Devil in Disguise (38 page)

As she
stood in the soft gold lighting of the boutique, studying her reflection in the
flattering mirrors, she could understand why these clothes were so expensive:
they were exquisite, designed to enhance her figure with elegance and structure.

‘Two
dresses, a classic suit and some cashmere knitwear. All monochrome or shades of
grey and pearl,’ declared Lilia. ‘And while we’re here, we may as well take a
look in Prada.’

When it
came time to pay, Lilia opened her handbag and brought out packets of
twenty-pound notes, stacking them up on the counter. The staff showed only a
flicker of surprise as they accepted them.

‘Thank
you, Lilia,’ said Molly, on the train home, looking at her smart shopping bags.
They’d also bought a black dress in Prada, some shoes in Gina and put her name
down for a black Kelly bag in Hermès. ‘What incredible generosity. I don’t know
how I’ll ever repay you.’

‘I
enjoyed it too. A taste of my old life,’ said Lilia, smiling.

‘And
don’t worry, my dear. You will repay me many times over and in many different
ways — I can promise you that.’

By the time of her next
appearance at the Snappy Italian on the following Friday, Molly was even
further transformed, with startling red hair, a beautiful figure-hugging dress
and six-inch stilettos.

‘You
look amazing!’ declared Roger, congratulating her after the show. ‘You’re too
good for this place, girl. Northampton isn’t used to such class. And your
singing’s fantastic. You had me in tears!’

‘Thank
you,’ said Molly.

‘And
you’re a Delvard now,’ he said, with a giggle. ‘Lilia is recreating you in her
own image.’

Lilia,
too, dressed up for these evenings at the restaurant. Her hair was swept up in
a raspberry-coloured meringue, and she would wrap a beaded pashmina round her
shoulders, later revealing a low-cut vintage evening gown. She always sat in
the same place at the front, elbows on the table, chin supported by her
knuckles, watching Molly closely, smiling sagely, blinking and nodding after
every song. Occasionally she would frown and break her pose to write something
on her pad with a silver Mont Blanc fountain pen. Together they made an
enigmatic pair, dripping style, talent and a distant, haughty air.

Within
weeks, word had got round, and the Snappy Italian was packed whenever Mia
Delvard was due to appear. After a month of full houses and a huge surge in
bookings for the restaurant, Lilia requested a meeting with Luigi. ‘We want
more money,’ she told him bluntly, ‘or we will leave. I also want large framed
photos of Mia both inside and outside the premises. Furthermore, Miss Delvard’s
second set will not be until one a.m. We will keep them waiting from now on.’

Luigi
didn’t hesitate. ‘Of course, I shall see to it. A very good idea. None of this
is a problem,’ he said, even bowing slightly to Lilia as he spoke. ‘And perhaps
you’d consider double the fee?’

But
despite Luigi’s willingness to please, three weeks later Lilia cancelled
Molly’s appearances at the Snappy Italian altogether. ‘I’m sorry,’ she told
Luigi one Saturday after the show ‘Molly is an artist. I can no longer allow
her to sing in front of people who are chewing microwaved spaghetti carbonara.’

‘How
dare you?’ said Luigi, furious. ‘Everything is freshly cooked.’

‘Whatever,’
said Lilia, picking up her fur stole. ‘So long, baby. We’ve got bigger fish to
fry.’

During
this conversation Molly stood meekly by. It was the first she’d heard about
leaving but she trusted Lilia implicitly. Whatever she said was right — must be
right. She’d be sad to leave the Snappy Italian, but she had absolute faith
that something better was about to come along.

Roger
came over when he heard. ‘Is it true you’ve sacked Luigi?’ he asked
disbelievingly.

‘Yes,
Molly’s leaving,’ Lilia announced grandly. She flung her shawl round her
shoulders. ‘We’re moving on.’

‘Fuck
me,’ he said. ‘This is turning into Gypsy fucking Rose Lee.’

‘We’re
leaving here as well,’ said Lilia. ‘Molly and I will be renting out Kit-Kat
Cottage and moving to London. So it’s goodbye, I’m afraid.’

‘Charming,’
said Roger. ‘Is that all the thanks I get?’ He turned to Molly. ‘Well?’ he
asked petulantly. ‘Is it? You’re fucking off to London and you don’t have the
good grace to tell me?’

‘I
didn’t know we were moving to London,’ said Molly, a trifle bewildered. ‘Lilia?’

‘Well,
we’re not going to conquer the world from Long Buckby, are we? Even Jane
McDonald had go south eventually to fulfil her potential.’

‘Oh, my
God, I’m going home,’ said Molly, beginning to feel excited at the prospect.
‘Oh, yes, Lilia, this is fabulous news.’

‘Well,
I hope you’re both very happy in throbbing London, ‘said Roger, tartly. ‘Some
of us have done that dump and moved on.’

‘We are
not, as far as I am aware, committing a crime by going to London. We are not
taking up a life of vice or joining a cult. It is a sensible move, essential to
Molly’s career.’

‘It
makes sense, Roger,’ said Molly, softly. ‘You’ve got to be in London if you’re
in showbusiness.’

Roger
thought for a moment. ‘I know,’ he said sincerely. ‘I’m only angry because I’ll
miss you. You’re the best thing that’s happened to Northampton since Julian
Clary appeared here in panto.’

‘Julian
Clary was at the Derngate?’ squealed Molly. ‘I just love him. He’s so funny. I
wonder if he went into my dressing room?’

‘That
was
his dressing room, come to think of it,’ said Roger.

‘That’s
amazing!’ said Molly. ‘Wow! Did you hear that Lilia? I actually occupied the
same dressing room as Julian Clary!’

‘He was
a dirty queen, if you don’t mind me saying so,’ said Roger. ‘I’ve seen chorus
boys coming out of that dressing room bow-legged.’

