“Best place to relax,” Sid said. “Fancy a Rosy Lee?”
“I’d love a sandwich, actually, and I won’t say no to the tea, Sid. I haven’t had lunch.”
“Comin’ right up.” Sid headed for the door, then stopped abruptly. “The miss was ’ere last night.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I dint know. Just found out.”
James looked at him closely. “Who told you she was in the theater?”
“That usherette I know, Doris, who lives down Bow way. She recognized the miss.”
“Why on earth do you call her the miss, Sid? It sounds rather strange.”
“She ain’t a missus.”
“That’s true. And you probably didn’t realize she has a title like her sister. Call her Lady Dulcie when she’s here.”
“She’s coming back then, is she?” Sid probed, always eager to know everything about James’s private life. Always protective of him.
“I bloody well hope so!” James exclaimed, and winked at his dresser.
Laughing, Sid rushed out without another word. Staring after him, James shook his head, bemused, and sat down at the small desk. He rummaged around in the bottom drawer and found his treasured copy of Henry V, filled with all of his notations.
As he flicked through the pages of the play, he wondered if he should suggest it to Felix. Perhaps he ought to have a go at it again. After Hamlet closed, and after he’d had a rest. A long rest.
But Felix wouldn’t agree, and neither would Constance, he was certain of that. They would want him to do something very different, take a break from Shakespeare. And they were usually right. They had guided his career for eighteen years, and he was thankful he had them.
The phone on the dressing table rang, and he jumped up, went to answer it. “It’s Felix, Jamie.”
“Hello, Felix. Something wrong? You sound angry.”
“I’m not angry, just perturbed. Helen’s brother, Andy Malone, called in for her. Apparently she’s ill.”
“Oh bugger! What’s wrong? Did he tell you?”
“He mumbled something about a female problem, and that she’d only be out a couple of days. Back on Monday. I thought you’d better know you’ve got the understudy tonight. But Pauline’s rather good. Anyway, you always carry the play.”
“I like Pauline, and you’re right, she is quite a good Ophelia. I’ll manage. Sorry to hear about Helen. She has looked off it lately … sort of done in.”
“There’s something troubling her, I think, and as soon as she’s better I’ll have a word with her, attempt to get to the bottom of it.”
“Better make it a gentle word,” James said.
“I will. I’ve been trying to get hold of you since one-thirty, Jamie, and you’re in early today. Is everything all right with you?”
“Never felt better. And yes, I went out early. Around the time you were probably ringing my flat. I went to Cecily Swann’s shop. To see Dulcie.”
There was a silence. A moment later, Felix asked, “Dulcie Ingham?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I’ve fallen for her, Felix. And rather heavily.”
“I’ll be right over,” Felix exclaimed, and hung up without saying another word.
James looked at the receiver, laughed, and then put it back in the cradle.
Within a few minutes Sid came rushing into the dressing room carrying a large mug of tea and a brown paper bag. These he placed on the desk. “Here’s yer mug of Rosy Lee, and I got yer favorite sandwich from the café. Fried egg on bread. Just like yer mum used ter make.”
“Thanks, Sid.”
“It’s a good fing I’m ’ere ter look after yer,” Sid told him, opening the top drawer of the desk, taking out a plate and a white napkin.
James leaned back in the chair and said, “Along with three sisters, plus Constance. Let’s not forget that team.”
Sid nodded. “Do yer fink I do? And they’d never bloody let me.” He put the brown bag on the plate. “Better eat. It’s still warm. I spect yer know Helen’s not coming in. Poorly, she is.” He always said “Helen” with great emphasis on the aitch, mostly because he usually dropped them.
“Felix told me while you were out getting the sandwich. I can’t help thinking there’s something really seriously wrong with her.” Standing, James walked over to the desk.
“She looks half dead these days,” Sid announced dourly.
“Please, Sid.”
“Oh, sorry. I fink it’s man trouble, if yer get me drift.”
“I do.” James opened the brown paper bag and took out the sandwich, realizing how hungry he was when he bit into it.
