The Questing Heart (19 page)

He would be staying at the Midland and he hoped she and her parents would lunch with him there when he could fix a date. Clare thought they would find that a little embarrassing, and she would suggest somewhere less ostentatious when she saw him.

She had exchanged the second ticket for a seat in the stalls and given it to an office colleague. She wanted to be alone while she watched Christopher's play and the people on either side of her were complete strangers who would not notice her reactions.

The house was packed, though she knew a lot of it was 'paper'. She was becoming familiar with theatrical terms, and she prayed that it would be a success.

She waited with growing tension for the rise of the curtain, while the mechanical apparatus that had superseded an orchestra blared out popular tunes. Then came the breathless moment when it faded and the house lights dimmed, the tabs rose and
Olympian Intrusion
was launched.

Chris was on stage at the opening, being bullied by his fiancee to produce a masterpiece that would win the prize and enable them to set up house. He was represented as the heir to a decaying mansion crippled by taxes, and the set owed something to Chris's sojourn at the
castello.
It was designed with the same Gothic architecture and atmosphere of gloom, a good foil to the lightness of the play, and it brought back nostalgic memories to Clare. She had been happy there until Violetta intervened.

Christopher—Cedric Radford on the programme—was an example of type-casting, being very much himself, debonair, perfectly tailored, parrying his beloved's importunities with barbed wit. Familiar with the lines as she was, Clare was surprised at how well they came over and how different they sounded in actual performance. She watched Chris with yearning eyes. It seemed impossible that she had ever been intimate with this remote being who rocked the house with laughter at his audacities.

The arrival of 'Thalia' caused her an unreasoning jealousy. She was played by a well-known actress and was so lovely and ethereal that Clare, losing herself in the play, had every sympathy with the outraged fiancee, who might have been herself. How could Chris be in daily contact with such a delightful creature and remain uninfluenced by her? He had mentioned her in his letters saying that if the play succeeded it would be in part due to Valerie. She had an irresistible charm which came over well. Certainly the audience loved her, her innocent air, her sublime concentration on the job she had come to do ... to help the hero create his play ... blandly indifferent to the emotional storms raging around her, was most effective. -When at the end of the play Chris brought her before the curtain to repeated calls, they were both laughing as they made their bows, and Clare thought there was significance in the glances they gave each other. 'Thalia' took a rosebud from the bouquet with which she had been presented and put it in his buttonhole, and old theatrical trick, but to Clare full of meaning.

When the fights went up and the audience began to stampede towards the exits, the woman sitting next to Clare remarked:

'What a treat after all the dreary muck we have served up to us in the name of art!'

Her friend beside her said: 'Pure nonsense, of course, but most amusing, and the young couple were delightful. I always enjoy Cedric Radford's performances, and I shouldn't be surprised if he's in love with his leading lady. I could sense something between them, couldn't you?'

Words that stabbed Clare. She remained in her seat wondering if Christopher expected her to go to his dressing room. He had said he would see her after the show and as he had not mentioned a meeting place she supposed he did. She had never been backstage and it would be something of an ordeal. She did not know there was a pass door and when eventually she summoned up her courage and went outside and along to the stage door she was surprised at the size of the crowd waiting for the principals to come out. Timidly she pushed her way through and approached the doorkeeper. She could see beyond him women in evening dress walking down the passage to the dressing rooms and was very conscious that she was not wearing it. Chris, she now felt sure, would expect it.

'Could I speak to Mr Radford?' she asked the grim- looking guardian of the gate. 'I'm ...' The words stuck in her throat. How could she, plain and ordinary as she must appear, claim to be Christopher's fiancee? He would think she was making it up.

'What name, miss?'

Before she could reply a high-pitched voice echoed down the passage.

'What a crush, but I must see darling Ceddie, he's expecting me.'

Clare's courage evaporated.

'It doesn't matter,' she said, and went back into the street.

