She waited at Reception while the clerk rang Jerome’s room without success. He then ran his finger along the line of key pegs and seeing that the key for room number seven was still missing, and having checked with the other clerk on duty, he told Pippa that although her husband was not in his room he must still be somewhere in the hotel, and if she would like to wait in the foyer he would have Mr Didier paged.
A waiter took her order for a sherry and showed her to a big comfortable old leather armchair which faced the desk and stairs. Pippa settled into the chair, and watched while the pageboy chalked his board with her husband’s name. It was still lunch-time, and people were arriving to meet their friends, their business colleagues or their dates, to have an aperitif and then to wander on into the large dining room. The pageboy began to move around the bar area with his board, while above on the first-floor landing, Pippa saw a waiter backing out of the service lift. As he turned she could see he had a trolley set for lunch, white linen, domed silver dishes, a bottle of champagne on ice, even a small vase of flowers, which he carefully wheeled along the landing and then round out of sight down a corridor, leaving Pippa idly to wonder who could be having such a wonderful treat.
As she sat day dreaming, with Bobby sitting as good as gold at her feet, a large man in a check suit arrived in the foyer and stood in front of Pippa, looking around him for the person he was to meet. Bobby growled, and the man smiled affably enough while Pippa came back to earth and put one hand on her dog’s head to quieten him. Then the man in the check suit obviously caught sight of his host because he suddenly smiled and went round behind Pippa’s chair.
As the waiter put her sherry down in front of her, Pippa heard the two men greet each other and exchange pleasantries. Pippa peered round her chair cautiously, unable to resist taking a look, and saw the second man was also middle aged and sturdy, with a rather lugubrious expression. Both of them were too busy talking to notice Pippa’s curiosity, and as she returned to her former position, she heard them call the waiter over and order two large pink gins. Then they sat down in the sofa which directly backed on to the line of chairs where Pippa was sitting.
Bobby growled again, for no particular reason this time, so Pippa gave a small tug on his lead and hushed him to be quiet. Then she picked up a copy of the Tatler and began leafing through it.
The men behind were discussing the hotel and the second man, the one with the lugubrious face, was explaining that he always stayed here at the Grand when he came down to Manchester on business because there was simply nowhere else worth staying.
‘Mind you,’ he added, ‘I can’t say ‘ow I enjoys it, staying in ’otels. I’m an ’omebird, and I likes me own bed. I just don’t sleep in ’otels. And I tell you, Stanley, last night were no exception.’
Pippa was staring at a set of pictures of the guests at some Hunt ball, but her attention was on the conversation behind her. It was impossible not to listen, because the men were conversing in such loud voices.
The man in the check suit, the first man, was asking his companion why he hadn’t slept, politely, not with a great deal of interest, Pippa thought, as the smoke from their freshly lit cigarettes wafted past her chair.
‘It were them theatricals,’ the second man replied with a deep sigh. ‘Honest to God, they’re a right bunch.’
‘They’re staying here, are they?’ the first man asked. ‘I thought the likes of them usually stayed in digs.’
‘Aye,’ the second man agreed. ‘’appen. But this lot’s different. This lot’s got nobs on ’em.’
Pippa smiled to herself, thinking how Jerome would laugh to hear himself described like that, thinking how much he would laugh when she told him.
The page was coming out of the dining room now, followed by a man Pippa couldn’t quite distinguish through the half glassed doors. Thinking it must be Jerome, she put down her sherry and prepared to get up, only to find when the man emerged into the foyer he was a total stranger.
‘Pagin’ Mr Didier!’ the page called in a high voice as he crossed to the bar. ‘Pagin’ Mr J. Didier!’
‘That’s ’im,’ a voice said behind Pippa, ‘that’s one of ’em.’
‘Oh, aye?’ said the first voice, again without much interest.
‘Aye,’ the second voice said. ‘Jerome Didier. Fancy. Mind you, ’e’s some looker. Can act a bit, too.’
‘You saw the play then?’
‘Aye. I were there last night. George took a party on, after reception. About eight of us all told. It were good, too. I ’ave to say it were really damn good, and I’m not a great one for theatre. Least not unless it’s variety.’
‘You don’t say? Well, who knows? I might take the wife to see it then. She’s always naggin’ me to take her to theatre. For the life of me, I can’t remember last time I were there!’
