Maddy Again

by Pamela Brown

  ‘It’s not you I’m cross with,’ said Morgan Evans. ‘I don’t know who you are or where you’ve come from. You gave a very good performance. There’s no reason why you should be concerned about the show as a whole, but Maddy should have known better.’

  ‘But I…’

  ‘I don’t want to hear any more.’

  And he strode out of the studio.

  ‘Come along, honey. Just you come down to the dressing-room with Sunny. You didn’t mean no harm. We all know that.’

  On the way to the dressing-room Maddy could not control her tears. They gushed unchecked as Zillah and Sunny led her along the corridors.

  ‘Suspended from the programme,’ she wailed, when they were in the dressing-room. ‘Oh, how terrible! Whatever shall I do? Whatever will Mummy and Daddy say? And everyone at the Academy. And the Blue Doors.’

  And she went off into fresh paroxysms.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ said Zillah miserably. ‘It’s all because of me.’

  ‘It’s not your fault; it’s all mine,’ said Maddy, sniffing and trying to mop her face with a sodden handkerchief.

  ‘I knew I ought not to do it. But I didn’t realise it was as serious as it seems now.’

  ‘It’s that Morgan Evans’s own fault,’ maintained Sunny stoutly. ‘I heard him tell you go fetch Miss Zillah. I heard him clear as a bell. And you tried to explain, and he wouldn’t listen. Why, he nearly bit your head off.’

  ‘Yes,’ hiccupped Maddy. ‘So I thought, “Well, if that’s how you feel, you can jolly well have her.” I never thought it would lead to serious trouble.’

  ‘I wonder who it was rang up from home,’ marvelled Zillah. ‘Just fancy, they could see me as far away as Polgarth.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ sniffed Maddy. ‘I hope it won’t get you into trouble as well, Zillah.’

  ‘If my father gets to hear about it he’ll be angry with me pretending to be something I’m not. “That’s where this play acting gets you,” he’ll say.’

  They sat glumly about the dressing-room, without the heart to get changed. Maddy kept hoping there would be some message from Morgan Evans, but nothing happened. So eventually they packed up their things and left the building.

  ‘But what will happen on Monday?’ demanded Maddy. ‘Will he have got someone else in time for the rehearsal? Sunny, you will ring me up and let me know what happens—what he says, and everything.’

  ‘Of course, honey. But you will have heard something by then. Just you see. Now don’t you fret—neither of you. It’ll all turn out all right.’

  Despite Sunny’s comforting assurances Maddy and Zillah were very despondent as they walked through the sunlit evening to Fitzherbert Street.

  Mrs Bosham greeted them with, ‘Well, I was proud of the pair of you.’

  But when she saw their faces she stopped.

  ‘Why, whatever’s up?’

  ‘I’ve been expelled,’ Maddy burst out. ‘I mean—suspended.’ And once more she was in floods of tears. Zillah tried to explain the whole sad story, but it did not make much sense to Mrs Bosham.

  ‘Well, of all the ingratitude!’ she said indignantly. ‘Why, you’d’ve thought he’d’ve been glad you came to the rescue, Zillah. And nobody would’ve known you weren’t a foreigner. Really they wouldn’t.’

  ‘There was a phone call from my village,’ explained Zillah. ‘Someone who recognised me.’

  ‘Oh, what hard lines,’ said Mrs Bosham. ‘Still, why blame Maddy?’

  ‘It was all my fault. Everything always is. It’s just like my mother says—I’m my own worst enemy,’ said Maddy pathetically. ‘I think I’ll go to bed now. But let me know if there’s a phone call.’

  ‘What, go to bed without your supper?’ cried Mrs Bosham, horrified.

  ‘Yes,’ said Maddy, and went out of the room.

  Mrs Bosham shook her head wonderingly. ‘That’s the first time I’ve ever known her to miss a meal. Things must be bad.’

  Maddy lay in bed stiff as a board and far from sleep, with her ears strained for the sound of the telephone. It rang several times during the evening, but always for one of the other lodgers. When Zillah came up to bed Maddy’s eyes were still wide open. Zillah crept quietly into bed without saying a word and turned out the light, but it was very late before either of them fell asleep.

