Rhiannon (7 page)

As the audience quietened, the stage curtain slowly went up and through the shimmering heat haze above the footlights appeared a handsome young man dressed in full evening dress seated at a small table positioned at the side of the stage.

He stood up and banged on the table with a gavel that he held in his hand. The crowd cheered. He banged the table again. The crowd silenced.

‘My lords, ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Empire Theatre! It is with great honour that I, your chairman for the evening, call you to order. For the next few hours prepare to be amazed, astonished and, above all, entertained as you've never been entertained before.' Once again he banged the gavel on the table. ‘With no further ado, please put your hands together for our very own ... excitingly exquisite ... Empire Belles!'

His voice was captivating. Rhiannon hung on his every word. She had never seen a man, possibly in his early twenties, so gorgeous; he was tall and well built, with dark-brown well-groomed hair and sparkling blue eyes. He oozed what could only be described as a sexual presence. Overcome by a strange feeling of excitement deep within, her body heat increased and from the way her face was burning she knew it was bright red. She was glad of the darkness.

She felt Mair tug her arm. ‘Cor, Rhi, he's a bit of all right, don't you think?'

Rhiannon was grateful for the loud applause from the audience making it impossible for Mair to hear, even if she'd deigned to answer her sister.

As the chairman took his seat at the table, a chorus-line of dancers dressed as bathing-belles tap-danced in unison across the stage. Rhiannon had never seen dancing like it, and longed to be one of them.

For the next hour Rhiannon sat spellbound. Mair must have felt the same because for once she stayed silent as one act followed another:
dancers, jugglers, and a soprano who sang ‘I'm only a bird in a gilded cage' to perfection.

Rhiannon particularly enjoyed the performance of a young girl called Sally Webber, who came on dressed as a street urchin and sang: ‘All my life I wanted to be a barrow-boy', encouraging the audience to sing along with the chorus, which everyone, including Rhi and Mair, did with gusto.

Every now and then Rhiannon's eyes wandered to the table and, in particular, to the chairman sitting at the side of the stage.

To end the first half a comedian called Tom O'Reilly brought the house down with his constant mistakes and daft antics that had both girls laughing so much their sides hurt.

‘I don't know about you, Mair. But if I laugh much more I'll end up peeing
my
knickers!' Rhiannon whispered. Of course she never would. She just wanted to show Mair that she wasn't really stuffy.

The first half ended to great applause and as the curtains fell and the house-lights came up on the auditorium there was a chance for the audience to shuffle in their seats or, if inclined, take some refreshment.

‘Thanks for bringing me, Rhi. I wouldn't have missed it for the world. This is the life, eh? Do you think when we're living with Aunt Florrie we'll be able to do this every day?'

‘I don't know; maybe. Anyway, for the time being I'll just be glad if she takes us in.' Rhiannon didn't want to spoil things but she needed Mair to share her concerns.

‘Don't be daft. Of course she'll take us in. Won't she?'

Concerned as Rhiannon was, she couldn't get the chairman out of her mind. She wondered whether he was a regular attached to the theatre or, like Aunt Florrie, a visiting artist. She looked in the programme and found his photograph. Underneath the name Gerald ‘Gus' Davenport. If she asked, maybe her aunt could introduce them. She scolded herself for being so silly. Why would a man like that want to be bothered with the likes of her?

Rhiannon felt a tap on her shoulder.

‘Hello, miss, I've brought you a tray of sandwiches and a drink each.' It was the young girl who'd showed them to their box. Leaning past Rhiannon she clipped the tray onto a convenient little bracket on the arm of her seat, obviously made for the purpose.

‘Thank you,' Rhiannon said. She nudged Mair, prompting her to do the same.

‘Oh, yes. Thank you very much.'

‘Miss Grayson thought you might be hungry and didn't want your tummies rumbling during her performance.' The girl laughed. ‘Now then, after the show someone will come to take you backstage, so just stay put and enjoy the rest of the show.'

As the girls tucked into their cheese sandwiches they noticed that most of the men had vacated their seats, while the ladies remained with trays in place, enjoying some snack or other. A loud bell signalled five minutes to curtain up and at the same time an army of usherettes proceeded to remove the trays and discarded rubbish.

The Empire Belles opened the second half with an energetic dance with tap routine and elaborate twirls to the fast-tempo music. It was very exciting to watch and ended with each girl falling to the floor in the splits.

