Stratford Jewel

by Oliver, Marina

  *

  Two days after following Celia to London Mr Greenwood returned, defeated. Rosa had never seen him in such distress.

  'I couldn't find any trace of her at the stations,' he told Rosa and Jack as they sat down to dinner.

  'Didn't you try the theatres?' Jack asked. Rosa was still too devastatingly incensed by her sister's departure to speak.

  Mr Greenwood swallowed his fury and tried to answer calmly. 'I tried some, but I soon discovered it was unlikely Celia would have obtained work yet. They have auditions, and she hadn't attended any. Besides, there are so many, not just in London but in the suburbs and the surrounding towns.'

  'And we don't know she intended staying in London, or that she didn't mean to marry that actor fellow,' Jack said with sublime disregard for his father's feelings. 'She didn't say that in her note.'

  'She said nothing apart from the fact that she couldn't bear to live at home, and not be allowed to act,' Rosa said bitterly. She had felt her sister's betrayal especially hard. Not only did she long for the same opportunity, she had to hide her misery since Max had left Stratford without a word. For weeks she'd looked for a letter. Long after her head told her it was no good hoping her heart had kept alive a flicker of optimism.

  'Don't most actors begin at small theatres in the provinces?' Jack asked.

  'I've finished with the ungrateful wench. That's what comes of playing make-believe all the time, she can't distinguish real life from her damned stage. I'm sorry, Rosa,' he added 'Thank goodness you're still here.'

  Rosa gripped the edge of the table until she could trust herself to speak calmly. 'I want to go to London too,' she said.

  'No! I've lost one daughter, God knows what will become of her. I couldn't bear to lose you too.'

  'What Celia did has nothing to do with me. Will you make me suffer for her actions?'

  'I'm not trying to make you suffer, that's foolish talk.'

  'I will suffer if I can't act. It's all I ever wanted, and now you'll try to stop me because of what Celia's done. I won't let you ruin my life! One day I'll go to London too.'

  'I forbid you even to mention the place. Now, did that new driver, Fred, start? Was he satisfactory?'

  Jack looked from his father's implacable face to Rosa's stormy one. 'Fred? Yes, he's OK. It was your trying to stop her acting that made Celia go,' he said abruptly. 'Can't you understand, Father?'

  'All I understand is I have ungrateful children. I won't hear any more about it.'

  Rosa's misery overwhelmed her, and she thrust aside her chair. 'I'm not ungrateful, but I'd like to be treated for myself, not have to fight harder because of what Celia does!' she threw at him as she ran from the room, swallowing her tears until she was safely in her bedroom.

  It was too much. Max had gone, and now Celia, instead of waiting and trying to win their father's consent, had gone in a manner which probably meant the quarrel could never be mended. And she was to suffer. She vowed it would not be for long. Soon she'd find a way of following Celia.

  On the next day her fury had diminished slightly and she offered her father a stiff apology for her outburst. He looked haggard, as if he hadn't slept for days, and she felt a faint tinge of pity.

  'Don't leave me, Rosa. Not yet, anyway. Maybe later we can reconsider, and if Celia gets her wish and finds a part she could help you too?'

  Rosa doubted whether he would ever agree, but he looked so unhappy she could not bear to disappoint him. Not yet, anyway.

  'If you promise to listen, not compare me with Celia, not judge me by her actions, I'll stay for a while,' she said. She felt trapped, deserted and misunderstood, but she could not cause her father greater hurt. Soon, though, she would persuade him to let her go freely.

  *

  'Well done! Darling, I'm so proud of you!'

  Celia laughed delightedly as Gilbert seized her in his arms and waltzed her round the empty stage. 'It's only a small part,' she said deprecatingly, though secretly she was bursting with triumph. At last she was a real actress.

  'Small, but crucial. It has to be played with just the right timing and touch for the whole play to make sense.'

  'Now I can write home and tell them where I am,' she said with satisfaction.

  'Is that wise?'

  'Wise?'

  'Your father could force you to go home.'

  'He couldn't be so cruel.'

  'You can't be sure,' Gilbert urged. 'If you let the producer down he'd never give you another chance. Word would spread you're unreliable. No one else would employ you.'

