There was a moment of silence. From the Terrace Room the refrain of a popular waltz drifted out to them. Roger stubbed out his cigarette in the floor tray and stared off into the distance. She studied the profile of his sensitive face; without the glasses, he would be almost a young version of Oliver Craft, the same strong features.
Roger Craft was not a really good-looking young man, but he had an interesting face. She wondered why he had told her about his personal affairs this way.
"Love is a gamble," she finally said.
"Have you had a shot at the dice?" He looked at her.
"I was engaged once to a boy in one of the shows I played in. He accused me of being career-obsessed and father-obsessed. There were quarrels. What had started as a lovely thing became rather ugly. So, by mutual consent, we called it off." She smiled.
"And that was your only serious venture?"
"Uh-huh." She stood up. "Don't you think it's about time we got back to the others?"
He got up. "Must we?"
"I think so. We could be called rude. And Dr. Trask is so nice. I wouldn't want him to think we didn't appreciate what he's done."
Roger sighed. "Well, that's plenty of good reasons." They started to stroll toward the entrance of the Terrace Room. "When you come to Philadelphia, I want you to meet my mother. I know she'll like you."
"Thanks." Shirley frowned as she tried to remember. "That won't be for a month or so. We're booked in Toronto and Ohio next."
"That's right. I'm glad you're looking after Granddad. We'll all feel better knowing it's someone like you."
"I'm not doing too well tonight," she pointed out.
"This is different," he said.
When they arrived back at the table, some of the party had drifted to the dance floor. Dr. Trask was still sitting there, along with several of his friends, Charles Victor, and Jeffrey Sayre.
Sayre was expansively addressing the group: "Of course I make my permanent home in Hollywood. We decided to do that a couple of years ago. I work out there a good deal, and it's a grand place for the youngsters."
"How large is your family?" Dr. Trask asked him.
"Three boys. Healthy as sea lions. Oldest is sixteen and the youngest eleven. That's one of the things I don't like about touring. Keeps me away from the family too much."
One of the women in Dr. Trask's party smiled at the actor. "I suppose you joined the play because it was such a fine show. And because you enjoy your very excellent part."
Jeffrey Sayre puffed deeply on his cigar, then exhaled slowly. "Well, actually," he said. "I joined The Cardinal because I felt that Oliver Craft wasn't in too good health and they might need someone to take over his role."
"Really?" Dr. Trask's voice had taken on a cold note.
Apparently, Jeffrey Sayre didn't notice, or didn't care. He went on: "That is why I'm in the show. In the event of Craft's giving up, I would move into the Cardinal's part and Hugh Deering would take mine."
The woman who had questioned him in the first place queried him again: "And who would replace Mr. Deering?"
"The understudy. But it doesn't seem likely that it will happen."
"No." Dr. Trask coughed. Looking at Shirley, he said, "Oliver seems very fit. Wouldn't you say so, Miss Grant?"
"I'd say tonight's performance proves that," Shirley said, thinking fast.
Charles Victor spoke for the first time. "And I agree." The old man's face was bright with happiness. "There's not too much wrong with the Chief when he can give a performance like that."
Dr. Trask nodded. "It was one of the finest I have ever seen. Oliver has a magic gift. The theater would be poorer for his loss."
"I think Grandfather will manage," Roger Craft said, his eyes meeting Shirley's in a glance of understanding. "He wants to do this tour, and I think that he will."
Jeffrey Sayre must have sensed the mood of the table, but he seemed to have no idea of giving agreement. He studied his cigar. "His performance tonight was, shall we say, remarkable, but it took a great deal from him. The question is, dear people, where will he find a new reserve of strength each night?"
"From his staunch company!" The answer came in Lyon Phillips' bluff, good-natured voice. He had returned from the dance floor with his partner, the character woman, and had come up behind Jeffrey Sayre just in time to hear the question.
Sayre glanced up at the stage manager and, though his face went crimson, managed a smile. "Very well said, Lyon," he agreed, a slight anger showing under his tone of enthusiasm.
