Stratford Jewel

by Oliver, Marina

  'One week in Manchester, and in a few weeks we'll be in Birmingham.'

  'Will you visit your family?'

  'No, I daren't, Father will try to drag me back home. I'm still only twenty. Though of course I'd love them to come to the play.'

  'They'll forgive you.'

  She was thoughtful. 'Darling, I know our friends – theatre friends – accept us, but my family are incredibly old-fashioned. They'd be very – condemning – if they knew we were living together.'

  'You could marry me.'

  Celia laughed and shook her head. 'Darling, neither of us believes in those old hidebound customs.'

  'I'll be as discreet as you wish when we meet your family.'

  'So long as we don't flaunt living together, they'll come to accept the situation.'

  *

  Max halted abruptly and the man behind him exclaimed in annoyance. 'Do watch it, old man, my wife doesn't wish to bruise her face against your back.'

  'Oh, I beg your pardon, Ma'am. I didn't know you were so close behind me.'

  'It doesn't matter,' the lady said with a gentle smile. 'Come, Edward, we'll be late.'

  They went on and Max immediately forgot them. He took a few impetuous steps towards the door through which he'd seen Rosa and Adam Thorn disappear, then halted and shook his head. It was none of his business. They must be married. Rosa wouldn't spend the night in a hotel room with a man she wasn't married to. Somehow he'd never thought of her being married. Adam had been an old friend yet she'd kissed him when they'd spent the day together. Would she have spent the night with him? He hadn't asked her, so how could he know. She wasn't that sort of girl. Thoroughly shaken he moved away, forgetting supper, and returned to his room. He'd done his utmost to dismiss Rosa from his thoughts ever since he'd known he was going back to Stratford. He was committed, he'd be bound to see Rosa there, see her happiness if she was married to Thorn, and if she wasn't he'd know what she was really like.

  Max rose at six the next morning, checked out of the hotel and caught an early train to Birmingham. He'd stay there and hire a car, and go to Stratford when necessary. He need not spend all his time in Stratford, and his peace of mind would be greater if he avoided the risk of meeting Rosa unexpectedly. He didn't know how he'd behave if they met.

  Despite his resolutions, immediately he'd settled into the hotel he made arrangements to rent a car and drove to Stratford. Parking on Waterside, beside the old theatre site, he looked gloomily at signs of activity. There had been considerable argument about the preferred site for the new theatre and he had, during the long, sleepless night at the Savoy, read through the Advisory Committee's recommendations.

  They preferred the Tercentenary site, further down the river. This land in Southern Lane was now the kitchen garden of Avon Bank, and would be both drier and cheaper to build on, since the architect would not have to design a building that could be viewed from all sides. Only the front need be decorative. The old theatre could become a conference hall. The town Corporation disagreed strongly. They wanted the riverside site and Alderman Flower sided with them. The Governors had guaranteed the additional costs of deeper foundations to combat the risk of flooding, and to make the theatre an 'all-round' building.

  Viewing both positions Max agreed with the Corporation. It would be a very important building of worldwide renown, it needed the best position possible. People would want to see it from the river, from the far bank which would remain, he trusted, an open site, and from every angle of approach. He walked across the bridge for a better view and perched on a low branch overhanging the water. Taking a sketch pad out of his pocket he began to devise plans, and was so absorbed he didn't pay any attention to the occasional passersby until he heard his name called. He imagined at first he was dreaming, but when he raised his eyes and looked up his heart leapt in instinctive joy.

  'Rosa! I – I thought you were in London!'

  *

  'That was wonderful!' Rosa exclaimed. 'Thank you, Adam, for arranging such a marvellous surprise. What a pity your mother was ill and missed it. I wished it had never ended.'

  'Thank goodness she persuaded your father to let you come unchaperoned.'

  Rosa giggled. 'He's been trying so hard, for fear I'd run off too, but he found it difficult to agree.'

  'The rooms are still booked at the Savoy. You can bath and change at leisure, then we'll have a sumptuous dinner. And before we go home tomorrow I'll show you some of London's landmarks.'

