Foxden Acres (The Dudley Sisters Quartet Book 1)
Page 11
The trapeze artists, in white costumes trimmed with feathers, turned to each other at exactly the same time and began to slide from their seats. The audience gasped. But instead of falling the human doves bent their knees, hooked them over the bars they’d been sitting on, and swung towards each other with outstretched hands. Their fingers almost touched. But not quite. They swung towards each other again. This time they were closer, but not close enough. Then the female trapeze artist straightened her legs and was suddenly falling through the air. The audience gasped again, louder this time. But before the lady dove plunged to her death her partner thrust his powerful body towards her and caught her by the ankles, and the audience went wild, cheering and applauding.
As the act drew to its close a rope ladder appeared out of the flies and the female artist swung her slender legs towards it, catching it between her feet. Followed by her partner, she climbed down the ladder to a standing ovation. As the lights began to fade, the trapezes disappeared into the flies as quickly as the doves had done.
At the end of each tableau comedians told jokes, singers sang songs, acrobats stood on each other’s shoulders and tumbled to the ground, and magicians pulled rabbits out of hats.
At the interval a waiter arrived with a bottle of champagne and while Natalie pinned Bess’s orchids onto her dress, Anton poured each of them a glass. As they sipped their champagne, Bess and Natalie chatted about the set, which Natalie had designed. Bess could tell by her friend’s relaxed manner that the show was all she’d hoped it would be. Anton, apart from agreeing with Bess that his wife was a talented designer, said nothing.
The second act began with the Temple of Artemis and the Statue of Zeus. The stage was set with gold pillars and silver statuettes. Mighty Zeus, with his golden eagle and beloved Victory at his side, was guarded by four of the tallest men Bess had ever seen. Lesser Gods bowed before him as drum rolls emulated thunder and lights flashed in time to the clash of cymbals.
Taking place on a giant chess board, the next Wonder was a choreographed battle between the Centaurs and the Lapiths, and the Greeks and the Amazons. An army of female warriors marched on stage to the sound of heavy artillery, took their places, and the battle began. As the chess pieces toppled the lights dimmed until the stage was flooded with a red wash. When the battle was over a dense ground fog licked the bodies of the fallen chess pieces and the lights faded to black.
Before the last Wonder, the Prince Albert’s leading lady Nancy Jewel, dressed in an old fashioned sailor suit, led the Doris Henshaw All Women’s Band onto the stage singing “The Fleet’s In Port Again”. As the song came to an end the curtains opened on the Colossus of Rhodes and the Lighthouse at Alexandria.
A huge painting of the lighthouse hung on the up-stage flat. Statues of Tritons standing at its four corners looked down on Poseidon. Dancers dressed as mariners weaved banners of blue and green silk in and out and over and under to make the sea, lifting them up and down to create the illusion of waves, while others hoisted the sails on a tall ship.
At the curtain call comedians took their bows by performing a sand-dance and bumping into each other. Jugglers came on stage juggling and the high-wire artists took their bows from their trapezes high in the air. The last artists to take a curtain call were the Prince Albert Theatre’s resident company of dancers and singers who had played the Pharaohs, Gods, Goddesses, Kings and Queens, warriors, slaves and maidens. The company ran on stage to rapturous applause and joined the Doris Henshaw All Women’s Band who, with the orchestra, played “God Save The King” to an audience already on its feet.
Anton, Natalie and Bess stayed in the box to finish the champagne, and to give the audience time to clear the theatre. ‘You must come to all our first nights,’ Anton said, when Bess told him how much she had enjoyed the show. ‘We’re trying to book the Crazy Gang for the winter. I saw them at the London Palladium. Not only was theirs the funniest show I’ve ever seen, but it was a sell-out.’
‘I thought you put on musicals and plays at the Albert?’
‘We do. We were going to open with Ever Green, followed by a Coward, and at Christmas we’d planned to do Mr Cinders, but the advanced bookings were almost non-existent. People are frightened to come into town because, if there is a war, London will be targeted. So we need an act that will bring the audience in. The Crazy Gang will do that.’
‘Anton is going to take a leaf out of the Windmill’s book and put on a season of variety shows and revues, which will be cheaper and easier to stage,’ Natalie said.
