Rhiannon (15 page)

On Monday morning a nervous, Rhiannon entered the stage door on her way to rehearsals.

‘Rhi, wait for me,' Clara Boxall called from behind.

Rhiannon turned and smiled.

Clara put an arm around her. ‘I hear via the grapevine of theatre gossip that you're to have your very own spot in the show. Well done, you,' she gushed.

‘Thanks. I really can't believe my luck. I just hope I'm up to the job.'

‘Of course you are. Having seen how well you did as Sally Webber's street urchin, I can't wait to see you perform your own song.'

‘You're very kind.'

‘Don't mention it. I think it's lovely to see a newcomer get on. Mind you, some of the other girls might give you a bit of a hard time. A few think that your Aunt Florrie had more than a little to do with it.'

‘Well, I do admit that my aunt helped with my choice of song and that Walter did have a hand in securing my fee. But Adam Fletcher had already agreed to give me an audition, even before he knew about Florrie's planned trip to America, honest.'

‘I believe you. But be warned, jealousy can be a terrible thing. Come on, we'd better get a move on. It wouldn't do to be late for your first band call.'

As both girls headed through the maze of backstage Clara carried on talking. ‘Anyways, another little bird told me that you're moving into our digs.'

‘Blimey, news certainly travels fast. But yes, I'm moving in on Friday, the same day as my aunt and Walter leave for America.'

‘Don't feel glum. I've spoken to Mrs Gordon's sister Mavis, and she's agreed to give you the bedroom next to mine – that'll be good, eh?'

Rhiannon didn't answer. The sound of the musicians tuning up and the cast's noisy chatter told them they had arrived at the prompt corner. As the girls stepped on stage a few heads turned, but most simply carried on chatting.

‘So tell me, what's the boarding house like,' Rhiannon asked, in an effort to take her mind off the sick, nervous feeling that welled in her stomach.

‘Oh, it's comfortable enough and the food is exceptionally good. Mind you, you'll probably find it a bit of a come-down from the Angel Hotel. Ten of us girls stay there. No men, unfortunately. Both landladies are very strict. They'll not stand for any hanky-panky. Woe betide anyone found entertaining a male visitor.'

‘So where do the men stay?' Rhiannon asked.

‘There are several other boarding houses down our road, where the stage hands stay, and a few more expensive guest houses, run more like hotels than theatrical digs, that house some of the main acts.'

‘What about the likes of Adam and ... Gus?'

‘Adam owns a house near Sophia Gardens and Gus, being his nephew and all, lives with him.'

‘Gus is Adam's nephew?'

‘Yeah, although you'd never guess, would you? Adam doesn't want to be seen showing any favouritism. Truth be known he's stricter with Gus than with the rest of the cast. Interested in our Gus then, are you?' Clara teased.

‘N-no I only—' Rhiannon felt her colour rise.

‘Don't be embarrassed. You'll not be the first. We've all fancied Gus Davenport – Davenport being his stage name, sometime or another.'

The musicians tuning-up became louder.

‘All right, everyone. Quiet please. Clear the stage,' Adam ordered.

The band and cast became quiet and within seconds everyone had taken their places in the wings. You could have heard a pin drop.

‘I trust you all know the order of play?' Adam called. ‘Belles, get ready, you're first. Then the acrobats and jugglers, followed by the comedy spot, and then Rhiannon. After Rhiannon we'll take a fifteen-minute lunch break. By which time I expect the main artistes to grace us with their presence.' The conductor raised his baton indicating on the count of three ... one – two – three.' Right on cue the band struck up the overture to the show and the Empire Belles began their high-kicking dance routine from wings to centre stage.

Rhiannon's heart missed a beat. While part of her loved the rush of
blood she felt as the show began, another part struggled to control the butterflies turning cartwheels in her stomach. As she watched each act perform, she felt a strange detachment, light-headed even. Then came a muffled voice and the sound of distant, yet familiar music... .

A huge nudge in her back sent her flying on stage. ‘Rhi, it's your cue. Move it!' Clara urged.