Gus Davenport strode on to the stage clapping his hands, encouraging the audience to give even more applause. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, our very own Empire Belles!'

As the dancers bowed and left the stage the audience became silent.

‘At last ladies and gentleman, the moment you've all been waiting for. Like the can-can, this lady has travelled ‘All the way from Paris, France'. Please give a big Cardiff welcome home to the delightful and delectable Miss Florrie Grayson!' As he returned to his place at the side of the stage he blew a kiss to the audience and for a moment Rhiannon could pretend it was just for her.

Florrie Grayson glided onto the stage to great applause, many in the audience leapt to their feet, clapping and cheering. She was dressed in a pale gold-and-blue elegant silk gown, nipped tightly at the waist with a long straight skirt that fishtailed at the bottom. There could be no mistaking what a striking-looking woman she was: a bit plumper in the face than Rhiannon remembered, but with a stage presence to be admired.

With an appreciative smile and a gesture of her hands, like a true professional, she quietened the audience. Then she gave a nod to the conductor, the orchestra began and Florrie burst into song.

Her rendition of ‘I'll be your sweetheart' had all the men in the audience swooning and every woman wanting to be her. She sang four songs ending with ‘My mother's eyes' which brought the house down. She had encore after encore, which only stopped when the curtain fell for the last time and the house lights went up.

‘Wasn't she great, Rhi? Don't you wish you could sing like that?'

‘Yes, if only,' Rhi answered. The way she felt, just seeing her aunt
and all the other acts, she knew she'd found her dream: one day to be on stage herself, wooing the audience.

As the audience shuffled out of the auditorium Rhiannon and Mair stayed in their seats.

‘Excuse me, miss.' A young fair-haired lad addressed Rhiannon. ‘Would I be right in thinking that you're Miss Hughes?'

‘Yes, that's right,' she answered warily.

‘I'm Percy. I work as call-boy backstage. Miss Grayson requested that I should come to escort you to her dressing-room.'

‘Hello, Percy. I'm Mair. We're sisters,' Mair offered.

‘Hello, miss.'

As Rhiannon bent down to retrieve her suitcase she tried to stay positive. Whatever the outcome of the meeting with Aunt Florrie, it was going to be nice to see her mother's sister again.

‘I'll take the suitcase, miss. Now if you'd both like to like to follow me.'

They followed Percy up the aisle to the back of the stalls, across the glittering foyer and out onto the foggy streets and into the cold evening air. Then they sharply turned down a narrow alleyway. It was getting dark and Rhi wondered if she should so readily follow this stranger.

And, as if echoing her doubts, Mair asked, ‘Where's he taking us, Rhi?'

Percy must have heard her, for he answered, ‘This is the quickest way to the stage door. Look, it's dead ahead.'

In front of them they saw a large door – desperately in need of a coat of paint. Alongside the door a porter stood, as if on sentry duty, in a small kiosk.

For some reason unknown to the girls a large group of men seemed to be bombarding the man in the kiosk with, ‘Come on, Fred. If you'll just take my card to the tall dark chorus girl second left, I'll make it worth your while.' Or ‘Go tell Sally Webber that if she's not out in five minutes, I'm off, and I mean it.' And, yet another, ‘What'll it cost me for you to put in a word for me with Miss Florrie Grayson.'

The porter didn't seem at all ruffled; some pleas he answered and some he ignored. Then he spotted Percy and called out to the crowd.

‘Come on. Make way. Let these people through. If you be patient I promise to deal with each of you in turn.'

As the crowd obediently parted Rhiannon and Mair, with heads bowed, tucked in behind Percy as he made his way through the door.

‘Are these new dancers for the chorus then, Fred? One of them looks
a bit young, but the younger the meat the fresher the meal, that's what I say.'

The crowd laughed.

‘And I say, shut your filthy mouth. These young girls are related to Miss Grayson. So show some respect,' the porter barked.

‘Sorry, Fred, I didn't know. No hard feelings, eh?'

They entered the stage door, relieved to be away from such obnoxious men.

Percy mumbled something about ‘Bloody stage door Johnnies' and led the way down the passageway to the wings, through the backstage shadows with their maze of hanging ropes and various pieces of scenery propped against the rear wall.

‘Up there's the flies.' Percy pointed towards the high ceiling. ‘It's pretty safe now, but it's a dangerous place to be during the performance, unless you know what you're doing.'

