Bella (2 page)
Bella turned pale. ‘Oh, God, I couldn’t get a taxi,’ she lied, throwing her fur coat on a chair and slipping into an overall.
‘I think Freddie Dixon’s after me,’ said Rosie.
‘You think that about everyone,’ said Bella, slapping greasepaint on her face.
‘I don’t – and, anyway, I’m usually right. I know I am about Freddie.’
Freddie Dixon was the handsome actor playing Cassio. Both Bella and Rosie had fancied him and been slightly piqued because he’d shown no interest in either of them.
‘You know the clinch we have in the fourth act?’ said Rosie, pinning on snakey black ringlets to the back of her hair. ‘Well, last night he absolutely crushed me to death, and all through the scene he couldn’t keep his hands off me.’
‘He’s not meant to keep them off,’ said Bella. ‘I expect Roger told him to act more sexily.’
Rosie looked smug. ‘That’s all you know. Look, you’ve got more flowers from Master Henriques,’ she added, pointing to a huge bunch of lilies of the valley arranged in a jam jar on Bella’s dressing table.
‘Oh, how lovely,’ cried Bella, noticing them for the first time. ‘I wonder what he’s on about tonight.’
‘Aren’t you going to read his letter?’ said Rosie.
Bella pencilled in her eyebrow. ‘You can – since you’re so nosey,’ she said.
Rosie took the card out of its blue envelope.
‘“Dear Bella,”’ she read. ‘That’s a bit familiar. It was “Dear Miss Parkinson” last time. “Good Luck for tonight. I shall be watching you. Yours, Rupert Henriques.” He must be crazy about you. That’s the eighth time he’s seen the play, isn’t it?’
‘Ninth,’ said Bella.
‘Must be getting sick of it by now,’ said Rosie. ‘Perhaps he’s doing it for “O” levels.’
‘Do you think he’s that young?’
‘Expect so – or a dirty old man. Nobody decent ever runs after actresses. They’ve usually got plenty of girls of their own.’
Bella fished a fly out of her bottle of foundation and had another look at the card. ‘He’s got nice writing though,’ she said. ‘And Chichester Terrace is quite an OK address.’
There was a knock on the door. It was Queenie, their dresser, come to help them on with their costumes. A dyed-in-the-wool cockney with orange hair and a cigarette permanently drooping from her scarlet lips, she chattered all the time about the ‘great actresses’ she’d dressed in the past. Bella, who was sick with nerves by this stage, was quite happy to let her ramble on.
‘Five minutes, please! Five minutes, please!’ It was the plaintive echoing voice of the callboy.
Bella looked at herself in the mirror, her smooth, young face belying the torrent of nerves bubbling inside her. Then she sat down on the faded velvet sofa with the broken leg in the corner of the room and waited, clasping her hands in her lap to stop them shaking.
‘Beginners, please! Beginners, please!’ The sad echoing voice passed her door again.
Rosie, who didn’t come on until later, was doing the crossword. Bella took one more look round the dressing-room. Even with its bare floor and blacked-out windows, it seemed friendly and familiar compared with the strange brightly lit world she was about to enter.
‘Good luck,’ said Rosie, as she went out of the door. ‘Give Freddie a big kiss.’
They stood waiting by the open door under a faded orange bulb – Brabantio, Cassio and herself. Wesley Barrington, who was playing Othello, stood by himself, a huge handsome black man, six and a half feet tall, as nervous as a cat, pacing up and down, murmuring his lines like an imprecation.
The three of them left her. Help me to make it, she prayed.
Othello was speaking now in his beautiful measured voice: ‘Most potent, grave and reverend signiors.’
In a moment she would be on. Iago came to collect her.
‘Come on, beauty,’ he whispered. ‘Keep your chin up.’
It had begun. She was on. Looking round the stage, beautiful, gentle, a little shy. ‘I do perceive here a divided duty,’ she said slowly.
She was off, then on again, flirting a little with Cassio, and then Othello was on again. Here, where she found life a thousand times more real than in the real world, she had words to express her emotions.
