‘Marriage was never high on your agenda though, was it? Not your thing nor mine.’
Not quite knowing how to respond to this, Kitty reminded him that she’d had no example of married bliss, not with Clara as a mother. ‘I’m glad you at least found it - married bliss I mean - with Charlotte.’ Since they both knew this not to be the case, the awkwardness descended again and they sat for a long while watching the glowing remnants of coal turn to ash in the grate.
‘What about Frank? Is he still around?’ Archie asked at last.
‘Oh yes.’ Kitty tried to make a joke of it. ‘The ever present burr in my side.’
‘Why didn’t you marry him? At least he was prepared to do the decent thing.’
Kitty stared at Archie in complete disbelief as seconds ticked by, then the question simply popped out, of its own volition. ‘Would you - have done the decent thing - if you’d known Dixie was yours?’
‘But I didn’t know, did I? I mean, I didn’t think any the less of you for getting into such a pickle. I remember thinking that no decent gel would come to a chap as you did to me that night, if she were untouched. A virgin. Shows a slackness of morals, don’t you know. So naturally I thought the child was Frank’s.’
Kitty’s cheeks grew hot, though whether with shame or anger, she couldn’t quite have said, not just then. ‘Yet it was all right for me to have been with Frank in that way?’
‘Well, you were engaged old thing. Bit different eh? As your fiancé, he was entitled to a few more - favours, as it were. Naturally you were piqued when he behaved like a cad with your ma. Still, he did regret the slip afterwards and tried to put the matter right. Though if you’d been honest about Dixie, told me what was what in the first place, that she was mine and all that, I dare say I would’ve married you, not Charlotte. Everything would have been different then. Funny old world, eh?’
Somehow, his casual nonchalance at the way life had turned out, jangled Kitty’s over-stretched nerves almost to bursting point. He’d been a willing enough participant in those pleasurable moments which had resulted in their child, yet only too happy later to deny all responsibility for her. Now he dared accuse Kitty of “slack morals”.
It came to her in a moment of rare clarity that all Archie really cared about - was Archie. While experiencing this new glimpse of enlightenment into his character, she also realised that for all his declared intention of coming to see Dixie, he hadn’t even enquired how she was, let alone that she be allowed to join them in the parlour. ‘Perhaps I thought that expecting you to do the decent thing wasn’t a particularly good reason for matrimony.’
‘You should have settled for Frank then,’ he said, quite matter-of-factly, as if it were of no real moment. ‘He’d’ve made young Dixie a better Pa than I ever would. ’
Kitty bridled. ‘You think that’s all I was looking for, a father for Dixie? Anyway, it isn’t true. Frank would have made a dreadful father.’
‘So would I, old sport. So would I. Still a child myself, don’t you know.’
Oh, how true, she thought. Suddenly weary of this dissection of her past life, Kitty got up and went to rest her forehead against the mantelpiece, momentarily closing her eyes as the remnants of her depleted energy drained from her. Would everything have been different if she’d told him the truth? Could they have been happy or would Archie indeed have felt trapped, as she’d always feared. It was so ironic. She’d left him free for Esme, only to have Charlotte snap him up. Desperately striving to keep her voice light, she turned back to him with a smile. ‘Why go over all of that now? I did what I thought was right at the time. So did you. I didn’t expect to - lose you - in quite that way.’
‘You haven’t lost me Kitty, old sport. You still have my...‘ He stopped, put out a hand to touch her. Startled, Kitty looked into his eyes and he into hers and there was no sound but the ticking of the clock, echoing the loud beat of her heart.
Kitty found her voice, barely above a whisper. ‘What? What do I still have?’
‘My friendship. Forever, my friendship.’ He seemed to have moved imperceptibly closer, letting out a deep sigh, and the echo of his sadness pierced her to the heart. ‘I’ve grieved for the loss of that special relationship we once enjoyed.’
