Seven Dials (29 page)

Katy stepped back too into the shadowed wings as an expectant hush fell on the house and Brin still stood there. It seemed to Charlie that he would never respond, but then with a sharp, almost convulsive move he turned and walked upstage and at last, turning back to the audience with a swirl of his purple cloak, he began to speak.

‘I pray you do. I will attend her here, and woo her with some spirit when she comes -’

The audience were rapt, and slowly, as the speech progressed, the icy amazement that had filled Charlie began to melt and she could concentrate on what was happening. He looked pretty good, she told herself, staring at him with as an objective a gaze as she could muster, even though it was difficult to be objective when her whole body was aching with awareness of how terrified he must be by his situation, and when she felt almost as though it were she herself standing there in a yellow doublet and hose and purple cloak waving a soft velvet hat around. But was it a good performance? She couldn’t be sure, because now Katy was there, wheeling and marching about the stage like some small mad thing, her eyes snapping and her voice clear and loud in the silence.

She, now was indeed giving a superb performance. When she spoke it seemed to Charlie that she wasn’t in a theatre at all, but was there in an Italian courtyard with this small termagant of a woman, eavesdropping on a private scene between two real people. Her eyes seemed to spark actual light and her
mouth moved with so much anger that the small hairs on the back of Charlie’s neck shifted and then lay still as Katy listened and reacted to the words that Brin was throwing at her.

‘- bonny Kate and sometimes Kate the curst, but Kate, the prettiest Kate in Christendom, Kate of Kate-Hall, my superdainty Kate -’

The scene went on, and slowly the awareness grew on Charlie that while Brin was giving an accurate enough reading of the part, sure of his words and clearly comfortable with the moves he used, still there was not in him that fire that she recognized in Katy. She had met Katy once or twice when she had called in at the rehearsal rooms, and thought her, if she had thought of her at all, a rather silly woman, vapidly interested only in her own appearance and quite unaware of other people. She had been used to smile vaguely at Charlie when she saw her and then show no further interest, and Charlie had assumed that she was just another mediocre actress. Good to look at, a splendid clothes-horse, but little more.

But, she now knew, she had been quite wrong in that judgement. This woman was an actress of stature, one who could take an audience in her hand and tease it and soothe it, amuse it and frighten it, break its heart and steal its soul. She owned the audience and could use it in any way she wanted.

And tonight, it seemed to Charlie, she was using her huge talent to draw attention to Brin. Every one of her reactions, her moves and her looks thrown at him made the audience more aware of him, and more responsive to him. She was, in effect, creating Brin’s performance for him, by giving him the centre of attention and leading the audience in appreciation of him, and as the scene built beautifully to its climax Charlie leaned back and could no longer look at the stage.

Katy has done something very remarkable, she told herself, sitting there in the dimness as the words rolled over her and Brin’s voice, strong and confident now, delivered the last lines: ‘for I am born to tame you, Kate, and bring you from a wild Kate to a Kate conformable as other household Kates. Here comes your father; never make denial. I must and will have Katherine to my wife.’ She has made an actor of him, because really, he isn’t very good at all -

But that was a thought not even to be considered and she thrust it away from her for ever, and leapt to her feet with
everyone else as once more the applause broke out. She, like everyone around her, clapped until her arms ached and her palms stung, and cried out, ‘Bravo!’ and ‘Bis!’ and just shouted her appreciation as all over the theatre, in tier after tier of seats, Brin Lackland was given a response to his performance of Petruchio in a fragment of
The Taming of the Shrew
that no one there could ever remember hearing before.

Charlie gave up the unequal battle after trying for over half an hour to get past the stage door. It made no difference that she assured the almost frantic and very startled stage doorkeeper that she was a friend of Brin’s, that she was expected - a lie she felt justifiable - because even if he had been willing to let her in, there was no way she could get past the crowd. They were packed in the passageway and on the stairs side by side, buzzing like bees in a hive, and no one at all, even with the best will in the world, could have got her through. It was as though the entire audience had decided that they had to come backstage to tell the hero of the hour just what a hero he was.

