Unknown (2 page)

“You hinted at it last time I saw you. I may be a hasbeen, but I do still have some friends in the theatre and I see them from time to time. Did you get it?”

“In a way,” Sarah compromised. “I’m thinking of turning it down after all. I don’t think I’m ready—”

“Because of me?”

Sarah’s eyes met her father’s. “Yes, because of you. I didn’t know it was so bad. You should have told me.”

“I won’t have you sacrificing your career for me—”

Sarah grinned at him. “How melodramatic you make it sound! Truly, I’m not mad about this part and I am mad about my father. I can’t wait to have you all to myself in the country. Where in the country? Madge didn’t know.”

“Madge doesn’t want to know,” Daniel said with unaccustomed sharpness. He began to cough again, gasping for breath. “This show was never any good for her, but she won’t listen to me any longer. Seems to think I’m put out because they wouldn’t use my sets. I was a bit touchy at the time, till I saw that the whole production was out of gear and wasn’t going to be any good for anyone. Sarah, are you sure you want to come with me? I could hire myself a nurse—”

“You’ll do nothing of the kind!”

Her father’s eyes grew warmer. “I think it might be great fun. I’ve always wanted to live in Kent. This is a little village near Canterbury called Chaddoxboume. Never heard of it before, but then we’ve always lived in London, so it’s not so surprising, is it? Anyway, I heard that there was a converted oast-house that was to let on a quarterly basis and I got someone to go down and have a look at it. It’s got a small garden and an orchard, which seems only right in the Garden of England, and enough rooms for all of us. I’ve taken it for three months, with an option to stay there for the whole year. I’ve always wanted to see the inside of an oast-house.”

“Aren’t they used for drying hops?”

“I don’t know if they still are, but certainly they used to be. I particularly like their shape. They’re as fascinating to me as windmills.”

Sarah’s smile flashed across her face. “I’m looking forward to it too,” she averred. “I seldom get you all to myself!”

“And what about your career?”

She made a face at him. “What about it? I daresay the play will flop in a matter of weeks and then I’d be ‘resting’ anyway. What nicer place to go to than an oast-house in Kent?”

“You almost convince me,” her father said. “Almost, and I’m grateful. But I don’t have to tell you that, do
I?”

Sarah kissed him lightly on the brow. “You can be convinced,” she told him. “You see, I happen to love you very much!”

“You don’t say!” he coughed. “With a face like yours, you can’t help but wear your heart on your sleeve. I suppose there’s still no news on the romantic front?”

She shook her head, laughing. “I haven’t the time,” she said.

Her hands were shaking when she dialled the number that Alec Farne’s secretary had given her. Her picture of the man did nothing to encourage her that he would be sympathetic to her reasons for turning down the part. She imagined him as she had seen him across the footlights, crouched in a seat, his hand shading his eyes as he listened to something that his secretary was saying to him. And then the sudden burst of rage that had followed, while she had stood trembling on the stage, the floodlights lighting up her face, waiting to begin.

“Miss Blaney,” he had said, “I will be with you in a minute.”

And she had stood there and waited.

She waited now for someone to answer the telephone. A man’s voice muttered something quite incomprehensible followed by an irritable “Yes?”

“This—this is Sarah Blaney.”

“Oh yes, Sarah. What is it?”

“Mr. Farne?”

“Get on with it, Sarah.”

“I can’t take the part,” Sarah burst out. “I’m terribly sorry, but my father isn’t well and I have to look after him.”

“What? I didn’t hear what you said. Sorry, Sarah.”

“Mr. Farne, I can’t take the part.”

“Rubbish. Where are you?” He took down her address as she dictated it. “Funny,” he said, “I thought your family lived in St. John’s Wood?”

“They do,” she whispered.

“But you don’t?”

“No.”

“Very wise. Okay, Sarah, I’ll be round in about an hour and take you out to dinner. You can tell me all about this hang up of yours then. Only don’t pull the devoted daughter with me, honey. I know too much about your stepmother for that! Devotion to the boards comes first, last, and all the way! ”

Sarah choked. “I’m not my stepmother, Mr. Farne.”