At this point the waiter arrived with their drinks and the men fell to silence. Pippa couldn’t wait for them to get going again, to see if they were going to go on talking about the play, and about Jerome. Because if the play had succeeded in front of an audience composed of people like this, then the miracle surely must have happened.
‘No,’ the second man began again. ‘No I were surprised, I tell you, Stanley, because it’s mostly talk, you know. But there’s this girl in it, and she’s a cracker. We was saying in the bar at ‘alf-time what a cracker she was. I tell you, I never seen a lass as pretty, and I’ve seen a few. Never. Never.’
‘You don’t say.’ The second man laughed. ‘In that case, Jack, perhaps I won’t take the wife after all!’
‘She’ll be all right, Stanley, don’t you mind. She can feast her eyes on that Jerome Didier. Eeee, you should ’ave ’eard all the women. Billin’ and cooin’, and sighin’ and moanin’ all over the place they were. Your wife’ll enjoy it, don’t you worry, if all them other wives is anythin’ to go by.’
Pippa smiled in private delight. She found it practically impossible not to turn round to them and tell them who she was, that she was Jerome Didier’s wife, and that their wives couldn’t have him. But she didn’t. She just sat and listened.
‘Oh yes,’ the second man continued, ‘they’re a right pair, that little lass and Mr ’owsitgoing. And you’d think, when you see ’em, Stanley, they’re that good, they’re that sweet, you’d think that butter wouldn’t melt in their mouths.’
‘What you saying, Jack? You mean it would?’
‘Do I ’eck. Weren’t I tellin’ you they was stayin’ ’ere?’
‘Aye. Happen you was.’
‘Aye,’ said the second man firmly. ‘Well then.’
In that second the smile vanished from Pippa’s face and she felt suddenly and inexplicably sick. She knew something was about to be said and she knew she shouldn’t hear it. And yet she couldn’t move. She couldn’t get up out of the chair, because she knew she had to know.
‘Pagin’ Mr Didier!’ the boy called again somewhere, on his way to another room. ‘Pagin’ Mr J. Didier!’
‘’e should try upstairs,’ the second man laughed. ‘That’s where ’e’ll be most likely.’ Then he dropped his voice and said something Pippa couldn’t hear, but which made the first man laugh out loud, a filthy laugh, a bar-room guffaw.
Now Pippa knew she must go, so she looked round for her bag which she’d put behind her on the chair, and which had fallen open, spilling out some of her belongings, her keys, her powder compact.
‘No,’ the second man said, ‘that’s what all the ’iatus were last night. Why I couldn’t sleep, Stanley. My room’s next door to ’em. By ’eck, they were at it like rabbits.’
‘Were they by heck? You don’t say.’
‘They were at it all night, Stanley. Like rabbits. Like rats up a drain.’
Pippa couldn’t gather her things together, her hands were shaking too much and suddenly she couldn’t see now, because her eyes were full of tears and she was dropping her things on the floor, her compact, her keys, the little travelling teddy bear Jerome h
ad given her.
‘Mind you—’ the first man said. ‘I have heard, mind. I’ve heard tell about them theatricals. I remember a friend of the wife saying that as soon as the curtain comes down, they were at it like knives.’
‘Like rats up a drain, Stanley. I couldn’t sleep a wink.’
The first man laughed, as if the whole thing was a joke, which to him it was, of course, because he’d be dining out on this one, he’d be making his pals laugh in bars everywhere. You know them two fancy young actors? Didier and Laurence? You know who I mean. Listen lads, them two’s like rats up a drain.
‘Course you’re sure it was them, Jack?’
‘Sure? Course I’m sure, Stanley. I could ’ear the whole thing as if it were on radio! And not only that, I got up to answer nature at some unholy hour ’cos I couldn’t bloody sleep, and I saw the bugger sneaking out of ’er room back to ’is.’
Pippa’s compact rolled out of her reach, as she tried to pick up everything on her hands and knees, while Bobby licked her face. The compact rolled under the chair and out beside the sofa the men were on. One of them picked it up and held it out to her, round the sofa as she crawled to get it. She took it from him and got up.
‘Are you all right, lass?’ she heard him saying. ‘Here—’
But she was gone, pulling Bobby behind her as she rushed up the carpeted stairs, past a startled couple whom she divided in the middle, while below her she heard one of the clerks calling after her.