But all too soon it was over. The appalling murder scene was ended and the play had spent its brief but all too vivid life.
And as she took her curtain calls, she had nearly reached the limits of her endurance. Three times Othello and Iago led her forward and the tears poured down her cheeks as the roars of applause increased.
‘Well done,’ said Wesley Barrington in his deep voice.
Bella smiled at him. She fancied him so much when they were acting, but now he was Wesley again, living in Ealing with a wife and three children.
Bella would now go out for a cheap dinner with Rosie and in the morning she would lie sluttishly in bed until lunchtime. She avoided the busy, glamorous world that her fans imagined she lived in. It was a question of conserving her energy for what was important.
In their dressing-room, however, she found Rosie in a fever of excitement. ‘Freddie’s asked me out.’
‘I expect he wants to discuss the way you’ve been upstaging him,’ said Bella. She collapsed on to a chair and felt depression descending on her like dust on a polished table.
Not that she wanted Freddie to ask her out. She’d long ago decided his curly hair and neon smile weren’t for her. But if he started up a serious affair with Rosie, there’d be no more cosy little dinners, no more Rosie and Bella, united and gossiping together against the rest of the cast. Still, it was nice for Rosie.
‘Where’s he taking you?’
‘Somewhere cheap. He’s amazingly mean. Do you think one earring looks sexy?’
‘No, silly. As though you’d lost the other one.’
There was a knock on the door. It was Tom, the doorman.
‘There’s a Mr Henriques downstairs, Miss Parkinson. Wonders if he could come up and see you.’
‘Oh,’ said Bella, suddenly excited. ‘What’s he like?’
‘Looks orl right,’ said Tom, fingering a five pound note in his pocket.
‘Not a schoolboy?’
Tom shook his head.
‘Nor a dirty old man?’
‘No, quite a reasonable sort of bloke. Bit of a nob really. Plum-in-the-marf voice and wearing a monkey suit.’
‘Oh, go on, Bella,’ said Rosie. ‘He might be super.’
‘All right,’ said Bella. ‘I can always tell him to go if he’s ghastly.’
‘Great!’ said Rosie. ‘I’ll finish off my face in the loo.’
‘No!’ yelped Bella, suddenly nervous. ‘You can’t leave me.’
At that moment Queenie, the dresser, appeared at the door.
‘You’d better get out of that dress before you spill make-up all over it,’ she said to Bella.
Bella looked at herself in the mirror. Against the low-cut white nightgown, her tawny skin glowed like old ivory.
Let’s knock Mr Henriques for six, she thought.
‘Can I keep it on for a bit, Queenie?’ she asked.
‘And I’m supposed to hang about until you’ve finished,’ said Queenie sourly.
‘Come on, you old harridan,’ said Rosie, grabbing her arm and frog-marching her out of the room.
‘You can have a swig of Freddie’s whisky to cheer you up.’
Bella sprayed on some scent, then sprayed more round the room, arranged her breasts to advantage in the white dress and, sitting down, began to brush her hair.
There was a knock on the door.
‘Come in,’ she said huskily in her best Tallulah Bankhead voice.
As she turned, smiling, her mouth dropped in amazement. For the man lounging in the doorway was absurdly romantic looking, with very pale delicate features, hollowed cheeks, dark burning eyes, and hair as black and shining as a raven’s wing. He was thin and very elegant, and over his dinner jacket was slung a magnificent honey-coloured fur coat.
They stared at each other for a moment, then, smiling gently, he said: ‘May I come in? I hope it’s not a nuisance for you.’
He had an attractive voice, soft and drawling. ‘My name’s Rupert Henriques,’ he added as an afterthought.
‘Oh, please come in.’ Bella stood up, flustered, and found that her eyes were almost on a level with his.
‘You’re tall,’ he said in surprise. ‘You look so small on the stage beside Othello.’
Embarrassed, Bella tipped a pile of clothes off the red velvet sofa.
‘Sit down. Have a drink.’ She got out a bottle of whisky and a couple of glasses. She was furious that her hand shook so much. She rattled the bottle against the glass and poured out far too large a drink.