The play opened on a Wednesday and the next day Clare went to work feeling flat. Her colleagues in the office knew she was engaged to a mysterious person who was always away. She was too honest to say he was in the Services, which would have accounted for his absence, and she hoped she would never have to introduce him to the office personnel. They were inclined to think he was a myth. Plain girls had been known to wear rings and pretend they were engaged to save their face. She was depressed that morning, for he did not seem to be going to contact her, and every time the phone rang she looked up hopefully, but it was never he.

The office where she worked was on the top floor of a building behind Market Street, and the firm manufactured wallpapers. The manager's office and the typists' room were partitioned off one end of the showroom, the entrance to which was guarded by a counter inside the outer door on which was a bell to summon attention.

About mid-morning this was rung with prolonged impatience, and the junior whose job it was to answer it languidly got up from her chair to obey its summons.

'I'm not going to hurry myself for some guy who's forgotten his manners,' she remarked as she strolled away.

She came back much faster than she had gone.

'Miss Underwood, someone wants to speak to you.'

Clare rose from before her machine, mechanically smoothing her hair, expecting it was some client who knew her by name. She went out into the showroom and beheld ... Chris.

He had come round the counter and was glaring at the wallpaper sample as if they were obnoxious reptiles. An attendant salesman was hovering, but he ignored him.

'So there you are!' he greeted Clare. 'Fine hunt I've had for you. Your mother ...' he grimaced, '... said I'd find you here. Where the devil did you get to last night?'

'I ... I didn't like ...' Clare was beginning, conscious that all the office staff were watching them. The manager, Mr Robinson, aware something unusual was happening, had come out of his office.

'Miss Underwood, it's not permitted—' he began, staring at Chris, and then being an ardent theatregoer he recognised him. 'Can I be mistaken? Aren't you Cedric Radford?'

'That's my stage name,' Chris admitted.

'I saw your performance last night. It was splendid, haven't enjoyed anything so much for a long while, but...' He glanced from Christopher's immaculate figure—he was wearing a dark pinstripe suit—to Clare. 'Can I do anything for you?' he asked doubtfully.

'Yes, you can lend me my fiancee for half an hour,' Chris told him with a sunny smile. 'She walked out on me last night and I've come for an explanation.'

'Ah, a lovers' tiff!' Mr Robinson exclaimed facetiously, rubbing his hands together. He continued to stare at Clare with a puzzled expression. She was neatly dressed in a blouse and skirt, her brown hair well brushed but only a suspicion of make-up. He did not consider she was especially pretty, and certainly not sufficiently remarkable to attract the attention of a handsome ... well, they used to be called matinee idols, but he. did not know what the moderns termed them. 'Miss Underwood is a dark horse,' he went on. 'we'd no idea she had such distinguished ... er ... connections.'

Clare felt ill at ease. That Chris should come and claim her was flattering, and she knew her prestige with her colleagues would soar, but she wished he had not done so, because theirs was not a real engagement and they were accepting him under false pretences. What had induced Chris to search for her she could not conceive; his letters had never betrayed any great impatience for their reunion. She could well imagine her mother's face when he had introduced himself. No wonder Chris had grimaced! She had expected he would send a note, since they were not on the phone, or call her at her office to make a date, but not to go racing round the town after her as if he really was an impetuous lover.

'Miss Underwood has many surprising qualities,' Chris averred solemnly, though his eyes held a mischievous glint. 'They're not apparent at first glance, but when I got to know her, I fell for her.'

Oh no, Clare thought desperately, not that sort of talk here and now! Never had she felt his teasing tongue was more misplaced.

'We're not very busy this morning,' Mr Robinson told him with a benign smile, 'so Miss Underwood may take the rest of it off.'

'Er ... thank you,' said Chris, who had taken it for granted Clare could accompany him.

Clare went to collect her bag and jacket.

'My poor Sparrow,' Chris said contritely while they waited for the lift. 'To what have I brought you? You were better off with dear Madame Monique.'

