I tried to tell myself that someone who cared so much
for Cho-Cho-San couldn't be all bad â and he wasn't. Not bad â only ⦠useless ⦠inadequate ⦠out of his depth. âWhat ho! Anyone for tennis?' was just about his level. Unfortunately, the part required rather more than that.
A bend in the corridor and a flight of stairs carried me above the miasma of misery that pervaded the dressing-room floor and on to an upper storey where the atmosphere seemed lighter. Perhaps because I couldn't hear all the sounds of pre-opening hysteria.
Somewhere in the distance the faint strains of a violin called invitingly. I followed the melody up a short staircase, around a bend in the narrow hallway, to the open door of a softly lit book-lined room. It was a blissfully domestic scene, in stark contrast to the chaos on the lower floors.
Jem sat in a large armchair beside a glowing fire. Garrick was sprawled lazily across his lap, unconcerned by the notepad propped against his back as Jem scribbled busily. A low side table held a decanter and half-filled glass and two plates, the larger of which contained an assortment of crackers and a chunk of pate. The smaller just had some rather mauled pate and a well-licked dollop of what looked like clotted cream. As I watched, Garrick stretched his neck and took another dainty nibble from his share of the pâté.
âDear lady!' Jem looked up and caught me. âDo come in. Forgive me for not rising, but â¦' He indicated the large furry reason for his discourtesy. Garrick blinked at me complacently, his trodden tail obviously forgiven and forgotten.
âThat's all right, don't disturb him. I was just exploring and stumbled over you. I didn't mean to intrude.'
âNo intrusion, all are welcome to my little eyrie. Many an orphan of the storm has sought refuge here. Allow me to offer you a glass of sherry. Or perhaps some claret, or â ' his voice deepened into a parody of seduction
â â“Have some Madeira, m'dear?” If â ' he reverted to his normal tone â âyou wouldn't mind fetching your own glass?' He waved towards a glass-fronted cabinet in the corner.
I found a wine glass amongst the display of snuff boxes and netsuke. As I turned back, I saw Jem furtively slide the notepad down between the arm of the chair and the seat. I don't know why he was being secretive about it, I had no interest at all in his correspondence.
âThis is so pleasant,' I sighed, sinking into the other armchair opposite him.
âAlmost civilized,' he agreed. âOnce the opening is over, life will settle down and it should be more peaceful around here.'
âIt's certainly hectic right now.' The sherry was superb. I looked at Jem with new respect â and a certain amount of curiosity. He hadn't picked this up in his local supermarket. Quite a connoisseur, our Jem.
âJem â¦' The thought followed naturally. âJem, my daughter has been landed with editing a theatrical cookbook. A collection of recipes for one person, quick and easy for actors on the move to cook up for themselves in their digs after the show. I don't suppose you have a tasty recipe or two you might like to contribute, do you?'
âHmm, yes, let me think about that for a bit and see what I can come up with. I haven't toured for years â no, let's be honest, decades. Things are different these days. The old theatrical digs aren't what they used to be. The old landladies have gone, too â which is probably all to the good. They were famous for a lot of things â but cooking wasn't high on the list.'
âPretty bad, huh?'
âExcruciating!' He winced at the memory. âImagine coming back after a performance to find three limp lettuce leaves, two mushy quarters of tomato and a dried-out curling slice of salami with, if you were especially unlucky, a few cubes of beetroot. And bottled salad cream ready to
be poured over all. That was quaintly known as “a cold collation”. They always had the most grandiose names for the most abysmal offerings.'
âThat sounds like a recipe we can do without!'
âAnd then there were the winter nights when you got a “hot meal” before taking off for the theatre. Meat pie, with a two-inch crust and a thin layer of gristle and gravy; cabbage, simmered down into a green sludge; potatoes, boiled into transparency and disintegrating; and whatever else had been going cheaply at the market stalls that day that you neither could, nor wanted to, identify.'
I shuddered. âIt makes our endless hamburgers and french fries sound epicurean.'
âThere's a story,' he reminisced, âabout a young actor who cracked. He'd been on tour for months, each set of lodgings worse than the last, the meals increasingly inedible. He got to the final lodgings and the cooking was so bad he couldn't believe it.
