Village Gossip (21 page)

Peter listened to the dialogue going back and forth between the two of them and writhed inside. There was still the scene to get through when she heard from the maid that there’d been a shooting accident at the Big House and did madam know it was Mr Leonard who’d died. He wished Hugo Maude in hell and longed for the play to finish.

When the curtains did finally close on the last line an audible sigh went around the hall, and then the applause began. Most of the audience stood to clap and they had curtain call after curtain call, until finally Hugo stepped forward to say his thanks.

With arms outstretched he opened his speech with, ‘What can I say? Without your support where would we have been? You dear, darling people. Weren’t the cast absolutely splendid?’ He flicked his hands in the air, beckoning applause. When it had died down he continued. ‘I came to Turnham Malpas a broken man, wounded by the hurly-burly of life. I leave to go to Stratford, refreshed, renewed, revitalised, re …’

‘… charged?’ Someone from the audience called out.

Hugo laughed, ‘That’s right. Recharged. I love you all …’

A voice from the back whispered hoarsely, ‘Some more than others’, and was instantly hushed by his neighbours. Hugo ignored the comment and followed on with, ‘There are so many people to thank for this production, not least Mr Fitch who has sportingly lent us his piano and provided the wherewithal for the production. I give you Mr Fitch!’

Mr Fitch stood up and from his place in the front row turned to acknowledge the thanks.

‘For my leading lady!’ Hugo leant down to take the bouquet into his arms and he dramatically kissed Caroline, handing the bouquet over to her. Massively stimulated by the success of her performance she thanked him with a big kiss. The audience cheered. This bouquet was followed by others from husbands, from families, from Mr Fitch, from well wishers. And then Neville stepped forward.

‘I should just like to say how much everyone in the cast, and all the backstage helpers to whom we owe an enormous debt of gratitude, have learned under Hugo’s tutelage. Me in particular. I know I’m considered a cold fish and that it’s time I let my hair down and relaxed more, well now I well and truly have in this play and I quite like the experience!’ Muted cheers came from the body of the hall. ‘All our lives have been enriched by his work here and we’re grateful for the time he has carved out of his busy life to work with us. He’s a hard task master, believe me. He’s kicked us, cajoled us, ordered us, badgered us, shouted at us, persuaded us, until finally we got it right. Hugo Maude, a present from us all.’ He stepped to the wings and emerged with five bottles of champagne in his arms. ‘With all our love and best wishes for the future.’

Hugo’s eyes filled with tears as he accepted the champagne. ‘What can I say, but thank you so very, very much.’

The speeches went on until finally Hugo called a halt. ‘Goodnight! Goodnight! The cast still have a party to go to! Goodnight, everyone, and thank you once again from the very bottom of my heart for all your love and kindnesses. Goodnight!’ He waved vigorously to everyone as they began to leave and then signalled for the curtains to close.

‘Move over, Hugo, it’s the husband’s turn now.’

It was the sharp tone of Peter’s voice which startled Hugo. Peter had only ever been polite and generous in his dealings with him, despite the delicacy of their relationship, so he released Caroline and looked up at Peter wondering what was afoot. ‘Mr Fitch is anxious to introduce you to his guests, so you’d better go play your I-am-humble bit and accept their admiration.’

Hugo looked at Caroline but could read nothing from her face, he half thought of suggesting she went with him to see Mr Fitch, but changed his mind when he couldn’t interpret her feelings. So he meekly did as Peter suggested. After all if he was to take
Dark Rapture
to the West End then he would need backers and all Mr Fitch’s guests were influential people. It was only politic to go. Suddenly a sweet
au revoir
to Caroline didn’t seem like a good idea and he left without a word.

‘Brilliant! Quite brilliant. You were right. I was impressed.’

Eyes bright with success Caroline looked up at him. ‘I told you you would be. And it wasn’t just me. Michelle and Rhett and Harriet and Liz and Neville were brilliant too. Life will never be the same, will it? So I’m determined to enjoy every last minute of this day. You can stay for the party? Willie doesn’t mind, does he?’

‘He’s sleeping in the spare room, so we can stay as long as we want.’

‘No.’

‘Peter …’

He bent down and tentatively kissed the top of her head. ‘Yes?’

‘Nothing. This make-up feels uncomfortable. I’m going to remove it.’

‘I’ll help clear the chairs, then. Make space for us all.’

Apparently from nowhere, a trestle table was erected, and food and drink appeared as though by magic. Hugo, secretly extremely excited by the great impression he’d made on Mr Fitch’s guests, having laid the seeds to take
Dark Rapture
to the West End, donated his gift of champagne to the party and opened a bottle. They all gathered round with their paper cups and waited for him to pop the cork. He gave the bottle a vigorous shake and the cork fired out, narrowly missing Caroline’s face. She leapt aside, stumbled over Neville’s feet and only saved herself from falling by grabbing Sylvia’s arm.

‘Sorry!’

‘That’s all right.’

‘Sylvia!’

‘Yes?’

