‘One might almost suppose that you disliked the poor woman.’
‘I do, heartily. One thing,’ added Laura, grinning, ‘I don’t believe she’s going to continue to like Denbigh as much as she does at present. I’m waiting for her to find out that he is going to boss the show without any assistance from her and I’m longing for her reactions when she reads the script of The Beggar’s Opera. When she learns the kind of people it’s about, she’s going to have a heart attack if I’m any judge. By the way, they’ve given me the part of Mrs Peachum, so I’m only on in the first act and can come and sit with you in the audience for the rest of the time. That is if you’re going to favour us with your patronage.’
‘Nothing would induce me to stay away.’
‘Right. I’ll make sure you have a good seat for the last night, then.’
‘I had some idea that you mentioned a production of Othello.’
‘I did, but it’s been shelved pro. tem, in favour of this Caxton Festival thing. It seems we have a William Caxton living in the neighbourhood, so what with that, and this year’s being the five-hundredth anniversary of the English printing press, Clarice Blaine pressurised the Ladies’ Guild into putting on a pageant and then wished this Festival business on to the dramatic society.’
‘So who suggested The Beggar’s Opera?’
‘Denbigh himself. To begin with, anybody who wished could put forward a suggestion and you really ought to have been there and heard some of the ideas. Then Sybil Gartner, who’s having her voice trained, put in a big word for comic opera – it was agreed, you see, that the Festival piece should be something cheerful, that’s why Othello has been referred back. I think that man Rodney Crashaw is rather sick about it. He was to be Othello, you see, and now he won’t have much of a part at all because, although he says he can sing, Denbigh offered him only a minor rôle and I think he’s turned it down.’
‘But Othello is only postponed, you say. He has his pleasure in store.’
‘I don’t want him to have any pleasure. He’s a heel. He’s got his blonde, but he makes passes at people. He’s a prize nuisance.’
‘I imagine that you keep him in his place.’
‘I put my fist in his face once. His nose bled something shocking.’
‘These Amazonian antics! “I thought the girl had been better bred!’ ”
‘Don’t pinch my lines! Oh, honestly, though, I’m delighted at the idea of being Mrs Peachum. I never expected to get a part at all, as I’m a pretty new member.’
‘So Dr Denbigh has already cast the opera.’
‘Oh, yes, quietly but firmly he took over the whole meeting. I should think he’s a force to be reckoned with in that training college. He made all those who fancied a part to stand up and form a line so that he could get a good look at us and assess height and appearance and so forth. Then we each had to recite a nursery rhyme and sing a verse of our favourite song. After that we had to walk up and down the room in front of him.’
‘And could most people manage the verse of a song?’
‘They all tried except young Stella Walker. She was dying to be in it, but said she couldn’t even croak. However, she is quite pretty, so Denbigh has given her two little bits and one of the others is to sing her ditties from the wings. She’s bucked to death. At first Crashaw wouldn’t even have a go. He’s very bitter about Othello. There are to be three rehearsals a week for the next six weeks and Ernest Farrow, the treasurer, who’s only got a tiny part right at the beginning, will play the piano for us. We shan’t rehearse with the college orchestra until nearer the time.’
‘Dr Denbigh seems to have had everything planned.’
‘Yes. I think he was determined to do The Beggar’s Opera. I like people who know their own minds and get things done. I offered him a lift back to the College, but he’s got his own car. He calls it Lillian, after the cat in Damon Runyan’s story.’
‘Ah, yes, I remember. The cat became what the author describes as a rum-pot and because of this it accidentally saved a baby’s life.’
‘Well, Denbigh claims that his car is another rum-pot, only, instead of whisky, it drinks an alarming amount of petrol. He thinks it will be cheaper, in the long run, to scrap it and buy a newer model.’
‘And you have been given a leading rôle in his production?’
‘Yes, I have, and the very one I should have chosen. My word! I can just see myself! I shall be a riot. I shall have the audience rolling in the aisles, you see if I don’t! Incidentally, Crashaw’s blowsy blonde tried conclusions with Mrs Blaine and won.’
Dame Beatrice received her visitor with wary courtesy. She could imagine no reason why Mrs Blaine should call on her. However, she offered Clarice a chair and rang for tea.
‘You won’t know me from Adam – or perhaps I should say from Eve,’ said the visitor.
‘Oh, but, in a sense, I do,’ Dame Beatrice assured her.
‘Oh, well, yes, I am somewhat of a public figure, I admit.’
‘Laura has spoken of you to me.’
‘Laura?’ Mrs Blaine looked startled.
‘Laura Gavin, my friend, companion and confidential secretary.’
‘Really? I assure you I had no idea. I know the names of all our members, of course, but they come from near and far and I know very few of their addresses. So dear Laura lives here.’ She looked around appreciatively at the well-appointed room. ‘But I thought she was Mrs Gavin. Is she – she is not widowed, by any chance, I hope? One likes to know that kind of thing so that one may avoid tactlessness.’
‘Quite. Laura is married to an Assistant Commissioner of Police at New Scotland Yard, if it is still so called, and the marriage is a happy one.’
‘Indeed? How very interesting and nice.’
‘She is in London at the moment, as a matter of fact. Her husband is on annual leave.’
‘Oh, really? I am sorry not to greet her, but, indeed, Dame Beatrice, it is you I came to see, and, I ought to explain, upon a begging errand. Oh, no, not for money,’ Clarice hastily added, perceiving that her hostess had now assumed the expression of a benevolent snake and was making a move towards a Hepplewhite bureau-bookcase which stood against a side wall. ‘Not for money at all, unless – well, as you know dear Laura so well – unless you would care to subscribe to the funds by purchasing tickets for our next performance.’
‘Given by the dramatic and operatic society? I shall be delighted.’
‘Thank you so much. Perhaps a tiny cheque when I go. Oh, no sugar, please.’ She glanced down at her buxom figure. ‘One needs to watch one’s weight.’ She nullified this assertion by ignoring the thin bread and butter and reaching out for one of Henri’s delicious cream cakes. ‘No, I really came to beg a favour of you – two favours,’ she added, as though, by putting it thus, she removed any apprehension which the statement might have engendered. Dame Beatrice took a sip of tea and waited for the blow, or, rather, the two blows, to fall. ‘We are preparing to honour the fifth centenary of Caxton’s – of the setting up of Caxton’s printing press,’ Mrs Blaine went on.
‘So Laura has told me.’
‘What very delicious cakes these are! You do not make them yourself, by any chance?’
‘No. They are of Gallic origin. My own activities, I regret to say, are purely cerebral. I should be of no practical use to the Ladies’ Guild in the guise of amateur cake-maker and stall-holder.’