‘But the Windmill Theatre put on shows with nudity!’ Bess said.
‘Yes, tableaux vivants, the living picture – and they pack the houses. Don’t worry,’ Anton said, laughing, ‘nudity isn’t our style. We prefer our artists to keep their costumes on – however skimpy they are. Mrs Henderson’s right though, London theatres must change.’ Anton laughed again. ‘The last time we spoke she said, “War or no war, the Windmill will never close its doors.” Time will tell. But,’ he said thoughtfully, ‘we’re living in a time of uncertainty. Variety is the way forward for London theatres, and the way to bring audiences into the West End is with comedy shows and comedians like Flannigan and Allen and the Crazy Gang.’
It was pandemonium backstage, on every floor, on every stairway and in every room. Half-naked dancers ran in and out of each other’s dressing rooms, dodging wardrobe assistants pushing metal clothes racks and assistant stage managers laden with props. And as if all that didn’t clog up the rabbit warren sufficiently, local delivery boys who had delivered first night flowers hung around on the stairs and landings hoping to get a glimpse of a scantily clad dancer, or the autograph of a famous comedian.
The first night party was in full swing by the time Bess, Natalie and Anton arrived.
‘Sorry!’ a young man shouted, after twirling one of the showgirls off the dance floor straight into Bess’s path.
‘That’s all right,’ she shouted back.
‘Thank God Pamela Lesley had the foresight to put a reserved card on this table,’ Natalie said, sitting down and motioning Bess to sit next to her.
‘Pamela’s going to fetch us at midnight,’ Anton said.
‘To mingle,’ Natalie explained.
‘We say complimentary things to the critics in the hope that they say complimentary things about the show when they write their reviews,’ Anton added.
‘But we’ve got ages yet. Come on. Let’s get something to eat while Anton pours the champagne,’ Natalie said, taking Bess by the hand.
The buffet, on a long table at the side of the dance area, was a selection of hot and cold dishes. Bess helped herself to breast of chicken and new potatoes.
At midnight Miss Lesley, the front of house manager, came over to the table and reminded Natalie it was time to ‘mingle.’
‘Will you be all right, Bess? We won’t be long,’ Natalie said.
‘I’ll be fine. Go and mingle. And,’ Bess said, putting her hand to her mouth so only Natalie could hear, ‘be nice to the theatre critics.’
Laughing, Natalie said, ‘I will, don’t worry.’
Bess watched Natalie and Anton move effortlessly between different groups of people, greeting some formally and kissing others. They talked, listened, and laughed with performers, directors and critics – and, like good hosts, seemed genuinely interested in what their guests had to say.
‘More champagne?’
Bess turned to see a good looking man standing by her side. ‘Oh! Yes, thank you. Didn’t I see you dancing with one of the showgirls earlier?’
‘Yes. I danced with her until I saw you,’ he said, filling Bess’s glass to almost overflowing.
Bess laughed. ‘Charmer!’ Still laughing, she pushed her chair back and, leaning forward, sipped the fizzy wine until she had consumed enough to lift the glass. ‘Oh no,’ she gasped, ‘that was a mistake.’ As the effervescent liquid hit the back of her throat she began to choke.
The young man handed her a clean ha
ndkerchief. ‘May I?’ he said, motioning to the chair next to hers.
‘Yes, of course. Thank you,’ she said, taking the handkerchief and dabbing her eyes. ‘I’m out of practice. I’ve been a student for three years. Grants and scholarships don’t run to ginger wine, let alone champagne.’
‘I thought you were a dancer in the show,’ he said, peeling the gold foil from the top of another bottle of champagne, twisting and loosening the fine wire that held the cork in place.
‘I’m afraid not,’ Bess said as the cork shot out of the bottle with a pop.
‘My name’s Dave.’
‘Pleased to meet you, Dave. My name’s Bess,’ she said, lifting her glass. ‘Cheers!’
‘I’m pleased to meet you too, Bess. Here, let me refill your glass.’
For the first time since she’d learned that James was going to marry Annabel, Bess was enjoying herself. And why not, she thought; she was young, single and free. Free, and having fun with a good looking man.
Dave raised his glass. ‘To you!’
Bess returned the gesture. ‘To you!’ The bubbles tickled the back of her throat and she began to giggle again.