But she knew which room he was, because she had seen the clerk checking number seven, not that she wanted his room because she knew he wasn’t there, she wanted her room, she wanted her friend Elizabeth Laurence’s room, and she knew that must be on the same floor, in fact she knew it must be one of two rooms, because she had also noticed that the peg for room five and room three still had no key, so she must be in one of them, and if she wasn’t she would break down every door until she found her, until she found the rabbits.
Number seven was empty, Jerome’s room, which she checked anyway, just in case, but it was empty, the bed made, but with Jerome’s clothes still on the chair. So that’s who the lunch was for, and the champagne, and the flowers. It was for the rabbits. It was for the rats. Along the corridor the door of room three swung open, and a maid came out, having obviously just finished making the room up. Pippa could see past her, it was empty, the bed beautifully made. So there was only room five. Which was here, right in front of her now, with a notice on the door, Do Not Disturb.
There were voices, too. A girl’s laughter, throaty, not Elizabeth’s usual light, little laugh, but something altogether different, something altogether more intimate. Then silence. Then his voice, Jerome’s voice, which even carried at a whisper. But Jerome wasn’t whispering, he was saying something to Elizabeth, something Pippa heard but didn’t want to hear, something which she’d never heard him say before, which was why Pippa wrenched the door handle round and found the room was open and saw them look with horror when they saw who she was.
But she had the edge on them, she was on her feet and moving, while they were trapped in bed, him it seemed with nothing on at all, no dressing gown, nothing, while she had just a slip, a petticoat with no bra, the top of one white breast spilling a little out over the edging of lace, her thick black hair for once undone, spilt like ink against the pile of pillows. Pippa heard nothing, not anything that Jerome was beginning to shout at her, she couldn’t even hear her own screaming as she threw everything she could find at them, she threw domed silver dishes, empty plates, plates still with food on them, the champagne bottle with its contents corkscrewing into the air, the glasses, the cutlery, she rained them all in a stream at them, she hurled their love feast at their faces, the plates and glasses the knives and the forks the bottle and the shower of wine she saw them all crashing and spilling and splintering and spewing over and around the rabbits, the rats, who were trying to protect themselves against the barrage, Elizabeth with her hands first to her precious face, and then hiding under the sheet while Jerome grabbed a pillow for protection and yelled at her, Pippa could now hear him yelling, he was shouting for her to stop but she wouldn’t, not until she had killed them, not until they were all of them dead for ever.
Someone now had hold of her arms, someone from behind, and she couldn’t move. Bobby was barking furiously, running across at whoever it was, loose with his leash dragging behind. Whoever it was behind yelled suddenly and sharply as the dog bit him hard in the leg, and Pippa, feeling the grip on her arms slacken, escaped and threw herself with all her strength at Jerome, who was stumbling towards her, absurdly dressed in a sheet which he was trying to hold in place, but he only had one hand free so Pippa swung at him, so hard, harder than she had ever swung at anybody and caught him on his nose, pulping it, hearing it squash under her clenched fist and seeing the blood shoot from it and on to the sheet which he quickly pulled up to it. The man behind, the unseen man lunged at Pippa again, but Bobby still had a hold of his trousers and sunk his teeth in the back of his legs again, making the man shout out and fall to the ground, clutching his legs. Elizabeth was screaming in the bed, Jerome was holding a blood-stained sheet to his face, a man in a dark blue suit lay floored, face down moaning and clasping first one leg and then the other, so Pippa suddenly stopped. She stopped and pulled herself up as quickly as she had started, easing her bruised hand, picking up her bag, her keys which had fallen out, her compact, her lipstick, her train ticket, picked up Bobby’s lead, and turned and left the room.
Other people were coming up the stairs now, curious people, alerted by the disturbance, but Pippa brushed passed them, hardly even seeing them. She hurried down the stairs, past the reception desk, past the two loudmouths who were both now on their feet, talking animatedly, looking up the stairs, wondering like the others in the foyer what was going on up there? out on to the street and into a waiting taxi, which she ordered to take her back to Manchester Central Railway Station, where she was just in time to catch the two twenty-two back to London.