  Sunday was the most miserable day Maddy had ever spent. She would not stir from the house in case the telephone rang, and her ears began to ache with imagining the sound of telephone bells. Slowly the enormity of what she had done began to dawn on her. She started to feel less sorry for herself, but more guilty.

  ‘It was a dreadful thing to do,’ she said to Zillah. ‘Suppose Morgan Evans gets into terrible trouble over it and loses his job?’

  ‘I shouldn’t think he would,’ said Zillah comfortingly. ‘I mean—why should they blame him?’

  ‘For not checking up on you first,’ said Maddy.

  ‘But it was all so sudden.’

  ‘I don’t suppose that Mr Stanley and all those other penguin-like men would realise that,’ said Maddy gloomily. Then suddenly her face brightened.

  ‘I know what,’ she cried. ‘I know what I’ll do.’

  ‘What? What?’ asked Zillah.

  ‘I’ll go and see Mr Stanley, and explain to him exactly how it happened. I think he might listen. Morgan Evans is too cross at the moment.’

  ‘When will you go?’ asked Zillah fearfully.

  ‘Tomorrow morning,’ said Maddy with determination. ‘As soon as the office is open. In fact I’ll be waiting on the doorstep for him.’

  ‘But where—where is his doorstep?—I mean his office?’ demanded Zillah.

  ‘I’ll find it all right,’ said Maddy. ‘I’ll look in those magazines he gave me. There’s sure to be an address somewhere.’

  There was. It gave the name of a street off the Strand.

  ‘Right,’ said Maddy, quite cheerful now that her mind was made up. ‘I’ll be there first thing tomorrow morning. Come on, let’s go out for a walk. I don’t particularly want to talk to Morgan Evans now, even if he does ring.’

  They went out for a stroll and from a barrow bought some monkey nuts, which they ate all the way home, leaving a trail of shells behind them. Maddy chatted about everything under the sun except television, and Zillah marvelled at the speed with which her moods changed.

  When they got in Mrs Bosham said, ‘That Merryheather phoned. Seemed terrible upset. He’d heard about you, Maddy, and was wondering if you were all right. I said you was and you wasn’t.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Maddy. ‘I expect he’ll be furious with me.’

  ‘He didn’t sound it—just sorry. He said he’d see you at the Academy tomorrow, because he’s got a class.’

  ‘I shan’t be there till late,’ said Maddy. ‘I’ve got an important appointment.’

  Sure enough on Monday morning, before the office of The World of Youth opened, Maddy was sitting on the doorstep. The first person to arrive was not, as Maddy had expected, Mr Stanley himself, but the office boy.

  ‘What you doin’ there, Blondie?’ he demanded.

  Maddy stood up and drew herself to her full four feet something and replied, ‘I wish to see Mr Stanley.’

  ‘You’ll be lucky, at this hour,’ was the reply. ‘Never gets ’ere before ten. Otherwise, what’s the use of being the boss?’

  ‘Oh well, can I come in and wait?’ asked Maddy.

  ‘S’pose so,’ said the boy rather grudgingly. ‘Old Wilson the commissionaire will be here with the keys in a minute. He’ll let us in, and you can tell him you know the boss. You’re on this television lark, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right,’ said Maddy. ‘How did you know?’

  ‘I seen you,’ was the reply.

  ‘Did you see Saturday’s show?’ asked Maddy.

  He nodded.

  ‘I messed things up properly,’ said Maddy. ‘You know that girl—the foreign one—well, she isn’t foreign a
t all. She’s as English as I am. Isn’t it awful? And it was all my fault. Mr Stanley’s going to be furious. And I’ve been suspended from the show already.’

  ‘Cor,’ whistled the boy. ‘Still, you don’t want to worry about old Stan—he’s as soft as they come. As long as you say you’re sorry, he’ll be all right.’

  ‘Do you really think so?’

  ‘Oh, yes. He’s always saying, “Forgive and forget”. It’s one of his theme songs, so he jolly well ought to live up to it. Oh, here’s old Wilson,’ and he explained Maddy’s presence to a tall genial-looking commissionaire who had joined them, swinging a bunch of keys.

  Soon the boy and Maddy were in the general office of The World of Youth. It was very smart, with pale beige carpet, light-oak furniture and heavy velvet curtains. On the walls were pictures of children from different countries, wearing their national costumes.

