Backstage Nurse (8 page)

Hugh Deering glanced at Shirley, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "Yes. We mustn't forget Miss Grant."

"I won't!" Lyon Phillips called out from the end of the table, and laughed loudly once more.

Ignoring the stage manager, Hugh Deering smiled at Shirley. "Which reminds me. You've been missing the dance floor all evening. And the orchestra is excellent. Will you join me?"

"Thank you." Shirley was anxious to get away from the table. It was hard to say who was the most difficult, Joy Milland, with her loud assurance, or Lyon Phillips, who had had too much of the party champagne. She wondered if Hugh Deering had also been drinking; if he had, it certainly wasn't obvious.

Leading her down the carpeted stairs to the level of the ballroom, he said, "I don't mind a girl being single-minded in purpose, but did you have to spend every minute of the evening with our young millionaire?"

Shirley glanced up at him in some confusion. "You mean Roger?"

He nodded, guiding her past the tables and onto the well-filled dance floor. "That's exactly who I mean," he said, as they began a slow fox trot.

Taken off guard by the impudence of the question, Shirley hesitated before answering. She was grateful to be away from the tensions of the party; although Roger Craft had been pleasant company, he was still almost a stranger and she had not really relaxed any of the time she had been with him. Now she realized that her nerves were taut to the breaking point, and she was glad to have these few minutes on the shadowed dance floor. Somehow she felt safe and secure in Hugh's arms. Of course it was only an illusion, but she was tired enough to be content with even an illusion. Without answering, she closed her eyes and enjoyed the soft music and the easy movements of the dance.

Then Hugh's voice, full of amused irony, came through to her again. "It seems you've gone out of your way to avoid me since the other afternoon in the Common. Why? Did my true-confession routine disgust you?"

She leaned back a fraction so that she could see his face. Hugh's expression of light mockery was a camouflage for his true feelings, whatever they were. "No," she said. "But just after we left each other, I ran into Joy."

"Ah, the lovely Joy!" Hugh continued in his bantering tone. "How do you like that dress she's presuming to appear in for this happy occasion?"

Shirley closed her eyes and rested her head against his shoulder. "It's quite different," she murmured.

"Different is not the word," he said. "Ill-advised would be better."

"That's not very gallant of you."

"Joy seldom inspires old-world courtesy."

Shirley raised her red head and studied him with indignant eyes. "I wouldn't want you to talk that way about me if we were engaged."

It didn't seem to hit Hugh as a reprimand. "If we were engaged, my lovely little nurse, I would be doing nothing but quoting the poets," he said with a grin.

He was so good looking in his dinner jacket, and such an amusing partner, it seemed too bad he had this streak of weakness. She decided to let him know what she had found out in plainer terms. "Joy told me the other afternoon about you two being engaged."

"What!" Hugh's pleasant face registered incredulity, and it was lucky that at that moment the orchestra finished its number. He stood stock-still on the floor, staring at her.

She said, "It's quite understandable, Hugh. I hope you'll both be very happy. I wanted to let you know so you wouldn't feel it necessary to carry on this bluff of yours any longer."

The orchestra resumed and he took her in his arms again with a fierceness that surprised her. "Listen," he said in her ear. "There is one thing I'd like to get through your silly little head. I'm not now, nor was I ever, engaged to Joy Milland."

"But she said—"

"You should know her well enough not to believe anything she says."

Shirley glanced up at him and saw that his face was serious. "But she saw us that day—and she said it very plainly. That you'd asked her to marry you."

"Look," he sighed, "I have the habit of drinking a lot. Sometimes as much as Lyon has tonight. I like to kid. It wouldn't surprise me if some night when I wasn't quite myself I said, as a joke, in front of the others, 'Let's get married, Joy.' I don't remember doing it, but it could have happened. That would be enough for her."

Shirley shook her head. "She's an awfully mixed-up girl, but I think you must have given her some idea."

"And that's why you've been avoiding me?"

She shrugged. "I didn't want to interfere."

He groaned. "The troubles I have. I'm going to talk plain to our Joy."

