Chapter 12
Chapter 12
Gil reached her, disheveled and short of breath. “How’s old Muriel Baker?”
“She wasn’t there, Ellie replied. “I did get your message,” she told him. “I meant to respond but haven’t had a chance.”
“It’s teatime. Let’s find a place where we can sit and chat.”
She wanted to hop in a cab and return as speedily as possible to Latimer House. Hannah might not have departed for Somerset, and she wanted to share the day’s events with someone. Not Gil. “To use your terminology, I’m knackered. I doubt I’d hold up my end of a conversation. Another time?”
He frowned. “Don’t you want to know how my play fared at the festival?”
“Tell me.”
“I won! Fractures in the Heart received the top prize .”
“I’m happy for you.”
“Be happy for both of us. You’re my Lyla.”
“For a reading, you said.”
“Winning a major competition increases the chances of getting the play into production. My agent set up a meeting with the management at the Sovereign Theatre. If they aren’t interested, she’ll put me contact with other producers. I’ve started thinking about who should read Randall.”
“Everything’s happening so fast,” she commented. “I haven’t seen your script.”
“Not until I’ve made the minor alterations suggested by the judging panel. You’ll have the improved draft by the end of the month.”
“Great.” Her store of enthusiastic responses was depleted. Of course she was glad for him, but his determination to cast her as this unknown character Lyla was perplexing. A role in a two-person contemporary play—in London’s West End—demanded skills she didn’t yet possess. Her single acting lesson had resembled playtime, not formal instruction. Audiences at the Lakes Region summer theatre had been easily pleased.
“You need an agent, too. Father and I can help. If you’re affiliated with a performers’ union in the States, that could complicate matters.”
“When City International hired me, I became a member of the American Guild of Variety Artists. Harry belonged to Actors Equity, and he made sure I joined as soon as I qualified.”
“I imagine you’d be accepted into our actors’ union if you submit proof of past professional employment.”
“Okay.” She wasn’t sure how to end this discussion without either hurting his feelings or offending him. At Juilliard, she and Harry often conspired about how they could ditch Gil, and success invariably resulted in mingled relief and guilt. “If you find out how I can apply, I will. And I promise to reply quicker than I could this afternoon.”
She walked away with purpose and turned at the corner without checking the street name, confident that eventually she’d locate Welbeck. Before she did, she spotted an available taxi. Frantically waving, she signaled for the driver to wait and trotted over the zebra crossing. The man lowered the window, and after giving her destination, she climbed inside.
Leaning against the seat, she removed her phone from her trouser pocket and texted Hannah.
Have u left L House? Need advice. Any recs for London talent agents?
The reply came instantly. On my train, already past Reading. Plenty of recs. Can u wait till after Flower Fete?
Yes, Ellie typed.
As the shock of being tracked down by Gil wore off, she couldn’t decide whether to be flattered or disturbed by his persistence. Even though his play had fared well at the festival, she wasn’t sure about committing to it. Gil had no idea who would be cast as the husband. And Harry often told her that chemistry was essential for stage couples.
In Much Ado About Nothing she’d matched wits with him as a sparky Beatrice, debating and insulting and teasing his roguish Benedick. If he hadn’t pushed her, even harder than their director, she’d couldn’t have risen to the challenge of Shakespeare’s complex language and phrasing. Their characters’ relationship in A Streetcar Named Desire was fraught in a different way, devoid of comic aspects. What a downer, she’d commented, when they studied lines together on the dock at the lake cottage.
Opening her photos icon, she swiped through images accumulated over the years, until she found Harry waist deep in the water, his light brown hair haloed by sunshine, a panorama of mountains behind him. He’d shot the one of her picking blueberries from the tall bush that grew on the shore. A blurry video captured a pair of loons in the bay and their plaintive cries. Scrolling past a succession of sunsets, each uniquely and dazzlingly colored, she landed on an image her cousin had taken at the funeral.
She stood with her parents and siblings, wearing a sleeveless black dress borrowed from her sister Marie because she expected the Colmans’ church to be stuffy in waning days of summer. But the air conditioning system was powerful. When Liam and Daddo escorted her down the aisle to take her place beside her in-laws, goosepimples sprouted on her chest and along her arms from shoulder to wrist. The limousine that transported her to the cemetery had been just as cold.
Holding back tears while constantly shivering. That was the clearest, most lasting memory of that endless day.
As a ballet dancer, Ellie had endured grueling and physically demanding hours of company class and afternoon rehearsals, frequently followed by an evening performance. During her years performing burlesque, she’d smiled and shimmied for her audience all night and after the show signed autographs and posed for photos. She’d tumbled into bed at a late hour, sleeping through half the morning. She’d spent the rest of the day working on the act with Zack and George, or practicing it with their supporting cast.
By the end of the week, she had settled into her new and different routine. To fill the two-hour gap between dismissal from ballet class and her afternoon at the drama academy, she sampled the healthiest fare at nearby eateries. Weather permitting, she explored more of Regent’s Park on foot or took the bus to the London Zoo.
On Friday afternoon she arrived at drama school later than usual, the result of a lengthy catch-up conversation with Rafe. She dropped her dance bag on the floor and took the vacant chair between Simrat and Declan. Aware that one member of the group was missing, she was surprised when Maxi laid out the day’s curriculum.
Val held up her hand. “Shouldn’t we wait for Archie?”
“He dropped the class. When that happens in the first week, we admit a wait-listed person, but we didn’t have any. Let’s begin with our warm-ups. Lots to accomplish this afternoon, as we don’t meet again until Tuesday.”
