âWe decided on a cookbook with everyone from stars to beginners providing their favourite recipes â ' She ignored Evangeline's snort and went on. âMost of the members voted for smaller portion recipes, for one or two people. Or one person with something left over for a snack the next day. They pointed out that so many of the theatrical lodgings of their early days â where the landlady supplied breakfast and supper â had disappeared and now been replaced by hotel rooms or self-service apartments, there should be a good market for that â '
âWe're calling it
One for the Road,
' Jocasta cut in smoothly. âAnd all proceeds will go to the Lady Lemmings for their charities.'
âI see.' I made a mental bet that those proceeds didn't include Jocasta's fees and expenses. âIt sounds really wonderful, darling.' Now I was the one ignoring Evangeline's snort.
âAnd I'm sure â ' Jocasta was looking at Evangeline again â âyou'll both have some wonderful contributions to make.'
âI'll certainly think about it.' I would, if only for Martha's sake. âI just wish all my recipes weren't on the other side of the Atlantic.'
âOh, it isn't just recipes we want,' Jocasta said quickly. âWe want useful tips, short cuts, all the sorts of things to make life easier for actors on tour who have to fend for themselves, perhaps late at night in the provinces, after the last show, when the pubs are closed and they can't face one more curry house or Chinese takeaway â even if any were still open.'
A wave of nostalgia swept over me as I remembered my
early days in New York, one of the struggling chorus kids they called âgypsies', where, no matter how many others we shared a cold water walk-up apartment with, we were still outnumbered at least fifty-to-one by the cockroaches. Back when every penny counted and the big worry about weight was not keeping it down, but scraping together enough calories to sustain us through the long and punishing dance routines when we were lucky enough to get a place in the chorus. Sometimes it was hard to realize that, give or take a few variations, the new kids coming along today were faced with the same problems.
âI thought I'd call the first chapter “The Collapsible Cupboard”,' Martha said. âYou know, giving a list of lots of spices and dried herbs that come in â or can be decanted into â little envelopes and add so much pep to basic meals. And then there are the packet soups, like onion, that can be used as a base for more ambitious dishes.'
âAnd don't forget all the little single portion packs you can pick up in cafeterias,' I prompted, seldom in those days having left such an establishment without unused sugar packets and anything else out on free display crammed into my pockets. âAll those sachets of mustard, mayonnaise, Worcestershire sauce, vinegar, tartare sauce â oh! and tomato ketchup, lots and lots of ketchup. How I remember tomato ketchup soup!' I sighed reminiscently, then became aware of Jocasta eyeing me coldly.
âActually,' she said, ice dripping from her tones, âwe were planning something rather more upmarket than that!'
âBeyond the Pot Noodle â¦' Evangeline said dreamily.
âThat's wonderful!' Jocasta whirled to face her, all enthusiasm now. âMartha, did you hear that? We have a title for another chapter. If you don't mind, that is?' She gave Evangeline a servile smile.
âOf course you may use it,' Evangeline said graciously. âI'm always happy to help a good cause. In fact, as for tips â¦' She hesitated. âNo, it's probably silly â¦'
âOh, no, no!' Jocasta clasped her hands together earnestly. âWe'd love to hear it!'
Martha and I exchanged glances. Evangeline was doing well to find her way into a kitchen, never mind have any tips for doing anything once she was there. Apart from eating everything that someone else had cooked, of course.
âIt's just one of my little ways . . ' Evangeline paused for the encouragement which was immediately forthcoming.
âYes?' Jocasta breathed, leaning forward so as not to miss a syllable of the great revelation. âYes â¦?'
âI don't know of anyone else who does it. I've never seen it mentioned in any cookbook â¦'
âYes? Yes?'
âBut, whenever I'm going to do any cooking, I always wash my hands with oatmeal soap.'
Well, that explained why I'd never seen any oatmeal soap in the house.
âOh, yes!' Jocasta was buying it unreservedly. âOh, I knew I could depend on you for real gourmet secrets! What a splendid idea!'
Martha closed her eyes and leaned back in her chair. I felt a little dizzy myself.