âSo he went out and bought himself a thick juicy steak and brought it back to his landlady. “Now listen carefully,” he told her. “I want you to put this under a hot grill for three minutes on each side.” She nodded. “Then I want you to boil it for half an hour, then put it in the oven and bake it for an hour. Finally, I want you to fry it for fifteen minutes on each side. Now, will you do that for me?” “You can depend on me,” she said. “I'll do everything you told me to, I'll follow your instructions exactly.” “Yesss,” he hissed, snatching it back, “I
thought
you would!”'
Our laughter and Jem's quaking lap unsettled Garrick, who jumped down and ran off.
âIt's all right, old boy,' Jem called after him. âWe weren't laughing at you.'
âOh, dear,' I said. âI hope he isn't upset.'
âNot at all,' Jem said. âHe's had his nibble and tipple.' Sure enough, the smaller plate was empty. âIt's time for him to go back on duty.' He rose. âTime for both of us to do our rounds.'
âThank you for a pleasant interlude,' I said, as we started back for the main body of the theatre.
âMy pleasure,' he said. âRemember, you're welcome up here any time. Anyone is.'
But I noticed he locked the door behind him.
There was a rustle of anticipation as the curtain went up, then a burst of applause for Matilda, presiding at the tea table, and the two actors flanking her. They froze until the applause subsided and the audience settled back with a happy sigh, prepared to be entertained, but not offended. Given the age of the play, they knew there would be no obscenities, nudity or gratuitous violence; just serial murder, gentle madness and threatened menace. All good clean fun.
Another burst of applause halted the action on Dame Cecile's appearance. Again the actors froze until the enthusiasm had died down and the action could move forward.
Teddy was doing slightly better than walking through his part, but not much. Either Frella's extra coaching hadn't really âtaken' or he'd used so much energy in rehearsal he was now exhausted for the actual performance. I noticed Dame Cecile moving closer to him, as though to point this out in a whisper.
Beside me, Evangeline tensed and leaned forward slightly.
Teddy laid a lackadaisical hand on the stair-rail and lifted one foot as though it were slightly too heavy for him. Dame Cecile sidled a little closer.
âCha-AAARGE!' Teddy bellowed suddenly and galloped up the staircase. Even the other actors jumped. Teddy delivered his final line with vehemence and exited, slamming the door behind him so hard he nearly brought the
set down. It got the scheduled laugh and another burst of applause.
After a moment of stunned silence onstage, the dialogue began again and the laughs kept coming. Evangeline leaned back in her seat and seemed to breathe more easily.
âAll right,' I muttered to a far-too-smug Evangeline, âwhat did you do?'
âNothing, actually,' Evangeline murmured. âI merely reminded Cecile of the happy days when women wore hatpins. They used to solve so many little difficulties. Cecile can take a hint.'
Â
The crush in the bar during the interval was abuzz with the excitement that presages a major triumph. This show would run and run; in the West End and then on a prolonged tour. But the Royal Empire had it first and selfcongratulation was the order of the audience's evening.
âChampagne is called for, I think!'
We hadn't called for it, but we looked approvingly at the opened bottle that had been thrust between us. Our enthusiasm faded a bit when we realized that the arm holding it belonged to Superintendent Thursby.
âA veritable triumph!' he exclaimed. âAll that would have improved it would have been for you two to be in the leading roles.' He brandished the three champagne flutes in his hand. âShall I be Mother?'
I hoped his excessive coyness meant that he was off duty, but I didn't much care. The chilled champagne was already flowing into our glasses and it was a great improvement on trying to push our way through the crowd at the bar and get someone to take our order.
âWe were offered the parts, of course.' Evangeline didn't specify that the offer had come from a rival management in a different production. âBut we're having an original script written especially for us and we didn't want to tie ourselves down in case of a long run.'
âVery wise.' Thursby gave a vulpine smile which didn't quite reach his watchful eyes. I felt a tremor of disquiet. (âWhat big teeth you have, Grandmother.') âWith you in the show, it would run for ever. But how interesting to hear that you're going to be in something completely new!' His ears seemed to quiver. âMay one ask what it's about?'
