last scene, which Miles played superbly. Jill counted six handkerchiefs (most of them lace-edged) being taken out of evening bags (some of them gold mesh). If powder compacts were taken out of bags near the end of a play, it was a sign of boredom; but handkerchiefs used for
eye-mopping
augured well. The reception was rapturous. Miles made a speech, paying special tribute to Cyril and putting his arm round him. The author bowed his thanks from a box, looking dazzled by the spotlight suddenly focussed on him. Jill whispered to Tom, ‘Have you ever seen a reception like this in London?’

‘Oh, they used to be fairly common before the war – not that they always meant anything. I remember one show that got nineteen curtains – and came off at the end of the week.’

They took their time getting out of the theatre, listening to comments. But there were seldom many of these. In London, audiences switched their thoughts to plans for
supper, or the journey home. Here people asked people if they were going to the Civic Reception. ‘Oh, God, we’ve got that ahead of us,’ said Jill.

‘Not me,’ said Tom. ‘I’ve got to drive back to London. Will you tell Miles I’ll be along in a few minutes? I want to catch Peter first and try to make him see sense about that ludicrous second act curtain.’

Jill found Miles so cheerful that even the thought of the Civic Reception was not damping his spirits – ‘Think how much worse we’d feel if we had to face it knowing we’d been a flop. And I was right about the end of the second act, wasn’t I? The kid carried it splendidly.’

‘Tom doesn’t think so – not for London. He’s now engaged in telling Peter so.’

‘Then he’ll be out of luck. Peter’s as pleased as I am. We both now think that Cyril’s got what it takes.’

Well, perhaps he had. Perhaps she had been too much influenced by Tom. All the same, in the argument that was still continuing when, before leaving for London, he drove them and Peter to the Civic Reception, she still found herself on his side. She feared that Miles and Peter were suffering from applause-intoxication.

The Assembly Rooms, with their tall pillars and high, domed windows, looked classically beautiful. Lights streamed out into Spa Street with its pollarded chestnuts. In the entrance hall marble goddesses in marble draperies, standing in niches, were thigh-high in non-marble flowers. Considered separately, the goddesses and the flowers were delightful; combined, they were slightly funny as the
goddesses appeared to be legless. But nothing interfered with the admirable curves of the double staircase.

Jill, leaving her stole in the cloakroom, ran into the Thornton girls. They had been far away from her in the stalls and she had not met them in the intervals as Tom had felt the need of visiting the bar. She could now see them in the full glory of their party frocks. Kit was in a muslin Kate Greenaway dress reaching to her ankles. Robin’s white satin shift ended a couple of inches above her knees.

‘Perhaps I ought to have lengthened it for this highly conservative occasion, but I always feel my knees are my best feature. And one needs a good space between the bottom of one’s hem and the top of one’s boots.’

Jill paid due respect to the white satin boots.

Kit, pulling a cat-like face at herself in the glass, said, ‘If
I
wore them, people would call me Puss-in-Boots. I wonder if I should wear cat whiskers and start a vogue – false whiskers instead of false eyelashes. May we hang on to you, Mrs Quentin, so that Mr Quentin won’t forget he’s asked us to sit out with him?’

In the entrance hall Jill found that Miles and Peter had been joined by Geoffrey Thornton. They all went to shake hands with the resplendent Mayor and Mayoress at the top of the stairs, then went on into the gallery to look down at the dancers in the ballroom. Peter, introduced to Kit, asked her if she had enjoyed the play. Jill thought there was a shade of talking down to a child in his tone and, presumably, Kit did too, for she gave him her most
cat-like smile and said, ‘Oh, loved it. The touch of Henry Arthur Jones was so refreshing.’

Peter, startled, said, ‘Good God, child, what can you possibly know about Henry Arthur Jones?’

‘Oh, I’ve no first-hand knowledge but I’ve read Shaw’s
Our Theatres in the Nineties
, though it was some years ago, when I read all through Shaw. Anyway, am I right – or could I be mixing Jones up with Sardou? How would Sardou revive, Mr Hesper? I mean, of course, treated seriously – as you treated the play tonight.’

‘It’s a fascinating idea,’ said Peter. ‘Not that I’ve read a line of Sardou. Are you, by any chance, making fun of me?

Kit denied it charmingly, but Jill had her doubts.

Miles remembered having seen Sardou’s
Diplomacy
when he was a boy and obliged with vivid impressions of it, to Kit’s delight. A dance began below and a young man approached Robin. She whispered to her father, ‘Don’t forget your dance with the Mayoress,’ then tossed back her long, fair hair and went off with the young man. Geoffrey Thornton said to Jill, ‘I booked the Mayoress for the next waltz but this certainly isn’t it, so shall we?’ She looked at Miles, saw that he and Peter were happily talking to Kit, and said, ‘Yes, I’d like to – though I’m terribly out of practice.’