When the music ended, they went back to the party, which was just breaking up. Dr. Trask came over and chatted with them for a minute, then he and his group left. The others had all gone earlier; only Joy Milland and Roger Craft remained.

Joy came over and stood by Hugh with a "he's mine" smile. Linking her arm in his, she said, "I've been telling Roger all about the theater."

Hugh looked at her shrewdly. "It must have been very interesting. It seems to me, it's time for us to have a long talk as well."

Roger brought over Shirley's wrap and placed it on her shoulders. "I'll see you home, Shirley," he said, in a tone that indicated he was relieved that she had come back and anxious for them to get away on their own.

As they sat in the intimate darkness of the taxi on the drive back to the Touraine Hotel, Roger said, "Deering seems a nice fellow. I understand that he was once a doctor."

"Yes," she said, wondering if she detected a trace of uneasiness in his tone.

"I'll be seeing you often during the tour," he said. "I'll be flying in to check on Grandfather."

"The advance sale of tickets here has been first rate." Oliver Craft smiled at Shirley, who sat beside him on the plane as it circled over the big airport for a landing. "Toronto is an excellent show town."

"I've never been with a play in Canada," Shirley said. "But I suppose you've played here dozens of times."

The gentle-faced actor nodded. "Yes, I was just a boy the first visit I made. It was with a repertory company. Since then, I've been here regularly right down through the years."

Charles Victor, who was sitting across the aisle from Shirley, leaned across and, smiling at Oliver Craft, said, "Remember the time we played here on the same dates with Sir John Martin-Harvey and Ethel Barrymore? Those were the good old days of show business."

Oliver Craft chuckled. "And all three shows made money." He explained to Shirley: "Charles was in that company with me. We both had the pleasure of meeting Martin-Harvey personally. A fine actor. He's been dead many years now." The old man suddenly appeared saddened at the thought and stared out the window at the landing field.

Shirley wondered if it had reminded him that his own time was short. He had been quite well since the opening night in Boston. The engagement there had been a wonderful success and they were now going to play Toronto for a week before going on to their dates in Ohio.

He glanced back at her again. "This time, we'll be playing at O'Keefe Centre," he told her. "It's new and, they tell me, one of the finest showplaces on the continent. Be a change from some of the run-down places a company has to face nowadays."

Shirley found it her turn to smile. "I remember some of them. Especially one town in the Deep South. There were actually rats in the dressing rooms."

"Is that why you gave up the theater for nursing?" The deep-set eyes twinkled.

Shirley laughed. "Not really. But it could have been."

That afternoon when they went to the theater for a check on the stage and to locate their dressing rooms, they found that O'Keefe Centre lived up to its name. Oliver Craft had a magnificent double room as the star of the play, and Shirley took a smaller one next to it. Everything was new and modern, and the cast were delighted with the place. Charles Victor picked a dressing room directly across from Shirley's, and the rest of the players were down the hallway.

Onstage, Shirley found Lyon Phillips busily directing the erection of the set. He had been on exceptionally good behavior since the night of the party when he had disgraced himself.

Greeting Shirley with a shy smile, the tall young man said, "How is Oliver this afternoon?"

"Very well," she told him. "He's resting in his dressing room for a few minutes. He'll be out later to see the stage."

"No hurry," Lyon said. He moved across the stage and gave some instructions to the electrician. When he came back to Shirley, he sighed. "We don't have too much time."

"How did you get the sets here so quickly? You just had the weekend."

"New system," he told her, at the same time watching the stagehands work. "We have our own transfer crew and trucks. They packed up Saturday night after the show and started here in the early hours Sunday morning. At that, it was a tight squeeze."

Shirley was all admiration. "When you think of all the headaches, you wonder why anyone would ever want to be a stage manager."

Lyon made a wry face. "Probably because they're like me. They hate to act."

Just then, Hugh Deering came onstage. He was wearing a plaid sports jacket and contrasting fawn trousers. He looked fit and in a relaxed, happy mood.

"How's the company mascot today?" He grinned at Shirley.