‘Stop there!' Adam called. ‘Rhiannon, you're supposed to glide on stage like a demure young lady. Not a clumsy oaf. Go back and try again. And on cue this time, please.'

As Rhiannon gingerly headed back to the wings she mouthed a ‘Sorry' in Adam's direction.

‘All right, let's go again.' Adam nodded to the conductor ‘One – two – three—'

This time, after taking a deep breath, Rhiannon left the wings and, as the band played the introduction to her song, with head held high she sauntered to her centre stage. Then, looking up, her eyes fixed high up to the gods began... .

Rhiannon felt in good voice. She sailed through the next two verses with ease. Her aunt had been right, this song really suited her. As she reached the final note Rhiannon, again on the advice of her aunt, positioned the back of her hands under her chin and coyly dropped her head. She held this pose until the music stopped. Only then did she look up and take her bow.

A slight ripple of applause from the cast gave it their seal of approval.

‘That was great,' Adam called. ‘I loved the touch of melodrama at the end of the song. You and your aunt must have worked hard – and it shows. I think, by the end of the week, you'll be more than ready to début on Saturday.'

‘Oh, thank you.' Rhiannon smiled.

‘Don't be too quick to thank me. There's still a lot of work to do. After the break get yourself off to wardrobe. Mrs Gordon needs to fit you with an appropriate costume. Dress rehearsal's tomorrow. Don't be late.'

Rhainnon felt relieved. Her first rehearsal had gone better than she could have wished. She couldn't explain the high she'd felt when she performed. It was like nothing on earth – like all your birthdays rolled into one. She instinctively knew that this was what she was meant to do.

Much to her surprise she suddenly felt hungry. She'd skipped breakfast this morning, too excited – nervous – apprehensive about the rehearsals. As she joined the queue for the refreshments – tea and sandwiches laid on in the auditorium for all the cast – she heard—

‘Well, how did it go?' a voice behind her asked.

She turned to find Gus's handsome face smiling down on her.

‘Fine – I think. Adam seems to think that I'll be ready for Saturday's matinée show.'

‘That's great,' he said, leaning forward, his mouth almost touching her ear. She felt his warm, sweet breath on the nape of her neck and, remembering their first kiss, she visibly trembled. His lips brushed her ear. ‘Were there any awkward questions on Sunday?' he whispered.

Rhiannon pulled away. Having Gus Davenport this close to her she struggled to compose herself. ‘N-no. I-I kept to the story. I'm not sure my aunt believed that we'd met accidentally, though,' she said, in a quiet voice.

‘She's a wily old bird. No doubt she's seen it all before, eh? Still, I've had no questions my end.'

‘Gus, I really need to find Mair. You have the address, so... .'

‘I think we should let the dust settle for a few days. Look, what say we meet on Sunday morning, go to the address and wait for your stepmother and Mr Stone to leave. Then, when the coast is clear, pay your Mair a visit?'

‘But that's almost another week away.'

‘I know, but I think it best to wait until your aunt and Walter are well on their way to America. Anyway, do you really need this distraction? I think you'd be better off concentrating on perfecting your act.'

‘I suppose you're right. But I'll not be fobbed off again. On Sunday I intend to find Mair, with or without your help.'

‘Agreed,' Gus said.

‘Come on, you two. Get a move on, you're holding up the queue. What's the matter, Gus? This one playing hard to get? Losing your touch, or what?' one of the backstage crew called from behind them.

Gus didn't reply, he just turned and glared at the young man. Rhiannon, picking up her tea and sandwiches, quickly moved away.

 

‘All right Gus – what's the deal with you and young Rhiannon, then?' Adam asked later that night.

‘I'm helping her to find her stepsister, that's all.'

‘Well, I never had you down as a good Samaritan,' Adam said, with more than a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

‘I like her.'

‘Fancy her, more like,' Adam quipped.

‘Yes, that too.'

‘She's far too innocent for you. Trust me, you'll not get anywhere with her.'

‘You want to bet? She already thinks of me as her knight in shining armour,' Gus boasted.