âOh, please, don't stop there!' Jocasta produced a small notebook from her handbag and began scribbling rapidly. âGo on. What other wonderful tips have you?'
âOh, I don't know â¦' Evangeline demurred, trying to look modest, while her eyes shifted uneasily. She'd shot her bolt and she knew it and she knew I knew it. âI'll have to think.'
âActually â ' Martha deflected Jocasta's attention â âMother is the real cook around here. She'll have dozens of good tips.'
âOne I've found really useful â ' I picked up on my cue â âis knowing that in almost all savoury and spicy dishes, curries and the like, when the recipe calls for an apple, you can substitute a carrot instead. You're often more likely to have carrots around than apples.'
âMmm, yes.' Jocasta entered the note unenthusiastically. It obviously wasn't gourmet and glamorous enough for her. I got the feeling I was being downmarket again. Perhaps I should have suggested kiwi fruit.
âAnd you â¦?' She turned back to Evangeline expectantly, hoping for more priceless words of wisdom.
âMy head â¦' Evangeline brushed a hand across her forehead and swayed weakly. âI'm sorry â¦' She rose, still swaying. âI'm so afraid I have one of my headaches coming on. I must go and lie down.'
A cellphone burbled suddenly and Evangeline nearly gave the game away by the alacrity with which she dived for a handbag she had forgotten she'd left in her room.
âHello? Oh, yes, darling.' It was Martha's phone. âYes, yes, I see. Of course, right away ⦠. Yes, I'll tell them.' She looked up. âHugh sends his love.'
âAnd ours to him,' I responded. Evangeline snorted.
âI'm sorry, but we'll have to leave now.' Martha turned to Jocasta. âMy husband has had overseas friends arrive unexpectedly. We'll have to entertain them.' She stood and pecked at my cheek. âI'll get back to you later on this.'
âDon't forget, we'll be going down to Brighton for Dame Cecile's opening,' I reminded her. âWe'll be there overnight. Matilda has invited us to stay with her.'
âDame Cecile Savoy and Matilda Jordan?' Jocasta was revitalized. âThey go back to the great days of touring companies and theatrical digs. Oh, I'll bet they'd have some marvellous recipes for the book!'
âMmm.' I thought of Matilda's neglected fridge and declined to commit myself. Not so Evangeline.
âYes, indeed!' She paused in the doorway and turned back to Jocasta with the radiant smile she displays when selling someone down the river.
âOh, you'll find Dame Cecile a positive gold mine of culinary wisdom!'
âLook at that!' It wasn't long after they had left when Eddie arrived. âLook at that!' He stormed past me as I opened the door and rushed into the drawing room, flinging down a newspaper on to the coffee table in front of the sofa where Evangeline was lounging. âJust look at that!'
âOh?' Evangeline looked at the copy of the
Argus
he had hurled on to the table. âHave you been down to Brighton again?'
âNo â and I'm not going again! Will you look at that!'
She wouldn't. Evangeline had gone into one of her maddening moods. âI don't understand. What are you doing with the Brighton paper then? Did someone leave it in your cab?'
âI bought it at London Bridge station.' Eddie took a deep breath and forestalled her next question. âYou can buy it at Victoria station late afternoons, too. Same as you can buy the out-of-town newspapers at any station where you catch the train to that place. Commuters like it that way They can read the local paper on their way 'ome and be up to speed on what's âappening in their town by the time they get there.'
âIf they like their town that much, why don't they stay in it?'
âBecause the best-paying jobs are in London! Now will you â ?'
âOh, no!' While they were bickering, I had taken possession of the paper. No wonder Eddie was so upset. There it
was â in front page headlines: MAN DEAD IN ARSON ATTACK. POLICE SEARCH FOR SUSPECTS SEEN FLEEING BLAZE.
âWhat is it?' Now that I had the paper, Evangeline wanted it. She wrenched it away from me, leaving me with a strip of white margin and a few fragmented bits of print.
âSomeone must have seen us!' How could we have imagined otherwise? That narrow cul-de-sac, with all the ramshackle eighteenth-century houses leaning together higgledy-piggledy and doubtless crammed with low-rent tenants, either retired or unemployed, with plenty of time on their hands to mind everybody else's business. The first hint of smoke drifting through the cracks of those tinderbox dwellings would have brought anxious faces to windows, checking that the danger was outside and not within.