"I'm not sure I like being called that," Shirley told him. She had been seeing more of him since the night of the party. The tension between them was gone with her discovery that he really wasn't engaged to Joy Milland. But she wasn't anxious for their friendship to become too strong so early in the tour.

It was often the habit in companies for couples to pair off in a perfectly innocent way, for friendship and companionship, in the weary days of traveling. It was understandable that some people got along better together than others. But it also had a restricting side to it, and she didn't want to give all her free moments to Hugh Deering, although she had to admit she did like him.

"I understand Roger Craft is flying in to visit us in Cincinnati next week," Hugh Deering said, studying her face for a reaction.

She was surprised and, in spite of herself, pleased. She would enjoy seeing the young millionaire again. But she didn't want Hugh to know this. Pretending casualness, she asked, "Are you certain? I hadn't heard anything about it."

"Telegram just came for the Chief. I was with him when he got it, and he told me." Hugh seemed to relish his being the one to break the news.

"It will be nice for Mr. Craft," she said, giving her attention to Lyon, who was directing the positioning of the spotlights.

"And for our mascot," Hugh teased.

She turned to him, her cheeks warming. "That isn't necessary."

"Sorry, youngster. You haven't seen Jeffrey Sayre around, have you?"

"No. He's the only one who hasn't shown up."

Hugh's expression became thoughtful. "You know, I have a feeling that something is in the air. Something's about to break in this company. That's really why I went in to visit the Chief. I was afraid it might be him. But he seems well today. So it must be Sayre. I noticed on the plane that he was in a brooding mood. I have a hunch he'll give his notice any day now."

Shirley looked surprised. "Can he do that?"

"I understand so. They had a hard time signing him for the tour. His contract isn't for the run of the play. He can leave when he wants to. That's the only conditions under which he'd come with us."

"That would mean you'd be doing his part."

"No." Hugh's tone was definite. "Oh, I would fill in for a show or two, and Lyon would sub for me. But I'm not really the type for Jeffrey's role. They'd have to find a replacement, and that wouldn't be easy."

"I hope he hasn't been worrying Mr. Craft about this."

"He would if he thought it would help break him down. That's the only thing that would cinch Jeffrey's staying with us—his getting the lead."

"I hope he never does," Shirley said vehemently.

"Do you think Oliver will really last?"

"Yes. Don't you?" She looked into his thoughtful brown eyes and saw that they were appraising everything she said. None of them knew yet that Oliver had had some attacks of pain, and she had promised the old man that they wouldn't.

"Don't forget I was a doctor," he said quietly. "So I'm not as easy to fool as the others. I see many signs that make me worry."

"You're a regular prophet of doom today, aren't you?" she tossed over her shoulder as she walked to the other side of the stage to allow Lyon to continue setting up his lights.

Hugh followed her. "Call me whatever you like. I have a premonition. And my hunches generally are sound."

At the time, Shirley didn't pay much attention to what Hugh said. But the conversation did stay in the back of her mind, and as curtain time neared for the first evening performance in Toronto, she found herself more than usually nervous. The house began to fill early and the word had come backstage that the entire week at the big playhouse was a sellout.

Oliver Craft was already made up and enjoying a few minutes' quiet before the performance began. Shirley left him and closed the door to his dressing room. Then she went to her own room for a book she had been reading. She had only been inside a minute when she heard a sound from the hallway. She was certain the sound was a groan.

Hurrying to the door, she hoped against hope that the old actor wasn't having a sudden attack of pain. In the semidarkness of the corridor, she saw a figure slumped against the opposite wall. It was the pudgy little character man, Charles Victor! Now a second moan escaped his lips.

Shirley rushed across to him and caught his arm. The old man was almost in a faint. His face was ashen and perspiration ran down his cheeks. "Pills!" he mumbled. "In my dressing room. Shelf over mirror in make-up box."

Without waiting to hear more, she left him leaning against the wall and hurried into his dressing room. She snapped on the lights and made a frantic search for the pills. After a second, she found the make-up box with its small container of minute pills. One glance told her all that she needed to know. They were the familiar nitroglycerin pills used by heart patients. She extracted one from the container and ran back to the nearly unconscious man in the hall.