She struggled her way out of the mob of people besieging the stage door and escaped, her clothes awry and her hair in wisps on her forehead - for the combination of the warm July weather and the excitement had made her sticky with sweat - to go back down Portugal Street to the front of the theatre, and stood there for a while, needing to recover her breath as she listened to what was being said around her.

It was really quite remarkable. Did people usually hang around outside theatres so long after a performance like this? She had no idea, but doubted it. Yet here they still were, many of then talking animatedly about the excitement of it all, clearly unwilling to go their ways and leave all the glitter behind, and feeling suddenly very tired and dispirited Charlie smoothed her hands over her head and then turned and went walking away towards the hospital, a bare few minutes away.

What had promised to be a treat had turned out to be something rather disagreeable, even threatening, and she was puzzled by how alarmed she felt. Why should I? she asked herself as she went trudging round the Aldwych past the Waldorf Astoria Hotel, into which many of her fellow theatregoers were disappearing. It makes no difference to me that he was so huge a success, does it? Why feel so uneasy?

And because she had always been as honest with herself as she knew how to be she faced the question fairly. Is it jealousy? Am I unable to cope with a man who can get that sort of attention from a theatre full of strangers? But she could absolve herself from that. At one level she was genuinely glad for him, had been truly happy to see the way his eyes had gleamed with excited pleasure at the response he got. She grudged him no part of it, and no one could ever convince her she did.

But it wasn’t really
right
, a corner of her mind whispered. It was Katy who had made him look so good. It wasn’t him at all, was it? That’s what makes you feel so uncomfortable about it all. If he had truly earned that ovation, that thunderous appreciation, she would be glorying in the fact. But it had been Katy who had deserved it. Katy who, showing an unselfishness that Charlie would never have believed possible, had given him that experience of adulation and that, Charlie told herself as at last she crept into bed and tried to settle herself to sleep, that is why I feel so bad. I’m not sure where he’s going to go from here, because unless Katy is there and is in as generous a mood, will he manage to achieve that again? And if he doesn’t, will he ever be satisfied?

Letty too was concerned, and her doubts sharpened even more when Mrs Alf brought her all the papers with her morning tea on Monday. She sat up in bed with her hair a tangle of grey on her forehead and read her way through adulatory notice after notice, and all the time her face was expressionless. It was, she told herself, every bit as bad as she had feared, and when at last she folded the last paper and got out of bed, leaving her tea untasted, to go and take her bath, her mood was a decidedly low one.

She spent a great deal of time on the telephone that morning, checking first to see how Rollo was, and was comforted to hear that Max had insisted he see Nellie’s orthopaedic expert, Mr Fitzsimmons, later that day.

‘I’ll do, Letty,’ Rollo had clacked into her ear when she finally managed to get his landlady to help him to the phone. ‘It’s happened to me before and I got over it then. Bit of a bind it happened in the middle of the show, though. Honestly, would you believe it? I hear he did well -’ He tried to sound
casual but Letty wasn’t deceived.

‘A bit too well for his own good,’ she said acerbically. ‘Seen the papers?’

‘Mmm.’

‘The people who covered the show weren’t the theatre critics, of course,’ Letty said. ‘They sent their society writers and gossip people. So all we’ve got is damn all about what the show was really like, but all this stuff about our noble hero, mutilated by the fight against Hitler and now standing up to show his scars bravely and so on and so forth -’

‘I was in the Fleet Air Arm, you know,’ Rollo said very casually. ‘Invalided out with asthma, would you believe -’

‘I believe you,’ Letty said gently. ‘Never mind, Rollo. I’m mounting something new soon. I’ve decided that much - and I’ll find you something that’s just right. Just get well soon.’

‘Yes,’ Rollo said gratefully and she could feel him brighten even over the phone. ‘I say, Letty -’

‘Mmm?’

‘You really are no end of a brick, you know.’

‘Ba - poppycock,’ Letty said vulgarly, swallowing the first word that had come to her mind, and hung up. But she felt rather good, all the same.

Peter shared her unspoken concern when she managed to reach him. He had been out, he told her cheerfully when at last she managed to get him to the telephone. ‘Sophie had some coupons to spare and wanted some material for curtains. We’ve been all over the place and finally got it just round the corner at Whiteley’s - isn’t it ridiculous?’