‘So if you’re not a dancer, what are you? How do you know this lot?’
‘I’m a teacher – and it’s a long story.’
‘I’m not going anywhere,’ Dave said.
‘I had my handbag stolen,’ Bess said at last, ‘and Natalie and Anton Goldman, the owners of the Prince Albert, took me to their home, looked after me, and made sure I got to my lodgings safely.’ Bess told Dave about her upbringing, her job, her time at college in London, Foxden and her brother Tom. ‘I’m worried about Tom,’ she said. ‘He joined the Army and--.’ She shivered.
‘I’m in the Army too. Well, not the Regular Army,’ he said. ‘I’m an officer in a highly specialised training unit with the bomb disposal squad. Tonight could be my last night in civvy-street for a while. Or perhaps in any street.’ He picked up his glass and stared into it, as if something dark and terrible was hiding in the bubbles. ‘Here’s to whatever tomorrow brings,’ he said, before downing his drink.
Dave recovered from his short-lived black mood and made several more toasts. He raised his glass to life, friendship, and to meeting Bess. He filled Bess’s glass again and said, ‘Here’s to the most beautiful girl in the room.’
Bess giggled. ‘Champagne takes away your inhibitions! I read that somewhere,’ she said. ‘I haven’t drenk, I mean drunk a lot of champagne in the past. I don’t drink at all as a rule, but tonight is a special occasion.’
‘You’re special,’ Dave said. ‘I’ll always remember you.’
‘Why thank you, kind sir. So are you,’ Bess said, draining her drink. ‘I’ll always remember you too, Dave.’
‘I’m sure you will,’ he said, filling Bess’s glass again. ‘Let’s celebrate,’ he shouted.
‘Yes, let’s… ’ Bess agreed. She lifted her glass but wasn’t able to hold it up long enough to clink it against Dave’s. ‘Let’s celebrate,’ she slurred. ‘Tonight we’ll have fun and tomorrow… Well, what’s the worst that can happen? I don’t prepare next week’s lessons for the little darlings I teach? I’ll blame it on the bubbles. I’m young and free and… Oh dear,’ she said. ‘I feel dizzy. I think I’d better go to the Ladies’.’ Bess stood up, but the room began to spin so she sat down again.
Dave helped her out of her chair and across the room to the foyer. ‘C’mon. I know what you need.’
‘Where are we going? The Ladies’ cloakroom is over there.’ Bess pointed to the clearly marked door, but Dave hurried her to the main entrance.
‘You don’t want people to see you in this state. You don’t want to embarrass your friends the Goldmans, do you?’
Bess stopped. Leaning back, she squinted. ‘No, I don’t want to embarrass my friends. Thank you, Dave. Thank you for looking after me. You’re very kind.’
Dave strong-armed Bess out of the club. The doorman – helping two showgirls into the back of a taxi – shot Dave a glance.
‘Too much champagne,’ Dave shrugged.
‘She looks like the showgirl you were dancing with earlier,’ Bess said, pointing to the girl with blonde hair. ‘Look.’ The taxi pulled out into the traffic on Long Acre. ‘She’s making a fist at us. She’s jealous …’
CHAPTER NINE
Bess’s eyes had adjusted to the darkness in the narrow alley – and what she saw she didn’t like. To her right there was a metal door with “Kitchen” in white lettering. Next to the door, a little further along on the ground, she could see a wooden trapdoor – probably the door to a cellar, she thought.
The kitchen door stood slightly open, and a shaft of light spilled out into the alley. Bess could hear the clatter of pots and pans, and waiters calling for this food or that, for this bottle of champagne or that bottle of wine. She felt a waft of warm air as Dave hurried her past. She shivered. She wasn’t wearing a coat and she was cold.
Just visible at the far end of the alley, Bess could see two iron staircases. The one on the right must lead to and from the upper floors of the Prince Albert, the one on the left to the Albert’s neighbour, the Club Royal. The alley was dark and disturbing, full of shadows and littered with rubbish. Bess tripped over a crate, sending half a dozen empty bottles spinning like skittles. It was a filthy, disgusting place and it stank of urine.
‘I’m going back. The smell is making me feel sick.’ Bess turned to leave, but Dave put his arms around her waist and pulled her to him. ‘Stop it, Dave. Let me go. I want to go back to the club, it’s freezing out here.’
