Stratford Jewel

by Oliver, Marina

  'There isn't a greenroom, and I didn't fancy hanging around by the stage door with all your other admirers.' His voice was curt, and Rosa's heart plummeted as she wondered whether he'd meant the compliment, or whether he'd come to see her out of a feeling of obligation, or even, and she went cold, to say he wanted a divorce. She peered towards him, trying to read his expression in the dim light. 'I was delayed, I only reached Stratford on Wednesday, and haven't been able to find out where you're staying.' He glanced about him. 'Are these wings big enough?'

  Rosa swallowed hard, taking refuge in practicality, and shook her head. They were standing several feet apart and both seemed incapable of further movement. 'Not for the width of a full set. which was what it should have been, so we can't roll it off completely, and that wastes time.'

  'Yes, I wondered why the scene changes took more time than I expected.'

  'What – what do you think of the theatre?' she asked.

  Suddenly he grinned and her heart flipped. She felt weak with desire for him. 'You shouldn't ask a defeated rival for his opinion. I'd have preferred the old horseshoe shape, with the stage projecting into the audience. This proscenium gets in the way. I'd have designed this for a cinema. And there doesn't seem a lot of room behind the stage,' he said, moving to inspect the cyclorama.

  'There isn't, the old theatre is hard onto it. Max – ' She paused, not knowing what she wanted to say. What could she say? She would, like Beatrice, not reveal her love until she knew how he felt. He put his head on one side and looked at her expectantly. 'It's – it's been a long time.'

  'Too long. But you've achieved a great deal of success, my Lady Disdain.'

  'Don't!' She held out her hand imploringly. 'I'm not – '

  'Not what?'

  Tears forced themselves past her tightly closed eyelids, despite her efforts to hold them back. 'I'm not like Beatrice! Max, I shouldn't have run away like that, I should have had the courage to stay and explain, but I wasn't capable of thinking, and when Gloria telephoned, I – '

  'Gloria?' he demanded, taking a sudden stride towards her and grasping her arms in a bruising grip. 'She telephoned? She was behind this? What do you mean?'

  Rosa took a deep breath. How could he have forgotten? The whole miserable sequence of events was crystal clear to her. Then, as he brushed away her tears with his thumbs, she struggled to speak calmly. 'That last morning, before I left. I knew it was her, and that you'd spent the night with her. She wanted me to know.'

  He groaned, released her and turned away. 'I was a fool. I tried to follow you, but the boat was just leaving, and by the time I'd thought about it I lost my nerve. Your letter sounded so final. I told myself I had no right to try and persuade you to change your mind. I'd interfered too much in your affairs, and that's been nothing but disaster. Rosa, I've not forgotten you for an instant. All the time I've been hoping, somehow, to meet you again, to say I'm sorry. But it's too late, you're a success. I've no right to expect anything.'

  Rosa could hardly speak for the incredulous joy that was flooding through her. He did still love her. There was still a chance of happiness together. 'But I would come when you called me,' she said softly, altering Benedick's words.

  Maz glanced up at her, hope in his eyes. 'Rosa? "For which of my bad parts didst thou first fall in love with me?" ' he quoted.

  Rosa laughed. ' "For them all together". Oh, Max. "But for which of my good parts did you first suffer love for me?" '.

  ' "I love thee against my will." No, that's not true! "I love nothing in the world as well as you",' he whispered, taking her in his arms. 'It may have been partly true in the beginning, I didn't know I was in love with you, though I wanted you, I've never stopped wanting you, every night, ever since you left.' He bent to kiss her, a deep, satisfying kiss, and his hands began their familiar journey. 'Rosa, are you wearing anything under this ugly dressing gown?' he demanded suddenly, his voice quivering with laughter.

  She giggled. 'Is it that "Time goes on crutches till love have all his rites"? Why don't you find out?' she suggested, snuggling close to him. 'Max. Oh, Max, I've been such a fool! I shouldn't have doubted you, but I was never certain you hadn't married me too suddenly, were rushed into it. I was a coward to run away. I've missed you so much.'

  His roving hands had untied her belt and were caressing her bare flesh. Rosa moaned with desire. She'd missed him, forgotten the sheer ecstasy of his touch.

  'No, you're deliciously free of encumbrances,' he discovered, then gently pushed her away and pulled the dressing gown firmly about her.