He laughed. “You’re telling me! She’s a real beauty, is she not? Never mind, love, we’ll turn you into something too. You don’t have to have cold feet about it. Alec will look after you.”

Sarah made an angry sound. “I have not got cold feet—”

“Sounds like it to me. Be seeing you !”

Sarah replaced the receiver with a shake of her head. It had been every bit as difficult as she had thought it would be and she was no further forward. She felt that he was taking her out to dinner under false pretences. It was useless to try and convince herself that he would have taken any trouble with her if he hadn’t thought he could talk her round, and he would be all the crosser when he found he couldn’t.

Sarah changed into a long black skirt and brushed her neat cap of hair until it was shining. She never wore much make-up, but to give herself courage she put on some eye-shadow and gave her white face some artificial colour. It was ridiculous to think that she might be afraid of Alec Farne. He was young and madly successful, but he couldn’t eat her.

She was ready far too early and prowled about her room, looking for something to do before her nervousness ate up any confidence she might have had. When the door bell went she almost fell down the three flights of stairs to answer it, arriving breathless at the old-fashioned, heavy front door that was decorated by a glass peacock in striking colours that rattled ominously in the wind.

“How long have you had a room here?” Alec Farne demanded as she opened the door to him.

“Nearly a year,” she answered.

“Not very comfortable,” he murmured.

She smiled. “Not very, but I’ve known worse.”

Alec Farne gave her an interested look. “You’re not at all like your mother,” he said.

“No, I’m Penny Plain and she’s Twopence Coloured! In any case, she’s my stepmother, not my mother.”

“Twopence Coloured sounds like her,” he admitted. “Your stepmother, is she? Did you get your expressive face from your own mother?”

Sarah sighed. She wished he would forget all about her parentage. “I’m said to be more like her than my father,” she explained. “That’s why I can’t—”

“We’ll talk about that later on, my dear. Those auditions were some of the worst I ever remember. If you think I’m going through that again, I’m not!”

Sarah chuckled. Her fright had departed like magic, for she simply couldn’t be in awe of Alec Farne, he was far too like a petulant boy for that.

“I think you enjoy it,” she accused him. “I was terrified of you, you looked so fierce and furious!”

“Of me? Oh yes, I remember now, I was in rather a bad temper. The girl I had first wanted for the part had lost her voice. Still, her loss was your gain!”

“It would be if I could accept the part, but my father really is very ill, and someone has to look after him.”

“Your stepmother?”

She gave him an expressive look. “My stepmother has —commitments,” she said gently.

“So have you!”

He led her over to a nearly new Ford Saloon and opened the door for her, pushing her skirt in after her with clumsy fingers. The car slid into the busy traffic and Sarah thought how nice it was to be driven for a change instead of struggling with buses and the Underground system.

“Will you settle for Chinese food?” he asked her. “Sounds lovely,” she agreed.

Apparently he didn’t like to talk while he drove the car. She made a halfhearted effort to make conversation, but seeing his frown she desisted, quite happy to retreat into her own thoughts. When he pulled up beside the curb and reached across her to open the door, she was surprised to find that they had arrived.

“You get out here,” he ordered. “I’ll park the car and be along.”

Obediently, she waited on the pavement for him to take her into the restaurant. It was a typical June evening and, although it was late, the streets were still crowded with people either out for the evening or just reluctant to go home. The trees were green, if dusty and wilted in the heat from several days of unbroken sunshine. Sarah became aware of a man watching her and coloured slightly, putting a hand up to pat her hair back into position.

“Know him?” Alec Farne asked in her ear.

“No,” she said, and blushed again.

“He’d like to know you!”

“I don’t think so—not really. Look,” she added with obvious relief, “the girl he was waiting for is getting out of that taxi.”

“So she is!” Alec Farne sounded amused. “How old are you, Sarah Blaney?”

“Twenty-one,” she answered without hesitation. Her eyes filled with laughter. “Three years in rep. Is that what you want to know?”

“Strangely, it wasn’t. I want to know about you, not the actress that you hope to be.”

“How horrid you are!” she exclaimed. “I like to think that I already am an actress!”

“You’ve yet to prove it to me,” he said. “An actress has the theatre in her blood, my dear. The Show Must Go On and all that rot! She doesn’t throw in the towel just because her father is ill.”

