‘It almost looks as if the only person I can go to is Michael,’ she giggled. ‘But I suppose it wouldn’t do.’
She knew exactly what he would say.
‘My dear girl, I’m really not the sort of feller you ought to come to with a story like that. Damn it all, you put me in a very awkward position. I flatter myself I’m pretty broad-minded, I may be an actor, but when all’s said and done I am a gentleman, and well, I mean, I mean it’s such damned bad form.’
Michael did not get home till the afternoon, and when he came into her room she was resting. He told her about his week-end and the result of his matches. He had played very well, some of his recoveries had been marvellous, and he described them in detail.
‘By the way, what about that girl you saw last night, is she any good?’
‘I really think she is, you know. She’s very pretty. You’re sure to fall for her.’
‘Oh, my dear, at my time of life. Can she act?’
‘She’s inexperienced of course, but I think she’s got it in her.’
‘Oh well, I’d better have her up and give her the once over. How can I get hold of her?’
‘Tom’s got her address.’
‘I’ll phone him right away.’
He took off the receiver and dialled Tom’s number.
Tom was in and Michael wrote down the address on a pad. The conversation went on.
‘Oh, my dear old chap, I’m sorry to hear that. What rotten luck!’
‘What’s the matter?’ asked Julia. He motioned her to be quiet.
‘Oh, well, I don’t want to be hard on you. Don’t you worry. I’m sure we can come to some arrangement that will be satisfactory to you.’ He put his hand over the receiver and turned to Julia. ‘Shall I ask him to dinner next Sunday?’
‘If you like.’
‘Julia says, will you come and dine on Sunday? Oh, I’m sorry. Well, so long, old man.’ He put down the receiver.
‘He’s got a date. Is the young ruffian having an affair with this girl?’
‘He assures me not. He respects her. She’s a colonel’s daughter.’
‘Oh, she’s a lady.’
‘I don’t know that that follows,’ said Julia acidly. ‘What were you talking to him about?’
‘He says they’ve cut his salary. Bad times. He wants to give up the flat.’ Julia’s heart gave a sudden sickening beat. ‘I’ve told him not to worry. I’ll let him stay there rent free till times improve.’
‘I don’t know why you should do that. After all, it was a purely business arrangement.’
‘It seems rather tough luck on a young chap like that. And you know he’s very useful to us; if we want an extra man we can always call upon him, and it’s convenient having him round the corner when I want someone to play golf with me. It’s only twenty-five pounds a quarter.’
‘You’re the last person I should expect to see indulge in indiscriminate generosity.’
‘Oh, don’t you be afraid, if I lose on the swings I’ll get back on the roundabouts.’
The masseuse came in and put an end to the conversation. Julia was thankful that it would soon be time to go down to the theatre and so put an end for a while to the misery of that long day; when she got back she would take a sleeping-draught again and so get some hours of forgetfulness. She had a notion that in a few days the worst of her pain would be over; the important thing was to get through them as best she could. She must distract her mind. When she left for the theatre she told the butler to ring up Charles Tamerley and see if she could lunch with him at the Ritz next day.
He was extraordinarily nice at luncheon. His look, his manner bespoke the different world he lived in, and she felt a sudden abhorrence for the circle in which on Tom’s account she had moved during the last year. He spoke of politics, of art, of books; and peace entered into her soul. Tom had been an obsession and she saw now that it had been hurtful; but she would escape from it. Her spirits rose. She did not want to be alone, she knew that even though she went home after luncheon she would not sleep, so she asked Charles if he would take her to the National Gallery. She could give him no greater pleasure; he liked to talk about pictures and he talked of them well. It took them back to the old days when she had made her first success in London and they used to spend so many afternoons together, walking in the park or sauntering through museums. The day after that she had a matinée and the next a luncheon-party, but when they separated they arranged to lunch again together on the Friday and go to the Tate.
A few days later Michael told her he had engaged Avice Crichton.
‘She has the looks for the part, there’s no doubt about that, and she’ll be a good contrast to you. I’m taking her acting on the strength of what you said.’
Next morning they rang through from the basement to say that Mr Fennell was on the telephone. It seemed to her that her heart stopped beating.
‘Put him through.’
‘Julia, I wanted to tell you, Michael has engaged Avice.’
‘Yes, I know.’
‘He told her he was engaging her on what you’d told him. You are a brick.’
Julia, her heart now beating nineteen to the dozen, made an effort to control her voice.
‘Oh, don’t talk such nonsense,’ she answered gaily. ‘I told you it would be all right.’
‘I’m awfully glad it’s fixed up. She’s accepted the part on what I’ve told her about it. Ordinarily she won’t take anything unless she’s read the play.’
It was just as well he could not see Julia’s face when she heard him say this. She would have liked to answer tartly that it was not their habit when they engaged small-part actresses to let them read the play, but instead she said mildly:
‘Well, I think she’ll like it, don’t you? It’s quite a good part.’
‘And you know, she’ll play it for all it’s worth. I believe she’ll make a sensation.’
Julia took a long breath.
‘It’ll be wonderful, won’t it? I mean, it may make her.’
‘Yes, I’ve told her that. I say, when am I going to see you again?’
‘I’ll phone you, shall I? It’s such a bore, I’m terribly full of engagements for the next few days.’
‘You’re not going to drop me just because…’
She gave a low, rather hoarse chuckle, that chuckle which so delighted audiences.
‘Don’t be so silly. Oh lord, there’s my bath running. I must go and have it. Good-bye, my sweet.’
She put down the receiver. The sound of his voice! The pain in her heart was unendurable. Sitting up in her bed she rocked to and fro in an agony.
‘What shall I do? What shall I do?’
She had thought she was getting over it, and now that brief, silly conversation had shown her that she loved him as much as ever. She wanted him. She missed him every minute of the day. She could not do without him.
‘I shall never get over it,’ she moaned.
Once again the theatre was her only refuge. By an ironic chance the great scene of the play in which she was then acting, the scene to which the play owed its success, showed the parting of two lovers. It was true that they parted from a sense of duty; and Julia, in the play, sacrificed her love, her hopes of happiness, all that she held dear, to an ideal of uprightness. It was a scene that had appealed to her from the beginning. She was wonderfully moving in it. She put into it now all the agony of her spirit; it was no longer the broken heart of a character that she portrayed but her own. In ordinary life she tried to stifle a passion that she knew very well was ridiculous, a love that was unworthy of the woman she was, and she steeled herself to think as little as possible of the wretched boy who had wrought such havoc with her; but when she came to this scene she let herself go. She gave free rein to her anguish. She was hopeless with her own loss, and the love she poured out on the man who was playing opposite to her was the love she still felt, the passionate, devouring love, for Tom. The prospect of the empty life that confronted the woman of the play was the prospect of her own empty life. There was at least that solace, she felt she had never played so magnificently.