No Laughing Matter (28 page)

For a moment he was nonplussed, but then he thought that since once she had been so great, it would be monstrous to agree with her like a small child.

He raised his voice, ‘I think it depends on your experience,’ he said. ‘My own family is a very racketty one. I don’t believe my parents ever cared for their children. And so I suppose we’ve never really loved them. Certainly my mother’s been far worse at times than any Lady Manningtree …’

Now that she heard she cut in impatiently, ‘Oh, dear, Oh dear. That is bad. For an actor too. I used to rely so much on coming home to a hot supper and everything laid out for me by my dear mother. This poor boy,’ she told Alma who came across to them saying loudly that she must pay her respects, ‘This poor boy has been telling me about his home. No family life at all.’

‘Oh, I’m sure he has,’ Alma said. ‘We all know his hard luck story. But you mustn’t be so proud of your awful upbringing, Rupert. We all suffer agonies when we’re young. Children have an extra sense that makes them so vulnerable. I can remember now as well as anything my own mother coming downstairs with a telegram in her hand – I couldn’t have been more than three at the time, all frills and bows as I stood at the bottom of the stairs watching her – I’m doing it again now as I tell you. She seemed to come so slowly. And every step as she came nearer was like a little death for me because I could see that my darling mother was suffering. Of course I didn’t know that the telegram was to tell her of her own mother’s death. I didn’t even know what a
telegram
was. But I could feel her suffering in every tiny bone of my body.’

Lady Beyton put her hand on Alma’s. ‘I don’t believe a word of it,’ she said laughing. ‘Not one word. You were always a great fibber. And now you’ve got this clever, handsome young man for your lead. That’s just what we all need as we get on. Young blood.’

Alma shouted angrily, ‘He’s had a lot too much praise. He’s still got a great deal to learn. Now if you want hope from the young, look at that pretty girl, Hope Merriman.’

Once again Lady Beyton patted her hand, laughing loudly. ‘And your puns,’ she said and she winked at Rupert. ‘They’ve given him a
rotten part, he says. You must bully your agent. Tell him to get you into
The
Three
Musketeers.
They’re sure to revive. You’re taller than Lewis Waller of course. But you’d make a fine D’Artagnan.’

‘D’Artagnan!’ Alma laughed her scorn loudly enough to make even Lady Beyton jump. ‘D’Artagnan has to have fire and gaiety. When D’Artagnan comes on the stage every woman in the house knows that a
man
has come among them. This boy’s got a long way to go yet before he can play D’Artagnan. D’Artagnan isn’t just a question of clever ideas about wastepaper baskets.’

Rupert felt too angry to remain even within earshot. Although in his rage he could see nothing he pretended to be looking at the
flower-beds
and so wandered away on his own into a shrubbery. The
evergreen
bushes and his own sense of isolation reminded him that he was in a prettyish kind of little wilderness. ‘I send no compliments to your mother’ he said aloud, and hearing Margaret answering with
delighted
laughter he realized to his surprise that his detestable, forever renounced past had for once brought him relief. He sat down on a wooden seat that encircled a huge beech tree. ‘I am seriously
displeased
,’ he said aloud a number of times, trying to assess what emphasis would most completely crush Alma Grayson. After the last attempt Ronnie Rice’s voice interrupted.

‘And so is somebody else, old boy. I’ve been sent by Alma to tell you to return at once to the glittering throng or forever be accounted one of the lesser breed.’

‘Damn her. Damn her blasted impertinence. What’s she picking on me like this for?’

‘I haven’t the least idea, old boy. In any case I shouldn’t think of being mixed up in it.’

‘If you know, you ought to tell me. If she continues like this, there’ll be a row and that won’t help the play.’

‘Ah, now, for the sake of the side of course, that’s quite a different matter. I don’t
know,
mind you, but as a shrewd guess, I think she’s needled because you haven’t told her the old bedtime story.’

‘But I couldn’t possibly. She must be over fifty. It’d be a kind of incest.’

‘All right, keep your wool on, old boy. Anyhow you’ve rather yourself to blame. It isn’t as though you haven’t kept stoking the fire under her kettle.’

‘But she’s the sort of woman one naturally flirts with.’

‘Nothing natural about it as far as I can see. You asked my
diagnosis
and I’ve given it. That’s her usual trouble.’

‘Well, I’m afraid she won’t get any relief from me.’