“It’s good, ain’t it?” Sid asked, watching James munching on the sandwich.
James nodded.
Sid said, “I’ll let yer eat,” and disappeared through the door.
* * *
Mum, James thought, as he ate his sandwich. He only vaguely remembered her now, but he certainly remembered how she had lovingly made him fried-egg sandwiches, baked apples, and a dish he still enjoyed, cottage pie. And sometimes, far back in his head, he heard the echo of her singing, and his father telling her she sang like a nightingale. Little things like that came back to him occasionally. Most of the memories of the woman herself had faded over the years.
She had died when he was seven, in 1900, and he had been taken over by his eldest sister, Ruby, who had loved him to death and put him before everybody else in the family, including her husband, Ted Mount, who, nonetheless, had loved him too.
And he, little Jimmy, had loved her to death back, clinging to her for dear life, like a tiny barnacle on a sturdy boat. She was his anchor, his protector, his safe haven. And she was very beautiful. Surely it was she who had given him his taste for beautiful women. Where else had he got it from, except from looking at her? Golden hair, pale blue eyes, skin as white as driven snow. And as smooth as silk. Ruby, who always smelled of everything clean … scented soap, lemons, and lavender, and had stroked his hair and wiped away his tears.
She was clever and strove to push them all up the ladder, to better places, better lives. There was something fine about Ruby, and her dignity was always in place. And so was her pride and self-respect.
Their neighbors in Bow Common Lane, where they had lived, spoke well of her, and with something like awe. “There goes Ruby Mount,” they would say when they saw her walking down the street. “Tall and proud and beautiful. Elegant like a queen. She that slaves all day and night, cleaning the house ’til it shines, cooking the meals, and ironing the white shirts, sending her men out looking starched from head to toe. And handsome too, with shining faces and slicked-back hair. And look at their shoes, like glass they are. That’s Ruby Mount. And see how she looks after the boy. Little Jimmy Wood. Her youngest brother, ironed from head to toe as well, just like the others. A mother she is to him. That’s Ruby Mount, walking down there, proud and elegant in her Sunday best.”
That’s what the neighbors in Bow had said about his Ruby. And then there was his middle sister, Dolores, who had never stopped tutoring him. Making him read and read until the book fell out of his hands as he fell asleep in the chair. A slave driver, but loving. And then there was Faye, the youngest of the sisters, who had a voice as clear as a bell, like their mother’s had been. It was the musical Faye who had taught him to sing, to recite poetry and the plays of Shakespeare, until he was hoarse. And she had fine-tuned his God-given talent for acting. Those were the three Wood sisters, who had made him who he was by the age of fifteen.
He had two brothers, David and Owen. They had taught him as much as they knew about being a man. How to box, fight back if he was picked on at St. Saviour’s in Northumbria Street, the school they had attended. From these two big brothers he had learned how to run fast, climb the tallest wall, ride a bike, and catch a fish. They had even given him lessons in cricket and bought him a bat.
It was David who had worked on the docks with t
heir father. West India Docks, close to Bow, one of the greatest docks on the busy River Thames. Strong men, his father and his brothers. Owen had been trained as an engineer. When the Great War came, David had rushed off to join the British Army, gone to fight for king and country. Owen had not passed the medical, and David never came back. Their father had grieved for a second time. For his eldest son.
Now Owen was an engineer, brilliant at what he did, building enormous bridges that spanned the widest rivers around the world, which brought him accolades and wealth and prizes galore.
The Woods. They came from a mixture of English and Welsh stock, and were proud of it. Their father, Alfred, had married Jenny Jones, from the Rhondda, a lovely girl with a song in her heart and forever on her lips. A black-haired beauty who had fallen in love with the handsome Alfred, a Cockney through and through. And this bright young couple had created their little clan, the Woods of Bow. They had had six children, and all had survived childhood. And they were brought up to fear God, honor the king, have good morals, compassion for others, and loyalty to their siblings.