‘I’m really sorry, you know, about …’

Sylvia’s eyes filled with unexpected tears. Caroline kept hold of her arm and said quietly, ‘I’m so sorry. One day perhaps you might …’

‘I’ll see. I can’t bear … It’s the children, you know, I miss them.’

‘I understand.’

‘And you.’

‘Yes?’

‘And the Rector.’

Sylvia nodded. ‘Well, all right then.’

Hell’s bells! Would nothing ever be right again? She’d accepted the maternity leave standin job, she desperately wanted to do it and now she might just have no one to see to the children. But would she be here anyway? Hugo caught her eye and smiled that special smile he kept for her. Her heart felt as though it was spinning in her chest, her blood pumped faster and faster and all she could see through the haze was Hugo’s beautiful features and the smile which was only for her. For a moment they were the only ones in the hall. His glorious dark hair, his widow’s peak, the strong beautifully moulded forehead and those eyes! Were there ever such expressive eyes as his? Then their moment was broken by someone standing in front of Hugo. It was Peter, blocking Hugo completely from view. Peter. Peter’s children. Her children. Her darling Alex and Beth. They’d survive her going. Children were remarkably resilient and with her gone surely Sylvia would come back to give a hand.

The noise of the party grew, everyone was talking, running over the high points of the play, laughing, teasing, making plans for another production, returning borrowed jewellery, clothes they’d lent, pictures commandeered for the stage, her Indian throwover was returned to her, plans were made for storing the costumes Mrs Jones had run up, the chatter and the noise and the excitement went on. Someone had put on a tape and the music added to the excitement.

‘Wel-1-1 now. Champagne, ish it? Don’ll ’ave one!’

‘Now, Don, is this a good idea?’ This from Mrs Jones.

‘’Ello, Greta! Give us a kish.’ He went forward weaving his way between the chairs. ‘You’ve known me a long time, but it doeshn’t give you the righ’ to tell me wha’ to do. Come on, then, I like a nicesh plump woman I do. Round, like, and cuddly.’ He lurched forward and grabbed her, giving her a resounding unwelcome kiss. His hands clutched her bottom. ‘My word, but you’re a …’ Mrs Jones fought him off and then smacked his face.

‘Oh now come on, that’sh not kind to an upright good living man li’ me. My Vera never lifted a hand to me.’ His bleary eyes peered at everyone. ‘Where ish she? Where’sh my Vera?’

But Vera was hiding behind Rhett. ‘Don’t let him see me, Rhett, please.’ Rhett stood his ground. ‘Oh, Rhett! Whatever have I done? I’ve driven him to drink, that’s what. Him that’s never done me a wrong turn all these years.’ Vera peeped out from behind Rhett and, seeing him, realised he was still the same old Don. ‘He won’t change for me though, will he? It’s just a load of sentimental old tosh he’s saying. His problem is he’s got no one to wash his socks and iron his shirts. But I shouldn’t have done what I’ve done.’

When Don couldn’t spot Vera, he said, ‘Anyway it’sh not only her I’ve come to shee, it’s that Mr Hugo Maude. I’ve come to knock his block off.’

Hugo pushed forward into a gap and faced him. ‘I’m here.’ Summoning all his acting techniques, despite the prospect of a physical attack, he assumed an air of authority and said, ‘I suggest you toddle along home, Don, and sleep it off.’

‘Oh Rhett, he really is missing me. What have I done?’ Vera whispered.

Don put his handkerchief away and continued with his tipsy monologue. ‘But he wasn’t content with just one woman, was he? Oh no. When my Vera left me because of him, he didn’t tell her he already had another string to his bow, did he? Oh no! Up at the Big House getting his oats, he was. She was only too ready and willing; anything in trousers, that’s her motto. He’s a two-timing blackguard. Now ’er ’usband’s had a ’eart attack! It was the shock that did it! Lucky if he lives.’

‘Someone get him out!’ Hugo snarled his request, but no one moved to comply; Don’s performance had mesmerised them all.

Don picked up his cup again. The champagne appeared to have cleared his head, for now his speech was not nearly so slurred and his eyes were taking in everything: the blank, horrified faces, the incredulous ones, the embarrassed ones, and in Caroline’s case the appalled one.

Peter, horrified by what Don was saying, at last mobilised himself as Don paused to toss the last of his champagne down his throat. He forced his way through the crowd, pushing aside those rooted to the spot by the horror of what they were witnessing. He intended to take Don by the arm and frog-march him out, but as he reached him the door opened again and everyone turned to look at the newcomer. This time it was Venetia.

Unaware of her arrival, Don pursued his point, emphasising it by stabbing the air with a shaky finger. ‘Yer see it’s all right for Mr Hugo Maude to mess her about, ’cos that Venetia’s a … tart. An out and out
tart
. But not you!’

Someone switched off the tape and in the profound silence which followed everyone stared at Venetia.

The evening was full of shocks, for this was a Venetia they’d never seen before. A broken reed battered by life’s storms, she wore a grubby sweater, wrinkled trousers, no jewellery. Her hair was straggly and unkempt and, for the first time since they’d known her she wore no make-up. She looked completely done in. It was Venetia who spoke first.