(‘Silly little fool, trying to flatter me. As if I didn’t know that. And why the hell should I educate her?’) ‘It’s very sweet of you to put it like that. I’m only a very ordinary person really. The public is so kind, so very kind. You’re a pretty little thing. And young. Youth is so beautiful. Our policy has always been to give the younger people a chance. After all we can’t go on for ever, and we look upon it as a duty we owe the public to train up actors and actresses to take our place when the time comes.’
Julia said these words so simply, in her beautifully modulated voice, that Joan Denver’s heart was warmed. She’d got round the old girl and the understudy was as good as hers. Tom Fennell had said that if she played her cards well with Roger it might easily lead to something.
‘Oh, that won’t be a for a long while yet, Miss Lambert,’ she said, her eyes, her pretty dark eyes glowing.
(‘You’re right there, my girl, dead right. I bet I could play you off the stage when I was seventy.’)
‘I must think it over. I hardly know yet what understudies we shall want in our next play.’
‘I hear there’s some talk of Avice Crichton for the girl’s part. I thought perhaps I could understudy her.’
Avice Crichton. No flicker of the eyes showed that the name meant anything to Julia.
‘My husband has mentioned her, but nothing is settled yet. I don’t know her at all. Is she clever?’
‘I think so. I was at the Academy with her.’
‘And pretty as a picture, they tell me.’ Rising to her feet to show that the audience was at an end, Julia put off her royalty. She changed her tone and became on a sudden the jolly, good-natured actress who would do a good turn to anyone if she could. ‘Well, dear, leave me your name and address and if there’s anything doing I’ll let you know.’
‘You won’t forget me, Miss Lambert?’
‘No, dear, I promise you I won’t. It’s been so nice to see you. You have a very sweet personality. You’ll find your way out, won’t you? Good-bye.’
‘A fat chance she’s got of ever setting foot in this theatre,’ said Julia to herself when she was gone. ‘Dirty little bitch to seduce my son. Poor lamb. It’s a shame, that’s what it is; women like that oughtn’t to be allowed.’
She looked at herself in the glass as she slipped out of her beautiful gown. Her eyes were hard and her lips had a sardonic curl. She addressed her reflection.
‘And I may tell you this, old girclass="underline" there’s one person who isn’t going to play in Nowadays and that’s Miss Avice Crichton.’
21
BUT a week or so later Michael mentioned her.
‘I say, have you ever heard of a girl called Avice Crichton?’
‘Never.’
‘I’m told she’s rather good. A lady and all that sort of thing. Her father’s in the army. I was wondering if she’d do for Honor.’
‘How did you hear about her?’
‘Through Tom. He knows her, he says she’s clever. She’s playing in a Sunday night show. Next Sunday, in point of fact. He says he thinks it might be worth while to go and have a look-see.’
‘Well, why don’t you?’
‘I was going down to Sandwich to play golf. Would it bore you awfully to go? I expect the play’s rotten, but you’d be able to tell if it was worth while letting her read the part. Tom’ll go with you.’
Julia’s heart was beating nineteen to the dozen.
‘Of course I’ll go.’
She phoned to Tom and asked him to come round and have a snack before they went to the theatre. He arrived before she was ready.
‘Am I late or were you early?’ she said, when she came into the drawing-room.
She saw that he had been waiting impatiently. He was nervous and eager.
‘They’re going to ring up sharp at eight,’ he said. ‘I hate getting to a play after it’s begun.’
His agitation told her all she wanted to know. She lingered a little over the cocktails.
‘What is the name of this actress we’re going to see tonight?’ she asked.
‘Avice Crichton. I’m awfully anxious to know what you think about her. I think she’s a find. She knows you’re coming tonight. She’s frightfully nervous, but I told her she needn’t be. You know what these Sunday night plays are; scratch rehearsals and all that; I said you’d quite understand and you’d make allowances.’
All through dinner he kept looking at his watch. Julia acted the woman of the world. She talked of one thing and another and noticed that he listened with distraction. As soon as he could he brought the conversation back to Avice Crichton.
‘Of course I haven’t said anything to her about it, but I believe she’d be all right for Honor.’ He had read Nowadays, as he read, before they were produced, all Julia’s plays. ‘She looks the part all right, I’m sure of that. She’s had a struggle and of course it would be a wonderful chance for her. She admires you tremendously and she’s terribly anxious to get into a play with you.’
‘That’s understandable. It means the chance of a year’s run and a lot of managers seeing her.’
‘She’s the right colour, she’s very fair; she’d be a good contrast to you.’
‘What with platinum and peroxide there’s no lack of blondes on the stage.’
‘But hers is natural.’
‘Is it? I had a long letter from Roger this morning. He seems to be having quite a good time in Vienna.’
Tom’s interest subsided. He looked at his watch. When the coffee came Julia said it was undrinkable. She said she must have some more made.
‘Oh, Julia, it isn’t worth while. We shall be awfully late.’
‘I don’t suppose it matters if we miss the first few minutes.’
His voice was anguished.
‘I promised we wouldn’t be late. She’s got a very good scene almost at the beginning.’
‘I’m sorry, but I can’t go without my coffee.’
While they waited for it she maintained a bright flow of conversation. He scarcely answered. He looked anxiously at the door. And when the coffee came she drank it with maddening deliberation. By the time they got in the car he was in a state of cold fury and he stared silently in front of him with a sulky pout on his mouth. Julia was not dissatisfied with herself. They reached the theatre two minutes before the curtain rose and as Julia appeared there was a burst of clapping from the audience. Julia, apologizing to the people she disturbed, threaded her way to her seat in the middle of the stalls. Her faint smile acknowledged the applause that greeted her beautifully-timed entrance, but her downcast eyes modestly disclaimed that it could have any connexion with her.
The curtain went up and after a short scene two girls came in, one very pretty and young, the other much older and plain. In a minute Julia turned to Tom and whispered:
‘Which is Avice Crichton, the young one or the old one?’
‘The young one.’
‘Oh, of course, you said she was fair, didn’t you?’
She gave his face a glance. He had lost his sulky look; a happy smile played on his lips. Julia turned her attention to the stage. Avice Crichton was very pretty, no one could deny that, with lovely golden hair, fine blue eyes and a little straight nose; but it was a type that Julia did not care for.
‘Insipid,’ she said to herself. ‘Chorus-girly.’
She watched her performance for a few minutes. She watched intently, then she leant back in her stall with a little sigh.
‘She can’t act for toffee,’ she decided. When the curtain fell Tom turned to her eagerly. He had completely got over his bad temper. ‘What do you think of her?’
‘She’s as pretty as a picture.’
‘I know that. But her acting. Don’t you think she’s good?’
‘Yes, clever.’
‘I wish you’d come round and tell her that yourself. It would buck her up tremendously.’