  The office boy immediately got busy filling ink wells and putting out fresh blotting paper. Maddy stood in the middle of the floor, not quite knowing what to do.

  ‘Can I help you?’ she asked.

  ‘I’ve more or less finished in here,’ he said. ‘But you can take this blotting paper into old Stan’s office, if you like, and throw away the used lot. That’s his room.’

  Mr Stanley’s office was even more plushy than the outer one. Maddy was surprised to see on the walls publicity photographs of the television programme, including some of herself. She changed the blotting paper on the desk, and then noticed that there were some dead flowers in a vase on the bookcase. She threw them away in the waste-paper basket, and was standing holding the jug, wondering what to do with the dirty water, when the door suddenly swung open and Mr Stanley walked in.

  Maddy was so startled that she dropped the jug on to the floor. The greenish-tinted water ran all over the pale carpet and the handle came off the jug.

  Maddy looked down at the mess and murmured, ‘Oh, Mr Stanley, I’m sorry—I—we didn’t expect you so soon.’

  ‘What on earth are you doing here?’ said Mr Stanley. ‘And just look at what you’ve done. From all accounts you’ve caused enough trouble, without coming here and pouring water all over my carpet.’

  Maddy was nearly in tears of despair. It was a most unfortunate opening to the interview. Mr Stanley went to the door and shouted to the office boy, ‘Basil, bring a cloth,’ then sat down at his desk.

  Maddy stood miserably by the pool on the carpet while Basil mopped it up, clicking his tongue in a disapproving fashion. Then he removed the jug and its handle.

  Mr Stanley was looking very sternly at Maddy.

  ‘Now, what’s all this I’ve heard from Mr Morgan Evans? I watched the programme at home on Saturday, and thought it went very well, but Morgan Evans rang me up in the evening to tell me that he had discovered that one of the interviews was a hoax you had played, and that he had suspended you from the programme. I’ve not had a chance to find out any details about it, and that is why I have come here so early this morning—to try and sort things out. Now perhaps you can give me your version of what happened.’

  Maddy took a deep breath and began. It was difficult to explain without appearing to be putting all the blame on the producer.

  ‘And I tried to tell him that she wasn’t foreign at all, and he wouldn’t listen—I really tried hard…’

  ‘Couldn’t you have shouted out, “But she’s English”?’

  ‘I suppose I could,’ said Maddy. ‘But I wanted Zillah to have a chance on the programme.’

  Mr Stanley sighed heavily.

  ‘Oh, Maddy, it is very difficult to make you understand. I can see that you may have done it from motives of friendship, but if you were thinking of other people, why didn’t you give a thought to Morgan Evans, and to me, and the reputation of the programme and of the very magazine itself? You see, we have a name for dependability and sincerity, and if it becomes known that we had someone on the programme who was a—a phoney, it will absolutely ruin us. If the papers get hold of it they’ll make a very amusing story out of it.’

  ‘If I’m suspended from the programme,’ said Maddy ponderingly, ‘the papers may very well get hold of it.’

  Mr Stanley looked at her sharply. ‘Are you trying to blackmail me?’ he demanded.

  Maddy hastily changed her line. ‘Oh, no, Mr Stanley,’ she said earnestly. ‘I’m just—hoping that you will forgive and forget.’

  She opened her eyes very wide, and looked at him steadily. Mr Stanley returned the gaze, and finally he wilted. He was more impressed by the thought that it would look strange if Maddy were out of the programme, than by the plea for forgiveness. Thoughtfully he put the tips of his fingers together.

  ‘Maddy,’ he said importantly, ‘I think that perhaps the producer has been a little rash in suspending you, and I am a firm believer in the maxim you have just mentioned, “Forgive and forget”. If you will assure me that you will never do anything of the kind again I will overlook it this time. I will have a talk with Morgan Evans and see that you are reinstated in the programme. And you must not tell anyone else about all this, and your friend—Mademoiselle X, shall we say—must not talk about it either. That’s most important. If an inquiry arises from people who know her true identity, we shall have to face up to it, and I hope you will realise the predicament in which you have placed us.’

  ‘Oh, thank you, thank you,’ Maddy cried. ‘Dear Mr Stanley, I knew it was the right thing to do, to come to you.’

