Two for Sorrow (16 page)

‘We are,' Lettice agreed, ‘but we're even more pleased with the houses. For the first time ever, we're on a percentage of the profits. Every ticket sold is a farthing to us.'

‘So make sure they pay for dinner, Josephine,' said George, smiling.

‘Aren't you joining us then?'

‘No, but I am,' said a voice behind her, and she felt hands on her shoulders and a kiss on the back of her head.

‘Lydia! I wasn't expecting … How lovely to see you.' Josephine struggled through to the end of the sentence, hoping that she sounded more convincing than she felt. After what had happened earlier, maintaining an air of normality with the Motleys would have been difficult; with Lydia there too, it was nigh on impossible, and her mask seemed to be slipping already.

‘Are you all right?' Lettice asked, looking solicitously at her. ‘You don't seem quite yourself.'

‘Oh, I'm fine. I've just spent the day in the company of some rather odd people, and it takes me a while to come up for air.'

‘That'll teach you to stay at a women's club,' Ronnie said, stubbing her cigarette out and reaching for her coat.

Josephine laughed. ‘I wasn't talking about them. I meant the people I'm writing about.'

‘Even so, you should be careful. It's only a matter of time before all that female company rubs off on you.'

‘I should be so lucky,' Lydia said, feigning an expression of self-pity. ‘It's been so long, I think I've forgotten what to do.'

‘Shouldn't we be going?' Josephine asked casually.

‘Yes, we should.' Lettice looked at her watch and kissed George goodbye. ‘I don't want them giving our table to someone else—I'm starving. We can catch up on the way.'

They walked out into St Martin's Lane, where the snow was just beginning to settle on window ledges and car rooftops. ‘Good God, Marjorie's still at it,' Ronnie said, glancing up at
the studio windows. ‘Do you think we should pop in and tell her to go home?' She poked Josephine in the shoulder. ‘And we could show you your outfit for next week—you're about the only member of the bloody Cowdray Club who hasn't stepped over our threshold today.' Just as she finished speaking, the lights went out in the workroom.

‘Looks like she's finally had enough,' Lettice said. ‘I don't blame her—she's worked hard today. We'll have to show Josephine tomorrow—Marjorie will only feel obliged to stay longer if we go up now, and we don't want her to think we're checking up on her.'

They carried on to the restaurant, and Lydia fell into step with Josephine, leaving the sisters to talk about work. ‘Of course, neither of them can wear tights,' she said cryptically. ‘Larry's really too thin, and Johnny's completely knock-kneed.' It was a game attempt to be light-hearted, but Josephine knew how difficult it must be for Lydia to watch a younger woman in the role she so craved, and to know in her heart that she was unlikely ever to play Juliet again. ‘Johnny promised me we'd do it together one more time,' she continued, ‘and then the bastard goes behind my back and gives it to Peggy without even having the decency to explain why. Tell me honestly—you'd never know there was seventeen years between me and her, would you?'

‘No, of course not,' Josephine said, painfully aware that the triumph of Peggy's performance lay in the way she had preserved Juliet's youth with her passion. She remembered how often she had seen Lydia on stage, long before they ever met, and how much she had admired her; to Josephine's mind, she was a much finer actress than any of her contemporaries, but that was no consolation when the theatre belonged to a
new generation. ‘You know how it is, though,' she continued vaguely. ‘Politics always get in the way. I'm sure if Johnny had a free hand you'd be his first choice, but he has so many people to please. And it's not as though you haven't been busy.'

‘Picking up Flora's crumbs in a second-rate play at the Savoy is hardly the same thing. I really won't be sorry to see the back of this year—I feel like I've been frustrated at every turn. I hope to God that 1936 will be better.'

‘At least you have the cottage,' Josephine said, knowing that the house in the country which Lydia had bought after the success of
Richard of Bordeaux
was her greatest solace in Marta's absence.

‘Tagley? Yes, it's heavenly—you must come and see it.' She took Josephine's arm. ‘I'm sorry to be such a miserable cow, but I still haven't heard from her. I had this stupid idea that we might be able to spend Christmas together at the cottage—use it as a place to start again. If I'm honest, I suppose that's partly why I bought it, but she hasn't answered any of my letters.'

‘Has there been anyone else?' Josephine asked. ‘For you, I mean,' she added hurriedly.

‘Nothing serious. I haven't got the heart for anything that matters, and I never thought I'd hear myself say that.' She sighed. ‘God, Josephine—eighteen months ago I had everything I wanted. You can lose it all so quickly, can't you?'

Josephine nodded. ‘If Marta did get in touch, would you do things differently this time?'

‘What do you mean?'

‘Well, after she left, you told me that if you'd paid more attention to her and how she was feeling, things might have been different. So would you put Marta first now? Ahead of the next part?'

‘Of course I would.' She caught Josephine's eye. ‘Well, I'd try to. I'd convince myself I could. Let's face it, I'm going to have more time on my hands as I get older, not less.'

‘That sounds like a choice by default.'

‘Yes, I suppose it does.' Lydia was quiet for a moment. ‘It worked, though, didn't it?' she asked eventually. ‘You thought we were happy together?'

Josephine recalled the time she'd spent with Marta and Lydia; brief though it was, she had envied their closeness with an intensity which had surprised her and, in the months since, had found herself acknowledging her own restlessness—she refused to call it loneliness—with alarming regularity. Perhaps that was why Marta had made her so angry: by threatening to betray Lydia, she had also betrayed Josephine's fragile hope that a partnership based on love and respect and compromise might yet be possible for her. ‘Yes, I did,' she admitted truthfully. ‘As happy as two people
can
be.'