‘Why is it so dangerous?' Rhiannon asked.

‘From up there men ... stage-hands, control every bit of scenery by hoisting it in the air and flying it into position on stage. In comparison my job as call-boy's easy, but no less important.' His pride was obvious.

‘Here we are, ladies.' Percy came to an abrupt stop. The door in front of them was marked by a silver star with the name MISS FLORRIE GRAYSON in large letters above it.

Percy gave a light tap on the door.

‘Come in,' a lady's voice replied.

As the door of her dressing-room slowly opened Florrie Grayson swallowed hard. Her mouth was dry and her head felt as if it would burst. She wished now that she hadn't agreed to send Walter away.

When Walter had come rushing back from the front of house with the news that two young girls had taken up the private box that she had booked for the family, her first reaction was of blind panic. Up to now the only youngsters she had had any dealings with were young chorus girls who, by nature of their profession, touring from town to town, fending for themselves and living in digs, seemed older than their years. But a couple of young valley girls who had just lost their father? She wasn't sure she knew how to cope.

Walter had offered to stay with her but she refused. If the girls in the box were Rhiannon and Nellie's daughter, Mair, she owed it to her sister and Dai to face them on her own. She still couldn't understand why Dai's widow hadn't accompanied them.

As the girls entered the room Florrie stood up from the dressing-table and took a deep breath. As she did, by force of habit, she automatically raised her hand to touch the back of her styled coiffure; her dark-auburn dyed hair was piled high under her straw hat with its wide turned-down brim and its shallow crown trimmed with a bundle of pheasant feathers. She checked her appearance in the well-lit mirror. Satisfied, she stood up and, as she turned to the girls, she slid her hand down the smooth contours of her pale olive green afternoon dress.

The girls stood with mouths open as they attempted to take in, first the dressing-room with its bright lights, colourful drapes, velvet
chaise-longue
and the heady scent of attar of roses that filled it. Then there stood Aunt Florrie, dressed in her fashionable silk-satin dress and wearing what had to be the biggest hat they had ever seen. It truly was a sight to behold. In contrast, they felt dowdy and so ... out of place.

‘Aunt Florrie, you were brilliant on stage. We both loved your singing, I so wish that Dad—'

Florrie held out her arms. ‘Rhiannon, my dear girl, I was so shocked to hear about your dear father's death.'

Rhiannon rushed into her open arms.

‘Oh, Aunt Florrie, These past few weeks have been awful. It's so good to see you. I've missed you so much.'

‘I know. It's was such a dreadful thing to have happened. I'm so sorry that I wasn't with you ... but I'm here now.'

Mair stood with her back to the door, her eyes focused on the bright lights that surrounded Florrie's dressing-table mirror in an effort to keep her mind off the scene in front of her. The sight of Rhiannon and Florrie clinging to each other made her want to scream out. She felt left out, rejected, hurt and completely alone. Why must she always be made to feel so jealous of Rhiannon? She'd been fooling herself. The truth was that she was Nellie's brat, and who in their right mind would want her?

Florrie and Rhiannon's embrace seemed to last for ever. Eventually they separated. Florrie took a step back and took Rhiannon's hand. ‘It's been such a long time since I last saw you. My, you've become quite the young lady, so pretty, so grown up – and the image of your dear mother.'

Rhiannon smiled, pleased to have the resemblance to her mother confirmed. It was funny, she never thought of herself as pretty, although her dad had always insisted she was, but he had been biased.

‘And this must be Mair?' Florrie turned to the thin waiflike girl standing by the door.

‘Yes. She's Nellie's daughter and my stepsister,' Rhiannon gushed.

‘What do you mean, stepsister? You said I was your sister. Make up your mind!' Mair glared at Rhiannon.

‘I'm sure Rhiannon didn't mean to hurt your feelings, child. Now, come over and shake my hand. It's so good to meet you at last.'

Mair reluctantly walked over and shook Florrie's hand.

‘That's better. In a little while I'd like you both to meet my dear friend Mr Walter Cahill. We thought we'd take you out for tea, a chance for us all to get know one another. Would you like that?'

The girls nodded. Rhiannon smiled at Mair and was rewarded with another glare. Rhiannon couldn't understand why Mair was in such a bad mood. She seemed hell bent on playing up in front of Aunt Florrie. Rhiannon had to control the urge to shake the ungrateful little madam.

