Applause (The Dudley Sisters Saga Book 2)

by Madalyn Morgan

  ‘Yes,’ she said, taking Bill’s hand.

  ‘I would have liked you to stay with us for another couple of weeks.’

  ‘You told me a couple of weeks when you brought me here and that was two months ago. Besides--’ Margot looked up at Bill, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

  ‘Besides what, sweetheart?’

  Margot bit her bottom lip. ‘Bernard Rudman sent a bouquet and a get well card.’ Bill looked around the room. ‘They’re not here. I knew you wouldn’t be happy about it, so I put them in the communal sitting room. He’s written to me several times, asking when I’m coming back. He said my spot at The Talk was waiting for me when I’m ready. And he’s asked me to top the bill in cabaret, on Christmas Eve and New Year’s Eve.’

  A black cloud took Bill’s smile and his face turned scarlet. Exasperated, he snatched his hand away from Margot’s. ‘I should damn well leave you here!’ he shouted. ‘You’re your own worst enemy.’

  ‘It’s only once a week for an hour. That’s not too much, is it?’

  Bill threw his arms up in the air. ‘Do as you like, Margot, I’m past caring.’ He shook the doctor’s hand. ‘Thank you for everything you’ve done for her.’ He picked up Margot’s suitcase.

  ‘You’re welcome, Mr Burrell. And if there’s anything I can do in the future, don’t hesitate to get in touch. And you, madam,’ he said, turning to Margot. ‘No more pills and plenty of rest.’

  ‘I will. Bill will make sure of that,’ she said. ‘We’ll see you when I come back for my check-up, won’t we--’ Margot turned, expecting Bill to be waiting for her, but he had gone. ‘Better dash,’ she said, shaking the doctor’s hand. ‘When he realises I’m not with him, he’ll worry.’

  Margot walked along the main corridor, glancing down narrow passageways, but she couldn’t see Bill. In the foyer she spotted him standing outside the main doors. ‘I wondered where you’d got to,’ she said, taking her small vanity case from him and slipping her hand into his. ‘Come on, it’s too cold to hang about out here.’

  Bill led Margot to a waiting taxi and after stowing the suitcase, sat opposite her. Making herself comfortable on the back seat, she looked out of the window. As the cab pulled into the traffic, she sighed. There were reminders of the war everywhere. The cab slowed in advance of a sign saying DETOUR and Margot looked up at a badly damaged building that had once been a hotel. It had been shored up, but loomed dangerously above a crater in the road. As the cab sat in traffic, Margot watched an army bomb disposal team lift the bomb out of the hole with a crane. For a moment it hung in the air threatening to fall. Her head began to throb. She crossed the narrow space between the seats and sat next to Bill. With her head on his shoulder, Margot cuddled up to the man she loved.

  The following morning, Margot opened her eyes, stretched her legs and sighed contentedly. Tears of happiness spilled onto her pillow. She was home – and she was safe. Soft pastel green wallpaper instead of stark white walls and bedroom furniture instead of a solitary chair, which was all they allowed her in the clinic, met her sleepy gaze. She smiled through her tears. When they first moved into the apartment, Margot dragged Bill all over London looking for pretty bedroom furniture. They had ended up with what she called a boring utility suite. Looking at it now, it was the most beautiful furniture she had ever seen.

  Still glowing with love, Margot reached up and pulled Bill’s pillow towards her. She buried her head in it and, breathing slowly, rhythmically, closed her eyes. Bill hadn’t said a word in the taxi on the way home from the clinic. She could feel his anger. But as soon as they were home, he took Margot to bed and made love to her, pleasuring her, and then waiting for her, so they reached a loving climax together. Exhausted, they had fallen asleep in each other’s arms. Margot felt a stirring in the pit of her stomach. She wanted Bill again. She inhaled deeply, suppressed the need, and slipped from between the sheets. She put on her dressing gown, brushed her hair and thanked God for her life – and for her wonderful husband. Things would be back to normal now Bill was home.

  ‘Bill?’ A small fire burned in the grate and the table was laid for breakfast, but Bill wasn’t there. Margot touched the teapot. It was still warm. She took a slice of toast from the rack and bit off a corner. ‘Bill!’ she called again, looking in the kitchen. He wasn’t there either. She heard a vehicle enter the Mews and ran to the window. A black cab pulled up beside Bill and his suitcase. She hammered on the window. ‘Bill?’ He looked up with sad eyes. ‘Don’t go!’ She ran through the apartment and down the stairs. As she opened the door the cab pulled away. ‘Bill!’ she screamed, running barefoot into the Mews.