As they moved back towards the terrace Rice whistled, then, ‘To be Alma Grayson’s leading man may not be a sinecure but it’s not to be sneezed at, you know.’

But, whether because of the pollen from the flower-beds or not, that was exactly what Rupert then did very loudly.

Every head on the terrace turned towards him, and among them to Rupert’s great surprise was that of their producer Gerald Crace. Alma threw out her arms to the assembled company.

‘And now we know that our juvenile lead hasn’t drowned himself in the lake because I don’t love him, we can face tonight’s audience without fear of disaster. Darling Nina, you’ve chosen the better part.’ She waved one hand towards the park, the other towards the Wyatt mansion,’ To live with such dignity and beauty.’

Perhaps Lady Beyton thought that the allusion was to her husband who, panama in hand, was hovering around Alma; at any rate she produced an unexpected, vulgar chuckle. She put her old, ringed hand on Rupert’s arm.

‘You haven’t done too badly for yourself, Alma.’

Alma turned to Lord Beyton and at the top of her voice said, ‘I’d no idea she’d got so deaf. Almost nothing gets over now, does it?’

Lady Beyton moved away, over her shoulder she gave her husband his orders. ‘See they all get into their right cars, Andrew.’

Alma sought to pass it over by an account of how she would spend her next hour.

‘Fingers and wrists quite loose,’ she told Lord Beyton, ‘and the mind absolutely receptive…. I fill my thoughts with a colour. But it must be a positive colour like blue.’

Rupert found that he was to travel with Gerald in his touring Wolseley, but before he could put his foot on the step, Lord Beyton drew him on one side.

‘A word of advice. If you’re going to marry one of the stars, as they call them now, you must get the upper hand early on.’

*

Gerald asked, ‘Well, what are we going to do about it?’

Rupert was uncertain enough of what he was talking about that he felt it fair to assume an expression of ignorance.

‘Alma. She was on to me by trunk call for half an hour at half past midnight. You’re ruining the magnificent curtain, you’re keeping the audience away, you and I have been sophisticated and clever with something natural and lovely and sincere. In short we’ve ballsed up her big moment and blowed if she’ll stand it.’

To give himself time to control his emotions, Rupert said casually, ‘Ah, the wastepaper basket.’

‘Don’t,’ Gerald shuddered, ‘That rather silly combination of words came over the telephone to me fifty times between half past twelve and one this morning. And I went on saying them over in my head until three. Have you heard three such words repeated like that? Well, they sound damned silly.’

‘The bitch! Shunting us off to bed and then telephoning – But anyway you and I had agreed. You said yourself we can’t afford any sentimentalization with a play like this. It’s telling a new truth …’

‘Indeed, yes. But what we also can’t afford is to do without Alma.’

‘You mean that she’s actually threatened … but that’s nonsense, she’s under contract.’

‘Only pre-London with options. Her agents are very tough. In any case if she goes to the management …’

‘But you’re the producer.’

‘My
first
production for them? Oh, we can fight her. But it could be a very nasty shambles for us. If you could manage to look a bit touched by Lady Manningtree’s naked fight against the world’s cruelty, help to give old Alma the one moment when the audience loves her …’

‘But they’re not meant to.’

‘Perhaps the w.p.b. is a little bit obvious. Yes, that’s what I suggest cutting.’

‘And if I refuse.’

‘I don’t see how I could support you against her.’

Rupert found a voice that seemed to come from far off-mellow, caressing, with a touch of acceptant chuckle.

‘Well, I suppose … life’s full of rum necessities. All right.’

‘Thank you. I promise I’ll support you if she goes too far.’

‘I’m not going to bed with her, if that’s what you mean, I’ll tell you that.’

‘I should hope not. For the Lord’s sake don’t try anything like that.
She’s a tremendous prude is our Alma. Kharma and Christian Science and heaven knows what. Sex is just an untrue thought to her.’

‘But Ronnie Rice implied …’

‘Ah! I should have warned you. Never believe a word Ronnie says. For all that hearty cricketing manner he’s a shameless old gossip.’

It was only when he had begun to put on his makeup that Rupert’s anger returned. He went straight along to Alma’s dressing-room and walked in without knocking. She was lying on her daybed with her eyes closed, thinking of blue, no doubt. He stood over her.