  Celia frowned. She'd been looking forward to telling her doubting family she had succeeded, but perhaps Gilbert was right. She couldn't depend on her father leaving her here. At the very least he'd come storming down to London and create a fuss. That would embarrass her as well as being a distraction. She had to concentrate on her part, she had to be a success.

  Gilbert saw her indecision. 'It's only a few months until your birthday, plenty of time for a success. Wait until then. Besides, after rehearsals we'll be on tour.'

  She was diverted. 'I thought the play was to be in London soon,' she said, pouting. 'I didn't expect to have to traipse all the way to Manchester and York and all those other utterly boring places for months first.'

  'It's normal. But I'll be with you, and it's better to get the first few weeks over before the London critics see the play.'

  'It may never get to London,' Celia said, with uncharacteristic uncertainty. 'That happens sometimes, doesn't it?'

  'That's up to us,' Gilbert declared. 'It doesn't happen with good plays, an experienced producer, and superb actresses like Celia Greenwood. Now I'm going to take you to the Ritz to celebrate, then we both have to learn our parts. First rehearsal on Monday.'

  'First rehearsal! Gilbert, have we time for dinner at the Ritz? I know it's not a very big part, but I must be word-perfect on Monday, and that's only three days away.'

  Some hours later, though, she had forgotten the urgency of learning her lines. Gilbert had insisted on celebrating with a lavish meal, and two bottles of champagne. Celia clung to him in the taxi, laughing as they mimicked the other diners. She still laughed as she stumbled up the steps to their lodging house, and when he'd unlocked the front door she sat firmly on the stairs.

  'I'm not climbing any more stairs,' she announced. 'I'm sleeping in your bed!'

  'I – but – Celia, do you understand what you're saying?'

  'Perfectly. I can't climb these stairs. I'm a real actress. We're Bohemians. Why be concerned about the rest of the world? They're silly. They're not actors and actresses.'

  'Shut that noise!' an irate voice shouted and Gilbert, always careful not to cause trouble and offend his landladies, pulled Celia into his room.

  She wandered across to the narrow bed. 'Now I'm earning we could afford somewhere better, couldn't we?' she asked, prodding the lumpy mattress and wrinkling up her nose in distaste.

  'Don't you want to wait until you're twenty-one, and we can get married?' Gilbert asked doubtfully.

  'Oh, why bother with bourgois nonsense?' She giggled, and threw her coat onto a chair. 'Help me take off this dress, darling. Who cares about marriage, anyway? I'm so sleepy. Hurry up, darling, I must lie down soon.'

  *

  'Are you certain you want to do this, Oliver? It's a very serious step.'

  Mr Greenwood nodded. 'I'm determined, Hugh. I will not countenance being defied by a chit of a girl.'

  His friend and solicitor, Hugh Brinkley, rose from behind the big, leather-covered desk and paced in front of the window overlooking the High Street. 'Why not leave it a while? Celia's certain to get in touch with you soon, and perhaps after you've spoken to her, heard her side of the story, you'll feel differently.'

  'Hugh, I'm determined! She knew how I felt about this silly ambition to act in London theatres, and she wasn't content to indulge her fantasies here in Stratford. By her defiance she's lost all claims on me.'

  'She could be desti
tute.'

  'That is her choice. But it won't come to that. She has the money her mother left, and as you dealt with that you know it's enough to live on, if she's prudent.'

  Mr Brinkley pursed his lips. Celia had never been prudent and he could not imagine her changing. 'I've never seen you so adamant,' he said, changing tack. 'It's unlike you.'

  Mr Greenwood banged his fist on the desk. 'Hugh, stop prevaricating! Or are you implying I'm unfit to manage my affairs? Will you do as I ask, today, or must I take my business elsewhere? I won't change my mind.'

  The solicitor resumed his place behind the desk. 'I'll do it,' he sighed, 'but reluctantly.' And he'd do his best, he promised himself, to try and persuade his friend to change his mind when he was less choleric.

  ***

  Chapter 6

  'Max, will you to go back to England?'

  Max looked at the senior partner in surprise. 'But Reuben, I've only been back in New York four months.'

