Chapter 25 #2
As if on cue, the study door opened wider, and Mindy and Josie emerged with Mollie and Aubrey bustling behind them. Josie caught my eye and pulled an agonised expression.
I clamped my lips together to stop myself from laughing.
Mindy had worked her expertise on the older couple, who were now modelling severe, centre-parted hairstyles and thorny expressions.
‘We’re method acting,’ hissed Mollie to a startled-looking Cayla.
‘Their resemblance to my miserable great-grandparents is uncanny,’ joked Bennett out of the side of his mouth to Alison, whose lips quivered. He slapped a hand to his forehead. ‘Oh, silly me. I nearly forgot.’
‘Forgot what?’ puzzled Alison, as her husband dived back into the study.
Moments later, he emerged cradling one of Alison’s butter and gold Villeroy and Boch Mettlach vases. ‘We don’t have the original vase that was stolen,’ pointed out Bennett. ‘But this will more than suffice to tell the story.’
I nodded. ‘It’s very pretty, and it’s just a prop anyway.’
Bennett offered it to Mollie, who clung onto it like it was from the Ming Dynasty and cast a suspicious look over at Cayla again. They really were taking their method acting to another level!
Alison surveyed us all. ‘Right. It’s almost time. Let’s get started. I think the natives are getting restless.’
With her dress swishing about her knees, Alison started to make her way towards the crowd peering through the glass panes of the double door entrance.
I squeezed Cayla’s arm, whispering, ‘Break a leg,’ and she managed to conjure up a preoccupied smile. I could hear her murmuring her lines under her breath.
‘Even with that hair and in that dress, you still look amazing,’ whispered Dane.
‘Yeah, right.’
‘You do. Kind of sexily repressed.’
I couldn’t help but laugh. ‘Trust you.’
Alison glanced down at her wristwatch and back at us all, lingering in the hall. ‘Hold on. Where’s Evan got to? Has anyone seen him?’
A sliver of something raced down my back at the mention of his name.
‘Haven’t seen him since this morning,’ answered Louise. ‘He appeared much earlier than usual for breakfast and said he was going for a run. I heard him come back and go for a shower.’
Where had Evan gone then? Not that it was any of my concern. But still.
What a hypocrite, I told myself. He’d been making remarks about Dane not showing any interest in saving The Ramblings. Then, when it came to the day of the actual tour, when tensions were high and nerves jangling, he’d vanished.
No doubt he was off somewhere writing another poisonous Fox review.
It was still inconceivable that the Evan I’d got to know, my Evan as he’d almost become, was the acerbic TV and film critic who struck fear into the hearts of actors, producers and directors everywhere.
I gave myself a mental talking to and refocused.
Glances were being exchanged all round at Evan’s conspicuous absence.
Dane straightened his suit jacket. ‘Makes a change for it not to be me letting the side down.’
Alison clicked her tongue at her younger son, but Dane just flashed his mother a cheeky grin.
‘I’ll give him a ring,’ said Alison, tugging her mobile out of her pocket. She dialled Evan’s number, but it went through to voicemail.
‘Don’t worry, my love,’ assured Bennett. ‘He’ll be on a story or talking to some contact. He’ll appear soon.’
Alison considered this. ‘Oh, you’re probably right. Come on then, folks. Let’s get this show on the road.’
* * *
Observing Cayla perform as Florence was like being in the presence of the young woman herself: striving to change her life, vulnerable, but with a hint of steel running through her.
Cayla’s parents, Gillian and Morris, were equally mesmerised by their teenage daughter’s performance, and quite right, too.
Pride shone out of them.
Gillian kept dabbing at her eyes with a hankie.
Mollie and Aubrey, although very irritating, were compelling as Bennett’s great-grandparents, but also infuriating and judgmental in equal measure.
The tour attendees gasped and muttered amongst themselves at the way the Lords were shown treating young Florence with disdain she didn’t deserve.
Watching Cayla drift through The Ramblings, addressing the assembled locals and tourists and pleading her case, was a joy.
Boy, did this girl have talent. If only she could believe that herself.
I hoped the enchanted faces of the crowd in front of her would make her start to realise what a promising young actor she was.
As I delivered my lines, enjoying acting out our scenes together, I came to realise that it felt like I was home again, performing in front of a crowd and breathing life into a character whom I never met but could only imagine.
For just a short while, acting as the caring teacher who encouraged Florence to read and write meant I could park any thoughts about Evan and Fox and just lose myself in what I loved most.
But as Cayla began to deliver her moving epilogue, the realisation of what that meant struck me.
It was time for Grandpa and me to leave The Ramblings.
I’d kept my promise. I’d helped with getting the tour off the ground and making it a reality. This first performance looked to have been a big success, and my job was done. I’d carried out my promise.
I found myself glancing around at the assembled faces in the crowd, taking in the myriad of ages, expressions and accents and the rainbow of T-shirts and jackets.
The rapturous applause and exclamations at the end of the tour made me refocus on the present.
Alison and Bennett were doing their best to answer a volley of enthusiastic questions from the audience. ‘How often are you going to hold these tours?’ ‘Are you looking for other actors?’ ‘Do you know if I can read up about poor Florence?’
Dane stepped into the breach to assist his parents, who were valiantly answering the questions the best they could. ‘Please, can I take some photos of you gorgeous ladies and gentlemen to upload on our social media channels, and then we can respond to any questions you might have?’
He flashed his white teeth at two elderly ladies in the front of the semi-circle who grinned back and giggled.
Dane produced his phone from his suit pocket and took several pictures of the audience, as well as of Cayla, Mollie, Aubrey and me.
The crowd then dispersed back out of the front entrance, admiring the portraits and furniture as they went and thanking us for such a moving and wonderful performance.
‘You did great, kid,’ said Dane to Cayla, who blushed.
‘And you weren’t bad either, Daisy,’ he added.
‘Why, thank you.’
The sound of Dane’s mobile ringtone, ‘Thunderstruck’ by ACDC, blasted out. ‘Excuse me a second.’ He put the phone to his ear. ‘Hey, Dez, my man. How’s life?’
‘Well, that was something,’ breathed Cayla.
But our conversation was interrupted by Dane’s incredulous voice.
‘What? Are you joking?’ Dane lowered his phone and stared down in disbelief at the screen.
He thrust the phone back up to his ear to resume his conversation.
‘Yeah, I just looked. I’m getting texts and messages now. ’ He wrapped up the call.
‘Everything ok?’ I asked.
‘I’ll tell you in a minute.’
Alison, Bennett, Louise, Mindy, Josie and Grandpa, who’d been chatting to the departing audience, came wandering over. ‘Alright, son?’ asked Bennett.
But Dane didn’t reply. He was too busy pulling up social media on his phone.
Intrigued, Cayla and I moved closer, trying to catch a glimpse of what was capturing Dane’s attention.
He increased the volume on his mobile and did a double-take. ‘What the hell…?! Evan, what are you doing?’ he gasped.