‘You had absolutely no right to ring up Gerald behind my back. We agreed to discuss it all on Saturday. I’m not willing to give way. You know very well the play can only work if we’re true to it. I’m grateful to you for all that I’ve learnt from you in the last months, but I’m not going to learn to fake things. You know that this play could be my big chance, you also know that you could wreck it. It’s up to you. But so long as I’m playing it I’m not going to sweeten the end.’

She had opened her eyes as he started to speak and he expected a tirade but she only stared at him. When he finished she swallowed once or twice as though considering, then she spoke in a voice of artificial gaiety.

‘Oh, my dear boy. Don’t let us sugar things over. Not after that pathetic spectacle. A great, almost a terrible woman she was. But how could
you
tell that, who only see her now when the terror has gone soft and pappy. Poor Beyton! But I’ve been waiting and hoping for this from you. We’ll give Error its innings. My dear, I’ve caught that awful cricketing language from Ronnie at his most boring. I only wanted to know whether you cared enough to stand up for your own views. But, thank God for it, you’re big enough.’

She held out her long elegant hand to him.

‘So be it,’ she said in a comradely voice; ‘we’ll go all out for the hard bitter ending.’

He bent down to kiss her hand, but then he decided to kiss her cheek.

‘Thank you, Alma. You’re a darling,’ he said, and then he found himself kissing her passionately on the mouth. She seemed to push him away for a few minutes but then she held him. He felt like a victorious army gone berserk.

That night he almost overplayed the wastepaper basket business just to show her who had won. But the applause was still terrific.
Gerald after the show appeared puzzled and apprehensive, but Alma settled that.

‘It all works so beautifully, Gerald, now that this boy understands what I want.’

They were settling, all three, into the plushy comfort of the hired car that took her back to the Adelphi hotel each night.

‘He’s a very clever boy,’ she said, and she emphasized each word by tapping his cheek.

It was the beginning of their highly successful partnership on and off stage.

*

P. S. was asleep in his pram on the front step. The soft down on his veined little head flashed gold when, from moment to moment, the sun’s rays caught it as the breeze blew the fringe of the pram’s hood. Of course children are often golden before their hair gradually darkens, but with herself for a mother P. S. might well keep his little golden fleece. He had Hugh’s rather small mouth, and the comforter
accentuated
it. By the corner of the privet hedge where the builders had left their debris Senior and Middleman were constructing something from the lumps of solidified cement and the broken bricks. Sukey, who was pegging the washing on the line, asked,

‘Is that the Tower of London?’ She spoke softly, for P. S. was going through a phase of light sleeping in the daytime.

‘No, of course not,’ said Senior in his gruff voice, ‘it’s a bungalow just like ours. Only it’s got a proper name. It’s called Thomas.’

‘Domus isn’t a proper name, darling, it’s Latin for house.’

‘What is Latin?’ asked Middleman. He was hardly at all babyish in his speech.

‘Latin is what Daddy teaches,’ Senior said proudly, ‘He’s going to teach it to me when I’m bigger.’

‘Well, maybe.’ Sukey smiled as she always did when she modified the children’s statements in a way that they couldn’t understand.

‘Keep an eye on P. S., senior. I’m just going to get Daddy and Mr Plowright their eleven o’clock tea. If you come with me, Middleman, you can get a cake each for yourself and Senior.’

‘Oh, can’t
I
come, Mummy? Can’t I come? He’ll choose the wrong thing.’

‘I won’t.’

‘I bet you will.’

‘I won’t.’

‘Sssh! Both of you. You’ll wake P. S.’ Sukey rebuked them with a smile. ‘Anyway you don’t know what there is.’

‘What is there?’

‘There’s Queen cakes which are still hot. And there’s raspberry fingers that I made on Monday. Now you’re in a fix
aren’t you? Which is it to be?’

She watched with enchantment the pantomime of solemn frowns and pursing of the lips that accompanied her sons’ choice.

‘Can’t I have both?’

‘No, you can’t, you monster of greed. Now, hurry up or the Middleman will choose for you.’

Horrified, Senior said urgently, ‘Raspberry fingers.’

‘So icing sugar wins over freshness.’ Taking her second son’s little hand, she went laughing into the bungalow.

When she came into the sitting-room-cum-study Hugh and Mr Plowright had spread exam papers all over the floor. Mr Plowright jumped up as soon as she entered and offered to take the tray from her; and, when she refused he still stood up, fingering his tie – as a gesture of respect, perhaps, but no, probably only out of nervousness.