Dave loosened his hold on her long enough to light a cigarette, then he flicked the burning match into a mound of newspapers. ‘It’s always the way isn’t it?’ he said, bending down, his eyes level with Bess’s eyes, his nose level with her nose. He drew deeply on his cigarette and blew the smoke out of the corner of his mouth in one long stream. ‘I don’t know, you try to help some people and all you get is rejection. Here, have a drag,’ he said, offering Bess his cigarette.
The acrid stench of urine in the alley, combined with cigarette smoke and Dave’s stale breath, made Bess retch. ‘No thank you, I don’t smoke.’ Trembling, she pushed Dave’s hand and the cigarette away. ‘I’m going inside, I’m cold.’
‘All right, let me finish my fag and I’ll take you back.’ Dave took off his jacket, put it round Bess’s shoulders and pulled her closer to him. ‘There, that’s better, isn’t it?’ He didn’t wait for a reply. ‘You might be the last girl I hold in my arms. Still, if one of those little buggers at the Army’s Bomb Disposal Centre does blow me up tomorrow, I’ll die happy.’
‘Don’t talk like that,’ Bess said. ‘Besides, you said you were going to the training centre, so you won’t be in danger of being blown up, will you?’
‘Won’t I? Not even with Special Ops Command? Well, that’s all right then!’ he added sarcastically. ‘It’s all in my imagination, is it? Or perhaps you’re calling me a liar?’
Dave relaxed his hold on her again, and looked into the mid distance. His eyes lost focus, as they had done when he stared into the champagne at the party. ‘Of course I’m not calling you a liar.’ Bess felt ashamed for implying that he was. She looked up at him and smiled. He was a big man, well over six feet tall, but he looked like a hurt child. ‘Poor Dave.’ Standing on tiptoe, Bess kissed him on his cheek. ‘There,’ she said, ‘friends? I didn’t mean to doubt you, honestly. And you’re right; I didn’t want anyone to see me drunk and I didn’t want to embarrass my friends, but I am cold and I do want to go back inside now.’
He tightened his grip on Bess’s shoulder, bent down, and kissed her with such force that his teeth bit into her lips. She pushed him away and let out a cry.
Dave stepped back, open-mouthed. He looked like a big dough-faced child, wide eyed and bewildered. ‘What are you doing?’ he asked.
‘No, Dave, what are you doing?’ Bess retaliated.
‘I’m kissing my g
irl, who I might never see again. Come here,’ he said, grinning, and forced Bess to accept his slobbering mouth for a second time.
Bess knew she was in trouble but she couldn’t think straight. She didn’t know what to do. She was sobering up, but not fast enough. Her sight was blurred and her head was swimming. She wondered whether she would be able to fight Dave off, but the odds were against her. He was twice her size and weight, and probably three times stronger. There was no way she could stop him from hurting her by force, if that was his intention. But she might be able to talk him out of it – if she could persuade him to stop slobbering over her long enough.
‘Dave, wait a minute, I want to talk to you,’ she said, taking his hand in hers and stepping back so she was able to look into his eyes.
‘You started it, you kissed me first,’ he taunted, as a thirteen year old schoolboy might have done after a fumble behind the bike sheds. ‘Or were you being a tease? Were you leading me on?’
‘I kissed you, yes. As a friend. I didn’t mean for this…’
‘This?’ He sneered. ‘What do you mean, this?’ Dave stamped his foot and shook his head from side to side like an angry bull. In a matter of seconds his personality had changed from a teasing schoolboy to a wild animal – and Bess was frightened. ‘I disgust you, don’t I? You’re disgusted by the idea of doing it with me, aren’t you?’
‘Doing it?’ The realisation of why Dave had brought her to the filthy alley hit her. She needed to think and think fast. ‘Of course you don’t disgust me. It’s the alley that disgusts me. I don’t want to do it in this filthy alley--’
‘It’s not good enough for you, aye? It’s good enough for me, but then I’m probably not good enough for you either? I’m good enough to fight a war for you. Risk my life for you. Probably get killed for you. But I’m not good enough to kiss you, or touch you.’ He grabbed her round the waist again and jerked her closer.