"Great party, Doc!" Lyon smiled at their host, his too-bright eyes revealing that he had had more than his usual quota of champagne.
At the same time, Hugh Deering and Joy Milland came back from the dance floor. Joy rushed up to Shirley with a shrill: "I did tell you how much I liked your dress, didn't I?"
"At the theater," Shirley said. "I'm glad you like it. Yours is very striking."
Joy simulated a laugh. "Striking is hardly the word! Struck would be closer. I fished this out of my wardrobe trunk, darling! I don't suppose I've had it on in years! But it seemed to fit so I decided to wear it. Lucky me. I have no weight problem like some of you girls!" She gave a smile to the rest of the women at the table.
Dr. Trask's wife filled the moment of awkward silence that followed. "I imagine you enjoy dressing up offstage, after having to wear that very simple frock in the play."
Joy's round, too-made-up face registered dismay. A hand went to her cheek. "Have you noticed what they make me wear? Isn't that costume a horror? I've complained, but it does no good."
"It's in keeping with the show, I'd say," Dr. Trask suggested mildly.
Lyon Phillips tittered loudly from his place at the other end of the table. "Costume is, but the actress ain't!" He burst into loud laughter at what he apparently considered a witty line. He repeated it to an embarrassed Charles Victor and roared at the humor of it a second time.
Hugh Deering, who had been standing by Joy, spoke through Lyon's hilarity. "I understand you'll be making a visit or two with us while we're on tour, Doctor."
Trask pursed his lips. "It's been discussed tentatively. Easier for Oliver than having him rush back here. He's had a very major operation and I shall want to make a check from time to time."
"And of course he can always be examined at a hospital along the line," Hugh continued.
"That's right," Trask agreed. "We can make use of the hospital facilities in whatever city I visit. And then we have a permanent nurse in Miss Grant, who will keep me informed."
Hugh Deering glanced at Shirley, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "Yes. We mustn't forget Miss Grant."
"I won't!" Lyon Phillips called out from the end of the table, and laughed loudly once more.
Ignoring the stage manager, Hugh Deering smiled at Shirley. "Which reminds me. You've been missing the dance floor all evening. And the orchestra is excellent. Will you join me?"
"Thank you." Shirley was anxious to get away from the table. It was hard to say who was the most difficult, Joy Milland, with her loud assurance, or Lyon Phillips, who had had too much of the party champagne. She wondered if Hugh Deering had also been drinking; if he had, it certainly wasn't obvious.
Leading her down the carpeted stairs to the level of the ballroom, he said, "I don't mind a girl being single-minded in purpose, but did you have to spend every minute of the evening with our young millionaire?"
Shirley glanced up at him in some confusion. "You mean Roger?"
He nodded, guiding her past the tables and onto the well-filled dance floor. "That's exactly who I mean," he said, as they began a slow fox trot.
Taken off guard by the impudence of the question, Shirley hesitated before answering. She was grateful to be away from the tensions of the party; although Roger Craft had been pleasant company, he was still almost a stranger and she had not really relaxed any of the time she had been with him. Now she realized that her nerves were taut to the breaking point, and she was glad to have these
few minutes on the shadowed dance floor. Somehow she felt safe and secure in Hugh's arms. Of course it was only an illusion, but she was tired enough to be content with even an illusion. Without answering, she closed her eyes and enjoyed the soft music and the easy movements of the dance.
Then Hugh's voice, full of amused irony, came through to her again. "It seems you've gone out of your way to avoid me since the other afternoon in the Common. Why? Did my true-confession routine disgust you?"
She leaned back a fraction so that she could see his face. Hugh's expression of light mockery was a camouflage for his true feelings, whatever they were. "No," she said. "But just after we left each other, I ran into Joy."
"Ah, the lovely Joy!" Hugh continued in his bantering tone. "How do you like that dress she's presuming to appear in for this happy occasion?"
Shirley closed her eyes and rested her head against his shoulder. "It's quite different," she murmured.
