Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
I sighed and flopped back against the pillow.
Shit!
What now? What should I do?
I’d have to go back downstairs and tell Alison and Bennett that I hadn’t managed to persuade Cayla to take on the role of Florence. A deep, sinking disappointment clutched at me.
And what about Evan when I told him? I’d look a right idiot. I felt like I’d let down the Lords big time. Even though I hadn’t said it was a done deal with Cayla, a tiny part of me had assured myself that there wouldn’t be a problem, and that she’d agree to do it.
So much for that.
I sank my upper teeth into my bottom lip.
We wanted to get moving on the tour; to start getting everything in place. But how could we do that if we didn’t have Cayla as Florence?
I jumped up from the bed, pushed my phone into the pocket of my sundress and grabbed my straw bag from the nearby chair. My grandpa always used to say that you never gave up on anything until you’d exhausted every other avenue.
Maybe I should’ve gone and spoken to Cayla face to face rather than suggesting the idea over the phone? Although I’d done that the last time with no success.
I darted over to the oval mirror on the dressing table, rummaged around in my bag and located my rose-pink lipstick. I put on a fresh dash and gave my loose hair a ruffle.
Right. Time to try another avenue then.
* * *
Gillian’s eyes widened at the sight of me hovering on her doorstep.
‘Oh, hi there, Daisy. How are you?’
‘I’m good, thanks.’ In fact, I wasn’t good. My insides were churning with worry that my tour was going to be blown out of the water before it had even started. I glanced over Gillian’s shoulder. ‘Is Cayla around?’
‘Aye. She is. Come in.’ She beckoned me inside and closed the door behind me. There was a vase of sunflowers on top of the nearby bureau. She lowered her voice. ‘I’m so sorry about her attitude the other day. She was so rude!’ Her cheeks lit up with embarrassment. ‘She isn’t normally like that.’
‘Don’t worry about it. I think I caught her off guard, and no doubt she was stressing over her exams.’
From upstairs, I could hear Sabrina Carpenter’s vocals wafting our way.
Gillian tutted. ‘Well, that’s very understanding of you.’ She moved to the bottom of the stairs. ‘Cayla? Cayla!’
A bedroom door clicked open. ‘What is it, Mum? You want me to turn it down?’
‘No. Well, yes. That would be an idea.’ Gillian fired me a loaded glance. ‘There’s someone here to see you. It’s Daisy.’
At first, I didn’t think Cayla was going to appear.
She didn’t answer.
There was just the sound of Sabrina Carpenter, who’d finished singing about espresso and had moved on to tasting someone.
Gillian and I swapped awkward smiles.
After what seemed like ten minutes, there were a couple of creaks on the floorboards and the sound of feet padding down the carpeted staircase.
Cayla materialised wearing a pair of denim cutoff shorts and a cropped T-shirt with a silver heart on it. Her hair was piled up on top of her head in a messy topknot.
‘Hi, Cayla,’ I smiled at her.
Cayla picked at the frayed hem of her shorts. ‘Hi.’ She stared down at her bare, painted toes. They were sporting zesty green polish. Her eyes flicked up from the carpet to meet mine. ‘If you’ve come to try and talk me round about acting again, you’re wasting your time.’
‘Cayla!” gasped Gillian. ‘Don’t be so rude. For pity’s sake, Daisy is only trying to help.’
‘It’s alright,’ I reassured her.
I made a move towards the front door. ‘I’ll go. Leave you to your revision.’
Then I turned around. ‘I just thought you might be interested in telling the story of a young woman just like you, who wanted to be an actor as well. This is what I tried to talk to you about on the phone. Except her dreams were snatched away from her.’ I eyed her tall, lean figure.
‘She never had the opportunities you have.’
Gillian twisted the front door handle.
Cayla tried not to look interested. ‘Was that Florence? The girl you mentioned on the phone?’
‘Yes. She wanted to act, but in those days, it wasn’t easy for someone like her.’
Cayla examined me from under her long fringe. She pushed it out of her eyes. ‘When was this?’
‘She started working at The Ramblings in 1905 as a scullery maid, but she was, by all accounts, a talented and driven young lady, just like you.’
One of Cayla’s hands rested on top of the bannister. Her dolphin dress ring sparkled on her thumb. ‘And you said she wanted to act?’
I nodded. ‘Yes, she did. More than anything. She appeared in a few local productions, but she always dreamt of making it onto the West End stage.’
‘But then she got blamed for stealing that vase?’ Cayla’s eyes were widening behind her fringe.
‘Yes.’
‘But she was innocent.’ I tried not to smile at Cayla’s entranced expression. I had already told her this, but it obviously didn’t all register.
I nodded. ‘That’s right. But by the time it was revealed she didn’t take the vase, poor Florence had passed away.’
Cayla pushed her hands into the pockets of her denim cutoffs. Gillian was stood beside me with her arms folded, riveted. ‘I’ve never heard this story before, and that’s saying something. You can’t keep much a secret around here. The poor little thing.’
Cayla processed what I was telling her. ‘So, she never made it to the West End?’ Her eyes were soulful.
‘No, she didn’t. She passed away at the age of eighteen.’