‘Have you?’ Touched by this admission, Kitty felt drawn almost to tell him about Owen, to discuss the confusion of her emotions but Archie was still talking, marvelling at what a lucky chap he was for Charlotte to put up with him when he’d made such a muddle of things. ‘That’s what she calls me. A dear old muddle-head.’ Despite his words, his voice sounded hollow, even bleak, not at all that of a man celebrating his good fortune. ‘You look tired, Kitty. You’re the one in need of rest.’ He pushed back a wayward strand of hair and she jerked away, startled by the unexpected intimacy of his touch.
‘Don’t – don’t do that.’ What was it that she wanted? If only she knew.
‘Why not? I’ve been wanting to touch you for so long. There was a time when you’d hang onto my arm, kiss my cheek, even tuck scarves round my neck. You never do any of those things now.’
‘That was a long time ago. Before... You’re married now.’
‘We’re still friends though, aren’t we? I still want you, Kitty, still love you to bits, old thing. I could offer more than friendship, should you ever have need of it.’
Kitty felt herself start to shake. What did he mean? In what way did he love her? As a friend, surely he meant as a friend? She didn’t dare ask, couldn’t even bring herself to lift her head and look into his eyes. Then suddenly his lips were on hers and she wasn’t pushing him away.
He felt so dearly familiar. At least at first he did, but then the sensation subtly changed and the sensation of his hard body against hers began to feel entirely wrong, even strangely repulsive. Kitty found that she wasn’t responding to his caresses as she would have expected, in fact she desperately wanted him to stop. She felt herself stiffen, her hands coming up to his chest to push him away. Her mind seemed to be clearing, as if finally managing to assess what was going on in her head, and yet a part of it was still listening to what he was saying - something about Charlotte.
He was mumbling into her neck as he pressed kisses upon it. ‘We don’t have to tell her about this, do we old thing? A chap deserves the comforts of his old friends, eh?’
The scent of his hair cream seemed suddenly overpowering, making her long for another more woody scent, for the French countryside and the feel of another man’s arms about her. It came to Kitty then, if not as a blinding flash, then with a sure and certain knowledge that it was not Archie she wanted at all. It was Owen. It was Owen that she loved; Owen who she longed for, to hold her in his arms and speak of love. Yet Archie was growing more daring, pushing open her soft pink lips to probe the delights of her mouth with his tongue. She felt his hand at her skirt, pulling it up, his fingers sliding between her legs. And then she was thrusting him away, yelling at him to stop.
‘For God’s sake, Archie. What the hell do you think you’re doing? You’re married! Is this all you ever think about, your comforts? Your needs. What about mine?’
Drawing in a shaky breath Kitty brusquely handed him his coat and hat. She could bear no more. How dare he make such a proposition to her, as if she’d come back just to see him, as if she had no other life, no feelings at all. For the first time, she came near to hating him but then he was mumbling apologies, begging her forgiveness, telling her he never meant to offend and just as quickly as it had come, her temper had drained away and she was scolding herself for overreacting.
Archie was a child, a creature of simple pleasures. He often acted without thinking but he meant no harm by it. She must remember that.
As Kitty led him down the lobby and firmly out into the street, she spoke with a calculated crispness. ‘We can’t turn back the clock. This wallowing in nostalgia won’t do at all. Charlotte is right. Best to let the past go.’
Archie looked startled and a shadow, almost of accusa
tion, seemed to darken his blue eyes, as if she’d rejected him in some way. ‘Never forget that I always loved you best old sport, right from when we were in Ealing. I mean, I knew you didn’t care a fig for me but...’
‘Archie! How can you say that? I adored you! But you must never say such things to me now, nor touch me ever again. You really mustn’t,’ and without waiting for him to respond, she whirled on her heel and went back inside, slamming the door of Laburnum House far harder than it had ever been slammed before.
The trip to the theatre was an inspiration. Kitty knew that she loved it still, even after all these years. Merely to enter its plush interior was like stepping into a magical world, a world where anything could happen; where hearts could be lifted, or broken at the will of an emotionally adept actor. The smell of the greasepaint, the sound of the pianist playing the opening bars brought a spurt of excitement akin to fear in the pit of her stomach, whether she were herself going on stage or not. Kitty’s love for the theatre ran through her veins like blood. But she wasn’t the only one affected on this particularly evening.
