Kitty Little (26 page)

‘I won’t be dictated to. I need to be free.’

‘Free to do what?’

‘To take time off when I need it. To do as I please. I
hate
acting,’ which certainly was not true. Charlotte loved to perform, she adored having everyone’s eyes upon her, have people admire the way she moved or recited her lines, marvel at her beauty and the wonderful gowns she wore. She also found it surprisingly satisfying to make the audience laugh or cry, or simply give them pleasure, something she’d never experienced before. The theatre was indeed wonderful, and Charlotte adored being the star of it. But it wasn’t real life and she longed to shine even brighter in the wider world.

Her dream of playing Lady Emerson of Repstone Manor would be far grander than anything Magnus could offer. Unfortunately, it hadn’t yet come about. Archie was a dear, sweet man and she adored him, but he could be vexingly stubborn as well as increasingly parsimonious for one so well placed.

She’d been berating him for a full ten minutes over her need to take some time off, perfectly convinced that he hadn’t taken in a single word she was saying. He just sat there in silence, smiling and nodding while reading his damned paper.

‘Kitty doesn’t
own
us for God’s sake,’ Charlotte stormed. It irked her that she must always seek Kitty’s permission, and Archie’s support was essential to achieve this. But how could she explain to him how her entire life was in danger of falling apart.

Despite their increased intimacy, she’d made regular excursions home to visit her “mother”. But these visits had grown rare in recent months due to the pressures of touring, and Magnus had shown signs of losing patience. His most recent letter, delivered via the post office box she held specifically for this purpose, had warned her that since she hadn’t come home for Christmas, as instructed, he would sue for divorce if she did not return at once. The very idea was intolerable. Terrifying. She really couldn’t risk losing access to all the lovely money which Magnus so generously provided, in spite of her neglect of him. But nor could she risk losing everything she’d gained thus far with Archie.

Archie shook out his newspaper, barely glancing in Charlotte’s direction as he answered her pleas. ‘We’ll go on the next tour with the rest of the company, as usual.’

‘
I
shall do as I please.’ Now she did stamp her foot, making the crystal teardrops of the chandelier shake. Seeing the startled expression in his eyes, Charlotte wondered if perhaps she’d gone too far.

‘Kitty needs you here, my sweet.’ Never had he taken such a firm stance against her, and it enraged her all the more. ‘Don’t understand why you’re making such a fuss.’

Charlotte snatched the newspaper from his hands and tore it in two. ‘For pity’s sake listen to what I’m telling you, and then you might.’

There was a long, awful silence. Usually Archie found her tantrums amusing, even titillating, her passions always igniting a spark in him that the traumas and disappointments of life had very nearly destroyed. But recently he’d begun to see them as trying and pettish. He quietly picked up the two sections of his newspaper and carefully folded them back together before taking both her hands and drawing the now weeping Charlotte down beside him on the sofa.

‘Sweetheart, you’re working yourself into a fine lather over nothing. Whatever’s the matter, for goodness sake? There’s an article about Asquith rejecting a bill on compulsory military service which I’d like to read, if I may. So explain it to me, calmly and quietly if you please, without tearing up any more of my newspaper.’

‘Oh Archie, you’re so kind to me.’ She was at once contrite, snuffling up her tears like a small child caught out in some misdemeanour. She hiccuped slightly, blew her nose on his white linen handkerchief and, snuggling against his shoulder, adopted a more wheedling tone. ‘I feel you and I should have more time together. Alone. Why don’t we take a long cruise down the Nile, or spend a few months in Venice. Or even a lovely long weekend in Town, just the two of us. So romantic! See some
real
shows, dine out at
divine
little restaurants, patronise my favourite shops. Wouldn’t that be much more fun than embarking on yet another dreary tour?’

‘I’m sorry if you’re tired sweetheart, but we can’t go away just now,’ he patiently explained. ‘We’re both needed. You in particular, my precious.’ But even flattery failed to calm her.

‘I say we
will
! I’m utterly exhausted and in need of a long rest.’