  'There's a bed somewhere in the wings,' Rosa teased, trying to undo his shirt studs.

  He held her away from him, laughing. 'I guess it's just a hard board, not very comfortable.'

  She sighed and clung to him. 'I don't care,' she whispered.

  'I do. I'm not going to make love to my wife on the stage of even such a famous theatre. Unfortunately I had to find a room in Warwick, everywhere was booked up,' he told her. 'There must be thousands of visitors in the town.'

  'I'm staying in perfectly respectable rooms in Chapel Street. I'm sure my landlady would be pleased to accommodate my husband too.'

  They went back to her dressing room hand in hand, pausing every few steps to kiss. Rosa was delirious with happiness, and Max's voice husky with desire.

  She had difficulty dressing, so many were the distractions, but eventually Max obeyed her instructions to sit on the chair by the door.

  'I suffer for love,' he groaned, but complied.

  'My bed isn't very large,' she warned him, chuckling, as they walked out of the theatre, calling goodnight to the watchman.

  'Who needs a large bed? You'll be so close to me all night, my love, you won't need space.'

  Her landlady, looking suspiciously at Max when Rosa introduced him, sniffed. 'Your name's Rosa Greenwood, like it always was when you lived in Stratford.'

  'We married in America,' Rosa said meekly, trying not to laugh.

  'America? Nasty heathen place. Come on, then, eat your supper. I've a good rabbit pie, luckily, enough for the two of you. You need building up, my girl, you're too skinny. And jam roly-poly for afters.'

  They managed not to laugh until she'd bustled out into the kitchen.

  'Roly-poly?' Max spluttered. 'Is she serious?'

  'Quick, have you something we can wrap it up in? I simply can't endure the thought of pie and suet pudding!'

  'If I have to bribe the entire town council or kill somebody to create a vacancy, we will find a hotel room tomorrow!' Max vowed, handing Rosa a newspaper he found on a table nearby.

  They ate a few mouthfuls, but as soon as the landlady, nodding in satisfaction, finally left them after bringing in the pudding, they scooped the rest of the food into the paper.

  'What do we do with it?' Max hissed at her.

  'Quick, let's go upstairs. We can throw it out into the garden, her dog will love it!'

  Once in Rosa's small room, the soggy parcel disposed of, and the door locked, she knew it was deliciously real. Max was here, he still loved her, and she was deliriously happy.

  'It's true, "No jewel is like Rosalind",' he said softly, holding her away from him and gazing at her. ' "Can the world buy such a jewel?" or should it be "Lady, you are mine, as I am yours"?'

  'You know the play well.' His breathing was ragged and she was quivering with longing for him.

  'I've been reading it all the way across the Atlantic. Oh, my dearest love, come here, I need you so much!'

  She didn't come back to earth until, their first frantic need temporarily sated, they lay with arms and legs entwined and at last had leisure to consider matters other than their immediate desires.

  'I have to go back to California,' Max said with a groan. 'I hate the very thought of leaving you again, but I'll have to go back, settle matters there. Then I'll come straight back to you.'

  'Come back? What will you do?' Rosa asked. 'Your job is there.'

  'I can't ask you to gi
ve up the stage, not now you're such a triumphant success. I can work anywhere, set up a practice in Stratford if you like, and you could join the company, and in between the seasons here take part in London productions. It's not so far away.'

  Rosa kissed him and trailed her fingers across his chest. He covered her face with kisses and it was several minutes before she could speak again.

  'I've two more performances, both next week. I can't abandon them. Where in California? Celia said you'd left.'

  'I was going back to take charge of the office there. In Los Angeles. But that doesn't matter, I want to be with you.'

  Rosa shook her head gently. 'I've had my starring part here. I think there will be changes soon. Sir Archibald is so angry, blaming Mr Bridges-Adams for the poor reviews we had for the Henry plays, and I suspect there will be efforts to replace him. I don't want to see that. And I don't see why you should leave your family. I have no one – ' her voice broke and she buried her face in Max's shoulder for a few moments. 'Only Celia, and she's in Hollywood, and why shouldn't I get parts there? If she can, surely I can too?'

  'You'd do that for me?' He sounded awed.

  'Max, I love you, I need you, far more than I need the stage.'

  'We can go back together. I'll cable Reuben to say I'm delayed. He'll understand. And we can have a second honeymoon, starting now.'

