I said: “Surely you were never on the stage?”
He gave a sudden laugh. “Me? Good heavens, no.” Then the mask seemed to slip over his face and his mood changed. I longed to know what had happened to him to make him so withdrawn, for I was sure something had. I was intrigued because I had at times been aware of a different man peeping out from behind the mask. I wanted to bring out that man. I was burning with curiosity to know more about Charles Forster.
We walked back through the streets to the inn.
“Safe,” said Derek, “because there are so many of us. There are plenty of pickpockets about after dark.”
Charles took my arm as we walked along the narrow street, not only to assure me of his protection but to keep me free of the mud which was splashed up as the coaches rattled by.
I felt very happy that night; even though my mission in getting James to come and act as manager had failed, I could not despair and I was delighted that he had agreed to come back with us.
We supped on cold venison and pigeon pie with muscatel wine and it all tasted delicious. I was excited by the London life and I remembered the days of my childhood when my parents had had a house in Albemarle Street and we had spent much of our time there. My father had preferred the town life; he had spent a great deal of time at his clubs and the houses of gambling friends but he too had imbued in me a love for the metropolis. I did not realize until this moment how much I had missed it although I had paid other visits to London before.
We discussed the play. Charles seemed to have thrown off his melancholy once more and spoke of it, criticizing certain points, praising others.
“You are so knowledgeable,” I said.
“Oh yes,” said Isabel, smiling at her brother-in-law. “I always enjoy going to the theater when Charles is a member of the party.”
“I hope that is no reflection on me,” said Derek.
“Of course not, idiot,” said Isabel. “I like the way in which Charles brings out certain things, making it more of an experience.”
“I always thought that the best part of an evening at the theater was the aftermath—when the play and players are on trial, as it were.”
“The inquest,” said Derek.
“Just imagine,” pointed out Charles, “Cromwell shut down the theater. He might have known the people would never accept that.”
“It was his first step to destruction,” put in James. “Thank goodness we’re at peace at last.”
“There is every sign that we are not taking advantage of the peace,” said Charles. “We need Pitt. But he goes into retirement worn out by a war which could be said to have been won by his wise policies … and we’ve had years of unwise government … not helped by the king.”
“Charles gets very fierce on the subject of the colonies,” said Isabel to me.
I listened. I liked hearing Charles talk. He was a different man again, his eyes glowing with enthusiasm. He was passionate in his defense of Pitt; scornful in his denunciation of the policies of the government supported by the king.
“What about the colonies, Charles?” asked Derek.
“They’re getting restive. We shall have America up in arms against us if we don’t show a little restraint … a little common sense. But you’ll never get that from the government.”
“I like the royal family,” said Isabel. “The king and the queen are so … homely.”
Everybody laughed and then we were discussing our plans for departure.
“We do have one day left to us … only one, did you realize it?” said Derek.
“I have certain business which I must do tomorrow,” said James.
“We have to visit the Chensons, remember?” said Isabel to Derek.
“Oh yes … we promised we would. They don’t know you’re here, Charles, but they’ll be pleased to see you and you must come along with us, Zipporah.”
Charles said: “I don’t think they’re expecting me and they’re certainly not expecting Zipporah. She was saying she has never been to Ranelagh. I was wondering whether I might suggest to her that we take a look at it … together.”
I felt the color rising to my cheeks. They were all watching me, and I tried not to sound too ecstatic as I said that I had always wanted to see Ranelagh.
That was the happiest day I had spent since that period when I had abandoned myself to the joy of being with Gerard. In a way this was similar. I was able to forget everything that had disturbed my peace of mind for years. I suppose always at the back of my mind was the fear that one day my sin would be discovered; and although I almost forgot it for long periods it was always there as a vague shadow, an apprehension. I would sometimes remember with a jolt, and my peace of mind would be in ruins.
Charles Forster could make me forget. That was significant in some ways. For my part I was so anxious to make him lighthearted, to make him forget whatever it was that oppressed him. I understood what it meant to be oppressed in such a way.
We were in a mood to enjoy the day, both of us. Charles was such an interesting companion when he cast aside his gloom. I found his conversation lively and he made me realize how much I had been tucked away from affairs. Vaguely I remembered the excitement of being with my father, who used to talk to me sometimes. He had never been serious like Charles, but he had talked of worldly matters; I realized that I had been rather shut in between my mother, Sabrina and yes … Jean-Louis.
However, I was determined to enjoy the day and as I was sure Charles felt the same, it was inevitable that we did.
Charles knew London so well that he could explain so much to me. First he took me riding through the streets, for he said that Ranelagh should not be seen in broad daylight. It was meant to enchant like a veiled beauty who might not be able to face up to the harsh reality of a too bright sun.
I said: “That throws a new light on your character. I should have thought you stood for the bare stark truth.”
“There are times when it is better to veil it,” he said.
“So you are a romantic after all?” I asked lightly.
“I see that you have put me into a niche—unromantic, dour, looking on the grim side of life. … Had you?”
I hesitated. “I thought there was a certain sadness about you. But beneath it … well, I just think if you could throw that aside you might be very merry.”
He put his head on one side, smiling at me.
“For today,” he said, “this very special day, I am going to do that.”
“Can you?” I asked.
“With your help,” he replied. “You will see.”
“Tell me your plans.”
“We ride through the streets to an inn I know of where it is possible to get the very best steak pies in London. Do you like steak pies? Ah, I see you hesitate. Withhold your verdict until you have tried the Rainbow variety. The Rainbow is an inn in Fleet Street. They have excellent roast beef and pork, if you prefer that. It is the place to eat for those who like good food. Will you trust me?”
“I am in your hands,” I said.
So we rode out. We rode slowly through those crowded streets. I was fascinated by all I saw. He showed me where the great fire had started and where it had been stopped; he pointed out the magnificent churches which Sir Christopher Wren had built to replace those which had been burned down.
“A moral,” he said. “Out of the ashes rises the phoenix.”
He talked of the streets as though they were old friends. Cheapside, the center of the mercers and the haberdashers. Paternoster Row, where the makers of rosaries and those who earned their livings by writing text had resided; Cowcross Street with its cook shops and tripe and pork: Billingsgate, which smelled obnoxiously of fish; Fleet Street, the home of the lawyers. …