‘Ever the optimist,' Lydia said, smiling at her, and there was a trace of their old friendship in her gentle mockery. Josephine realised suddenly how much she had missed it; they talked so rarely these days. ‘Perhaps you're right,' Lydia sighed. ‘Perhaps she'd be better with someone else, and I should stick to wining and dining chorus girls at the Ivy.'

‘That wasn't what I meant.'

‘I know, and don't worry—I'm not quite ready to give in yet.'

They reached the restaurant and Josephine opened the door gratefully, anxious to be seated at a table where the conversation would be diluted. She didn't know who to blame more—Marta for putting her in this position, or herself for allowing it to happen—but at least while she was angry, she didn't have to think more deeply about how she actually felt.

As well as having the distinction of being just across the street from the Motleys' new apartments, Rules was the oldest restaurant in London and a second home to most of the theatrical profession. In fact, it had long been crowded with celebrities from all walks of life, and past customers from Dickens to Edward VII lived on in the cartoons and photographs which lined the walls. The family had built its reputation on traditional London food, and the restaurant still specialised in game, much of which was brought in from its own estate; it was the sort of menu which would normally have delighted Josephine, but tonight she merely glanced at it perfunctorily and chose the first thing on the list.

‘So tell us more about these odd people you've been hanging around with.' Lettice's tone was bright enough but she looked curiously across the table, sensing that something was wrong. ‘Archie says it's got something to do with a real crime.'

‘Yes, that's right.' They listened as she outlined the bare bones of the Sach and Walters case, then explained her own connection with what happened at Anstey years afterwards.

‘I don't quite see her problem myself,' Ronnie said, washing her sarcasm down with a swig of champagne. ‘It sounds to me like her mother had hit on a bloody good idea. I once had to look after a friend's baby for half an hour—and I would have considered thirty pounds to be a very reasonable price.'

‘But how on earth did they ever think they'd get away with it?' Lettice asked, fascinated. ‘Surely they should have been more careful?'

‘Yes, I can't help feeling that it would have been wise to prepare a more eloquent defence than “I never murdered no babies”.' Ronnie lapsed into a convincing cockney accent, and Lydia smiled approvingly at her. ‘Seriously, though,' she added,
leaning back to allow the waiter to place a large plate of oysters in front of her, ‘isn't this gala something to do with a children's charity as well as the Cowdray Club?'

‘Yes—the Actors' Orphanage. It's Noël's pet cause, and his aunt's on the club's committee.'

‘It makes you wonder, doesn't it?'

‘In what way?' Lettice asked, irritated by her sister's habit of never quite explaining her point.

‘Well, here we are in 1935, still having to raise money for unwanted children, just so they can grow up in institutions which can't be very pleasant, even if they are supported by the lord of the London stage. It might be legal, but it doesn't exactly sound like progress.'

‘It's funny—the first time I ever saw Gertie on stage, she was so pregnant she could hardly squeeze into the costumes,' Lydia said, reaching for some bread. ‘It was just after the war, and I gather she did a matinee and an evening performance on the day before the birth. Of course, that all went tits up. If she hadn't had her mother to dump the kid on, I suppose she would have ended up in the orphanage as well.'

‘You
are
sure it's the charities that this money is going to?' Ronnie asked, looking at Josephine with a wicked glint in her eye. ‘I'd check the takings very carefully if I were you. Charity begins
chez
Lawrence with her current predicament.'

‘Don't be so scandalous,' chided Lettice. ‘That's all behind her now. She's paying off the debts at fifty pounds a week—they've just cleared her of the bankruptcy.'

‘Bankruptcy?'

‘Good God, dear—where have you been? Don't they have newspapers in Inverness? Miss Lawrence's financial embarrassment has been the toast of the press for months. Apparently,
she was so busy ordering new cars and flowers that she forgot to pay her laundry bills. It's easily done, I suppose.'

‘Oh, it's been simply awful for her,' Lettice said sympathetically, balancing roast potatoes around the edge of her steak-and-kidney pie. ‘Gertie, her maid, even her dog—they were all turned out on to the street. In the end, her agent took them in.'

‘Good to know they're useful for something,' Lydia said bitterly. ‘Although I have to say, I haven't noticed any marked drop in standards now Gertie's slumming it.'

‘No, she's determined not to cut back on anything.' Lettice's familiarity with the gossip columns was legendary, and Josephine wasn't at all surprised by her intimate knowledge of Gertrude Lawrence's financial affairs. ‘No—she says she'll make up every penny through cabaret and extra bits of filming.'

‘And charity galas.'

As the Motleys continued their bickering, Josephine noticed how often Lydia's face reverted to sadness, and she could bear it no longer. If she stayed here, she was likely to take Lydia discreetly outside and tell her everything that Marta had said, which would surely only make things worse. ‘I'm afraid I have to go,' she said when there was a break in the sparring. ‘I've got another appointment with the baby farmers in the morning, and I should be getting back.'

‘Not so early, surely? You'll stay for dessert?'

‘No, but I promise to stop by the studio tomorrow and look at my outfit. Archie assured me it's worth trying on. I'll see you then—about three o'clock?'

The girls nodded and let her go without any further argument. Outside in the street, she breathed a sigh of relief and
looked up to Archie's flat, but it was in darkness. Disappointed not to find him in, she turned and walked down Maiden Lane, hoping to be lucky with a cab in Bedford Street, but she hadn't got far before she heard someone call her name. ‘I couldn't possibly let you just go like that,' Lettice said, hurrying up to her. ‘You've been upset all evening. What's wrong, Josephine? Has something happened between you and Archie?'

‘No, nothing like that. It's Lydia—I wasn't expecting to see her tonight, and it was a bit awkward.'

‘Oh God—you know something about Marta, don't you? Has she been in touch with you?' Josephine nodded. ‘And she's not ready for a happy reunion, by the sound of it?'

‘No, not at the moment. Perhaps not ever.'