Rivals (80 page)

After a rousing opening number by the chorus, it was Monica’s and Charles’s turn. Monica, playing the ambassador’s beautiful ex-actress wife, couldn’t act for toffee. But by tackling the part with the same breezy competence with which she ran charity committees or bathed labradors, she gave the rest of the cast a much-needed confidence. And Charles looked so sweet in his tight pantaloons, swearing eternal and extremely camp devotion, that it was rather like a skittish Billy Bunter getting off with the head girl.

‘
My marriage is sacred to me
,’ warbled Monica, to the smirks of the audience, who all knew she was married to Tony.

‘
If marriage is sacred to you
,’ sang back Charles, lasciviously stroking her bare arm, ‘
there’s not very much I can do
,’ to even more smirks from the audience, who nearly all knew Charles was gay. And they liked it even better when his moustache fell off and he nearly split his pantaloons bending over to pick it up.

‘What a lot of gold fillings Monica’s got,’ whispered Caitlin to Taggie, ‘and, waving that baton, Dame Enid looks as though she’s playing Stickie with Gertrude. When’s Mother Courage coming on?’

‘Any minute,’ said Taggie, who was praying.

Maud, clinging to both Bas’s and Rupert’s hands, stood shivering like a whippet in the wings. Although her black velvet dress was Turn-of-the-Century in fashion, Basil, for some reason, was dressed as a Regency buck. The longest legs in Gloucestershire were set off by gleaming black boots and pantaloons, the cut of his slate-blue coat would have had Beau Brummel in raptures and his sleek black hair had been coaxed forward into Byronic curls. He looked the perfect Georgette Heyer hero.

‘You look gorgeous,’ he whispered to Maud.

‘So do you,’ said Maud, whose teeth were chattering loud enough to provide the castanets in the orchestra.

‘You’ll be all right,’ said Rupert, patting her shoulder.

And suddenly she was. There was no more need of Rupert’s presence; she was really keen to get on stage. She must gather the audience into the play and say every line exactly right. She was only nervous because she was a young provincial widow, a little shy but heartbreakingly beautiful, about to be launched on Parisian society.

There was a terrific roll of drums, a tantivy of horns, and she glided into the glittering ballroom, standing deliberately under the huge chandelier so all her jewels sparked and the audience could take in the beauty of her body in the tight black dress, and her pallor which only set off her red lips and her brilliant red hair.

‘
Gentlemen no more
,’ sang Maud, pianissimo.

‘
I’ve never seen the Spring going to a ball before
,’ sang a swooning French aristocrat, played by the bank manager of Lloyds, Cotchester. ‘
You throw us into ecstasies, lovely lady.
’

And for once the words were believable. Now Maud was singing again, the exquisite voice hitting F sharp as clear as a bell.

‘Shit,’ murmured Caitlin. ‘She’s fucking good.’

‘Oh, thank God,’ breathed Taggie. ‘It’s going to be all right.’

I can’t bear it, thought Cameron. She’d dismissed Maud as a sluttish, middle-aged parasite with unfashionably long hair, who dressed like a tramp, and here she was bringing the entire audience to their feet at the end of her first number.

Bas’s entrance stepped up the excitement even more. He had a glorious, slightly husky voice and added just the right touch of rakish Latin glamour.

‘Shit,’ said Caitlin again. ‘Lucky Mummy. He’s
dead
attractive.’

The sexual tension between him and Maud was incredible, particularly when offset by Monica and Charles, who, stepping up the camping, got more and more like Dignity and Impudence. Having dispatched all the competition, Bas was left alone on the stage with Maud at the end of the first act.

‘
Music so sweet
,’ he crooned softly, dancing round and round her, tempting her into his arms, ‘
speaks to the heart and the feet.
’ And finally, triumphantly, he swept her into a waltz.

Elegant, incredibly romantic, they revolved under the chandelier until the curtain came down to a deafening roar of applause and a fusillade of bravoes.

After the first act, even though there was the Vilja song and several big numbers to come, Maud felt nothing but relief. It didn’t matter that Declan hadn’t turned up. She even sent Rupert back to his seat. She felt totally insulated. She’d been so petrified, and concentrated so hard on getting that first act perfect, that now she felt on automatic pilot. All trace of tears had gone. And although Charles almost stole the show when he bent down to retrieve his moustache yet again and his trousers split to reveal pink boxer shorts covered in pale-blue teddy bears, it was Maud’s night. When the final curtain came down she was cheered to the rooftops, taking curtain call after curtain call, as the whole audience, even Tony, were on their feet, yelling and clapping like promenaders.