  He reached for her and Rosa gasped at the renewed urgency of his kisses. She was deliciously, wonderfully happy, reunited with Max and experiencing once more that total joy of being in his arms. Never again would she leave them.

  ###

  THE END

  Marina Oliver has written over 60 novels, and many of them are available as ebooks, or will be soon. Details on her web site: .

  This extract is from the fifth Midlands saga. I hope you enjoy it and want to find out what happens.

  CAN DREAMS COME TRUE?

  by

  MARINA OLIVER

  Chapter 1

  'The lass is staying at school next year an' that's final!'

  Alf Martins glared at his wife. Why couldn't Hattie accept what a great chance it was for one of their family? But she'd always been cold to poor Kate, resented the child. He sighed and watched her as she lifted the kettle onto the fire and turned to face him. Her mouth was pinched, her hair, now grey and thin, scraped back into an untidy bun. She was nothing like the bonny, rosy-cheeked lass he'd married almost forty years ago, when the old queen was still alive.

  'But Kate's nearly sixteen, Alf! All the other kids left school two year ago. It's high time she was earning a living, and with the way things have bin lately, we could do with an extra wage coming in. We still owes fer the new cart, and it don't seem to bring no more business.' Hattie turned her back on him and poked the fire viciously. 'Come on, boil, can't yer?'

  Alf winced. She'd never forgiven him for buying the new cart, but he'd have been able to pay for it if he hadn't been ill with bronchitis last winter, unable to go to the fish market, or stand all day in the market. It wasn't her fault. Hattie had done her best, but it wasn't work for a woman, pushing the heavy cart laden with fish. She'd bought too much, and the wrong sort, and for a couple of months they'd had barely enough to pay the rent and feed themselves.

  'We'll pay, in good time. But our Kate's stayin' at school. The lass has a good little brain on her, and it 'ud be a wicked shame ter stop her.' His voice softened. 'Just think, Hattie, our little Kate a teacher, wouldn't that mek yer proud as Punch?'

  'Most like mek 'er too high and mighty ter speak to us. How would yer like that?' she demanded, taking down the tea caddy from the mantlepiece and carefully measuring a teaspoon of tea into the old brown pot.

  'Nah, not little Kate!'

  Hattie snorted. 'She could help a bit before going ter that posh school,' she muttered, tilting the kettle to pour water onto the tealeaves.

  'I'll not have Kate tired out afore she starts. 'Sides, yer knows how the little bleeders in the first class kept saying she smelt of fish.'

  'It smells everywhere, in our clothes, hair, everywhere,' Hattie muttered. 'And where is she now? Look at the time, she should have bin home an hour ago.'

  'Probably with young Daphne Carstairs. She said summat about a tennis match they was down fer. Gone ter play on the Carstairs's court, perhaps.'

  Hattie slammed the teapot down in front of him. 'Tennis! What good's that doing? Thinks she's another Helen Moody, I s'pose!'

  'Don't be daft, woman! All the nobs play tennis, and if our Kate's gonna mix with them, best she learns.'

  Before Hattie could reply they heard swift, light footsteps on the stairs leading to their rooms, and a moment later Kate burst into the room. She was out of breath, rosy-cheeked, and smiling broadly.

  'Sorry I'm late, Mum, but the match went on longer than we expected. We won! Against the High School! It's the first time for ages, and even Mac smiled. What's for tea? I'm starving.'

  Alf beamed at his daughter. She looked so like Hattie had when he'd met her, slim and pretty with her dark, curly hair and eyes so deeply blue they were almost violet. The Irish colouring was strong in his womenfolk. Maggie, their other daughter, was the same. Briefly he wondered what their sons would have been like, had they lived more than a day. Would they have taken after Hattie, or been fair like him? It was because they were twins, and came too early, they'd said. Hattie had never really got over their loss. He'd have liked a big family, but there's been no more babies till Kate.

  'Sit down,' Hattie said brusquely. 'It's bread and scrape. Yer dad said he was fed up with fish, so he can mek do with what else we can afford.'

  Alf felt guilty. He hadn't thought of the consequences of that idle remark, but he should have known his Hattie by now. He watched Kate swiftly lower her eyes and bite her lip, then reach for a thick slice of bread.

  'Good,' she said after a slight pause. 'It's too hot for anything cooked, isn't it?'

  ***