‘Before Walter arrives maybe you could help me. You see, I'm a little puzzled as to why Nellie didn't accompany you today.'

Rhiannon made to speak but Mair beat her to it.

‘My Mam's buggered off with the tallyman. She left ages ago.'

‘Mair! What's come in to you? Watch your language,' Rhiannon scolded.

Mair simply shrugged her shoulders.

‘Is this true, Rhiannon? Has Nellie left?' Florrie asked.

‘Yes. She left last November with a travelling salesman. Since then it's just been Dad, Mair and me. Now it's just—'

Mair interrupted. ‘See, I'm not a liar.'

‘Of course you're not, child. I didn't mean to imply ... it was just such a shock to hear that your mother has up and left you.' Florrie turned to Rhiannon. ‘Are you telling me you haven't heard from Nellie since then?' she asked.

‘Not a word. Not even at Christmas. Mind you, Dad made sure we had a good time. Didn't he, Mair?

Mair, her eyes staring at the floor, nodded her agreement. She hated being reminded of how her mother had abandoned her.

Florrie shook her head in disbelief. ‘How have you both been managing since ... the accident?'

‘Mrs Lewis and her son, Frank, from next door, have been ever so kind. Mrs Lewis even offered to take us in permanent like. You see, now that Dad's ... gone we've got to leave the house. Another miner and his family are moving in.'

‘I see.' Florrie pondered for a while. ‘Have you any idea where Nellie went?'

‘No. Not really.' Rhiannon's voice was quiet.

‘She left us to start a new life with her fancy man, didn't she, Rhi?' Mair blurted out.

For the first time Florrie's eyes focused on the battered suitcase inside the door. Her shocked expression said it all. ‘So, tell me, Rhiannon, what's to become of you both?'

‘That's why we're here. We thought we could move in with you.'

As if saved by the bell, there was a knock on the door.

‘Come in,' Florrie called.

Walter entered the room.

‘Girls, this Mr Walter Cahill, the good friend I told you about earlier.'

‘Well, what have we here? A real bevy of beauty, I'd say, and that's for sure.'

Both girls blushed at the compliment.

‘Hello, you must be Rhi,' he said, vigorously shaking her hand, ‘I've heard so much about you from your Aunt Florrie. It's so good to meet you at last. I hope you don't mind me calling you Rhi? But I ain't even gonna attempt your full name.'

Rhiannon smiled. ‘Rhi will do fine, Mr Cahill.'

‘Please, call me Walter.'

‘And this one's gotta be Mayre?

Mair giggled at the way he pronounced her name.

‘I just knew I was gonna have a heap of trouble with these Welsh names.' He smiled as he shook her hand. ‘This must be my lucky day. It's not often an old fella like me gets to take three beauties out for tea. I hope you gals have had enough time alone, I've booked us tea at the Angel Hotel and the cab is waiting. Are you ready Florrie?

Florrie nodded. ‘Yes. I think the sooner we go the better.'

If Walter sensed her agitation he didn't show it.

As they left the theatre via the stage door they came face to face with Gus Davenport, the show's chairman.

Rhiannon held her breath. He was even more handsome close up. He was tall and well built, with a mop of dark-brown hair, and sporting a thin, neatly trimmed moustache.

‘I thought you were great this afternoon, Miss Grayson. You had the audience eating out of the palm of your hand,' he gushed.

‘Why, thank you, and thank you for warming the audience for me.'

‘My pleasure,' he said. Then turning his gaze to Rhiannon he beamed a smile and repeated softly, ‘Oh yes, it's always my pleasure.'

Rhiannon felt her colour rise.

‘Gus, this is my niece—'

Before Florrie could finish the introduction Walter, much to Rhiannon's annoyance, already out through the door, interrupted, ‘Get a move on, you gals. It's starting to rain,' he urged. ‘Sorry, Gus, my man. Maybe we'll catch you later, eh?'

‘That's all right. I can wait,' Gus called, his clear blue eyes fixed on Rhiannon.

There was a small crowd, mostly young men, waiting at the stage door. They instantly recognized Florrie Grayson and quickly gathered around her and the girls.

One young man called out, ‘Miss Grayson. I think you're wonderful!' Another thrust a piece of paper in her hand, ‘Miss Grayson, my card. I'm at your disposal.' Yet another, ‘Any chance of an
introduction to the young girls with you?'