  'You worked through August. Everyone else was on vacation.'

  Max grimaced. He'd avoided going to Virginia, despite his mother's reproaches. Mrs Wishart had made it clear she blamed him for Jenny's wish not to make their engagement public, and hinted he must change the situation without further delay. He was resigned but concerned about Jenny's reluctance. Perhaps she really was too young, and if so the less she saw of him the less she would be frightened.

  'Why England, now?' he asked, and tried to dismiss the sudden reminder of Rosa's vivid beauty. He'd tried hard and unsuccessfully to forget her. Would it be possible to be in the same little island and not want to rush to her side? 'Our cinema designs were approved, and Mr Sambourne's firm can supervise the construction.'

  'He'd like you to be there, as the designs were mostly yours. But the main reason is what's happening in Stratford-on-Avon. Every time I have a letter from England there is a fresh report that the Governors have announced a competition, or chosen an architect, or a design. I'm convinced they will have a competition, and we ought to enter. You need to go to Stratford and be on the spot to know the truth of it, and at the same time make preliminary measurements of possible sites and come up with a few ideas.'

  'Us? A new theatre?' Max exclaimed.

  'Of course. There haven't been many theatres built recently, it's all picture houses. One day people will want them again. We'd make our mark in theatre design if we built what's bound to be one of the most important theatres in the world. You knew the old one. You know the people there. They have reason to be grateful to you. We'll have discussions before you go, but you ought to set sail by the end of October. That gives time to consider various outlines, which we can adapt when the conditions become known. But from your experience you'll probably be able to guess the sort of requirements they'll impose.'

  'Wouldn't it be better for someone else to visit Stratford too? Rather than rely on my judgement alone.'

  'We're all busy on big projects at the moment. You've only had small ones since you came back, apart from the picture houses. We can spare you. But when we've seen the regulations and discussed preliminary ideas Abe and I will take a short trip. One of us can stay to help with the detailed work if we decide to go ahead.'

  Max went to his own office and sat staring out of the window. He'd tried to forget Rosa, but fate wasn't going to permit it. Suddenly he was impatient to see her.

  *

  Adam's mother shook her head. 'You'll lose Rosa too if you insist on curbing her ambition,' she said gently.

  Mr Greenwood frowned. 'But this wish to flaunt themselves in front of other people, I can't understand it.'

  'Can't you understand ambition? Of whatever sort, whether it's to be the best pastry-cook in Stratford or a world-famous actress?'

  'My daughters are better than any actresses!'

  'There is nothing wrong with the theatre, Oliver. If you believed that you wouldn't have given so much to the Memorial Theatre.'

  'That was for Anne.'

  'I know,' she said gently. 'Perhaps you should blame Anne and myself for being so devoted to the theatre ourselves. Did you know Anne had always wanted to become an actress, until she met you?'

  'She mentioned it, a girlish fancy.'

  'She gave it up for love of you. Rosa, unfortunately, does not appear to be falling in with our wishes and Adam's. She won't give up her ambitions for love of my son. But if you grant her a little freedom, she might in the end do as we want. Let her act in the Festival next year, and let her come with us to the special matinee in London. I'll ensure she doesn't run away to join Celia.'

  Mr Greenwood was looking uncomfortable. 'I knew Anne was once infatuated with the idea of the stage. That's why I allowed her to be involved with the Memorial Theatre.'

  'It was a big sacrifice she made for you.'

  He capitulated suddenly. 'Very well, Rosa may go, and thank you. I know you'll take care of her.'

  'She's like a daughter. She's the daughter I still hope to have, if Adam can be patient.'

  *

  'He can't know how a woman feels,' Celia insisted. 'I know what a woman would do if her lover left her so suddenly, and behaved so dreadfully towards her.'

  'Yes, darling, of course you do, but Cedric wants the part played in a particular way. He is the Director.'

  'He was beastly to me this afternoon.'

  Gilbert reflected that Celia hadn't the least idea of just how obnoxious Cedric could be. His rebuke had been mild despite her continued refusal to say the words in the way Cedric wanted. In Gilbert's opinion Cedric had taken one of his unpredictable fancies to Celia, and was letting her off extremely lightly. He couldn't depend on it lasting, however, for Cedric was a professional, and no personal prediliction would persuade him to retain an actress unequal to the part. He tried to cajole Celia into a more amenable frame of mind, to rehearse the scene with him, but Celia, drooping with tiredness, said she was too exhausted and simply had to go to bed.