Rupert turned to Taggie. ‘We did it,’ he said triumphantly.

‘No,’ she said. ‘You did it.’

‘Don’t cry,’ said Basil, as he and Maud took their final bows.

‘You were better than anyone could have dreamed,’ said Barton Sinclair, pale beside the made-up actors, as he kissed Maud’s hand and, to roars of applause handed her a huge bouquet of flowers that appeared through the curtains.

‘I saw
The Merry Widow
in Paris,’ said Valerie Jones petulantly to Professor Graystock. ‘It was quite a different opera. But then it was performed by professionals.’

‘I wouldn’t call
Die Lustige Witwe
opera,’ said the Professor, showing off that he knew the German title, ‘but I did think Maud O’Hara was marvellously in voice.’

‘I’d like to meet Maud O’Hara,’ said the Prebendary. ‘She seems an interesting person.’

‘You shall in a minute,’ said Tony cosily.

Maud rushed back to her dressing-room to change out of her gold last-act dress into a blue silk suit she’d bought for the occasion. After that it was bedlam, people pouring in and out, hugging, kissing and congratulating her. The champagne went in a flash. The press bombarded her with questions, but she was not to be drawn on the subject of Declan. ‘My husband’s in Ireland on business,’ she said firmly. ‘He’ll be here later.’

At the party everyone kept coming up and saying how marvellous she’d been, but she still felt curiously detached, as though nothing could dent her now.

‘I wonder if you’d like to have lunch one day,’ said the Prebendary, his voice thickening. ‘Now I’m in the autumn of my life, I enjoy the company of lovely women.’ He was furious when the Bishop came up and joined them, with a plate piled high with Taggie’s food.

‘Evening, Fergus, you look very fit. Good to see Venturer pulling their weight this evening. Maud, my dear, you were absolutely splendid, such good tunes too, nice to see my flock enjoying it so much. Can I get you some refreshment?’

‘I’d love another drink,’ said Maud.

‘Well, go and get her one,’ said the Prebendary irritably.

‘Here’s a waiter coming,’ said the Bishop, not budging. ‘I must tell you about my recent trip to the Holy Land, Fergus.’

The Prebendary didn’t want to hear about the Holy Land one bit, particularly when Maud excused herself. She was just going over to thank Rupert once again when she felt a warm hand on her back.

It was Tony. ‘
Even the ranks of Tuscany could scarce forbear to cheer
,’ he said softly. ‘Couldn’t you hear me yelling like a schoolboy?’

‘Was it really all right?’

‘Stupendous. There wasn’t a man in the audience who wasn’t madly in love with you. I’m sorry your husband didn’t make the grade. But then making the grade has never been one of his specialities, has it?’

‘Unfortunately he takes the franchise as seriously as you,’ said Maud bitterly.

‘Ah,’ said Tony with an evil smile. ‘But the difference is, he’s not going to win.’

‘Maud, my dear,’ said Monica, bringing forward a distinguished-looking man in a leather jacket with greying hair. ‘I didn’t tell you before, but this is Pascoe Rawlings.’

Maud’s jaw dropped. Pascoe Rawlings was simply the most powerful theatrical agent in London.

‘Were you in the audience?’ said Maud.

‘And in total raptures,’ said Pascoe, drawing her out of the shadowy corner and under the naked light bulb hanging in the wings and examining her face carefully. ‘Yes, close-up you’re even better. Look, Jonathan Miller’s casting
A Doll’s House.
Can you have lunch with me very early next week?’

The party was, in fact, a great success. James spent the evening holding Lizzie in front of him like a riot shield to ward off the advances of Sarah Stratton, and only let her go because he wanted to be introduced to Pascoe Rawlings. The next moment Freddie had whipped Lizzie behind one of the huge cardboard pillars which had stood in the Pontevedrian ballroom.

‘This is a pillar of unrespectability,’ said Lizzie.

‘I love you,’ said Freddie desperately.

‘And I love you. James is going to London tomorrow night.’

‘What time will the children be asleep?’

‘By nine,’ said Lizzie, ‘even if I have to drug them.’

‘I’ll be there at nine-firty,’ said Freddie.

In her mother’s dressing-room, on a floor of wilting petals, Caitlin lay in Archie’s arms and had no need of words.

Taggie spent the evening removing plates, keeping out of Rupert’s way and sticking up for her father. It was not just Tony who thought he’d behaved appallingly.

‘So unsupportive,’ snapped Cameron.

‘He ought to have his knuckles rapped,’ said Monica, ‘but in a way that storm of grief seemed to enhance her performance.’