  Bill looked out of the back window and mouthed, ‘I love you.’ A second later he had gone, swallowed up in the traffic on Tottenham Court Road. Margot fell to her knees and sobbed. A passer-by helped her up and walked her back to the apartment. Tears coursing down her cheeks, shivering uncontrollably from the bitter winter fog, she stumbled inside and threw herself at the door. It slammed shut. Sobbing, she took hold of the stair-rail and pulled herself up a stair at a time. In a daze she staggered into the bedroom and crawled into bed.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Dr Thurlingham thought for a moment before looking again at Margot’s notes. ‘No, Margot. It’s too early to go back to work. You’re doing well, but you can’t rush these things. It’ll soon be Christmas. Use the holiday to relax, recharge your batteries, get to know your husband again without the pressure of having to perform every night. We’ll discuss your return to the theatre again in the New Year.’

  Assuring the doctor she would take his advice, Margot made an appointment for January 24th 1946, and left the clinic. As soon as she was outside she hailed a cab.

  ‘Where to, Miss?’

  ‘The Prince Albert Theatre on the Strand,’ she said, jumping in. ‘And put your foot down, I’m late for rehearsal.’

  Margot didn’t need Dr Thurlingham’s permission. She would have liked it, but it was academic, as Bill would have said. She hadn’t only accepted Bernard Rudman’s offer to do cabaret at The Talk of London every Saturday night, she had been to lunch with Natalie and Anton, and when Anton offered her the role of the Good Fairy to George’s Wicked Witch with Betsy as Princess Aurora in Sleeping Beauty she had accepted without a second thought. And that night, when she met her friends at the Prince Albert Club to celebrate the three of them working together, Salvatore asked if she would like to do a late-night spot again. Margot said she’d think about it but she knew, as he did, that she would do it.

  Margot threw herself into work. She was so busy during the day, learning new songs for her cabaret show in addition to rehearsing Sleeping Beauty at the theatre, that she was able to put Bill to the back of her mind. And at night, performing at the Albert Club or The Talk of London, she was, as Dr Thurlingham had said, Margot Dudley, star! But afterwards, at home on her own, she swung from missing Bill and loving him to being angry and hating him – depending on how much she’d had to drink. Alone in the apartment she became aware of every sound – outside and inside – and felt vulnerable and frightened. She asked the cab drivers who brought her home at night to wait until she’d checked the flat. When she had put on all the lights and looked in every room, she waved out of the window – only then was she content for the cabbies to leave. She thought she was going mad. She ran downstairs a dozen times to make sure she’d locked the street door, and left the wireless and lights on when she went to bed. If she didn’t cry herself to sleep she’d toss and turn with the lyrics of songs running around in her head, or she’d lie for hours pining for Bill. Already becoming paranoid, her mind raced through the gamut of emotions until she became confused and anxious.

  As the weeks went by, Margot’s workload took its toll. She wasn’t sleeping and began to lose focus in rehearsals. She tried to catch up on Sundays, staying in bed until lunchtime. But she needed to work too, so she learned songs and routines in the afternoon – as she had done when she was an usherette �
� but it didn’t always work. When Monday morning came she was often exhausted and had to drag herself out of bed, but she didn’t take any pills.

  Margot opened her eyes as soon as the small hammer on top of the alarm clock hit the bell. Eight o’clock. She sat on the side of the bed for a second and yawned. ‘Breakfast,’ she said, leaping to her feet. Tea and toast would do but first she stripped the bed and put on clean sheets, in case Bill stayed overnight. She felt the butterflies of excitement in the pit of her stomach. She wanted him, needed him, it had been--. She swept the memory of the last time they had made love from her mind and set about cleaning the apartment. When she had finished she checked each room. She wanted it to look perfect for Bill – and it did.