"Different is not the word," he said. "Ill-advised would be better."
"That's not very gallant of you."
"Joy seldom inspires old-world courtesy."
Shirley raised her red head and studied him with indignant eyes. "I wouldn't want you to talk that way about me if we were engaged."
It didn't seem to hit Hugh as a reprimand. "If we were engaged, my lovely little nurse, I would be doing nothing but quoting the poets," he said with a grin.
He was so good looking in his dinner jacket, and such an amusing partner, it seemed too bad he had this streak of weakness. She decided to let him know what she had found out in plainer terms. "Joy told me the other afternoon about you two being engaged."
"What!" Hugh's pleasant face registered incredulity, and it was lucky that at that moment the orchestra finished its number. He stood stock-still on the floor, staring at her.
She said, "It's quite understandable, Hugh. I hope you'll both be very happy. I wanted to let you know so you wouldn't feel it necessary to carry on this bluff of yours any longer."
The orchestra resumed and he took her in his arms again with a fierceness that surprised her. "Listen," he said in her ear. "There is one thing I'd like to get through your silly little head. I'm not now, nor was I ever, engaged to Joy Milland."
"But she said—"
"You should know her well enough not to believe anything she says."
Shirley glanced up at him and saw that his face was serious. "But she saw us that day—and she said it very plainly. That you'd asked her to marry you."
"Look," he sighed, "I have the habit of drinking a lot. Sometimes as much as Lyon has tonight. I like to kid. It wouldn't surprise me if some night when I wasn't quite myself I said, as a joke, in front of the others, 'Let's get married, Joy.' I don't remember doing it, but it could have happened. That would be enough for her."
Shirley shook her head. "She's an awfully mixed-up girl, but I think you must have given her some idea."
"And that's why you've been avoiding me?"
She shrugged. "I didn't want to interfere."
He groaned. "The troubles I have. I'm going to talk plain to our Joy."
When the music ended, they went back to the party, which was just breaking up. Dr. Trask came over and chatted with them for a minute, then he and his group left. The others had all gone earlier; only Joy Milland and Roger Craft remained.
Joy came over and stood by Hugh with a "he's mine" smile. Linking her arm in his, she said, "I've been telling Roger all about the theater."
Hugh looked at her shrewdly. "It must have been very interesting. It seems to me, it's time for us to have a long talk as well."
Roger brought over Shirley's wrap and placed it on her shoulders. "I'll see you home, Shirley," he said, in a tone that indicated he was relieved that she had come back and anxious for them to get away on their own.
As they sat in the intimate darkness of the taxi on the drive back to the Touraine Hotel, Roger said, "Deering seems a nice fellow. I understand that he was once a doctor."
"Yes," she said, wondering if she detected a trace of uneasiness in his tone.
"I'll be seeing you often during the tour," he said. "I'll be flying in to check on Grandfather."
CHAPTER SIX
"The advance sale of tickets here has been first rate." Oliver Craft smiled at Shirley, who sat beside him on the plane as it circled over the big airport for a landing. "Toronto is an excellent show town."
"I've never been with a play in Canada," Shirley said. "But I suppose you've played here dozens of times."
The gentle-faced actor nodded. "Yes, I was just a boy the first visit I made. It was with a repertory company. Since then, I've been here regularly right down through the years."
Charles Victor, who was sitting across the aisle from Shirley, leaned across and, smiling at Oliver Craft, said, "Remember the time we played here on the same dates with Sir John Martin-Harvey and Ethel Barrymore? Those were the good old days of show business."
Oliver Craft chuckled. "And all three shows made money." He explained to Shirley: "Charles was in that company with me. We both had the pleasure of meeting Martin-Harvey personally. A fine actor. He's been dead many years now." The old man suddenly appeared saddened at the thought and stared out the window at the landing field.
Shirley wondered if it had reminded him that his own time was short. He had been quite well since the opening night in Boston. The engagement there had been a wonderful success and they were now going to play Toronto for a week before going on to their dates in Ohio.