Archie sat enraptured throughout, drinking it all in like a thirsty man finally given a drink. He hadn’t realised how utterly bored he had become, living in the country with Charlotte.
As for Charlotte herself, she too was utterly captivated. Not so much by the performance, though it did bring back fond memories, but by the fact that during the interval a young man approached her. Diffident, shy, he nonetheless asked if she was the Charlotte Gilpin.
‘Why yes.’ Charlotte was enchanted if not particularly surprised to discover that she had been recognised.
‘I saw you play here on a number of occasions. Much Ado About Nothing was my favourite. You were brilliant as Beatrice. You were indeed the “incarnation of mirth and merry malice.”’
‘Oh, my dear.’ Charlotte was overwhelmed and happily signed his programme, making it seem as if she had starred in this excellent production as well.
It was then that the idea came to her. Charlotte too was bored. Living at Repstone had its charms, naturally. She was highly regarded and greatly sought after as a guest for several ladies’ luncheons and bridge afternoons. But these were becoming something of a yawn. To date, Charlotte had not yet achieved what she had set out to achieve. She had not reached the echelons of society. Why weren’t she and Archie receiving deckle-edge invitations from the Lowthers or the Somervells?
Watching this performance of Midsummer Night’s Dream, not to mention the delightful young man who had recognised her, reminded her of the adulation she had once enjoyed and so taken for granted.
Eyes bright, Charlotte was effusive as she sipped her sherry in the interval, and complimented the show. ‘It’s almost like old times, isn’t it? Not that we couldn’t do much better, of course, than this amateur set-up. I do wonder, sometimes, if it wouldn’t be absolute fun to make a comeback.’
‘Comeback?’ Kitty regarded her with mild amusement, for Charlotte always spoke as if she were the only one among the Lakeland Travelling Players with any talent; as if the company was of no account now that she had left it. ‘We’re still operational, Charlotte.’
‘Oh I do know you’re doing your best, darling - and I admire you enormously for struggling on. However, it can’t be easy without me, the focal point of the show as it were.’ She smiled condescendingly at Kitty, who simply looked bemused. ‘I’ve been thinking that perhaps I should put on a Benefit.’
Even Archie sat up and began to take notice at this surprising suggestion. ‘What d’you mean, old love. A Benefit?’
‘Don’t call me “old love”, Charlotte snapped but quickly restored her angelic smile, in case any of her other adoring fans were present and should recognise her. ‘We could put on a show for the benefit of the soldiers, the wounded who are convalescing in the Lakes. And whatever money we make can go to the War Fund, for ammunition or whatever it is they need.’ Charlotte finished this surprisingly well thought out description to be met by stunned silence.
Kitty said, ‘That’s not half a bad idea.’
‘Where could we stage it?’ Archie asked, interested, despite his misgivings. There was always the fear that Charlotte might suddenly grow bored and the whole thing would turn into another nightmare of squabbling and histrionics.
But Charlotte had thought of this too. ‘In the old barn at Repstone. Kitty always said she wanted a theatre, well why not turn that into one. Intimate, of course, but it has potential, don’t you think?’
For the first time in years, Kitty felt a flood of warmth towards Charlotte. Wasn’t this what she had always dreamed of? A theatre of their own. Somewhere to put on their shows without the constant travelling. She reached forward and planted a kiss on her cheek. ‘Charlotte. I adore you.’
‘So do I, old thing,’ Archie said, crushing Charlotte to him in an all-embracing hug, so that she re-emerged looking flustered and dishevelled.
‘Oh dear God,’ Charlotte thought later, as the effects of the sherry and the young man’s flattery wore off. ‘What have I let myself in for?’