Without a word Walter quickly cleared a path to the waiting carriage. When they were settled he tapped the ceiling of the Brougham with the end of his walking-stick and they set off.

Rhiannon, unable to help herself, looked back towards the stage door, hoping for another glimpse of Gus Davenport. But, much to her disappointment, he was nowhere to be seen.

‘I don't think I'll ever get used to those damn stage door Johnnies,' Walter complained. ‘Florrie, do they really believe that a lady like you would ever consider entertaining the likes of them?'

‘You'd be surprised, my dear. There's many a stage performer taken in by their sweet talk.' Florrie turned to the girls. ‘Rhiannon, Mair, I hope they didn't upset you.'

The girls shook their heads.

Rhiannon remembered how Percy had also referred to stage door Johnnies when he escorted them backstage; now Walter had done the same and she was still none the wiser. ‘Aunt Florrie, what exactly is a stage door Johnnie?' she asked.

Florrie looked stern-faced. ‘Well, they're men who wait at stage doors hoping to pick up ... meet the artists ... dancers, singers any performer, really. They're usually after one thing – to take advantage. Don't get me wrong, some girls are only too willing. But I strongly advise you and Mair to give them a wide berth.'

Mair struggled to suppress a giggle.

 

Walter and Florrie sat alone in the restaurant of the Angel Hotel. Earlier Florrie had suggested the girls might like to take themselves off to the ladies' powder room to tidy up before tea was served.

‘What's up, gal?' Walter asked, gently touching her small-gloved hand.

‘Sometimes I think you know me too well.' She patted his hand. ‘Oh Walter, Rhiannon has laid such a bombshell at my feet. It turns out that the girls didn't come just to see the show. The truth is they expect me to take them in permanently!'

‘You're not serious?' But looking into her eyes he knew she was. ‘With your tight schedule you couldn't possibly take on two young girls? You've far too many commitments.'

‘You don't need to remind me. How could
I
be expected to look after two young girls? We both know it's out of the question. It just wouldn't be practical... . So why do I feel so bloody guilty? Walter, I'm
Rhiannon's only living relative. She truly believed I'd take her in. How am I going to tell her?'

Walter pondered for a moment. ‘I think, in the short term, that maybe a compromise could be the answer.'

‘What sort of compromise?'

‘Well, we know that you're contracted for the duration of the show's run. We could let them stay with us for a while. I'm sure I could negotiate a deal for an extra room with the hotel manager.'

‘But what would I do with them while I'm at work?'

‘They both seem quite capable to me. You could always have a word with the theatre's housekeeper. I'm sure it would do them both a power of good to be involved, maybe in the theatre's wardrobe, laundry or even selling programmes. I'm sure there's plenty they could apply themselves to.'

‘I don't know that I want to take them in, even for a short while.' She gave a long sigh... . ‘Whatever happens, we'll have to get them settled into the hotel with us tonight. And it'll give me time to think.'

‘Leave it with me.' Walter looked up to see Rhiannon and Mair entering the restaurant. ‘Look, here they come. Will you be all right if I leave you for a few minutes? I need to speak to the hotel manager.'

‘Of course, and Walter ... thank you. I don't know what I would have done without you.'

‘Hey chucks, I bet you say that to all us good-looking guys.'

The girls arrived at the table in high spirits.

‘Aunt Florrie, have you seen the powder room? It's enormous,' Rhiannon enthused. ‘A lady took our coats and gave us each a clean white towel and a small bar of scented soap.'

‘I kept my soap; it's in my skirt pocket,' Mair announced.

‘So did I,' Rhiannon admitted. ‘Sorry, Aunt Florrie, did we do wrong?'

Florrie smiled. She felt a lot more comfortable in their company now that she and Walter had found a solution – albeit in the short term. ‘No. Not at all. Everyone gets a fresh tablet of soap, so yours would only have ended up in the bin.'

‘I'm glad we took it, then. My dad hated waste.' For a moment Rhiannon looked pensive.

Florrie could only imagine what hardship her young niece had suffered in her short life, but could it really concern her? It might have been easier if she had only Rhiannon to consider. Florrie wondered whether there might be a way to reach Mair's own mother.

A few minutes later Walter rejoined them. ‘All fixed up,' was all he said, as he beamed a self-satisfied smile in Florrie's direction. Then, after he had given a nod to the head waiter, a smartly dressed waitress proceeded to fill their table with a selection of tiny sandwiches, fancy cakes and a large pot of tea.