by Pamela Brown
When they let themselves in and went down to see Mrs Bosham for the nightly ritual of a cup of cocoa, she said, ‘Oh, Maddy, there’s bin a phone call fer you, but they wouldn’t say who.’
‘Funny,’ said Maddy. ‘Was it a man or a woman?’
‘A man—niceish voice. I thought it was one of your brothers at first.’
‘Mrs Bosham, I’ve been telling you for years I haven’t got a brother.’
‘Well, you know who I mean—one of them Blue Door Company—Jeremy or Nigel or that Bulldog—but then they’d’ve said, knowing it was me.’
‘Yes, of course—p’raps it was one of the boys from the Academy about homework or something.’
‘Sounded a bit old fer homework,’ said Mrs Bosham, who had a nose for a mystery.
Maddy went to bed, still in a happy daze of dreaming about the theatre. She seemed to have been in bed only a very few minutes when the telephone bell pealed again and again through her sleep. Then it stopped, and it was broad daylight and Mrs Bosham was banging on the door, ‘Maddy, it’s fer you. Merryheather, ’e says ’is name is, though it doesn’t seem likely.’
Still half asleep Maddy put on her dressing-gown and stumbled down the stairs. The telephone was an old-fashioned type with separate receiver and speaker, and was fixed to the wall in the hall.
‘Hullo,’ she said sleepily.
‘Hullo, Maddy.’
It was Mr Manyweather’s voice. ‘Listen, I’ve got some wonderful news for you. That girl Lalage has appendicitis and so they want you…’
At first it didn’t sink in.
‘Want me? What for? For the game?’
‘No. Wake up. For the whole job. The other girl is ill, and you were second choice. Isn’t it wonderful?’
Maddy was suddenly wide awake. ‘Gosh, what luck!’ she whooped. ‘How heavenly—I’m sorry about Lalage, but I’m jolly glad for me. When did you hear?’
‘Last night. Morgan Evans rang me in a terrible flap. I knew you were at the theatre, so I couldn’t get hold of you at once. He wants you to go round to the office at ten o’clock this morning. You’ll have to ring the Academy and get excused your morning lessons. Now, how about a chaperone? I can’t manage it today, I’m afraid.’
‘Oh dear—well, perhaps Mrs Bosham—must I really have one? I know the way to the office all right.’
‘No doubt you do, but you must have a chaperone—it’s the law. We’ll have to fix you up with someone, as you’ll be doing the whole series.’
‘Yes,’ said Maddy. ‘I don’t suppose Mrs Bosham would always be able to spare the time.’
‘Mind you, when you’re actually working she’d be paid a few guineas for it.’
‘Oh, I’ll tell her that,’ said Maddy, ‘but she has got her lodgers to look after, you know. And her cooking to do,’ she giggled meaningly.
‘Yes, we’ll have to go into the subject carefully,’ said Mr Manyweather. ‘But meanwhile, see if she can go with you just for today; you won’t be there long, you know. It’s only for you to hear about rehearsal times and so on. Now, behave yourself, won’t you?’
‘Yes, of course,’ said Maddy primly. ‘And thank you, Mr Manyweather, because it’s all through you…’
‘Nonsense; I’m very glad it’s come your way after all. Lady Luck certainly smiles on you, Gretchen.’
‘Why Lady Luck?’ demanded Maddy.
‘Well, luck is a lady. Fickle, you see.’ And Mr Manyweather rang off.
Maddy ran up the stairs to where Mrs Bosham was hovering to learn what it was all about.
‘I’ve got it! I’ve got it after all!’ cried Maddy. ‘She’s ill, and I’ve got it.’
‘What ’ave you got? Is it infectious?’ Mrs Bosham demanded in alarm.
‘No, no, not the illness—I’ve got the job! That Lalage girl, the rather soppy, pretty one, has got appendicitis. Isn’t it heavenly? I mean, isn’t it awful? So I’ve got the television job.’
‘Oh well, I never,’ screeched Mrs Bosham in delight, her round face going quite pink with emotion.
‘Zillah! Zillah, I’ve got it after all. Aren’t I lucky?’ cried Maddy, bouncing into the bedroom.