  Breakfast ignored, Margot bathed and, wrapped in a bath towel, went into the bedroom. She took a pair of smart navy-blue slacks from the wardrobe and the powder blue cardigan she’d bought to go with them from the drawer and laid them on the bed. Then from her bedside table she took the three-string necklace of pearls that Bill had sent her. Dropping the towel, she put on the creamy pearls. They looked perfect; just a little deeper in colour than her skin. She then put on her underwear, slacks and cardigan and looked in the mirror. She unbuttoned the two tiny mother-of-pearl discs at the top of the cardigan to show off the necklace. She had opened the small parcel as soon as it arrived and read the card over and over. She picked it up and read it again. “Happy Christmas, darling Margot. Hope to see you soon” and three kisses.

  Natalie had invited Bill to watch the show with her and Anton in their box. Margot hoped that meant he would go with them to the first night party. With this in mind, she had bought a simple but beautiful dress with the remainder of her clothes coupons, plus seventeen pounds. The thought of spending all that money on a dress… But if Bill liked it, it would be worth it.

  Bill hadn’t actually said he was coming to the opening night of Sleeping Beauty, he said he’d try, but Margot had convinced herself he’d be there. She looked again at the pearls. They were beautiful. She’d keep them on in case Bill came to the theatre before the show. She was desperate to see him and hoped-- Her thoughts were interrupted by the familiar sound of her taxi arriving. ‘Damn.’ She ran to the window and waved. The cabbie put up his hand in recognition. Quickly she buttered a couple of rounds of bread and made a cheese sandwich, in case Bill was hungry when he arrived, if he arrived. Before she left she scribbled a note telling him how much she loved and missed him – and how much she was looking forward to seeing him after the show. Coat over her arm, handbag and keys in her hand, she locked the door and jumped into the cab.

  ‘Come in!’ Margot said, thinking it was stage management knocking. ‘Surely it isn’t beginners already-- Bill!’ she cried, as her husband entered the dressing room. ‘You’re here. I don’t believe it. I didn’t think you were coming,’ she said, running to him and holding onto him as if she’d never let him go again.

  ‘I haven’t missed an opening night yet, and I don’t intend to start now,’ he said.

  ‘Beginners, Miss Dudley,’ the stage manager called. ‘On stage please!’

  ‘I’d better go. See you after the show,’ Bill said, kissing Margot before making his way to the door.

  ‘When I blow a kiss into the audience, I shall direct it at you in the Goldmans’ box. Oh Bill,’ Margot said as he was leaving, ‘I do love you.’

  ‘I love you too. Have a wonderful show.’

  ‘I will now,’ she said as he closed the door.

  Sleeping Beauty was an amazing spectacle. The songs and dances, contrasting characters, costumes and set were magnificent – and as always there was a standing ovation at the curtain.

  Bill accompanied Margot to the first night party with Natalie and Anton Goldman. They left after half an hour for The Talk of London, where Margot was in cabaret. Natalie and Anton arrived with George and Betsy as Margot began her last number, the popular American hit, “Moonlight Serenade”.

  ‘Thank you for calling in,’ she said, joining them at the bar.

  ‘We must go home, Margot,’ Natalie said, kissing her on the cheek. ‘It has been a long and very exciting day.

  ‘We’re off too.’ George and Betsy kissed Margot and then Bill. ‘See you tomorrow night, Margot,’ Anton said, before shaking Bill’s hand.

  After waving their friends off, Margot pulled Bill onto the dance floor and they danced into the early hours.

  For the next week, Margot and Bill spent their mornings making love, followed by a late breakfast. Arms entwined, they walked in the park, only letting go of each other to feed the ducks. At night, walking into the apartment after the show and seeing Bill sitting in the armchair listening to the wireless brought tears to Margot’s eyes. Life was perfect.

  She came off stage at The Talk of London the following Saturday night and joined Bill at their table. He was looking thoughtful. She held her breath, sensing something was wrong. ‘What’s the matter, Bill?’

  ‘You are as wonderful in cabaret as you are in a play or a musical, Margot,’ he said, looking into her eyes. ‘I understand now that performing, singing and dancing is your life. And I shall never ask you to give it up again.’

  Margot’s eyes glistened with tears of joy. ‘Does that mean you’ll--?’

  ‘Let me finish. It has been a wonderful week – and there will be others – but--’

  ‘Of course there’ll be others – as many as we want.’ Margot’s voice began to tremble. She searched Bill’s face. ‘You’re not staying with me, are you?’ He didn’t answer. ‘Bill?’ A feeling like grief engulfed her. ‘Please don’t leave me,’ she cried.