  When he brought her a cup of tea in bed the following morning she smiled prettily and apologised for her bad temper. 'I'm so nervous, afraid of being dragged back home.'

  'You ought to be more afraid of being sacked,' he said bluntly.

  'They wouldn't. Would they? They couldn't!'

  'You have to do what the Director wants if you want to work for him. Until you are a famous star, of course,' he added hurriedly.

  'No one will force me to go back home.'

  'Of course not, but darling, do try. I can't endure the thought of losing you, or not being in the same play, on tour together.'

  'Could you have a word with Cedric?' she asked.

  'No. Celia, you have to mind him.'

  'I can do it his way in rehearsals, and when we've opened I'll do it my way and show him how much better it is.'

  'That would be fatal. You'd get a bad reputation and no one would trust you again, they wouldn't care what the reasons were.'

  Celia frowned. Deep down she knew he was right. The important thing was to stay in this play, be a success, and return to Stratford in triumph. Perhaps she'd join the Festival Company next year. Her head full of visions of a glorious future, she forgot Cedric's criticisms and their dingy lodgings. One day she'd be famous.

  *

  Max arrived in London at the beginning of November. He was anxious to go to Stratford, but Reuben Crossman had arranged meetings with people who might collaborate on a theatre design. He booked a room at the Savoy and the following day went into the City. Although no official announcement had been made Mr Sambourne was confident there would be a competition, and they would hear about it soon.

  After their discussion Mr Sambourne asked if he intended to go to the performance on the following Tuesday at Drury Lane.

  'What performance?' Max asked.

  'The Directors of the Theatre Royal are putting on a special matinee, "To Shakespeare", to raise money for rebuilding. Many major actors are taking part, unpaid. And the King and Queen will be there.'

  'I doubt I could get
a ticket so late,' Max said regretfully. 'It will be some occasion.'

  'My daughter was coming, but she has been called to her mother-in-law's bedside. The old lady gets to death's door at least twice a year, but Dorothy's kind-hearted and always goes. Would you accept her ticket?'

  Max demurred. 'You're kind, but surely other people have a better claim?'

  'None of them will be entering the design competition. And if your firm wins we'll do well. I can introduce you to influential people. Viscount Burnham will be there, he's President of the Memorial Fund. You'll come?'

  'With the greatest of pleasure.'

  He walked along the Strand on the afternoon of November the ninth. The programme was enticing and he was looking forward to seeing people he'd heard of but not seen before, people like Brian Glennie, Yvonne Arnaud, Godfrey Tearle and Baliol Holloway, Edith Evans and Fay Compton. It was a tragedy that a fellow American, James K. Hackett, had died just the previous day in Paris, and would not be able to play Macbeth. Was this, Max wondered, another manifestation of the 'unlucky' play?

  The performance was late starting. 'The crowds have delayed the royal car,' Mr Sambourne said as they sat in the stalls. 'I had difficulty in getting through myself.'

  Max didn't hear him. He'd been glancing round the theatre, which he'd never visited before. His gaze suddenly become riveted to a couple in the front row of the dress circle. In all his dreaming he hadn't envisaged his first glimpse of Rosa to be like this. Nor had he known how painful it would be to see her smiling so warmly, so intimately, at the man beside her.

  *

  'Darling, you were wonderful!'

  Celia turned and flung her arms round Gilbert. 'Really? You're not just saying it? You mean it?' She'd been unusually apprehensive, stricken with shivers of doubt, but everything had gone well. She would be good!

  'Of course I do.' Gilbert concealed his relief that Celia, after her initial resentment at Cedric's criticisms, had decided she didn't, after all, know everything about acting. She'd curbed her impatience, tried hard to please, and won the approbation of the Director. The dress rehearsal had been her best performance so far, and Gilbert's dreams of a triumphant future for her, which he'd begun to doubt during the first few weeks in Islington, seemed about to come to fruition.