Alfred, the docker from Bow, had died eight years ago. But he had lived long enough to see his youngest son’s name shining in bright lights on the marquee of a West End theater. “The proudest moment of my life,” he had told James that night. He was somewhat awed that this mesmerizing actor with the thrilling voice, who stood onstage to thunderous applause, belonged to him.
Memories, James thought, thank God we have them. They help us to recall what’s long gone, and we can live again in the past with those we once loved. For a moment or two, at least.
James glanced at the door as it flew open, and Felix walked in purposefully.
* * *
Closing the door behind him, and leaning against it, Felix threw James a long, searching look without saying one word.
Standing up, James stepped forward, gave his manager a warm smile, and embraced him.
Felix hugged him back, but still remained silent.
“You got here quickly, Felix. You must have run all the way,” James said, eyeing him curiously, then grinning.
“Actually, I didn’t, but I certainly felt like it, after hearing your latest news. It brought me up with a start, I’ve got to admit that.”
“It did me, too,” James answered, walking over to his dressing table, lowering himself into the chair. “Don’t stand there, Felix. Why don’t you sit on the couch? It’s very comfortable for an interrogation.”
This was said lightheartedly, in a joking manner, and Felix had to laugh. “Is that what I look like, Jamie? An interrogator?”
“From the Spanish Inquisition. Go ahead, start questioning me. I’ll be glad to talk, but there’s not much to tell, actually. At least not many details to relay.”
Felix sat back on the couch, gazing at him, caught up for a moment in the aura of this man and his extraordinary presence, wondering where it came from. Inside himself, he supposed.
James had adopted his usual position when he sat in a chair, with his long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, his body slightly slumped. And yet, however relaxed he was, he retained his elegance. Bred in the bone, Felix decided.
James Brentwood had IT, Felix thought. Whatever IT was. A combination of staggering looks and a charisma that spelled glamour. Even when Felix had first met him all those years ago, at the children’s theater school, he had had the beginning of it. The handsomeness, a certain bearing, a way of holding himself, of walking decisively, striding out, holding his head high. At fifteen he had a patrician air about him, and it was more pronounced now.
Confidence. Belief in himself. The sense he was going places, instilled in him by Ruby. And the other two sisters, but mostly Ruby. Those three young women had never had any doubts about their gorgeous, talented, versatile brother. They knew he would be a star.
They just hadn’t realized what the magnitude of the stardom would be, the road he would leap along, taking everything in his stride, without vanity or boasting, almost humble in a certain way. And often surprised himself by his own huge success. And he had become, over the years, a well-balanced man, with integrity, decency, and compassion. A good man, in fact, and Felix was full of admiration for him. He was also protective of James Brentwood, as was Constance, who cherished him.
“Why are you staring at me like that?” James asked, interrupting Felix’s thoughts. “You’re really giving me the once-over.” He sat up straighter, somewhat abruptly, and shook his head. “I thought you’d come over to the theater to ask me about Dulcie.”
“I have, but for a split second I was sidetracked by you, how you look today. Pretty damn good for an actor who’s been playing Hamlet for almost a year, and without a break,” Felix improvised, not wanting to reveal his true thoughts. He knew how much James hated it when people gushed over him.
“Gee whiz, Felix! And here was I thinking you were wondering what the Lady Dulcie saw in me,” James quipped, his dark eyes suddenly filled with amusement.
“Walking over here, I reminded myself that I came into this dressing room only two days ago and found you and Dulcie here together. And I couldn’t help wondering then what was going on between you.”
“I did also. For the first few seconds. But within a very short time she and I were staring at each other, practically eyeball to eyeball, and we both understood we had recognized each other. We’d never met before, but we knew each other. Hard to explain … the shock of recognition is quite astonishing.”
“I understand what you’re saying, Jamie, and the clever French call it a ‘coup de foudre’ … struck by lightning.”
“That’s exactly what it was! I also accepted that we had made a pact, unspoken though it was, and it happened again when we were at Rules … that peculiar feeling that we had connected on a very deep level.”