He glanced back at her again. "This time, we'll be playing at O'Keefe Centre," he told her. "It's new and, they tell me, one of the finest showplaces on the continent. Be a change from some of the run-down places a company has to face nowadays."
Shirley found it her turn to smile. "I remember some of them. Especially one town in the Deep South. There were actually rats in the dressing rooms."
"Is that why you gave up the theater for nursing?" The deep-set eyes twinkled.
Shirley laughed. "Not really. But it could have been."
That afternoon when they went to the theater for a check on the stage and to locate their dressing rooms, they found that O'Keefe Centre lived up to its name. Oliver Craft had a magnificent double room as the star of the play, and Shirley took a smaller one next to it. Everything was new and modern, and the cast were delighted with the place. Charles Victor picked a dressing room directly across from Shirley's, and the rest of the players were down the hallway.
Onstage, Shirley found Lyon Phillips busily directing the erection of the set. He had been on exceptionally good behavior since the night of the party when he had disgraced himself.
Greeting Shirley with a shy smile, the tall young man said, "How is Oliver this afternoon?"
"Very well," she told him. "He's resting in his dressing room for a few minutes. He'll be out later to see the stage."
"No hurry," Lyon said. He moved across the stage and gave some instructions to the electrician. When he came back to Shirley, he sighed. "We don't have too much time."
"How did you get the sets here so quickly? You just had the weekend."
"New system," he told her, at the same time watching the stagehands work. "We have our own transfer crew and trucks. They packed up Saturday night after the show and started here in the early hours Sunday morning. At that, it was a tight squeeze."
Shirley was all admiration. "When you think of all the headaches, you wonder why anyone would ever want to be a stage manager."
Lyon made a wry face. "Probably because they're like me. They hate to act."
Just then, Hugh Deering came onstage. He was wearing a plaid sports jacket and contrasting fawn trousers. He looked fit and in a relaxed, happy mood.
"How's the company mascot today?" He grinned at Shirley.
"I'm not sure I like being called that," Shirley told him. She had been seeing more of him since the night of the party. The tension between them was gone with her discovery that he really wasn't engaged to Jo
y Milland. But she wasn't anxious for their friendship to become too strong so early in the tour.
It was often the habit in companies for couples to pair off in a perfectly innocent way, for friendship and companionship, in the weary days of traveling. It was understandable that some people got along better together than others. But it also had a restricting side to it, and she didn't want to give all her free moments to Hugh Deering, although she had to admit she did like him.
"I understand Roger Craft is flying in to visit us in Cincinnati next week," Hugh Deering said, studying her face for a reaction.
She was surprised and, in spite of herself, pleased. She would enjoy seeing the young millionaire again. But she didn't want Hugh to know this. Pretending casualness, she asked, "Are you certain? I hadn't heard anything about it."
"Telegram just came for the Chief. I was with him when he got it, and he told me." Hugh seemed to relish his being the one to break the news.
"It will be nice for Mr. Craft," she said, giving her attention to Lyon, who was directing the positioning of the spotlights.
"And for our mascot," Hugh teased.
She turned to him, her cheeks warming. "That isn't necessary."
"Sorry, youngster. You haven't seen Jeffrey Sayre around, have you?"
"No. He's the only one who hasn't shown up."
Hugh's expression became thoughtful. "You know, I have a feeling that something is in the air. Something's about to break in this company. That's really why I went in to visit the Chief. I was afraid it might be him. But he seems well today. So it must be Sayre. I noticed on the plane that he was in a brooding mood. I have a hunch he'll give his notice any day now."
Shirley looked surprised. "Can he do that?"
"I understand so. They had a hard time signing him for the tour. His contract isn't for the run of the play. He can leave when he wants to. That's the only conditions under which he'd come with us."
"That would mean you'd be doing his part."
"No." Hugh's tone was definite. "Oh, I would fill in for a show or two, and Lyon would sub for me. But I'm not really the type for Jeffrey's role. They'd have to find a replacement, and that wouldn't be easy."
Backstage Nurse Page 6