When the excitement had died down a little Maddy said, ‘Mrs Bosham—dear Mrs Bosham—could you come with me this morning, just for a little while—to Mr Morgan Evans’s office?’
Mrs Bosham frowned. ‘There now, dear, I don’t think I can manage it. What time does he want you?’
‘Ten.’
‘Oh, dear me, now. No. I can’t; I’ve got someone coming to look at the first floor front at ten o’clock, so I’m afraid I just can’t.’
‘Oh dear, whatever shall I do?’ wailed Maddy. ‘Mr Manyweather says it’s the law. I’ve got to have a grown-up with me all the time. If I let them know it’s difficult for me to find one, they might not use me after all. Oh, if only Mummy and Daddy lived in London.’ Maddy was nearly in tears of despair. ‘If I went to the Academy and explained, they’d send someone with me, a senior or somebody—but there’s not time. I’ve got to be at Kingsway at ten.’
‘Wouldn’t Zillah do?’ asked Mrs Bosham.
‘She’s not old enough,’ objected Maddy. ‘She’s only a bit older than me.’
‘She looks a lot older,’ said Mrs Bosham. Maddy began to brighten.
‘That’s an idea. Zillah, you’d come, wouldn’t you?’
‘Why, yes,’ said Zillah. ‘If ’twould be of any use.’
‘Good. I think we could make you look old enough,’ said Maddy gleefully.
‘What on earth do you mean?’
‘Mrs Bosham,’ wheedled Maddy, ‘could we borrow some of your clothes? A hat in particular.’
‘Of course,’ said Mrs Bosham doubtfully. ‘But Zillah’d look a bit funny in my clothes.’
Maddy adored an opportunity to dress anyone up, and fell on the hats in Mrs Bosham’s wardrobe with cries of delight. Zillah looked decidedly funny in all of them.
‘Don’t worry,’ said Maddy, ‘we’ll make you up to match them.’
She got out her stage make-up box, and proceeded to put a heavy character make-up over Zillah’s peaches-and-cream complexion. The final effect of Zillah in her own grey coat, with one of Mrs Bosham’s more original hats, was startling to say the least.
‘No,’ said Zillah, putting her foot down at last. ‘I won’t go out like this. I don’t look grown-up. I don’t look like anything.’ And she wiped off the greasepaint crossly. ‘If I come with you, I’ll come as myself.’
‘But it’s no good, unless you look a bit older—twenty or so. Here, put your hair up on top.’
They pinned her hair up on the top of her head, then Maddy took the flowers and a piece of veiling off one of Mrs Bosham hats and made a tiny little frothy hat to perch on top.
‘There, now—just a touch of make-up. Put it on yourself if you don’t trust me—and have those earrings of Mrs Bosham’s.’
When she was finished Zillah looked a trifle odd, but had certainly added a few years to her appearance.
‘I wish you’d got some high heels,’ said Maddy, looking at her appraisingly. ‘Still, you’re quite tall beside me.’
Zillah did not possess any stockings, so with an eyebrow pencil Maddy drew seams down the back of her legs very effectively.
‘Come on,’ said Maddy, ‘we must fly now.’
‘Good luck!’ Mrs Bosham called after them. ‘Don’t worry. Zillah looks a proper grown-up young lady!’
But nevertheless there was something just a little strange about Zillah’s appearance, for people turned to stare as the girls hurried, almost running, through back streets and shortcuts to the enormous building in Kingsway.
Maddy was so excited that she was panting and giggling at the same time, and they had to stand still to collect themselves before they went in.
Morgan Evans’s office had been changed again, but the new one was larger, and was just as full and as busy as ever. Telephones were ringing, people dashing in and out,
the typewriter adding its clickety-clack to the clamour.
‘I’m so glad that you could step into the breach,’ Morgan Evans said, smiling kindly at Maddy, then casting a doubtful glance at Zillah.
‘Er—this is Miss Pendray, my chaperone,’ said Maddy, stifling a giggle. ‘She—she doesn’t speak English very well.’
‘Oh well, do take a seat, mademoiselle,’ said Morgan Evans, speaking loudly and clearly.
Zillah turned scarlet as she sat down, and wondered why she had ever allowed Maddy to get her into such a ridiculous situation.