“I remember how you were gazing at each other most of the evening.” Felix cleared his throat. “And today you were compelled to go to the shop where she works, because you just had to see her again. Am I correct?”
“Naturally. Nobody knows me better than you.”
“I came over because I sensed you needed to talk to me.”
“I did. I do, Felix. And when I said there wasn’t much to tell, there isn’t. And yet something quite momentous happened. My entire life was changed today. And so was hers. Let me explain … we held each other tightly and kissed several times. And I confirmed that we were having tea at Claridge’s on Sunday.”
“Claridge’s,” Felix repeated, a reflective look crossing his face. “Close to home, Jamie.”
“Yes, it is. But we will not be going up to my flat in Brook Street, if that’s what you’re thinking. I’m not looking to have an affair.”
Felix nodded his understanding.
James said, “I have fallen in love for the first time in my life. I am going to marry Dulcie.”
There was no doubt in Felix’s mind that James meant every word. He wasn’t given to loose talk, and furthermore he sounded serious. “I must admit you never mentioned being in love or getting married to me ever, even though you’ve had several romantic relationships. You’ve always referred to those entanglements as ‘infatuations.’”
“And that’s what they were. The reason I broke up with Allegra Norman last year was because she wanted me to marry her. That wasn’t possible. I couldn’t because I knew the marriage wouldn’t last very long. With Dulcie it’s quite different. I’m in love. And I’m fairly sure she’s a virgin, and I aim to keep it that way until we’re married.”
Felix exclaimed, “You’ll have to have a will of iron, Jamie, to keep your hands off that girl. She’s impossibly beautiful, and undoubtedly completely bowled over by you … let’s not forget who you are.”
“She feels the same way I do. She’s in love, I can tell. I shall ask her to marry me on Sunday.”
“And I’m positive she’ll say yes,” Felix assured him.
James was silent for a moment, before saying, “We
belong together, she and I. And she’s said enough to me already to make me understand her true feelings.”
James shifted in the chair, leaned forward, his expression earnest as he focused on Felix. “Her father is abroad. But he’ll be returning in two weeks, and will be in London. I’m going to see him immediately, ask his permission to marry her. And Dulcie will arrange for us to be married as quickly as possible.”
“How old is Dulcie, James? She looks awfully young and innocent.”
“Eighteen. And you’re correct, she looks even younger. But she’s actually quite wise for her age, and practical. Dulcie is marvelous, very spontaneous, forthright, says what comes into her mind. She’s also hilarious, makes me laugh, makes me feel good in general.”
“It’s quite an age difference, though … you’re a thirty-three-year-old man who’s been around, experienced, extremely sophisticated.”
“That doesn’t worry me. Dulcie told me Hugo is forty-five, fifteen years older than Daphne. Her sister, Diedre, is about to marry a man who is forty-eight to her thirty-three.”
“How interesting. It seems the Ingham women like older men … runs in the family apparently. And I will say this, Jamie, you look happier than I’ve seen you for a long time.”
“I am. Actually, what I feel is complete.” There was a pause, and then he continued, “There’s something odd I must tell you, something which I found fascinating. Dulcie knows all about the suspension of disbelief, and I’m absolutely certain she figured that out herself. No one told her.”
Felix gave him a hard stare. “Few civilians ever understand that. Tell me what she said.”
He did.
Felix was impressed. “She must be very intelligent, obviously. But she was awfully quiet at Rules, so there was no way to tell. Too absorbed in you, of course. Smitten.”
James laughed. “As I am with her.” He then confided, “I want to do everything right. Conduct myself properly. Felix, that is why I wish to see her father. And then we can proceed from there.”
“He’s not going to say no, Jamie. And don’t even mention to me that you’re a docker’s son from the East End and she’s the daughter of an earl. Those class things don’t matter in the world we live in today. It’s 1926, for God’s sake, and the world has changed.”
The Cavendon Women Page 25