  How blissful to get away from the multiplying problems at home, Rosa thought as she wallowed in a deep bath. Jack had insisted on keeping the black gelding he'd bought, despite the animal's stubbornness. Mr Greenwood refused to house it, so Jack rented a field and stable on the Alcester road. A young horse, he hadn't been schooled to pull a waggon, and he succeeded in kicking out the front boards of two and overturning another within a week. Jack refused to give in, and came home early every day to make another attempt to train the horse, aptly named Satan. Rosa knew Jack was refusing business in order to make time for this, and their profits were decreasing, but neither his father's remonstrances nor hers were heeded. She soaped her legs vigorously. Jack shouldn't spoil today. She'd forget him, and enjoy this unexpected treat.

  Adam really was good to her. He made it plain he loved her in so many ways, yet she could not respond. She had turned to him when Max had departed so abruptly. She was fond of him, felt comfortable with him, enjoyed his kisses and felt safe and protected, yet she couldn't love him. She recalled how Celia glowed when Gilbert was there, how her difficult sister made only token protests when her wishes conflicted with his. He could manage her as no one else could. Rosa could not submit to Adam's judgement in such a way, though. Therefore she didn't love him. She sighed and climbed out of the bath. He'd been urging her to marry him, but she still wanted to act. One day, perhaps, she might agree, but not yet.

  The dinner was luxurious and leisurely. Adam looked distinguished in his evening jacket, and Rosa felt elegant in her simple tube dress in pale green silk with its overdress of fine lace, the matching green slippers, and the long row of pearls which had been one of her mother's bequests to her, and which reached to her waist. The food was delicious, and Adam ordered different wines with each course, insisting she sample them all, saying she deserved to finish the day lavishly, so that she'd always remember it.

  'I shall do that anyway, Adam. I can't thank you enough.'

  'You could, if you'd marry me,' he replied.

  'Not again, Adam. Please. I thought you understood. I don't want to marry. I must try to act.'

  'You could act in Stratford, I wouldn't object,' Adam said, but smiled resignedly when Rosa shook her head. 'All right, my darling, I'll not speak of it again – for at least a day.'

  Rosa laughed. 'You're very good to me. Where shall we go tomorrow?'

  Adam gestured at the window beside them which overlooked the river. The curtains hadn't been closed, and lights along the Embankment gleamed, mysterious and enticing. For once there was no fog, and Rosa could see a myriad of reflections in the water, from buildings and street lamps and the lights aboard boats moored by the banks or still plying up and down the broad waterway. 'Shall we take a boat first?'

  Rosa nodded. 'That would be fun.'

  'Then we'll walk in the parks, if it's fine enough, and look at the Houses of Parliament and the Abbey and the Palace. We'll go to Bond Street, and do some shopping.'

  They were still planning exactly where they would go as they went upstairs to the adjacent rooms Adam had booked. As he opened Rosa's door she turned to say goodnight, but he put his arm round her waist and gently pushed her into the room. Inside, he shut the door, then took her in his arms and kissed her hungrily.

  'Rosa, darling, take pity on me,' he whispered into her ear. 'I need you so much.'

  For a long minute she relaxed, but when he picked her up and carried her across to the bed, slipping the small strap of her dress over her shoulder, she sat up and tried to
push him away.

  'No, Adam. Please, I can't!'

  'Don't you love me?' he asked, his voice thick with emotion. 'Rosa, I'm crazy about you! I've waited so long to be alone with you, to make love to you.'

  Rosa protested but his kisses were sweet, and she'd felt terribly alone since Max had left her. When Adam eased off her dress and began to caress her naked body she turned towards him. What did it matter? He loved her, he wanted to marry her, she could have a good life with Adam, with no more worries about Celia or Jack. And then she thought of Max again. She'd done her utmost to forget him since he'd left Stratford. It had been hard, but he'd forgotten her and she'd begun to hope she was succeeding in dismissing him from her mind. There were whole hours when she didn't think of him. But he came between her and Adam. She struggled free of Adam's embrace and rolled off the bed, reaching for her dressing gown.

  'I'm sorry, I can't,' she gasped. 'Adam, please go!'