‘I just want to make sure you know what you’re letting yourself in for,’ said Morgan Evans to Maddy. ‘This programme is contracted for fourteen weeks, and it’ll mean you’re working all day every Saturday for nearly four months. You’ll also have to rehearse half-days during the week. Now, when do you have your school lessons, and when do you have acting lessons?’
‘Acting in the mornings and lessons in the afternoons,’ said Maddy.
‘That’s awkward of you,’ said Morgan Evans, making a wry face. ‘Lalage was the other way round—so we’ve said rehearsals in the afternoons. Still, they can be changed. You do realise, don’t you, that yours will be a most important part of the show. It will be a sort of magazine programme with different items each week, but you will be going all the way through. It’s going to mean a great deal of work for you. Now, all the business of a contract has to be settled, and that will have to be fixed between your parents and our contracts department. Will you please give your father’s address and phone number to my secretary.’
While Maddy was doing this Morgan Evans turned to Zillah and said brightly, ‘Parlez-vous français, mademoiselle?’
Zillah just looked at him blankly, because she didn’t.
‘No,’ said Maddy hastily. ‘She doesn’t. It makes it very difficult.’
Morgan Evans seemed surprised, and kept glancing at Zillah in a doubtful manner.
‘The first rehearsal will be next Monday,’ Morgan Evans told Maddy. ‘Now, I’d better ring your school and make quite sure that it’s all right with them.’
‘Oh, it will be,’ said Maddy. ‘After all, it was entirely through Mr Manyweather…’
‘Next thing—rehearsals. These will be held in the St Adelaide’s Youth Club in Russell Square.’
‘Not here?’ put in Maddy, rather disappointed.
‘Oh, no, no. We shan’t get into the studio until the Saturday of each week, unfortunately. Not enough studio space, you see.’
‘Oh, I see,’ said Maddy, though she didn’t really.
‘Now, about clothes,’ said Morgan Evans. ‘What is your wardrobe like? You’ve looked very nice each time I’ve seen you, and quite suitably turned out for the programme. But is what I’ve seen the full extent of your wardrobe, or have you plenty of clothes?’
‘No, I haven’t,’ said Maddy bluntly. ‘You’ve seen the only decent things I’ve got. I keep them for special occasions. Most of the time I wear shabby old slacks and jeans, don’t I, Zill—er—Miss Pendray?’
Zillah looked terrified and Maddy said hastily, ‘Oh, I forgot—it’s no good talking to her.’
‘Well, I suggest that you wear your own clothes, at any rate for the first few weeks, then if necessary we shall replace them from our wardrobe, which means that our wardrobe people will make or buy them for you, but they’ll be your own to keep, you see. Any fancy sort of clothes you may need will be hired, of course. All right?’
‘Lovely,’ said Maddy. ‘I’m longing to know what I’ve actually got to do.’
‘You’ll hear all about that on Monday,’ said Morgan Evans. ‘We’re hoping to get out some sort of script before then, and we’ll send you a copy. Oh, by the way, on Monday there’ll be some press photographers at the rehearsal, so don’t wear your “shabby old slacks and jeans”, will you? Try to have on the rig-out you’ll wear for the first programme. We’re having two weeks’ rehearsal for the first one, just to make sure, with a “dry run” on Saturday week.’
‘What in the world’s a “dry run”?’ asked Maddy.
‘It’s really what your audition was,’ said Morgan Evans. ‘The performance is put on exactly as though it is a real show, with cameras and everything, but it is not transmitted.’
‘Oh, good,’ said Maddy. ‘I’m glad I’ll have a nice lot of practice first.’
‘Well, I think that’s about all,’ said Morgan Evans, and two telephones rang at once, so Maddy and Zillah stood awkwardly, waiting till he had finished on the telephones so that they could say goodbye.
Just as they were going out of the door Morgan Evans called Maddy back again.
‘Maddy,’ he said, ‘are you quite sure your chaperone is over twenty-one?’
‘Er—no—she’s not quite,’ said Maddy.
‘I thought not. And you really ought to have someone who can speak English, you know.’
Maddy gulped back a giggle. ‘She may learn—quite quickly.’
‘Yes, but it’s got to be someone over twenty-one. Tell them at your school they must make some other arrangements. We shall pay a fee of a few guineas, you know.’