  Maddy was smiling for the first time in nearly two days, but her eyes had filled with tears of relief.

  As she hurried through the office she startled Basil, the office boy, by throwing her arms round him saying, ‘Thank you a thousand times for telling me about “Forgive and forget”.’

  Maddy ran all the way to the rehearsal room, arriving hot and untidy. She burst through the door, then stopped in sudden confusion. It had struck her that Morgan Evans might not be overjoyed to see her again—he might not believe that Mr Stanley had said everything was all right.

  Morgan Evans detached himself from a group of actors and came over to Maddy. He looked down at her, half-angry, half-amused.

  ‘So it’s the prodigal,’ he said.

  ‘I—I’ve been to see Mr Stanley,’ Maddy began.

  ‘Yes, I know. He’s just rung me. And it appears that we have got to “Forgive and forget”.’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Maddy. ‘Do you think you can?’

  Morgan Evans went rather red with some stifled emotion that Maddy could not quite recognise. It might have been anger, or again it might have been amusement.

  ‘I’ll do my best,’ he said. ‘If the boss’s happy about it, then I am. But on Saturday I thought you’d lost me my job. Come on, now, we’re late enough already. Let’s get down to the read-through.’

  Sunny and Miss Tibbs welcomed Maddy with open arms.

  ‘Gee, was I worried!’ Sunny whispered to her. ‘They was talking about getting another girl. But then that Mr Stanley phoned. He must be a real gentleman.’

  ‘Oh, he is,’ said Maddy. ‘I should like to—to knit him a sweater.’

  Considering that Maddy had never knitted anything more complicated than a doll’s scarf, it was unlikely that she would ever carry out this threat.

  She was so pleased to be back in the show that she put all the enthusiasm she could muster into the read-through, so that Morgan Evans had to tell her constantly not to overact. Nevertheless, he seemed cheerful, and in the coffee break he said to the cast, ‘We’ve had the figures in for the first two shows, and they’re excellent.’

  ‘What figures?’ Maddy wanted to know.

  ‘The viewer-reaction figures. We make inquiries about how many people enjoyed what programmes, and the statistics arrived at are supposed to be representative.’

  Maddy didn’t quite understand all this, but gathered that he was pleased because the show was proving popular.

  After the rehearsal she hurried back to the Academy, where the e
nd-of-term shows were in progress. As she slipped into a seat in the theatre next to Zillah, watching some of the seniors performing She Stoops to Conquer, she whispered to her, ‘It’s all right. I’m back in the show. And all is forgiven and forgotten.’

  ‘But what about me? Have they forgiven me too?’

  ‘They never blamed you at all,’ Maddy told her. ‘I’ll tell you about it afterwards.’

  By Thursday all the shows were over and the pupils were ready to depart. Maddy was rather sorry to say goodbye to Zillah, but Zillah was obviously looking forward to seeing her home again, though Maddy could not help feeling that the household sounded rather grim.

  It would be something of a relief, really, not to have any more work at the Academy for a while, for now she could devote her whole attention to the World of Youth programme, and try to be so good that Morgan Evans really would forgive her.

  On the Thursday afternoon Maddy went with Zillah to Paddington to see her off, and then returned to ‘The Boshery’ feeling rather lost, and wishing that there was a rehearsal to go to at once, instead of having to wait until the following morning.

  Fortunately Sunny rang up, and asked her if she would care to go round for the evening, as her ‘young ’uns’ were longing to meet Maddy, and also they would be able to go over their lines together.

  Maddy accepted with whoops of delight, but there was not much studying of lines done that evening. When Maddy arrived at the luxurious flat where Sunny’s employers lived she found that the ‘young ’uns’ were an assortment of high-spirited American girls and boys, whose idea of a quiet evening at home was jiving to the radiogram, or playing ‘Murders’ all over the apartment.

  Next day at rehearsal Morgan Evans arrived looking as if he were bursting with news. He and his secretary and assistant and Miss Tibbs kept having private chinwags in corners, and looking very pleased about something. Before they started work he lifted a hand for silence, and said, ‘I have some news. You remember I told you right at the beginning of the series that the shape of the programme might change before the end. Well, the time has come to make a most important announcement. In the last programme of the series the sketch will not be done in the studio; it will be a filmed insert, taken in Paris.’