‘Be advised. Valley girls are notoriously strait-laced,' Adam offered.

‘That's what makes it such a challenge.' Gus flashed a wicked smile.

‘You're a real swine. Why don't you leave her be? Remember what happened to your last
young
protégée?

Gus glared at Adam. ‘Trust you to throw that in my face. That was over four years ago and you still can't leave it be, can you?'

‘Four years, three months and five days to be exact. And there's not a day goes by that I don't ask myself why I didn't stop you seducing Helena Biggins.'

‘You talk about her as if she were an innocent young thing. She was a streetwise chorus girl, for goodness' sake. She knew the score. How was I to know that she'd go top herself?'

 

Rhiannon glanced at the clock. It was 6.30 and time to get up. She hadn't slept well, she'd known she wouldn't. Ever since her aunt had told her the ‘good news' about the American contract she'd been dreading this day.

Last night her aunt had given a farewell speech:

‘Dear friends, what can I say? America wants me! I've been dreaming of this for years. If they like me, and I'll make sure they do, then the sky's the limit.'

Her aunt had never believed in false modesty. Rhiannon had long
since realized how driven by success her aunt was. Florrie had never made a secret of her ambition, nothing and no one stood in the way of her career. But with Rhiannon about to make her own stage début and, as far as her aunt was concerned, there still being no news about Mair, how could she just up and leave? Rhiannon, finding it harder by the hour to be happy for her, left the party early.

 

Walter tapped his silver-topped walking-stick impatiently. ‘Come on, you gals, get a move on. The tide won't wait, not even for the Great Florrie Grayson!'

Walter had arranged for a carriage to take them to Cardiff docks where they were to sail on the
Celtic 2
– the pride of the White Star Line. She was an Atlantic liner bound for Southampton from Cardiff and then on to New York, with a turn-around time of only seven days.

‘Are you sure you want to come to the dock? Maybe it would be best if we said our goodbyes here.' Aunt Florrie didn't look Rhiannon in the eye; instead she nervously fumbled with the buttons of her glove.

Rhiannon knew it made sense, but it was as if, all of a sudden, having Rhiannon around made her aunt feel uncomfortable. Why else would Florrie be so eager to take a speedy departure? Rhiannon felt hurt. Well, she had no intention of letting Florrie off the hook that easily.

‘Your going seems so final. I really need to come and see you both off,' she insisted.

‘Very well, but we'll have to get a move on,' Florrie agreed.

‘You're ready – at long last.' Walter sighed, his frustration obvious, as he proceeded to help Florrie and then Rhiannon into the carriage.

With Walter's arm gently supporting her, Rhiannon caught a whiff of his musk cologne. It smelled of pine trees and brought back memories of walks across the pine-covered mountain of her beloved Nantgarw Valley. For the first time for a long while she felt homesick, and vowed to take a trip back to the valley soon. After all, it was only a train ticket away.

The streets of Cardiff were almost deserted. The only sign of life was a couple of barrow boys pushing their carts, on their way to market no doubt. Florrie, Rhiannon and Walter rode in silence, even Walter, normally not at a loss for words, remained quiet. The eerie silence, only broken by the clip-clop of their horse-drawn carriage and the rattle of its wheels on the cobbled stones, made the ride seem endless.

When they eventually arrived at the dock gate visibility was low, the
sea mist sweeping in from the south causing a grey blanket of low clouds. Through the mist they heard a vendor call out, ‘Read all about it ... Welsh song-bird leaving for New York!'

Walter stopped the carriage and, leaning out of the window, handed the man on the corner of the street a shiny penny in exchange for a newspaper.

The carriage entered the quayside and pulled up alongside the loading bay. Walter, Florrie and Rhiannon stepped onto the quay while, amid the hustle and bustle, porters eagerly off-loaded their luggage. The quay area was packed with people all saying their goodbyes. It brought home to Rhiannon the full significance of her situation. With Florrie and Walter gone she would be completely alone.

‘Come on, Rhi, don't look so down. Be happy for me.' Florrie's voice was unable to hide the excitement she felt for the trip ahead.