âGood job no one recognized you. Unless â¦' Eddie's brow furrowed. âUnless they did recognize you and the cops are keeping it up their sleeves so you can be identified when you're caught.'
âYou were there, too!' All those
yous
were clearly getting on Evangeline's nerves.
âThat's why I'm not going back there again. And, if you're smart, you won't, either.'
âWe've promised Cecile we'll attend the opening.' Evangeline drew herself up proudly, quite as though she had never broken a promise in her life. âWe can't let her down.'
And I could do with less of the
we
stuff. I'd never met Dame Cecile before in my life â not until Evangeline introduced her to me a few months ago. She was Evangeline's old friend.
âI don't know,' I said. âEddie has a point.'
âToo bloody right, I 'ave!' At his feet, Cho-Cho-San gave a friendly chirrup and rubbed against his ankles. He looked down and his expression softened. âThey're nasty people down there. Look what they tried to do to Little Sweet'eart, 'ere.' She nuzzled him contentedly as he picked
her up and cuddled her in his arms. âYou want to stay away from bleeders like that!'
Score another point for Eddie. A point I hadn't forgotten. I hadn't decided what I could do about the situation, but I did know that I was reluctant to take her back to Brighton where she might be in danger again.
âOut of the question!' Evangeline set her jaw stubbornly. âWe're going. And, if you're not willing to take us, we'll hire another cab!'
â'Ere now, you needn't be like that!' Eddie hated to miss anything. âLet me 'ave a think and maybe we can sort something out. I've got a cousin â '
âWe'll all have another think.' I gave Eddie a
Leave it to me
nod. I had a few more days to work on Evangeline and to bring her around to our way of thinking.
At least, I thought I had.
Â
I spent the rest of the day in a Fool's Paradise. Before he left, Eddie drove us over to the supermarket to pick up supplies and back again. Evangeline sniffed when she saw me putting kitty litter and cat food into my trolley, but I noticed that she absently slipped a catnip mouse into her own basket.
After Eddie had dumped all the shopping bags on the kitchen table and departed, I began unpacking them. With Martha's new project in mind, I had picked up an assortment of sauces and spices. I'd try to remember some of the recipes I'd relied on in my early solo days.
To begin with, I tossed a few peppercorns and a clove of garlic into the largest saucepan, then unwrapped the pair of chicken legs, put them into the pan and filled it with cold water before covering it and putting it on the stove to boil.
âHmmph!' Evangeline disdained my efforts. âI distinctly remember that when my mother made chicken soup she boiled up the whole leftover carcass.'
âSo did mine â and I'll never forget the thrill when
I discovered you didn't need to eat cold chicken for a week before you got to make soup. It was like that Charles Lamb story when the people discovered that they didn't have to burn the house down to make roast pork.'
âI know that story.' Evangeline grinned reminiscently. âThey burned down most of the village before they finally got the hang of it and invented the barbecue.'
âAnd I ate a lot of weak soup before I found the best base was two whole legs â thigh and drumstick.' I had been putting the shopping away while we talked, now I chopped an onion and carrot, ready to tip into the pot at the half-hour mark. Another half-hour after that, and I'd take the legs out, one at a time, and skin and bone them before dicing the meat and returning it to the pot which was still simmering on the stove. Then just ladle it out and eat.
Through it all, Cho-Cho-San frolicked at my feet, trilling with excitement. She tried to catch the shreds as I scraped the carrots and sniffed blissfully at the chicken scent beginning to permeate the air. It was a learning experience for her: food did not just come out of little round tins. It told me something else about her: she was not accustomed to food preparation and cooking. Perhaps she had belonged to a man â or, remembering Matilda's fridge, a woman with no great interest in food. From the size of her, one would not put Soroya into that category, but I had the feeling that her interest in food did not extend beyond the eating of it. Someone else could do the work involved.