They spent the next hour on diction exercises, exploring vocal tones and textures and projection. As usual, Maxi required them to do improvisation, and wrapped up the session with a scene study.
Later, Ellie and Simrat made their customary visit to the Asian restaurant in New Cavendish Street. Over spicy calamari and avocado spring rolls, they shared impressions of their activities and their classmates.
“It’s a shame about Archie leaving us,” Ellie said. “He’s talented at improv. And funny.”
“He told me he wasn’t sure he could afford the course fee, and then his work hours got reduced. Stepping out before the end of week one means he gets most of his money back. With a small amount deducted for the days he attended.”
“Doesn’t the school offer financial support? Scholarships?”
“Before classes started, anyone could apply for a bursary. By now all those monies will have been allocated.”
“I see.” Ellie squeezed the remaining morsel of squid with her chopsticks and carried it to her mouth.
Overriding Simrat’s protests, she took care of the bill. After they parted, she returned to the academy, hoping she could have a private conversation with Maxi.
“You want to pay Archie’s tuition,” the instructor repeated.
“Yes. And I don’t want him finding out,” Ellie insisted.
“Orla in the business office will give him whatever plausible explanation I invent. Unspent funds in the scholarship account, or something like that.”
“Are there other students who need financial support? I’m willing to help them, too.”
Maxi half-shuttered her dark eyes. “I won’t pretend I’m not aware of why you can afford this. An internet search for dancer Ellie Lowery brought forth an avalanche of Stella Nue links. Your classmates can do that as well, you know. And here’s me, teaching you stage movement.”
“Totally different from burlesque. Or ballet.”
“Let’s consult the school’s accounting guru and re-enroll Archie. Don’t be surprised if Orla asks if you’re interested in funding fresh paint and the shower room tiling job in the top floor flat. We could raise the rent if we do some upgrades.”
Ellie grabbed her bag. “Human needs are my jam, not capital improvements. That said, if she can show estimates for the necessary work, I might reconsider.”
After emerging from the creation of fiscal year-end reports, and returning from his holiday weekend in Somerset and Gloucestershire, Dan contacted Ellie. She’d remained in the city to read and walk and explore. During a brief coffee shop meet-up, he learned about the drama class and her voluntary patronage of the academy. Her enthusiasm for giving away money, whether as an individual or through her foundation, was admirable but unexpected. He’d supposed Americans were consumed by a passion for making it and holding onto it.
His workday seldom ended after leaving the office, but as evening progressed, he closed his file folders, powered off his laptop, and relaxed with a film. Recent choices had sharply veered into ballet territory. Vivien Leigh was transcendent as the tragic Myra in Waterloo Road, a ballerina turned streetwalker after the presumed death of her suitor in the First World War. He’d rewatched The Red Shoes, despite being put off by the creepiness of the obsessed impresario. He hadn’t previously seen The Turning Point, and wondered how accurately it reflected the peculiar universe Ellie had occupied for much of her life. The profession’s detrimental effect on personal relationships was exposed, but several fine performances and entertaining dance sequences compensated for a hackneyed and predictable plot.
It’s not too soon, he decided, to make plans for the second May Bank Holiday.
Phoning Ellie, he proposed an early dinner at a South Bank restaurant, followed by an offering at the film noir retrospective at the British Film Institute.
“On the Saturday night, they’re screening Lady of Burlesque,” he told her. “Barbara Stanwyck. RKO, 1947. Based on a novel by Gypsy Rose Lee titled The G-String Murders. Do you know it?”
“No. I’m intrigued.”
“I’ll book a table at the brasserie I’ve been wanting to try, not far from the cinema. Let’s hope the incessant rain will let up by then.”
On Thursday, when he tuned in the late news broadcast on television, he saw alarming reports of flooding that had devastated southern portions of Somerset. Grabbing his mobile, he texted Martin Latimer, who rang back straightaway.
“We’re in a disaster zone,” his employer said. “The River Milver overflowed its banks, causing all manner of property damage in adjacent villages. Debris blocks the drains, where they exist. Fields are sodden and roads impassable. I’m trying to locate pumping equipment and more types of supplies than I ever knew existed. In addition to supporting the efforts of our parish councils to provide emergency shelter for residents whose homes are inundated. They desperately need citizens’ advice.”
“I reckon you could use an assist. I’m available.”
“Trains are running, as far as I know. I can send Hannah or someone from staff to collect you at Newbridge station.”
“I’ll get my car out of storage and drive myself.”
“Brilliant. The private lane to Stanwell is choked with mud—you’ll have to enter through the front gate. How soon can you leave?”
“Lou and I are close to finalizing the reports we’re required to submit at the end of the month. I could wrap up my portion in the morning, if I start early. You’ll see me before teatime.”
“I’ll let Hannah know. Thanks, mate.”
This emergency trip forced Dan to break his date with Ellie. Wasting no time, he placed the call.
“How awful,” she responded, when he shared Martin’s news. “Could I help out, do you think?”
“You don’t mind spending your holiday weekend in a flood zone?”
“Martin and Hannah let me rent this place, and I pay practically nothing for the privilege. I want to do whatever I can for them.”
“All right, then. I’d like to get away around midday, to avoid the westbound outflow of holiday traffic. You’d have to miss your afternoon class.”
“I’ll ask Maxi about making it up.”
“Where should we meet?”
“You tell me. I’ll be at BBT for morning class, which finishes at eleven-fifteen. I’ll take a taxi to the flat and wait for you there.”
A three-day visit to distraught friends in stressful circumstances might not be the best choice for their official initial date. But, he consoled himself, it ensured a different sort of quality time with Ellie than a restaurant dinner and a movie.