‘Yes, I’ll tell them,’ said Maddy, and escaped hurriedly to Zillah, who was almost in tears of embarrassment in the corridor.
‘Oh, Maddy, you shouldn’t have,’ she gasped. ‘I felt so awful—and they might have been cross—and you might have lost the job.’
‘Don’t be silly. It was perfectly all right,’ said Maddy, ‘and it got me out of a hole. Thanks awfully, Zillah.’
‘Well, I’m never going to do it again,’ said Zillah.
‘You’re ungrateful, then,’ said Maddy crossly. ‘I took you out of that beastly hostel, and—and took you to Mrs Bosham’s, and took you to the theatre, and—and you grumble over doing a little thing like this for me.’
Zillah sighed. She was finding that it was impossible to argue with Maddy.
Back in the office Morgan Evans was saying, ‘What an extraordinary chaperone.’
‘Most odd,’ agreed his secretary.
‘I somehow feel,’ said Morgan Evans, ‘that there isn’t going to be a dull moment on this show with Miss Fayne about.’
7
SUNNY
The next day a large envelope addressed to Maddy arrived at 37 Fitzherbert Street. Inside was a television script, duplicated on many pages of peculiar buff-coloured paper, and Maddy was horrified to see how much she had to say.
The magazine with which the programme was connected, The World of Youth, was intended for twelve-year-olds and upwards. It had an accent on friendship with children of other countries, and encouraged pen pals to write to each other all over the world. Every week the programme was to include a playlet set in a different country, in which Maddy was to play the part of an English girl on a trip round the world, and where each week girls and boys from foreign countries who were visiting England would come to the studios and Maddy would interview them. There was to be a certain amount of singing and dancing in which Maddy would not be taking part.
‘Thank goodness I’m not,’ said Maddy. ‘I’ve got absolutely oceans to learn—I’ll never do it.’
‘I’ll hear your lines,’ volunteered Zillah.
‘Thanks. Oh, isn’t it exciting—but isn’t it terrifying?’
In the afternoon Maddy had an appointment to see Mrs Seymore about the television series. When a message came for her in the middle of French dictation she hurried round to the Academy, only too pleased to escape, and knocked on Mrs Seymore’s door.
‘Come in, Maddy, and sit down,’ said Roma Seymore kindly. ‘I’m just having a cup of tea. Will you have one?’
‘Yes, please,’ said Maddy promptly, eyeing the plate of buns.
‘And take a bun too. Now, my dear, we’ve a lot of things to think about, haven’t we?’
‘Gosh, yes,’ said Maddy. ‘I should just think so.’
‘And please don’t say “Gosh” on television, will you?’ Maddy lo
oked guilty.
‘I’ll try not to.’
‘Now, you fully understand, don’t you, that being on this programme must not be allowed to interfere with your schoolwork?’
‘Oh, yes, Mrs Seymore.’
‘Well, had the whole series been during the term I don’t know that it would have been wise to undertake it at all, but by the time the series is well under way it will be the summer vacation, when you will have plenty of time. I understand you’ve spoken to your parents about it.’
‘Yes, I rang them last night. They’re very pleased.’
‘So I believe. I rang them this morning, and we had quite a long talk. Now, next we must set about getting you a licence to act. As you’ve had one before that should not be difficult, but what does worry me is the question of a chaperone. Morgan Evans rang me this morning and asked if I could find a more suitable one. Afterwards I wondered what he meant by “more suitable”. More suitable than whom?’
Maddy blushed.
‘Oh, just a girl who went with me to his office yesterday. He didn’t think she looked old enough.’
‘I see. Well. We’ll have to do something about it quickly. What we need is a nice respectable woman between thirty and forty, who wants to earn a little pin-money. I think I’ll put an advertisement in the evening paper tomorrow. We really need someone by Monday, don’t we? This business of chaperones is rather a problem. Several of the acting schools that are also agencies have their own chaperones, but as we have so few pupils under fifteen at the Academy we’ve never found it necessary.’
‘If only my mother were here…’
‘Yes, I know, dear. It is difficult for you. But we must keep to the rules of the London County Council, otherwise there might be trouble about you doing the work at all. Yes, I think I’ll put the advertisement in tomorrow, and give my home phone number, then interview applicants on Sunday.’