  *

  Rosa thought she was dreaming. She'd lain awake all night, and crept out of the Savoy to catch the first train home. Deeply ashamed of her behaviour, knowing she had almost succumbed to Adam's entreaties, she had to act with all her skill to reassure her father she had enjoyed London. Winnie, she suspected, had known she was putting on a brave face, and to avoid her questions she'd made the excuse of Moonlight eating her head off, and gone to ride beside the river.

  'Max? Is it really you?'

  He forced himself not to drag her from the saddle, take her into his arms and cover her face with kisses. He had to remember he was promised to Jenny. 'I'm not a mirage,' he said. 'Did you enjoy the performance yesterday?' Max went on, trying to sound natural but failing miserably.

  Rosa frowned at his tone. 'I didn't see you there.'

  She took off her gloves and smoothed back her hair, and Max saw that she wore no rings. So she wasn't married to Thorn. Yet she'd been using the same bedroom. 'You were no doubt too preoccupied,' he said sharply. 'It was a wonderful performance, wasn't it,' he added swiftly, seeing her slight frown. He had no right to be jealous of Adam, he reminded himself fiercely. He was so confused. He was not only engaged to Jenny, who had done nothing to deserve his disloyalty, but he didn't want to marry Rosa, or anyone. He simply couldn't forget her.

  'Yes, wonderful. But why are you back in England? I wasn't even sure you'd left,' Rosa added, and Max groaned inwardly, hearing the hurt in those few words.

  'I had to return to New York in rather a hurry,' he tried to explain, but even he could hear the lack of conviction in his voice.

  'Then why are you back?'

  'We hear there may be a competition for designing a new theatre. My partners wish to enter, and sent me back to wait for the details.'

  'I don't think they'll be out for some time. And there isn't a festival to help with at the moment.'

  'I – I have work in Birmingham too, I won't be in Stratford very often.'

  'Then I don't expect we'll meet. Good luck with the competition.'

  She touched the mare with her heel and urged her into a trot. Max took a few impetuous steps after her, then stopped. What could he say? What did he want to say? With a deep sigh he tore up his sketches and slowly walked back to his car. The anticipation he'd felt, all the way across a stormy Atlantic, had dissipated. Now he couldn't even summon the enthusiasm for the new theatre design.

  *

  'Have you heard from Celia?' Agnes asked. She and Rosa had met at the house of one of Stratford's leading citizens, at a Christmas sale of work to raise money for the Memorial Theatre fund. Rosa, determined to suppress her longing to follow Celia to London, fear of meeting Adam and his reproaches, and misery at the odd meeting with Max, when he'd seemed so unfriendly, had become absorbed in projects for raising money. She spent all her spare time making cushion covers, nightdress cases, pin-cushions and the many other items which found a ready sale at such events.

  'She won't write until she's twenty-one,' Rosa said with a frown. 'If my father had any idea where she was he'd be off to fetch her home. She won't feel safe until after her birthday.'

  'She'll be able to marry then, too,' Agnes mused. 'She won't need your father's permission.'

  'Celia never wanted to get married.' Unlike Agnes, Rosa thought with an inward spark of amusement. She and Celia had often giggled together at Agnes's obvious but futile attempts to attract Jack's attention. Rosa wondered if they'd been too unkind. The girl was ethereally lovely, but her limp, the result of a childhood illness, made it impossible for her join in normal pursuits. Her resentment was obvious, and Rosa knew people grew tired of offering continuous sympathy.

  'Do you think she went with that actor, Gilbert?' Agnes persisted eagerly.

  'I really have no idea.'

  'Don't be cross, Rosa. Everybody knew they were walking out together, so that's what people think. If it's not true we could tell them. Otherwise Celia could never come back.'

  'I really don't see what Celia's actions have to do with anyone else, Agnes.'

  'No, but if she's a fallen woman she'd never be accepted by the best society.'

  'Meaning you and your parents?'

  Agnes was oblivious to Rosa's sarcasm. 'She'd be like Mrs Corbin.'

  'Mrs Corbin?' Rosa asked quickly.

  'Everyone knows what she's like. I heard yesterday she was planning to go to Birmingham for a few weeks, and my father saw that American in Birmingham a few days ago. They were friendly. Perhaps she's gone to be with him.'

