Another one she could not have done without was Dolly. He was a frequent visitor to our house.
It was a very extraordinary childhood. There was nothing normal about it. There was always something exciting going on, and I was never shut out of it. When I saw other children walking sedately in the park with their nannies, I felt very sorry for them. Their lives were very different from mine. They were just children to be seen and not heard. I was a member of the most exciting family that ever was. My mother was the famous Desiree, whom people looked at when we went out together; and some came up and said how much they had enjoyed her in some play, and they produced programmes for her to sign. She always smiled and chatted with them and they were overcome with wonder, while I would stand by, smirking with pride because I shared her glory.
I used to keep awake so that I could hear her come in. If she and Martha were alone I used to go down and join them. They would sit in the kitchen and eat sandwiches, or drink ale or hot milk as the fancy took them, and there was a lot of laughter about some mishap on the stage, or the old gentleman in the audience who, as Martha would say, “took a shine to your ladyship!”
Mathilda Grey did not approve of my joining them but shrugged her shoulders and accepted it; it was one of the millestones on the road to becoming Lady Macbeth.
Sometimes my mother would be very late, and then I knew it was no use waiting. She would be having supper with Charlie Claverham or Monsieur Robert Bouchere or some other admirer. I was disappointed at such times, because that would mean she would sleep late the next morning and I would have very little time with her before she left for the theatre.
Dolly was a frequent visitor to the house and there would be long conferences. He and my mother quarrelled a lot, which used to frighten me at first, until I learned that they were not serious quarrels.
They called each other abusive names, which might have been alarming if I had not heard it all before. Sometimes Dolly marched out of the drawing room, slamming the door and striding out of the house.
We would be in the kitchen, listening. We could hardly help hearing had we wanted not to—which, of course, we did not.
“Sounds bad this time,” Mrs. Crimp would say. “But he’ll be back, mark my words.”
And she was always right. He would come back. There would be a reconciliation and we would hear my mother’s strong clear voice trying out some song in the new musical comedy he had found for her. There would be frequent visits, more songs to be sung, perhaps a few arguments on the way, but nothing vital. Then there would be rehearsals and more arguments and finally the dress rehearsal and the first night.
Mrs. Crimp revelled in it. She was highly critical of much, but then one of her greatest pleasures was criticizing everyone who did not conform to her ways. There was my mother’s name, for instance. “Desiree!” she announced derisively. “What a name to go to bed with!” Jane said she reckoned there were some … and more than one … who didn’t mind going to bed with such a name.
“That’s not the sort of talk I’ll have in my kitchen,” said Mrs. Crimp severely. “And particularly …” followed by a significant nod in my direction.
I knew, of course, to what they referred. I did not mind. Everything my mother did was perfect in my eyes, and it was not her fault that so many people fell in love with her.
Mrs. Crimp had a way with names. She pronounced them as, in her opinion, they ought to be pronounced. My mother was “Daisy Ray,” and Robert Bouchere, the elegant Frenchman who was such a frequent visitor, was “Monsewer Robber.”
I myself was a little puzzled about my mother’s name until I asked her and she explained it to me.
“Desiree is my stage name,” she said. “It wasn’t given to me in church or anything like that. I gave it to myself. People have a right to a name of their choice, and if they don’t get the one they like to start off with, why shouldn’t they change it? Don’t you agree, pet?”
I nodded vigorously. I always agreed with everything she said.
“Well, you’ve got to know one day … seeing you’re a part of it all … so listen, love, and I’ll tell you how it all came about.”
We were lying on her bed. She was wearing a pale blue negligee. I was fully dressed, for it was half past ten in the morning. I had been up for several hours; she had not yet risen. It was at this time of day when she was most communicative. I think it was because she was not entirely awake.
“What’s your real name?” I asked.
“Can you keep a secret?”
“Oh yes,” I assured her with delight. “I love secrets.”
“Well, it was Daisy. Mrs. Crimp hit on the right one as far as the Daisy is concerned. I didn’t think it suited me, love. Do I look like a Daisy?”
“Well, you could. It’s a nice flower.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Daisy Tremaston.”
“I think it sounds rather nice, and when people knew it was yours, it would sound even better.”
She kissed the tip of my nose. “You say nice things, love. And what’s particularly nice about them is that you mean them. No. I thought for the stage I’d need a special name … a name that would stick in people’s memories. That’s important. It’s the package that’s important. Always remember that. You could be a real genius on the stage … you could be a knockout … but if the package isn’t right, well then, it’s going to be a lot harder. I can tell you, love, to get on in my business, you need all you can lay your hands on … talent … staying power … a push here and there in the right direction at the right time by the right people.”
“And package?” I reminded her.
“That’s it.” She laughed with appreciation. That was another of her gifts: she made people feel that their most ordinary remarks were very clever.
“Desiree. It’s got something, hasn’t it, love? It means ‘Desired.’ It’s a hint to everyone who hears it. Here, this lady is special. Tell them you’re desired and they’ll, be halfway to believing it, and with a bit of talent you’re halfway there, and with a bit of luck you can clinch it. So I was Desiree for the stage and I kept to it. Well, you have to go all out for it. Otherwise there’s a muddle!”
“So you’re not Daisy anymore.”
“It’s all shut away in the realms of yesterday. That was the title of one of my first songs. Rather good, eh?” She started to sing. I loved to hear her sing.
When the song about memories being shut away in the realms of yesterday was over, I guided the conversation to where I wanted it to go.
“Did Dolly help you choose Desir6e?”
“Dolly! Not him! He’d be against it. He thinks it’s not quite good class. That’s Dolly all over. I don’t always go along with him, though I must say he has a good eye for spotting the winner. No. This was before Dolly’s day. This was in my struggling days. I could tell you some stories.”
I nestled down to hear them, but there were none forthcoming. It was just a figure of speech. Something happened to her when she talked of the past. I could feel the shutters coming down in her mind. She did tell me once that she had begun life in a Cornish village.
“Tell me about Cornwall,” I had demanded.
I waited breathlessly, for when I broached the subject she seemed inclined to talk of something else.