âNow, now!' Evangeline could be coy, too. She waggled a reproving finger at him. âYou must let us keep our little secret for a while longer. Surprise is everything with a new show, you know.' Which was as neat a way as any of concealing the fact that we hadn't a clue what it was going to be about.
âOh, I know, I know. I do so agree.' They were both overdoing it. All this phoney charm and matiness was making me queasy. âI'm honoured that you've told me this much.' He splashed more champagne into our glasses. âThere hasn't been a whisper of it on the grapevine yet.'
With good reason. So far, there was nothing to whisper about. In fact, I was becoming increasingly uneasy. It seemed like a long time since we had heard a peep from either the playwright or his enterprising girlfriend.
âActually, you're the first one we've told â and you have rather tricked us into telling you.'
âOh, no, not really!' He simpered at her. I hadn't seen such performances since the runners-up had to pretend to be good losers at the Academy Awards.
âOh, yes. Naughty boy!' Evangeline leaned forward, fluttering her eyelashes. If she'd had a fan, she'd have tapped him with it. â
Very
naughty boy!'
I stopped paying attention. In the distance, over her shoulder, I saw Eddie emerge from the staircase leading to the balcony. He started towards us, then saw who was with us. In one blink of my eyes, he disappeared. One moment he was there; the next, no trace of him.
While I had every sympathy with his reaction, the swift smoothness of it unnerved me. It told me this was not the first time he had done the
Gone in a puff of smoke
act.
Immediately, I wished I hadn't thought of it in quite
those terms. My throat closed against the memory of rolling thick smoke; my eyes tried to blink away the flames that flickered, then burst into a raging firestorm; the panic caught at me again and I looked about wildly for escape.
Flashback
. It was only a flashback.
Only
! My pounding heart tried to resume its proper beat. There was nothing to harm me here, nothing to threaten me.
The brightness against my closed eyelids came from the electric lights surrounding the mirrored bar. The noise was the hubbub of the theatre audience gossiping and laughing. The crackling sounds were not made by devouring flames, but by thoughtful people unwrapping their boxes of sweets here rather than in the auditorium after the second act had started.
I tried to take a deep soothing breath â and choked.
âTrixie, are you all right?'
Saved by the bell. It rang out loud and clear, summoning us back to our seats. The first interval had ended, the show was going on.
âPerhaps a bit more champagne at the next interval?' Superintendent Thursby suggested.
âPerhaps not,' Evangeline said. âThere are people we must speak to, but why don't you join us for the party after the show?'
âI'd love to!' His eyes lit up, but there was still a calculating glint in them. I wondered if this was what he had been angling for all along, with his bottle of champagne for bait. Flattery would get him anywhere with Evangeline, but I increasingly distrusted all this sociability.
The second warning bell sounded, brooking no more dawdling. We obediently filed back to our seats.
Â
After the âBravos' and the standing ovation, it seemed as though the entire audience had surged backstage, crowding into the dressing rooms, overflowing into the narrow passageway. Voices were too shrill, laughter too loud, elation
was punctuated by the popping of champagne corks, but it was the intoxication of success that had gone to everyone's head.
The stagehands were setting up the trestle tables on the stage and food would soon be available. There was breathing space in the wings and I sipped my champagne and watched the caterers. Perhaps they would be serving something Martha might want to know about.
Salads seemed to be the main offering, or perhaps it was just easier to set them out first. A flicker of movement at the base of one of the table legs focused my attention on Garrick, stealthily demolishing a tiny hardboiled egg. I looked up at the table and located a bowl brimming with quails' eggs, beside which huddled smaller bowls containing sea salt flakes, salsa dip and several other strangely coloured dips I couldn't identify.
As I frowned at them, a tiny paw snaked out from behind a floral display and groped towards the quails' eggs.
Greedy Garrick, I thought, then realized that Garrick was still on the floor, gulping the last shreds of his booty. Apart from which, not one of his paws was white.
âCho-Cho!' I squealed with delight, unfortunately just as one of her claws hooked into a tasty egg. Her paw jerked back, the egg went flying, hitting the edge of the table and rolling on to the floor where Garrick pounced on it rapturously.