‘Hey, steady,’ he said. ‘I’m not much of a drinker.’
He filled the glass up to the top with water from the washbasin.
‘Do you mind if I smoke?’
She shook her head and was pleased to see his hand was shaking as much as hers when he lit his cigarette. He wasn’t as cool as he looked.
As she sat down she knocked a jar of cold cream on to the floor. They both dived to retrieve it and nearly bumped their heads.
He looked at her and burst out laughing.
‘I believe you’re as nervous as I am,’ he said. ‘Aren’t you used to entertaining strange men backstage every night?’
Bella shook her head. ‘I’m always frightened they might be disappointed when they meet me in the flesh.’
‘Disappointed?’ He looked her over incredulously. ‘You must be joking.’
Bella was suddenly conscious of how low her dress was cut.
‘The flowers are heavenly,’ she said, blushing. ‘How on earth did you manage to get such beautiful ones in winter?’
‘Rifling my mother’s conservatory.’
‘Doesn’t she mind?’
‘Doesn’t know. She’s in India.’ He smiled maliciously. ‘I’m hoping an obliging tiger might gobble her up.’
Bella giggled. ‘Don’t you like her?’
‘Not a lot. Do you get on with your parents?’
‘They’re dead,’ said Bella flatly, and waited for the conventional expressions of sympathy. They didn’t come.
‘Lucky you,’ said Rupert Henriques. ‘I wish I were an orphan – all fun and no fear.’
He had a droll way of rattling off these remarks which made them quite inoffensive. All the same, she thought, he’s a spoilt little boy. He could be quite relentless if he chose.
He picked up his drink. ‘You were even better than usual tonight.’
‘Don’t you get bored seeing the same play night after night?’
He grinned. ‘I’m glad it’s not a Whitehall farce. You’re the only reason I’ve been so many times.’
There was a knock on the door.
‘Hell,’ he said. ‘Do we have to answer it?’
It was Queenie.
‘I won’t be a minute,’ Bella said to her. ‘I’m sorry,’ she added to Rupert, ‘I shall have to change.’
He drained his glass, got up and moved towards the door.
‘I was wondering if you’d have dinner with me one evening next week,’ he said.
It’s Monday now, thought Bella. He can’t be that keen if he can wait at least a week to see me!
‘I’m very tied up,’ she said, untruthfully.
‘Tuesday?’ he said.
‘I’m working that night.’
‘Wednesday then?’
She paused just long enough to get him worried, then smiled: ‘All right, I’d like to.’
‘I don’t suppose you like opera.’
‘I adore it,’ lied Bella, determined to keep her end up.
‘Great. There’s a first night of Siegfried next Wednesday. I’ll try and get tickets.’
As he left he said, ‘I’m sorry I had to make your acquaintance in this rather gauche fashion, but I didn’t know anyone who knew you, who could have introduced us, and the only other alternative would have been to have bought the theatre.’
It was only later that she discovered he was only half-joking. The Henriques family could have bought every theatre in London without batting an eyelid.
Chapter Two
Promptly at six-thirty on Wednesday he picked her up.
‘You look gorgeous,’ he said, walking round her.
‘You don’t look so bad yourself,’ she said.
He was wearing a very dark green suit with a red silk shirt.
‘You like it?’ he said, pleased. ‘My tailor only finished it on Monday; that’s why I couldn’t ask you out last week.’
An Aston Martin was waiting outside; music blasted out of the slot stereo; the heat was turned up overpoweringly.
Bella wound down her window surreptitiously as they drove off. She didn’t want to be scarlet in the face before she started.
Other books
El frente ruso by Jean-Claude Lalumière
The Foul Mouth and the Fanged Lady by Richard Raley
The Short and Tragic Life of Robert Peace by Jeff Hobbs
Thongor and the Wizard of Lemuria by Lin Carter
Wrapped In Shadows by Eugene, Lisa
On Wings Of The Morning by Marie Bostwick
Led Astray by a Rake by Sara Bennett
The Alpha's Desire 3 by Willow Brooks
Blood and Reign (Cassandra Myles Witch Series) by Electa Graham