‘Then I suggest you go back to bed and take one while you have the chance, my darling. We leave here first thing on Monday morning. Best make the most of the weekend.’

Whereupon Charlotte picked up a Chinese figurine and flung it into the fireplace. It smashed into a dozen pieces, and Archie, infuriatingly enough, informed her from behind his newspaper that he’d never liked the thing anyway.
 

A soft spring breeze chased chip papers and old bus tickets into the gutter, propelling people along the promenade like steam trains. Kitty and Frank walked along the sea front together pushing the pram just as if, Frank commented, they were a proper family. They ate haddock and chips for lunch at a cafe on the front, where the waitresses wore white frilly caps and aprons and had notebooks dangling from their waistbands on a string.

Throughout the long afternoon Kitty asked herself why on earth she’d come. Dixie would have been quite content with a short walk, then she could have taken the opportunity for a quiet session putting the finishing touches to her script. Instead, here she was seated on a wind-swept beach while Dixie poured sand into a bucket which Kitty would turn out into a pie so that her beloved child could smash it with her spade and shout with baby laughter.

Frank, as cheerful as ever, was still urging her to name the day, insisting she needed him to look after her.

Kitty was feeling distinctly harassed. ‘I simply don’t love you and never could,’ she said at last, driven to blunt honesty as every other excuse had so far failed to convince him.

‘But don’t we always have a good time together, Duchess? And don’t we owe it to Dixie to provide her with a proper ma and pa.’

Gritting her teeth, Kitty drew her scarf more tightly about her neck, trying to keep warm as the breeze turned chill in the late afternoon. ‘You and I both know that you’re not Dixie’s father, no matter what anyone else might think.’

Frank’s smile was one of studied blandness, which did nothing to reassure her. ‘Nevertheless, she can’t go through life without a dad, nor you without a man. Besides, you wouldn’t want Dixie’s
real
father, whoever he might be, to learn the truth, now would you?’

She glanced up at him sharply. ‘What are you saying? That sounded suspiciously like blackmail.’

‘As if I would stoop to such a thing. Dear me, whatever put such an idea into your head.’ Then reaching for Dixie he purred softly to the child, ‘come to Pops my darling. Come to Pops.’

Dixie happily reached out her chubby arms to him, gurgling prettily. Kitty snatched up the toddler to hold her close. ‘Don’t you
ever
use that name in front of her again. Look, it’s starting to rain. Let’s go home.’

By the time she’d reached the promenade Kitty had calmed down. ‘I’m grateful, Frank, for your not telling the truth about Dixie. But I can’t marry you, nor will I have you assuming any rights over her, or interfering in my life in any way. Is that clear?’

Frank calmly regarded her for a long moment, an errant breeze lifting a strand of lank hair and slapping it against his shiny forehead. ‘As crystal. Though perhaps one day I hope you might think differently. I’m a patient man, quite happy to wait.’

‘But you mustn’t. I don’t want you to wait.’

‘Don’t be silly. You’ll need me one day. I know you will.’

The chill that shivered all the way down her spine now had nothing to do with the cool spring breezes.

A Springtime Revue
opened to a full House and got off to a cracking start with Suzy singing a lively number
The Call to Arms
. Although her voice had nowhere near the range it once had, it sounded good, and the audience happily joined in with the chorus. Jacob did a stand-up routine poking fun at the old aristocracy, then made jibes at the mining barons and cotton kings, which brought a storm of cheers from the working class audience.

Tessa, swathed in cardigans and bitterly complaining about the interminable draughts, searched frantically for the song sheet she wanted, her constant cry being, ‘I know it was here a moment ago.’ Then out of the maelstrom would come a breath-stopping rendition of
What Shall We Do With The Drunken Sailor
which always brought a standing ovation.

Kitty had written a parody on Suburbia and had spent a good deal of time agonising over rhymes. ‘What rhymes with afternoon teas?’

‘Sneeze.’

‘Sweet peas.’

‘What about golf? Oh dear, writing poetry isn’t as easy as I thought.’