  That is very likely, Rosa thought bleakly, and then took herself fiercely to task. She had no claim on Max, and he'd made it perfectly clear he'd regretted kissing her. She wouldn't think of him again.

  'If she has it's none of our business, and none of yours what Celia's done, Agnes. Are you going to help me arrange this stall, and stop indulging in nasty gossip?'

  *

  It was a miserable Christmas for the Greenwoods. Rosa was making no headway in persuading her father to permit her to act, except for a promise that if she stopped demanding to go to London she might take part in the 1927 Festival. She had to be content, but on a few occasions her resentment at the unfairness boiled over. She knew it was fuelled by her distress over Max's coldness, the fact he hadn't attempted to visit them. When the competition was announced in January she assumed he would have returned to America, and her unhappiness increased. At least she had accepted Adam's abject apology, and they were once more on cordial, if wary terms of friendship.

  The weather didn't help. Gales and floods swept the country at the end of February, and a raging influenza epidemic added to the general gloom.

  'I am still thinking of buying into a boat-hire business, and I need to try out their boats,' Mr Greenwood said one morning at breakfast. It was the first bright and unusually warm day in March, 'Come with me, Rosa?'

  Listlessly Rosa agreed, and they set off to walk towards the Tramway Bridge. They had turned into Waterside when Adam, mounted on a prancing bay gelding, drew alongside.

  'I see I'm too late,' he said. 'I was hoping to tempt you out for a ride, Rosa. It's been such a long time since we rode together.'

  'I'm sorry,' Rosa said. 'I'm going on the river with Father.'

  'Perhaps tomorrow if it's still fine?'

  'If you wish.' She was apathetic, not caring how her time was disposed of. Yet the thought of riding made her smile suddenly, and she nodded. 'I'd like that. Thank you Adam.'

  'We could postpone the river,' Mr Greenwood said. 'You could go home and change now.'

  Adam shook his head. 'I'm sorry, I can't wait. I must get to Charlecote within the half-hour. Tomorrow.'

  With a wave he left them. Mr Greenwood looked after him thoughtfully.

  'He's a good lad, Rosa. I'd be very pleased if the two of you could make a match of it.'

  Rosa shook her head. 'I don't want to marry,' she said firmly. 'You know I want to act professionally.'

  Mr Greenwood frowned. 'No more, Rosa, for pity's sake! I am tired of hearing about nothing save t
he theatre.'

  Rosa relapsed into a hurt silence. Her father did not press her to talk.

  At the boatyard Mr Greenwood spent some time in discussion with the owner, then elected to try out one of the punts first. Cushions were spread for Rosa, and she sat back as her father poled the boat into the middle of the river. It was swollen with the recent heavy rain, and no doubt the old Memorial Theatre was flooded. The stark ruins stood, blackened and desolate, on the far bank, and Rosa felt a stirring of interest as she tried to envisage a new building rising in its place.

  'I wonder how soon the new theatre can be built?' she said suddenly.

  'Not this year, but perhaps by 1928.'

  'We'll have the Sothern gift to begin with,' Rosa said. 'Wasn't it generous of them, to present us with their scenery and costumes?'

  'And of the American English Speaking Union to pay for their transport over here.'

  Rosa lay back, watching fluffy white clouds chasing across the sky. It was a perfect day, cold but bright, with a slight breeze that caused tiny ripples on the water. The smooth motion almost lulled her to sleep, and her thoughts, which normally she disciplined rigidly, strayed to Max Higham. Where was he now? Was he still in England, or back in New York? Perhaps he too was on the water, in a liner crossing the Atlantic, going further and further away from her every minute. Would she ever see him again?

  Her lips were framing the word 'No' when she became aware of the punt swinging round. Opening her eyes she started up in alarm.

  'Father, what is it?'

  'The pole broke, and I can't reach the longer part,' Mr Greenwood said, suppressed anger in his voice. 'It must have been cracked, and that fool at the boathouse hadn't checked it.'

  Rosa glanced behind her. 'What can we do?'

  'Scull with our hands and pray we can steer towards the bank before we reach the weir! Otherwise we'll have to hope we can jump onto one of the islands.'