Entr’acte
Those of you who followed the careers of both Elizabeth Laurence and Jerome Didier will know that the official version of the events that day in room five (that the incident had involved no third party, that Miss Laurence had been lunching alone in, her room when she had been badly frightened by a mouse, that during this time Mr Didier had been in the theatre resolving some minor technical problems with his director, and that there was no record anywhere, at least not officially, of an unknown young woman and her mongrel dog) was nothing but a tissue of lies hastily assembled by the dog-bitten Cecil Manners and his two panic struck and near hysterical clients, and was ultimately discredited. All of you with an interest in the lives of The Dazzling Didiers (as the first biography of them was entitled), know what really happened, whether through reading the slightly sanitized account in the afore-mentioned biog, or from a study later of the highly personalized and dramatically charged ones in the stars’ own published versions of their lives and times. What actually happened was that Cecil, who had arrived coincidentally on the same train as Pippa, but who had gone first to the theatre to meet briefly with Oscar, had checked into his hotel room at the precise moment when all hell let loose.
He saw the event through open doors, his room being all but opposite Elizabeth’s, but by the time he had dropped everything he was doing to run across the corridor and into room number five, Pippa had already hurled most of the luncheon trolley at the two in the bed. He had grabbed Pippa from behind, but before he could make himself known Pippa’s dog had bitten him hard on the ankle, seizing his trouser leg, while Pippa in her manic struggle to get free had elbowed her unknown assailant in the stomach, knocking him off balance and to the ground, where her wretched dog had once again taken the opportunity of savaging his other leg this time. Pippa had then disappeared, and in the confusion, acting on Jerome’s shouted orders, Cecil had crawled over to shut and lock the door just in time.
Elizabeth was later
to maintain in her autobiography (To See How Far It Was, published by Allen & Graham), amongst many other hotly disputed ‘facts’, that the face-saving enterprise was her idea. Jerome in his autobiography (Facing Up, published by Cockerel) not unnaturally contradicts this theory, maintaining that the only one with any degree of sang-froid at that particularly dangerous moment was himself, and that the only person he was thinking of was Pippa. This latter assertion was most probably the only true statement either of them made, as there is little doubt of Jerome’s genuine concern for his wife, whom he always claimed he still loved dearly at that moment, a claim which hasn’t always endeared him to the more sensitive of his fans, who found his duplicity heartless and hypocritical to say the very least.
But it didn’t destroy his then growing popularity, not in the least. Elizabeth in fact claimed it actively helped them, being a firm believer that the worst an actor can suffer is not bad publicity, but no publicity. This, however, was not the thinking at the time, as the three of them sat, lay or crouched, huddled, bleeding or wounded in room number five of the Grand Hotel, Manchester, Elizabeth, one eye blackened from a flying coffee cup, in bed sobbing seethingly that she would kill the bitch, Cecil, trouserless on the floor holding cold towels to the bites on his wounded legs and asking for quiet, and Jerome huddled Brutus-like in a blood-stained bedsheet clasped both around his waist and to his still bleeding nose, rocking backwards and forwards and wondering out loud and again and again what in hell they were all going to do.
Elizabeth began to moan through her sobs that they were ruined, that their careers were in shreds, and just on the eve of their greatest triumph too, at which point Jerome suddenly decided he should go to his room, get dressed and go after Pippa. Cecil only just managed to catch him by the door, scrambling to his feet and barring his way, warning him that the corridor would be full of people, and that Jerome was all but naked. Jerome got a hold of Cecil by his lapels and tried to hurl him out of the way, determined to go after his wife, but Cecil, although lame, was still strong enough to overcome him, and sotto voce informed Jerome that running after his wife now, in full view of most of Manchester, would do the utmost harm and the smallest amount of good. Jerome insisted, wishing the play to hell, and saying that the only thing he was interested in was saving his marriage, but Cecil stood firm, and reminded him that if he tried to get out of the play particularly now that it had come right, the management would sue him till kingdom come, and not only that but he would close the door on Hollywood. Cecil had Hollywood lined up, he had the talent scouts coming to the London opening, but no opening, no Hollywood. For Elizabeth yes, but for Jerome he could kiss the chance goodbye. No, the time to talk to Pippa, he advised, was when he, Cecil, had taken the steam out of the situation as it stood, and if that’s what they wanted, Elizabeth and he, for him to take the steam out of it, which it seemed they now did, then they must both shut up, listen, and do exactly as they were told. Which they then did, because they knew perfectly well there really was simply no alternative.
Stardust Page 40