‘Oh, the poor lamb,’ gasped Gillian, every bit as gripped by the tragic story as her daughter was.
Shock filled Cayla’s pretty face.
‘What did she die of?’ asked Gillian.
‘Pneumonia.’
Gillian gave her head a disbelieving shake. ‘How did you find out about all this?’
I thought of Louise and the detailed journal that her late father compiled. ‘Let’s just say it was thanks to someone I know.’
Gillian widened her eyes. ‘Like I said, I was born and raised in Forrest Bank, and I’ve never heard of her.’
I pulled a face. ‘I get the impression that the Lords don’t like to talk about it. It’s not a part of The Ramblings past that they’re proud of.’
Cayla frowned over at me. The late morning sun glided in through the pane of glass in the front door and slid down over her bare feet. ‘It’s terrible. What a tragic story.’
I took a step towards the teenager. ‘It is, but that’s why the Lords want to tell Florence’s life story now.
They want to stage a tour at The Ramblings regularly and show what actually happened.
’ I steeled myself again. ‘And that’s what I wanted to ask you, Cayla.
I think you’d make the perfect Florence. ’
The teenage girl’s cheeks pinged bright red. Her eyes bored into the hall carpet.
‘I wasn’t just trying to boost your ego, Cayla. I meant what I said about you being a very talented actor. I think you’d do young Florence justice.’
Gillian broke into the conversation. ‘And it’s a tour of the house, you say?’
‘Yes, and it’ll tell the story of what happened.
There will be an entrance fee, of course, and if it goes well it’s hoped that the tour could be held two to three times a week with a rota of actors to play Florence, the piano teacher who teaches her to read and write, and the Lords.
’ I exchanged meaningful looks between the two of them, mentally willing Cayla to get on board with this. ‘The script has just been written.’
‘Did you write it?’ asked Cayla.
‘Yes.’ I pushed out a smile. ‘With the help of Evan Lord.’
‘Alison and Bennett Lord’s oldest son,’ supplied Gillian to her daughter.
Cayla’s eyebrows lifted under her fringe. ‘Isn’t he the dark-haired one? He’s lush.’
Snapshots of lush Evan lodged themselves in front of me. I mentally batted them to one side. ‘So, what do you say, Cayla? Will you help us? Will you be our Florence?’
Cayla looked agonised. She fidgeted at the foot of the stairs, looking everywhere but at me and her Mum. ‘Thanks for thinking of me. Really. I am flattered.’ She hesitated. ‘But the answer is still no.’
My stomach plummeted to the floor and Gillian let out an audible groan. ‘But why, sweetheart? Daisy wouldn’t have asked you if she didn’t have faith in you. She thinks you can do it.’
Cayla’s eyes misted over.
‘You’ve almost finished sitting your Advanced Highers now, and it would look great on your CV.’
‘Don’t you get it?!’ erupted Cayla. ‘I’m not an actor anymore. I’m not interested.’
‘But why, love?’
Cayla turned and prepared to return back upstairs. She grabbed at her bun and wriggled it in frustration. ‘It was a dream, that’s all.’
‘That’s what it was for Florence, too,’ I chipped in, unable to remain quiet. ‘Except you’ve got far more chance of achieving your dreams than she ever did.’
Cayla gripped the bannister.
‘I thought you might be interested in giving a voice to someone who was just like you all those years ago.’ I offered a resigned smile to Gillian. ‘Looks like I was wrong. Anyway, I’ll be off. Thank you again. Bye, Cayla. Good luck with your exams.’
Cayla didn’t answer. She just remained on the stairs, all limbs and toenail polish.
‘Thanks again for coming, Daisy. We really appreciate you thinking of Cayla. Don’t we?’
The girl fiddled with her thumb ring.
I headed back off down their garden path, fringed either side with exploding, bright pansies.
Now what? I’d have to have a word with the local amateur dramatics society and see if they could recommend anyone to portray Florence.
I was sure Josie would be able to lend a hand too.
She was bound to know a lot of the local acting fraternity.
Or perhaps she could suggest another of her students who might be interested in the role?
I just knew though that they wouldn’t have this girl’s star quality.
Those bloody school bullies who’d drained Cayla’s confidence.
If they’d been stood in front of me right now…
‘Daisy! Hold on! Wait!’
I turned around, startled.
Cayla was edging past her mum and heading towards me. She loped up on her long legs.
I could see Cayla turning over everything in her mind. Her hands pushed themselves back into her denim cutoff pockets. Then she shoved a stray hair back behind one ear. ‘She passed away at eighteen you said?’
‘Yes, she did.’
‘That sucks.’
She glanced over at Gillian and then back at me. ‘I guess you’re right. She didn’t have a voice.’
A kernel of hope started to grow. Was she going to change her mind? Had she had second thoughts? Maybe I’d been able to reach her after all? Make her see that she could make a difference with her acting talent?
I was holding my breath.
Cayla waggled her bare toes on the concrete path. Time seemed to stand still for a few moments. ‘Ok. I’ll do it. I’ll be Florence.’
And as I let out a delighted whoop and bundled a laughing Cayla into my arms, Gillian, who looked fit to burst with relief, held back tears and mouthed a grateful, ‘Thank you. Thank you so much.’