The closing day merged almost imperceptibly into an evening of rare domestic tranquillity. The saucepan produced two bowls of soup each, plus one for Cho-Cho. I do like to see my cooking appreciated. Cho-Cho ate everything but a lone peppercorn that had found its way into her bowl. Evangeline crunched her peppercorns with zest. I'd purchased ready-made profiteroles for us and shared a generous dollop of cream with Cho-Cho.
âThe Pick of the Day,' Evangeline announced, scanning the evening paper's TV listings, âis
Fools Rush In.
It seems
to be Matilda Jordan's first film â starring her father, Gervaise, in his prime.'
âWe can't miss that,' I agreed. We settled on the sofa in front of the TV, Cho-Cho curled up between us, purring happily, and we all watched the film.
Matilda had been so young, so beautiful, so vulnerable â and yet there was an intriguing hint of world-weariness about her that caught at her audience. Especially when she looked at her father and his leading lady.
âThat was Gervaise's third wife, I believe,' Evangeline said âOr possibly, his fourth. There were very messy divorce cases on both sides, as I recall. But then, there usually were.'
Matilda had come by her world-weariness honestly. Gervaise was the sort who would age any woman rapidly.
But, oh, that woman â any woman except his daughter â might have had a wonderful time. At first.
No doubt about it, Gervaise Jordan had it all: the lean lithe body, the charm, the grace, the smothering intensity as he concentrated every fibre of his being upon his leading lady. You could understand why shopgirls had swooned in the aisles, while their less prepossessing escorts ground their teeth. And there couldn't have been many men who were more prepossessing than Gervaise.
Then the scene shifted and he was in top hat and tails, walking along the river promenade with his lady. No doubt about it, Gervaise Jordan had been the matinée idol's Matinée Idol.
âOh,' I sighed, as the violins struck up. âThey don't make them like that any more.'
âJust as well,' Evangeline said. âLook at that roving eye. He can't keep it still for a moment.'
Sure enough, Gervaise's attention had strayed over his co-star's shoulder to check out some little extra who was selling flowers, in the artless way they did in old films, nowhere near any place where she might find a steady flow of customers. She was just standing obligingly on the
path waiting for one pair of starry-eyed lovers. She was never going to make a living in the real world.
Rather, her character wasn't. She, as I seemed to recall, had caught the producer's eye, as well as Gervaise's, and more fruitfully.
âDidn't she wind up as â ?'
âA star, a Lady and matriarch of a theatrical dynasty,' Evangeline supplied. âNot necessarily in that order.'
âOh, look!' I pointed to a corner of the screen. âThere he goes again! I saw him wink at the girl walking the dog. I'm sure that wasn't in the script.'
âRandy old bastard.' Evangeline frowned. âEasily discouraged, though. He even tried to get funny with me once â and I let him have it with the seltzer bottle. He was no trouble after that.'
âA faceful of seltzer water would discourage any man,' I agreed.
âWho said anything about his face? I aimed it where he'd notice it most â and so would everyone else. He looked as though he'd had an embarrassing accident. He had to rush away and change before anyone saw him. He kept his distance after that â he was afraid of what I might do for an encore.'
âYou could almost feel sorry for him,' I laughed.
âNo need. He took off shortly after that on a Triumphal Tour of the Antipodes where, rumour had it, he cut a wider swathe among the local female talent than even the late dear Duke of Windsor. He did so well he returned several times and did a lot of entertaining the troops in that region during the war and afterwards. I'll wager he didn't entertain them half so much as he entertained himself with the girls they left behind them.'
â'Twas ever thus,' I sighed. Star-struck females were ripe for the plucking by an unscrupulous male â and not necessarily the star. Anyone in the entourage would do, if they thought it would get them closer to their goal.
âOh, look â¦' An organ grinder had strolled into the scene, playing the featured theme music. âI haven't
seen him in years. I know his face, now what was his name �'
Half the fun of these old movies is spotting old friends, adversaries and acquaintances, all viewed now with the luxury of hindsight. Now we knew the anecdotes, scandals, stories and ultimate fates trailing in their wake, things we had not suspected at the time.
We had a wonderful evening dissecting everyone and everything. Sometimes we even watched the screen. It was the most satisfying and peaceful evening we had enjoyed in weeks.
Which was just as well. Late the next morning, all hell broke loose.