Everyone simply smiled, knowing that Kitty always suffered a crisis of confidence when she was writing, and it would turn out fine in the end.

There were the usual colds and sniffles but nobody took time off as ‘the show must go on.’ Kitty would frown anxiously whenever she heard Archie sneeze or cough quietly into his handkerchief as it reminded her of those early days in Ealing when he’d seemed to be clinging desperately to the fragility of life.

She felt at times as if she too were hanging onto life by a thread, always keenly aware of the pitiful state of their finances. And coping with a small baby in addition to the Players took a great deal out of her. Kitty knew she couldn’t have managed at all without the help of Esme and Mrs Pips, who took turns to mind Dixie when she was busy. Not that Dixie was a fussy child. She’d sit on anyone’s knee so long as they gave her the undivided attention she demanded. And she’d been known to woo the hearts of more than one cantankerous landlady.

But constant touring wasn’t easy. Good lodgings were sometimes hard to find. They often arrived late, were unpunctual for meals, slept at odd hours, none of which endeared themselves to landladies who expected guests to be out of their rooms from ten till six each day and sit down to dinner along with everyone else. Wherever possible they procured invitations to stay in people’s homes, though that too presented difficulties; over familiar husbands, stage-struck daughters and housekeepers who didn’t approve of theatricals at all.

Then there were the freezing halls, the tuneless pianos, the stuffy rooms with windows nailed down, the smell of mildew and caretakers who spied on the female cast as they changed.

Yet Kitty wouldn’t have missed it, not for the world. Wherever they’d performed, whether it be in a traditional theatre or a leaky shack, she’d loved every minute, and not even Charlotte’s sulks could diminish her enthusiasm for the life.

Sometimes Kitty would dream of having a theatre of their own, once tentatively suggesting they might convert the old barns at Repstone. Archie only shook his head and laughed, saying it would be far too expensive, even for his pocket.

They’d acquired a van, somewhat beaten up and decrepit but which carried their equipment with greater ease than the trailer, although space was still limited. The company was heading north, progressing through picturesque Westmorland villages with grey-stone cottages where sheep could be found grazing on wide village greens. Appleby and Kirkby Stephen, Penrith and Carlisle; some of the loneliest roads of England. It seemed as if they were on top of the world, often passing gypsy caravans making their slow progress to the Appleby horse fair which took place every year in early summer.

Kitty announced that they would next be heading for Yorkshire as she handed round a list of venues, which made Charlotte pale. Some of the towns Esme had booked were just a little too close to her old home near Leeds for comfort. In one respect being in Yorkshire would make it easier for her to get time off to see Magnus. In another it created a serious risk. Charlotte quite enjoyed living on the edge, but discovery was not a part of her plan.

But that was next week, or the week after that, for now she was revelling in her hour of fame. She went around using words such as ‘chic’ or ‘smart’, wearing hats with veils pulled almost, but not quite over her face whenever she took tea in whatever town they were currently playing in. This was most afternoons during the run of the Review, so that people would have the opportunity to recognise her for the star she undoubtedly was.

‘What fun to be
incognito
,’ she would say to Archie as she sat scarlet-lipped, gazing around some crowded tea-room with delighted anticipation. ‘I feel like a film star.’ With luck someone would be sure to have seen
A Springtime Revue
and scurry over with a napkin for her to scrawl her signature upon it.
 

Magnus, she decided, would have to wait.

Charlotte had never been the kind of actress to avoid eye contact with the audience. She loved to see the adulation in their faces. So as she confidently swept her gaze over her adoring fans at a small theatre in Richmond, her heart very nearly stopped beating. For there he was, his invalid carriage beside him.

Chapter Fifteen

Fortunately, the man turned out to be a stranger, Charlotte clearly summoning his image out of her imagination. But having received yet another irate letter from Magnus, the incident left her badly shaken. The tinsel fame of a touring company, however delightfully flattering, would never provide her with the funds she needed to keep her in the style she enjoyed.