‘Please,’
said Lilia. ‘Do stop this nonsense. We’re leaving at the end of the week,
Roger. You’re welcome to come along if you want, but I can’t think what you’d
do to amuse yourself So I suppose this is goodbye.’ She offered him her cheek
and Roger kissed it.

‘Take
care,’ he said, and turned to hug Molly. ‘You look after yourself, girl. I’ve
got mighty fond of you. And I know you’ve got what it takes to be a star, so go
out there and get ‘em. Just don’t forget your old pal Roger, all right? I shall
expect tickets to your first nights.’

Molly
relaxed into his warm embrace, surprised by how emotional she felt. She’d grown
to like and trust Roger. He seemed a voice of sanity in the curious fantasy
world she now occupied with Lilia. She would miss him. ‘Bye-bye, Rog. I won’t forget
you, I promise.’

‘Fame
and fortune, here we come,’ said Lilia. ‘Again.’

Lilia and Molly moved to a
studio flat on Charing Cross Road. It felt minute after Kit-Kat Cottage. ‘It is
ideal,’ said Lilia, satisfied. ‘We can walk home late at night after work. Soho
is our world. It is perfect that you live here.’

The
flat was in a 1930s block built above the Phoenix Theatre, and consisted of one
large room with a separate kitchen and bathroom. It took them a while to get
used to the cramped space and adjust to their new proximity. They still shared
a double bed, which they folded up into a sofa during the day. Sleeping with
Lilia didn’t even feel strange to Molly any more, she felt only gratitude
towards the old lady, a remarkable woman who had, via a series of fateful
happenings, become her mother in every sense other than the biological. She
still felt a little uncomfortable that she was so much under Lilia’s control
but everything that had happened so far — the new look, the success in
Northampton, the miraculous new voice she had found — was down to Lilia and her
sense of purpose, which made it all worthwhile.

Molly
could sense that she was in very real danger of becoming a star. She had to go
with the flow now. The journey might be weird, but it was wonderful too.

Lilia
moved a baby grand piano into their tiny flat for them to rehearse with and set
about finding gigs for Molly. Even though they were almost in Soho, there were
none there yet. Molly’s first booking was in a community centre in Plaistow,
and Lilia got her a late slot at a once-weekly jazz club in Luton. Then, as
Christmas approached, more opportunities came their way. Lilia had business
cards printed, photographs taken, a sample CD made, and went round knocking on
doors or phoning every contact she could make. The results were good: as the
party season approached, Molly performed at a string of Christmas dos, then at
the 606 club in Chelsea’s King’s Road and the famous Vortex in Stoke Newington.
Wherever she played, she was a sensation.

‘Word
is building, my dear,’ Lilia said, as they sat together at their tiny table,
eating the Christmas lunch Molly had cooked for them. ‘People are beginning to
come to me, asking if Mia Delvard is available. Your reputation is spreading.
Believe me, we will soon leave all this behind.’

‘Do you
really think so?’ Molly knew in her heart that Lilia was right, but she wanted
to hear it again. Every morning she woke up with her stomach churning
excitedly, knowing she was a day closer to her dream.

‘I know
so. It is your destiny. It is unstoppable.’

‘I owe
it all to you. Happy Christmas, Lilia.’ Molly gave the old lady an affectionate
kiss on both cheeks. The tiniest Chihuahua puppy, hardly bigger than a gerbil,
nestled in Molly’s arms, Lilia’s Christmas present. ‘And to you too, precious
Pancho.’ Molly gave him a peck on the top of his head, and Pancho closed his
eyes contentedly. His pink tongue, no bigger than a sixpence, licked her cheek.

‘He’s
an albino, which is very rare,’ said Lilia, gazing at their new pet admiringly.
‘He’ll go very nicely with your black Chanel two-piece, the one with the daring
grey buttons.’

‘We can
carry him around in my handbag!’

‘Once
he’s house-trained, maybe.’

‘I’m so
thrilled with him,’ said Molly.

‘I
never thought I’d look at a dog again, but there was something about Pancho
that I couldn’t resist.’

‘He’s
adorable.’

‘You
needed an outlet for your emotions. Pour your love into Pancho, not some
good-for-nothing two-legged man.’

‘I’d
take a one-legged man,’ said Molly, returning to her native accent momentarily,
despite Lilia’s rigorous elocution lessons.

‘That
is where you are wrong,’ said Lilia, politely. ‘You are no longer a rambling
rose. I have pruned and cultivated you. Now we are waiting for the right man to
come along and pluck you.’

‘Will
he be long?’ asked Molly, earnestly. ‘Only I’d rather like to know.’

‘We are
not yet moving in the right circles, my dear. There are no fish worth diddly
squat in our current pond. We will bide our time until circumstances change.
How long that takes is really up to you.’

Early in the new year,
Lilia set about securing the services of an agent. She had persuaded Molly to
sack the previous one a few months before, when she had agreed to Lilia’s
experiment. ‘If he was any good, you wouldn’t need me,’ Lilia had said
dismissively, and Molly could see she had a point.

Now,
though, Lilia had changed her mind. ‘I’ve almost reached the limit of what I
can do,’ she explained. ‘You need a proper agent, with access to the highest
show-business echelons. But I must be careful who it is. I must find someone
who shares my vision for you.’

One
afternoon she returned to the fiat in a state of some excitement. Molly was
washing up in the tiny kitchen.

‘Molly!’
cried Lilia. ‘Come and listen. I have found us an agent. You are now
represented by none other than Boris Norris, agent to the stars.’

‘Oh,
good,’ said Molly. She reached for a tea-towel and dried her hands. ‘Is he the
bee’s knees?’

‘He
heard you last night at Pizza Express on Dean Street and he’s mad about you.’