'Not really,' she returned. 'I have all my evenings free and my parents wanted me at home. I've made great strides with the book ...' She prattled on, feeling shy of this elegant stranger who seemed different from the Chris she had known in Italy, Cedric Radford in fact in his warpaint. 'I'm sorry, though, that you came barging into the office. Now they'll all know ... about us, and it'll be so much harder if ... when we break it off.

'The lift came up and as they stepped inside it, he asked gently:

'You'll find it hard?'

She shrank from the keen glance that accompanied the words. She wanted to conceal from him the state of her heart; it might please his vanity to know that she had become infatuated with him, but she was too proud to want to betray that she had joined the queue of his many adorers.

'No one likes to be jilted,' she said casually.

'You can say you jilted me.'

'Who'd believe that?'

'You flatter me, but you can always point out that you discovered I'm not a very moral character. Seriously though, Clare, I don't like you being in an office.'

'I had to do something. Did you expect me to sit at home waiting for you to break the engagement?'

'How you do harp on that,' he complained as they stepped out into the street. 'I'm in no hurry to dissociate myself from you, Sparrow, and I thought we'd decided to get married.'

'Do you still need protection?' she asked a little scornfully, as he drew her arm possessively through his.

'Oh, I do ... protection from the sling and arrows of misfortune ... Am I misquoting? I've missed your funny face around, Sparrow.'

'Not you. You've been absorbed in
Intrusion.
Your letters were full of it.'

'It didn't give me much time for anything else, I'll admit. Let's go and have a coffee somewhere, we can't discuss our future in the street.'

His bantering manner was so familiar, and Clare could not repress the joy that welled up in her to be with him again. She noticed too the glances he attracted, admiration from the women, envy from the men. Christopher was oblivious to them, he was used to it.

They found a cafe in Deansgate and after they were served, he said sternly:

'You haven't given me the welcome I expected, and you didn't come round last night. I suppose you did see the play?'

'I did, and enjoyed every minute of it. I meant to come round, but ... but... Well, I wasn't dressed up and there were so many grand people looking for you. I ... I'm not used to the back of theatres.'

His face softened. 'Poor little girl, I should have arranged an escort, but you've always seemed so confident and capable, I didn't think of it. I'd rather have had your congratulations than all the insincere flattery of those painted hussies who came to compliment me, who'd only one thought in their lacquered heads, bed.'

Clare felt her colour rise. Did he believe she was sexless? Just a good pal? He couldn't, not after that night of the storm. She said shyly:

'May I offer them now? You were wonderful.'

'And the play?'

'I heard a woman say it was a treat after all the dreary muck she'd seen.'

'But you didn't really like it, did you, darling? You consider it superficial? You prefer something serious.'

'Candidly I like something with more meat in it,' she admitted. 'But it was very amusing and it was a splendid vehicle for your talent.'

She was proud of the last phrase, which sounded quite professional, but Christopher's face clouded. Oh dear, she thought, I've offended him again, why can't I pour out praise like the others do even if I don't really mean it?

'Exactly suited to a lightweight like me?' he suggested. 'You believe I'm a frivolous, casual fellow, incapable of deep feeling?'

She shrugged helplessly. 'I didn't say that.'

'No, but you think it,' he persisted. 'Well, perhaps I am. The only way to contend with human folly is to laugh at it. Otherwise one would drown in tears.'

She touched his hand across the table.

'We need our jesters,' she said.

He grinned impishly. 'You've got me taped. But clowns can have human feelings. Remember
Pagliacci
... on with the motley though your heart is breaking, and all that?' He stirred his coffee, drank it and putting down his cup seemed to find something interesting in the dregs. Clare gazed at his bent head, wondering what he was getting at.
Was
he in love with Valerie Hall and she had turned him down? It seemed so unlike him, he always treated romance with levity.

'When are we getting married?' he said suddenly, still with his eyes on his cup.

'What?' she gasped.

'You heard.'

'I hoped it wouldn't be necessary.'

'You hoped?'

His glance flickered up at her, and noticing the consternation in her face, fell away again.