Chapter Twenty-One #2
He grins knowingly. ‘Oh, I think Pengower is the most indulgent of all of us.’ As he walks away, I’m left wondering what he means by that. Does Cavill know that she’s having an affair with Taran Bentley?
I find Nessa and Lavinia with the other actresses in the communal dressing room having their hair and make-up done.
Nessa, who is now set to play Lady Macbeth, does not presume to use Gilda’s room.
That’s her domain and I’m sure Nessa expects her to return to the theatre tomorrow and resume her role as leading lady.
Nessa sits in front of the mirror, lit by the golden lightbulbs that frame it, and applies foundation to her face with a sponge.
I catch her eye in the glass, and she smiles back at me nervously.
The room is noisy with chatter and thick with cigarette smoke.
Everyone is excited. They drink coffee and gossip.
They’re all talking about Gilda. How unlike her it is not to show up to the first night!
They try to ascertain how ill she really is.
No leading lady wants to miss the first night.
‘She must be dying,’ says Lavinia and the room erupts into laughter.
I glance at the clock on the wall. The second hand is moving at its dogged pace around the big white face, bringing me ever closer to the tragedy.
I look at Nessa until I can’t look at her anymore.
I can’t watch her excitement and joy, knowing that this is her final hour.
And yet, I can’t leave her. I need to find out how it begins. I need to know who starts it, and why.
I sit at the other end of the room and pick up a magazine.
The door opens and the assistant manager pokes his head around it and looks at Nessa. ‘Miss Garrett has just arrived,’ he announces, and the entire room goes quiet. Everyone looks at Nessa. I look at Nessa.
Her mouth falls open and her face turns grey. I can see the change in colour even through her make-up. Her disappointment is palpable. We all feel it. I suspect her colleagues prefer a leading lady who can actually act and are disappointed too.
Nessa fights tears valiantly. She stiffens her jaw and lifts her chin and takes a deep breath.
She goes very still. I imagine her mind is moving, though.
Moving fast, working out what to do. How to get what she wants.
‘I’ll finish my make-up,’ she says. ‘Just in case Gilda takes another turn, and I have to take her place at the last minute.’
What is she thinking, I wonder? What is she plotting? What is certain, is that Gilda’s sudden turning up at the final hour is the flame that ignites the fuse.
It also means that Cavill must be here.
I leave the room to Lavinia’s doleful voice. ‘Not dying, after all.’
No one laughs this time.
I hurry down the corridor to Gilda’s dressing room and knock on the door.
I don’t wait for her to invite me in, I simply barge in.
When I enter I find her at her dressing table.
She’s not alone. Mr Bentley is standing by the rail of costumes.
They don’t look happy to have been interrupted.
In fact, they look quite pissed off. ‘You made it,’ I say and smile cheerfully.
Even though my heart breaks for Nessa – even though it makes no difference.
‘I’m feeling better,’ she replies stiffly. She doesn’t look better. She appears to have been crying. Her eyes are red-rimmed, and her face is as white as porcelain. She doesn’t meet my eye.
‘I’m glad,’ I reply. ‘Time is running out. You need to start getting ready.’
She flicks open her cigarette case and pops one between her lips, which are pale too. Then she reaches for her lucky lamp to light it.
‘Can I get you anything?’ I ask.
‘I have champagne,’ she says dully, flicking her hand at the half-empty crystal flute that stands bubbling to the right of the mirror. She lights her cigarette in the flame.
Mr Bentley is keen to get rid of me. ‘Why don’t you go and see if you can find Elsie, Mrs Skipton. Gilda needs hair and make-up done, pronto.’
‘Of course.’ I smile sympathetically at Gilda. It wasn’t so long ago that she opened her heart to me in here. She’s not keen to open it to me now. It’s as tightly closed as a clam.
I leave and hover a moment in the corridor, deciding what to do.
My priority is to find Cavill before he goes and takes his place in the royal box with Lady Faversham.
I don’t go looking for Elsie but make my way to the foyer instead.
I imagine that, if Cavill is in the building, he’ll be there, greeting punters as they come in.
I’m not wrong. The foyer is heaving with people.
What strikes me at once is that everyone is dressed to the nines.
The men are in black tie, the women in evening gowns, their earlobes, necks and wrists sparkling with jewellery.
The air is sweet with the smell of perfume and cigarette smoke.
I realise that smoking is quite the thing.
It’s like looking at everything through thick fog.
Cavill rises above the sea of heads. He’s always easy to spot in a crowd. I feel a wave of relief, followed quickly by one of trepidation. It’s now or never.
I weave through the people with an intense sense of purpose but am detained suddenly by a hand.