Chapter Twenty-Five
It was indeed like old times, the launch of the Lakeland Players all over again. Kitty felt she was in seventh heaven. Using Miss Frost’s trusty bicycle, with Dixie seated in a carrier on the back and Lad running alongside, she would pedal madly along the country lanes each morning from Carrackwater out to Repstone; the sun glinting off the blue-hazed Langdales to her right, the glittering lake to her left, with the promise of spring in the air. It was more than three miles of winding, undulating track but worth every bit of effort to have the opportunity to fulfil a dream.
But what did it all mean? What would be required to get this production of a Benefit production off the ground?
Long before Kitty could make any decisions about what to actually put into the show, it meant many late nights drawing plans for designing the new theatre. It meant the procuring of a dramatic licence, the purchase and installation of rows of theatre seats, (since Charlotte insisted they have only the best and Kitty did not disagree.) It involved the construction of a decent sized stage, complete with trapdoor, moveable set and wings, not forgetting a proscenium arch and curtains which pulled together smoothly without snagging. The barn had a high, cruck roof so could therefore provide decent flies in which to store raised scenery, but its long narrow shape with only an old dairy tacked on the end, meant a shortage of dressing rooms. Never mind, they could always use the house for now. And then there was the vexed question of lighting. Since there was neither gas, nor the new electricity system installed in the barn, they would have to resort to their old fashioned methods of acetylene lamps.
‘Anything but candles,’ Kitty insisted. ‘They are a positive hazard.'
But Charlotte would have none of that. ‘I’ve been complaining to Archie for months now that we should have electricity installed in the house. Heavens, simply everyone has rid themselves of smelly old gas mantles these days.’
So electricians were hired, cables laid, and in no time at all the newly built stage was fully equipped with footlights and spotlights, the very latest in lighting equipment, purchased from a specialised company in London at heaven knows what cost.
‘Can you afford all of this?’ Kitty asked, for whatever she suggested, Charlotte ordered and Archie paid for. It was really quite alarming.
‘Don’t ask me. Charlotte seems able to make my funds stretch twice as far as I can.’
Not that Kitty objected too strongly, because of course she was privately thinking beyond the Benefit. She hoped that this would not be a temporary project at all. It seemed such a waste to take all this time and trouble to turn an old barn into a theatre simply for a one night war effort, however worthy, when a little stretching of resources could achieve much more than that. Kitty wanted a long-term future for the Barn Theatre, as it came to be called, and a long-term future for the Lakeland Players.
And she meant to be the one to manage it, if the dre
am came true.
The Great War had caused a boom in theatre-going but had almost killed off good British drama. Archie was right when he said that anything vaguely intelligent had been pushed aside by this craze for entertaining the fighting men with the light-hearted and the spectacular. Politicians, newspapers, even the church, insisted that everyone needed to be cheered up and amused, and not be encouraged to use their brains as this was far too taxing.
Kitty went along with this to a degree, naturally. Hadn’t she personally seen the benefits of raising a young soldier’s morale while he was on a well earned rest from the Front? But here, back home in Lakeland, she longed to redress the imbalance. She wanted to bring back art to the theatre. Kitty longed to put on new plays, to discover new talent. Some of these could be comedies, of course they could, but in no way vulgar and she would retain some of the old favourites. Shakespeare, Ibsen, Shaw. Perhaps even Hindle Wakes, the new, and some would say, outrageous, Lancashire drama by Harold Brighouse. Kitty could rather empathise with Fanny Hawthorn off on her weekend ‘lark’ with her young man.
When she put this notion to Archie and Charlotte, neither of them raised any objections, though Charlotte did sink into thoughtful contemplation for quite a long while before asking: ‘Are you saying that we make the theatre permanent? You want to put more shows on after the Benefit?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’m not sure that I would have the time or the energy,’ Charlotte complained, and Kitty tactfully commented that there were other actresses she could hire, when Charlotte was too busy. ‘And she’d have to pay us rent, wouldn’t she Archie? We couldn’t allow you to use the barn for nothing Kitty.’
Kitty smiled. ‘Of course not. I wouldn’t expect you to. I’m sure we could agree a reasonable rent.’
Kitty Little Page 31