  ‘Shush,’ he said, putting his arms around her and holding her tightly. ‘As much as I love you, and you know I do, I’m going back to the Midlands.’ Margot began to protest but Bill put his finger on her lips. ‘Try to understand, love, that while I don’t want to be without you, I don’t want to live in London. In the war I had a job to do, a reason for being here. I don’t any more.’ Margot buried her head in Bill’s chest. ‘This is your life,’ he whispered, ‘your career. I have no right to ask you to give it up to live with me in a semi-detached somewhere in the country.’ Tears streamed down Margot’s face. ‘We want different things, Margot,’ Bill said, wiping away the tears and then kissing her on each cheek. ‘I’m going to give you your freedom.’

  ‘You’re not going to divorce me, are you, Bill? I love you.’

  ‘No, you silly goose. I love you too. I’ve never loved anyone but you, you know that. But I’m going back to the Midlands. I’ll look for a house,’ he said with a catch in his voice, ‘and when you’re ready, if you’re ever ready, to come home--’ Bill broke down in tears.

  ‘Bill, don’t cry. Please, Bill.’

  ‘Come on. Let’s go home,’ he said, helping Margot to her feet. ‘I want to catch the early train in the morning.’

  Looking through the cards and telegrams on the post table, Margot bit back the tears. ‘Has Bill phoned, Stan?’

  The stage doorman shook his head. ‘Not today, Miss.’

  It had been two months since Bill left London – two of the loneliest months of Margot’s life. ‘Never mind, I wasn’t expecting him to ring,’ she said, forcing a smile to hide the disappointment she felt. Except for the first time she appeared on stage, when she took over from Goldie, Bill had always sent her a good luck telegram. She swallowed hard and looked over her shoulder. ‘He’s been working all hours. I don’t expect he had time to get to the post office.’ She picked up the envelopes with her name on and dropped the rest on the table with a carefree shrug. ‘See you later.’

  ‘If-- When the telegram comes, Miss, I’ll bring it along,’ Stan called after her.

  Margot didn’t turn. ‘Thanks, Stan.’ She had asked the same question of Stan every night for weeks and every night the answer had been the same. No card, no telegram, not even a message. Overwhelmed with disappointment she entered the dressing room and began to cry. She kicked the door shu
t and sobbed.

  Looking in the mirror above her dressing table, Margot looked to the left and then to the right. With carefully applied makeup she had an English Rose complexion. The fashionably high waves at the front of her hair accentuated her cheekbones and the roll in the nape of her slender neck was flattering to her jaw-line. She looked every inch a star. She had achieved fame and stardom. She was topping the bill at The Talk of London and starring in the most popular West End theatre show, so why was she so desperately unhappy? Great pear-shaped tears fell from her eyes. She was tired. She was tired and she was lonely – and she wanted Bill.

  Margot reached inside the drawer of her dressing table for her handkerchief and found the pep pills that the private doctor had given her. Turning them over in her hand, she recalled the feelings she experienced after taking them. One stopped her from feeling sad. Two made her feel happy and stopped her thinking about Bill. But three made her paranoid. She would never take three again.

  At the sink, she filled a glass with water. Her hands were shaking, so she put the glass down before taking the top off the bottle of pills. She inhaled deeply and caught sight of herself in the mirror above the sink. The beautiful star known as Margot Dudley was looking into the mirror, but the woman who haunted her dreams – the haggard old woman with dull unseeing eyes, the woman dependent on drugs and alcohol – looked back at her.

  ‘No!’ Margot screamed, and she threw the bottle and the glass at the wall. Immediately regretting what she’d done, she fell to her knees and crawled around until she’d found every pill, putting two into her mouth before returning the rest to the bottle. She retched as the bitter-tasting pills began to dissolve. Hauling herself to her feet she ran to the sink and spat them out. She turned on the tap and cupped her hands under the running water, scooping it into her mouth, swilling it round and gargling and then spitting it out, but the bitter taste remained. She slid to her knees desperate for something, anything, to take away the vile taste. Brandy! There was a small bottle in the cupboard by the chaise. On all fours she crawled to the cupboard, opened it and took out the brandy. The glass was smashed so she unscrewed the cap and drank from the bottle. She shuddered and shook her head. The strong spirit overpowered the taste of the pills as it burned its way down her throat, but she’d need another drink to make her feel better. She put the bottle to her mouth again and gagged at the smell. Still on the floor, she leant her head against the seat of the settee.