‘You’re getting remarkably domestic,’ she said, unable to keep the hint of acid out of her voice, but he just laughed comfortably at that.

‘Aren’t I just! You all right today, Letty? Glad it’s over?’

‘Oh, yes, very - I’m trying to find out how much they’ve made for the fund, but I can’t get hold of Lee. Um - have you spoken to Brin this morning?’

‘Brin? No - should I have done?’

Letty laughed. ‘Oh, Peter, you really are wonderfully vague - my dear chap, haven’t you seen the papers?’

‘Sophie wanted to start shopping early,’ Peter said and Letty grinned, imagining the look there would be on his face.

‘Brin is a cross between Henry Irving, Garrick and

Beerbohm Tree, according to our more popular hacks. Listen to this -’ And she reached for a paper to read him the headlines. ‘ “Scarred war hero takes theatre by storm”,’ she recited in ponderous tones. ‘And here’s another one - “An unflawed acting talent makes its mark” - and then a lot of stuff about the damaged face that shows its underlying perfection, and oh - this one’s a real stunner. “The face that will launch a thousand heartbreaks.” That one comes with a photograph of Brin looking quite unbelievably brooding and sexy. Charles Boyer isn’t in it -’

There was a little silence and then Peter said carefully, ‘Did I miss something? I mean, I heard the fuss, but I thought - well, people are like that. They love a loser, and seeing the understudy go on always gets ’em - and he is a rather romantic figure I suppose, with that face, even though he didn’t actually get it fighting anyone-but I didn’t think the performance was all
that
good.’

‘It wasn’t,’ Letty said crisply. ‘Competent, I grant you. Nicely walked, if you see what I mean. It was Katy who did it, of course -’ She shook her head. ‘Overcome with guilt, the wretched minx, making all that trouble in the first place, so she gave him the stage. It really was a classic piece of Katyism - I’ve worked with her often enough to know what she can do. If only she’d been in the same sort of mood when she made
The Lady Leapt High
as she was last night, we’d have got a fantastic performance out of her, but there, that’s Katy. Unreliable.’

‘Of course she is. The girl’s a damned genius, but who ever said geniuses were easy to live with?’

‘I certainly never did,’ Letty said grimly and then sighed. ‘Look, Peter, what do I do now? He’ll expect a star part in the next Gaff production but I can’t give him that, whatever happened last night. He just isn’t up to it -’

‘With that sort of publicity, Letty, my dear, there is every chance that someone else will try to snap him up,’ Peter said and Letty brightened.

‘Now, there is a cheerful thought! I like it - thanks, Peter. I’ll call you later in the week. I’ve got ideas for a new production - this blessed Benefit’s put the bit back between my teeth -’

‘Surprise, surprise,’ Peter said and laughed softly. ‘Well, let me know. I need a job, after all.’

‘Feeling ready for one?’ She tried to sound casual, but it was difficult, and Peter laughed again.

‘Sophie says I am,’ he said. ‘And I rather think you know, that I’ll have to do as I’m told. She isn’t someone you can argue with easily, quiet though she is.’

‘
That’s
all right then,’ Letty said with great satisfaction, and hung up. Whatever problems she might still face with Brin, she told herself cheerfully, as once again she tried to get Lee’s number, at least Peter’s all right. I really think I can stop worrying about him at last.

When the phone rang again Lee looked at it, and actually tucked her hands under her arms to stop herself from answering it. I had enough yesterday, she thought defensively. There’s a limit to what I can cope with; but then the phone stopped ringing as Nanny picked it up on the nursery extension and she relaxed. Nanny, lovely, fiercely loyal Nanny, would gladly lie for her if she told her she didn’t want to speak to him -

But it wasn’t Harry after all. ‘Dame Letty,’ said Nanny, putting her head round the drawing-room door and preening a little, clearly finding glory in answering telephones to Dames and then, as Stella came bumbling past her into the room, swooped on the small bundle and bore her protesting loudly to her morning rest as Lee picked up the phone.

‘Letty? You must be psychic,’ she said. ‘I was going to call you.’

‘I couldn’t wait - do we have a total yet?’