‘I always said you can never trust the Irish,’ said Valerie Jones.

‘D’you think Declan’s coming back tonight?’ whispered Bas in Maud’s ear at midnight, ‘because if he isn’t . . .’

Everyone stopped talking as Tony tapped his glass with a spoon.

‘On behalf of Corinium Television,’ he said suavely, ‘I’d like to thank our Mayor and Mayoress and, of course, you, Prebendary, for being here this evening. I want to congratulate Barton and all the cast of
The Merry Widow
for a truly splendid performance, but most of all I think we should praise Maud O’Hara, who, under the most difficult circumstances —’ he smiled at Maud – ‘was without doubt the star of the evening.’

Exactly on cue, Declan walked in. He was deathly pale and still wearing yesterday’s jeans and dark-blue jersey. But such was his presence that, as usual, he made everyone else seem like pygmies.

Charles Fairburn, who was pissed, gave a very theatrical hiss. ‘Hullo, Declan dear, I’m surprised you haven’t popped up through a trap door in a great puff of sulphur and brimstone.’

‘Good morning, Declan,’ drawled Tony, ostentatiously looking at his watch, ‘you’re late. Four and a half hours late to be exact. What kept you? I do hope you’re not as late as this when you go to the IBA on Friday week, or there’s even less chance of Venturer winning the franchise.’

Declan ignored him and walked up to Maud.

‘I’m desperately sorry, darling,’ he said. ‘I hear you were sensational. I knew you would be.’

Indignation overcame Monica’s normal good manners: ‘You knew nothing of the sort, you beastly man, you ought to be hung, drawn and quartered. She was absolutely super, but no thanks to you. You wait till you see the video.’

‘There was a good reason,’ said Declan, not taking his eyes off Maud, ‘but as I don’t like some of the company you’re keeping this evening, I’ll tell you later. Let’s go.’

‘But she’s the guest of honour,’ said Monica furiously.

Just for a second everyone expected Maud to slap Declan’s face. Instead she reached up and hugged him.

‘Poor darling,’ she said, ‘you
must
be tired. Thank you all —’ marvellously theatrically, the big star now, she turned slowly round, smiling at everyone in the room – ‘for a lovely, lovely party.’

Then, taking Declan’s arm, she dutifully followed him off the stage.

Caitlin, who’d just emerged from Maud’s dressing-room with Archie, shook her head. ‘I’ll never understand that couple,’ she said.

On the way out Maud and Declan passed Rupert and Cameron. ‘Rupert saved me,’ said Maud, ignoring Cameron, whom she had not forgiven for her abuse earlier.

‘I know,’ said Declan, ‘Taggie told me on the way in.’

Briefly he took Rupert aside. ‘Look, I’m sorry I focked everything up, but Dermot MacBride insisted I sat down and read the whole play. I didn’t realize his mother was from Gloucestershire and the play’s all about his childhood just outside Stroud. He’s giving it to us, with an option on the next play. I’m going to fix a price with his agent tomorrow. It’s a focking good play.’

‘It better be,’ said Rupert icily. ‘You nearly paid for it with a far higher price than money.’

RIVALS

Six days later the Gatherum, which was the neigbouring hunt to the West Cotchester, held their hunt ball in Henry Hampshire’s beautiful mouldering Elizabethan house. This was the last time the two consortiums would meet before their encounters with the IBA next week, and once again the whole place seemed to divide like the Dreyfus case. At one table sat Freddie and Valerie, Henry Hampshire, very much on his best behaviour as host and in the presence of his wife Hermione, Declan and Maud and Rupert and Cameron. Bas was turning up later with some ex-mistress, whose husband was conveniently in America.

Two tables away sat the Baddinghams, Ginger Johnson and his wife, Georgie Baines, with his long eyelashes cast down, and his wife, Paul and Sarah Stratton, and James and Lizzie Vereker. Although some of the women in both parties exchanged occasional banter and smiles, the men of one side studiously ignored those of the other side.

Maud appeared to be the only member of the Venturer party in tearing spirits. The two subsequent performances of
The Merry Widow
on Tuesday and Wednesday had been just as successful. She had had hundreds of letters and telephone calls of congratulation, and yesterday she had lunched with Pascoe Rawlings, who was arranging for her to audition as soon as possible for
A Doll’s House.
Tonight she looked stunning with her red-gold hair piled up, and an old-gold taffeta dress which looked suspiciously new, turning her green eyes a tigerish yellow. No doubt when Bas arrived, after the success of
The Merry Widow
, the band could be prevailed upon to play a quick waltz, and Bas would sweep her on to the floor.