He held open the door of the restaurant for her, his eyes already looking for the waiter to show them to their table. Sarah waited until they were seated and then she looked at him gravely.

“Do you really expect me to put your play before my father’s health?” she asked him.

“I do.”

“I think that’s inhuman!”

“Then in my book you’re not an actress.”

She hesitated as the hurt of that verdict struck deep within her. “As simple as that?” she asked at length.

“ ’Fraid so, my dear. This is your moment of truth. Are you going to be Florence Nightingale or follow in the footsteps of your admirable stepmother?”

She was silent for a very long time. Alec Farne made no effort to help her. Rather, he ignored her, busying himself by ordering their food and enquiring whether she thought wine really went with Chinese food, or if she would prefer to have jasmine tea. But in the end she had to answer him.

“I’m taking my father down to Chaddoxboume, in Kent,” she told him. “His asthma has got much worse in the last few days and I—I’d never forgive myself if anything happened to him.”

“All right,” Alec Farne drawled. “If that’s the way you want it, I’ve nothing more to say. Did you say Chaddoxboume ?”

' Sarah nodded unhappily.

“Funny, that. I was at school with a fellow called Chaddox who came from Kent. He used to boast that he was descended from the Saxon kings of old. Probably was! He was a stand-offish fellow, with very little time for the likes of me. I thought him a bit of a frozen fish. I don’t envy you if you’re going to live anywhere near him. He’ll freeze you to the bone!”

Sarah blinked thoughtfully. “Why should he? I don’t suppose he’ll even notice me, even if he’s still there.”

“Probably not,” Alec agreed with unflattering promptness. “Heavens, it’s a waste! If anyone cried out for greasepaint and somebody else’s skin to get into, it’s you! Why can’t that stepmother of yours take your father into the country?”

With a grimace, Sarah forced a laugh. “Because she’s a real actress?” she suggested.

“Gracious, you quaint, old-fashioned thing!” Alec teased her. “Well, perhaps she is as much of an actress as Nell Gwynn was in her day!”

Sarah’s ready smile faded. “I don’t think I quite understand?” she said with dignity.

“No? Oh, your stepmother has her place, my love. She’s a good trouper and she knows the kind of thing that suits her rather mediocre talent, and that makes her much better than she really is. But when it comes to acting, she doesn’t hold a candle to you, and if you don’t know that yet, you don’t know anything about it at all.” He glanced up, his eager eyes holding hers. “Look, have you ever seen your stepmother in anything different from her usual song and dance and romantic story?”

Reluctantly, Sarah shook her head. Alec Farne favoured her with a crooked smile. “Exactly. It breaks my heart to see you getting away from me, but there you are! There’s always something wrong—with you, it’s your temperament!”

Sarah licked her lips, unwilling to argue further with him. “Tell me more about Chaddoxboume?” she pleaded with him.

“I don’t know a thing about it,” he insisted. “Oh, yes, I do, now I come to think about it. At least I can remember Robert Chaddox. His mother was on the stage too—a pretty piece with no talent at all for acting, but enough talent in other directions to be a great deal more successful than she deserved. Robert didn’t like her! Naturally. I don’t remember Robert liking anyone, though, certainly not any of the fellows I went around with. Later on, I heard his father had died and that he’d inherited the estate of Chaddoxboume and very little money to run it on. It’s more than likely that he’ll be your landlord, but I don’t advise you to allow him any closer than that! You need someone with a discerning eye who can see that other you that’s bursting for public recognition!”

“What a terrible thought!” she laughed.

“But astute? I’m not the best young producer-cum-director around for nothing!”

Sarah chuckled. "Astute and very conceited,” she said.

“Why not? Someone has to appreciate me!”

On the way home in the car Sarah thought about what Alec had told her about Robert Chaddox. She wondered if he were really descended from the ancient Saxon kings of Kent, not that she knew anything about them, but it sounded a romantic kind of background to have.

She whisked out of the car as soon as it came to a stop outside the house where she had her room, but she was not quick enough. Alec Farne held out his hand for her key, laughing at her nervousness.

“Aren’t you going to thank me nicely for your dinner?” he asked her.