A little head emerged from behind the roses and gave me an accusing look.
âI'm sorry, darling,' I said, âbut I was so glad to see you. Here, have another â¦' I selected a plump one and rolled it towards her. She fell on it so eagerly that I wondered when she had last been fed and what they had fed her.
â
Do
you mind �' an indignant voice said behind me.
I sidestepped to allow a young man carrying a tray of sliced ham and turkey access to the table. He stepped back.
âTake that cat off the table before I set the tray down,' he
ordered. âI can't tell you the trouble we'd be in if anyone were to see that. There
are
hygiene laws, you know.'
âReally?' You couldn't prove it by me. Judging from some of the sights I'd seen since I arrived in England, I was amazed to know that anyone had ever heard of the word hygiene. There had been the local bakery, where unwrapped cakes were left in the window overnight and late-night passers-by had been able to watch the flies crawling over them. (In response to a complaint, the cakes hadn't been removed, the shades had been pulled down so that you couldn't see what was happening.) And in the late summer, wasps buzzed lazily around fruit displays and over meat in the butcher shops. No one ever seemed bothered about it, least of all the proprietors.
âReally!' He stood there regarding me sternly, waiting.
âSorry.' I set down my glass and scooped up Cho-Cho, who had finished her egg and was looking at me hopefully, unlike the caterer, who was now scowling. I smiled sweetly at him and helped myself to the largest slice of turkey on his tray. âThis looks so good.'
âMmmm.' He glowered some more, knowing perfectly well that it was going to slide down the gullet of my furry little friend, who had begun purring loud approval of my action. Garrick too, had begun watching me with interest.
âBloody animals!' It was muttered low enough for him to deny it if I responded. I didn't. I just smiled sweetly at him and took another slice of turkey as soon as he turned away to go and fetch more food. I dropped the second slice by the table leg for Garrick, but hand-fed Cho-Cho hers. Garrick didn't mind, he wasn't standing on formality when food was concerned.
I crossed the stage to check out the wings on the other side. I was looking for Eddie, hoping he hadn't been too upset at discovering the enemy â otherwise known to him as Superintendent Thursby â in our midst. It wouldn't be a bad idea if he could bring himself to make friends with Thursby and get him on his side. I wondered if that was
what Evangeline had had in mind when issuing her invitation.
The supporting players and their friends were having a whoop-de-do on that side, although there was rather more interest in the progress of the buffet than there was on the star side.
There was no sign of Eddie. It wasn't like him to miss a party. I hoped he wasn't too upset. I didn't like to think of him sitting in his lonely room, nursing a beer and a grievance.
Cho-Cho nuzzled my hand and licked up the last shreds of turkey. She looked up at me and craned her neck to look back at the buffet, nearly as interested as the actors. I turned and saw the caterer, followed by two minions, bearing chafing dishes containing the hot food. Beef Stroganoff and creamed chicken, I seemed to recall from a discussion I had overheard at some point.
Something brushed against my ankles and I looked down to find Garrick fondly rubbing against me. Evidently I had replaced Jem temporarily in his affections, since Jem had to be on duty at the stage door and I had free access to the food supplies. Cho-Cho nuzzled my chin, reminding me that she had first claim on my benevolence.
I stroked her absently, still looking around uneasily. Where was Eddie? I wanted to see Eddie.
People were beginning to converge on the buffet now. I saw Superintendent Thursby who, by some sleight of hand, was managing to escort both Evangeline and Dame Cecile. Behind them, Teddy also had a lady on each arm: Matilda and one I hadn't seen before, although I had the feeling that I'd heard her. She had to be Frella in the flesh â although not so much of it as I had expected, judging from her voice. Not an Earth Mother type, but definitely the possessive sort. She was clinging to Teddy's arm like a starving leech. It was obvious that, in the tug-of-war to the altar, Teddy had never had a chance. I found I was beginning to feel sorry for the man â at least, I would have been
if I wasn't going to have to relinquish Cho-Cho to him shortly.
Smiling and chatting, they advanced towards the buffet, pausing every few steps to allow one or another of them to acknowledge congratulations and compliments from well-wishers. Everyone was basking in the glow of success and â