How long was it since she had danced? Miles never did, if he could get out of it. (As a dancer, he was unusually awkward and held women as if he disliked them – surprising for an actor whose stage movements were so easy and who was particularly good at love scenes. It had
once occurred to her that he might dance better on the stage,
acting
dancing, than in a ballroom.) On the way downstairs she wished she had simply said that she didn’t dance. However, she got on quite well: Thornton was easy to follow. And though she was particularly conscious of his slightness of build she also noted that he held her firmly, imparting confidence. When the dance ended, he said, ‘That was delightful. It reminded me of how fond I once was of dancing. Now I’d better take you back to the others in case a waltz calls me to my civic duties.’

Up in the gallery, Peter was no longer talking down to Kit. If anything, Jill noticed with amusement, Kit was talking down to him, and to Miles, and she certainly seemed better informed than they were about the subject under discussion. This was the evolution of the
nineteenth-century
theatre after the production of Tom Robertson’s
Caste
. Kit was pointing out that it was a forerunner not only as regards naturalism but also as regards disapproval of class distinctions. Jill, after listening for a few moments, said to Thornton, ‘I hadn’t realized Kit was so specially interested in the theatre.’

‘She isn’t. Oh, she may be, this particular week, because of your husband; but I’d say she’s equally interested in all the arts. Indeed, she can get herself interested in almost any subject. She has an astonishing all-round intelligence.’

‘Any particular talents?’

‘Not outstanding. She can write a bit, paint a bit, play the piano fairly well, but it’s her
general
intelligence that impresses me. I sometimes worry about her. She seems to
me a sort of
prodigy
of general intelligence. And prodigies, one knows, sometimes fizzle out.’

‘I doubt if Kit will.’

‘So do I, really. There’s nothing freakish about her. I daresay she’s just the result of my grandmother’s theory that children, from the moment they can understand the spoken word, should begin their education. Kit’s probably just a few years ahead of her age. Still, Robin had the same upbringing and, though she’s bright enough, she’s not, at seventeen, as bright as Kit is at fifteen.’

‘Anyway, they’re both of them darlings. There’s a waltz beginning. You must fly to the arms of the Mayoress.’

While discussing Kit, they had drawn a little apart from the others. Now momentarily on her own, Jill leaned on the gallery rail and looked down, interested to compare the dresses here with those of the theatre. She decided that those occupants of the stalls who had come on here weren’t dancing. There were indications of wealth among the dancers but not much elegance. Bright colours abounded and seemed to be specially favoured by women who filled their dresses rather too well. Most of the young girls were wisps and most of the middle-aged women were overweight. It was hard to believe that the wisps would eventually become overweight but probably matrimony, babies and too much bread would do the trick. Presumably the inelegant ladies came from the prosperous New Town and were likely to be better off than the ladies of the Spa Town. She found herself resenting the New Town, on behalf of the Spa Town, and then accused herself of
snobbishness. But she knew she had been too poor, and was too conscious of her very mediocre background, ever to be really snobbish. She just liked elegance for its own sake. Still, all these people looked kind and jolly. And if there were no lovely long suede gloves, the Mayoress had handsome white kid ones, which somehow managed to suggest that they could creak. Dancing with her, Geoffrey Thornton looked even slighter than he had felt.

Kit, suddenly at Jill’s elbow, said, ‘Won’t you come and join us, please?’

‘I was admiring the Mayoress’s gloves,’ said Jill.

‘They’re what our great-grandmother called
twenty-button
length. They only had six buttons so I suppose it meant that there would have been room for twenty. Well, if she trips Father up I do hope he manages to fall on top. Oh, look!’

For an instant, Jill feared that Thornton and the Mayoress had met with catastrophe, but it turned out that Kit had merely spotted Cyril-Doug Digby sitting all by himself watching the dancers.

‘I think something should be done about him,’ said Kit. ‘Would he like it if I asked him to dance?’

‘It just might embarrass him,’ said Jill. ‘Let’s see what my husband and Peter Hesper think.’

Peter, consulted, said, ‘Nothing would embarrass that lad.’ Miles was slightly dubious but decided that Kit would cope all right. She flitted off and they watched her approach Cyril, who shortly took the floor with her.

‘Good God, he’s wearing a miniature dress suit,’ said
Peter. ‘He must have swiped it from a ventriloquist’s dummy.’

Miles said, ‘Do you still dislike him, now you’ve seen his effect on an audience?’

Peter, after consideration, said, ‘I’m afraid I do still dislike him. It’s odd, that – because, usually, if an audience accepts an actor I dislike, I get over my dislike out of sheer relief. Well, I’m relieved all right about that midget but I can’t like him. I suppose the truth is that I find him unattractive; quite a bit repulsive, really.’

‘I don’t feel that at all,’ said Miles. ‘I’ll admit he looks distinctly comic in that suit but that strikes me as touching.’