‘When’s the baby due?’ she asked eventually in a strangled, small voice.
‘In June.’ Magnus sighed deeply. Ruth was so very excited, and Sophie and Stephen were already digging out all their old baby toys for their new brother or sister. Magnus too was thrilled at the prospect of a new child, and hoped it would help to bring back all the idyllic happiness they had as a family before he met Bonny. ‘But you have to understand why it has to end now. Not just because I can’t bear being torn in two, but because Ruth needs me and she deserves more than I’ve been giving her for some time. After tonight it’s over between you and me.
Bonny sat up slowly, her face crumpled and swollen with tears. She knew he meant it. Magnus never said anything he didn’t mean. That was one of the reasons she loved him so much. ‘You’re wrong about me,’ she said putting her hand on his cheek, her eyes looking deep into his and her voice hiccuping with sobs. ‘I would’ve been happy to settle down with you and have children. I don’t care about being on the stage. All I want is to live with you and have your baby.’
Magnus saw right through her eyes into her soul. Despite all the lies she’d told him, this time he knew she was speaking the truth. He had a feeling he’d just removed the last wrapper and that this was the real Bonny, naked and truthful. His pain grew ever greater.
‘I’m going home now,’ she said, reaching for her clothes.
‘Not now, not like this,’ he said quickly.
She didn’t look at him, but slipped on her knickers and a camisole. ‘I have to go now,’ she whispered brokenly as she put on her stockings. ‘If I stay I’ll try and force you to change your mind.’
Magnus gulped. Would she exact some revenge? Would she really just go quietly? Just the way she fastened her suspenders, one leg up on the bed, was a reminder of all those sensual, beautiful moments with her. Could he bear to see her walk out of the door?
‘I do love you, Bonny,’ he said once she was dressed. ‘I probably always will. But I have a duty to my wife and children. Do you understand that?’
She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and tossed back her hair. The forlorn look in her eyes had changed to one of defiant pride. ‘Yes. I don’t like it, but I understand,’ she said. ‘I hope you’ll be happy, Magnus.’
He expected something more – one last burst of spite or pleading – but instead she just put on her coat and opened the door.
‘Wait! Let me get dressed.’ He picked up his trousers. ‘I’ll drive you.’
‘No, I’ll walk. I need the fresh air.’ Her head tilted up proudly. ‘Goodbye, Magnus.’
He pulled back the curtain and watched her walking across the heath towards Lewisham. There was frost on the grass and it sparkled like diamonds in the moonlight. She walked so gracefully, almost gliding like a skater, blonde hair standing out against her dark coat, as pale as the moon.
Tears rolled down his cheeks unchecked as he watched her go. There was no satisfaction in knowing he’d done the right thing, no relief that twenty months of deceit and treachery were finished. He felt as if part of him would shrivel and die before the night was over.
Ellie woke to find Bonny getting into her single bed with her.
‘What is it?’ she whispered, but as she touched Bonny’s icy hand, she guessed.
‘It’s over,’ Bonny whispered, a sob in her voice. ‘Just hold me, Ellie. Don’t ask questions.’
‘Bonny won’t be able to manage it,’ Ellie told Eric, the booking clerk from Bloomfield’s on the telephone. He had rung to speak about booking them into a show in Birmingham. ‘She’s not well and she’s going home to her parents until after Christmas at least.’
Ellie held the receiver away from her ear as Eric launched into the expected tirade about being let down at the last minute – ‘Did Bonny think she could just work when she felt like it?’
Ellie made suitable sympathetic noises and said it was ‘women’s troubles’. She guessed that would shut him up, and it did. It wasn’t true, of course, but a broken heart could be just as bad as an infected womb. Bonny had managed to struggle through the last week’s performance, but now she had her case packed to go home to her mother’s, and nothing would make her change her mind.
Eric said he’d look for something else for Ellie alone and promised to phone her back later.
‘Was he very angry?’ Bonny asked when Ellie got back into their room.
‘No, not at all,’ Ellie lied. She didn’t want to upset Bonny further with what had really been said. She felt Bonny had been through enough: she was pale and listless, and she needed the comfort of being with her parents.
‘But what about you, Ellie?’ Bonny began to cry again. She seemed to have been crying incessantly all week. ‘I’ve messed things up for you too.’
‘I’ll be fine,’ Ellie insisted, hoping she would be. ‘Eric may find me something. If not I’ll take Edward up on his offer to spend Christmas at his grandmother’s.’
‘You could come to my mum’s?’ Bonny caught hold of Ellie’s hand tightly. ‘After Christmas I’m going down to Aunt Lydia’s, you’d be welcome there too.’
‘You’ve got a lot of bridges to mend in both those places.’ Ellie squeezed the hand in hers. Although Bonny had visited her parents since returning to London, she did it with a bad grace, almost always returning with tales of arguments. Lydia Wynter wrote every week without fail, but Bonny rarely made the effort to write back more than a few lines. ‘You don’t want me around. Anyway, I’m sure to get something. It’s Christmas, after all – someone must want a fairy, a clown, or the back end of a horse.’
Bonny smiled weakly. ‘Why don’t you ever say “I told you so”?’
‘Because it doesn’t help.’ Ellie tweaked Bonny’s small nose. ‘I’d rather say “There’s someone else out there waiting for you to make miserable”. Isn’t that a more cheerful prospect?’
‘You felt just like this about Charley, didn’t you?’
Ellie nodded glumly. She hadn’t forgotten one moment of that heartache, the nights spent crying, feeling utterly alone. Sometimes she despaired of ever finding a man to love again. But she wasn’t going to tell Bonny that now. ‘Yes. But I got over it, and so will you. Now come on. I’ll walk down with you to the station.’
Ellie lay down on her bed when she got back from the station, suddenly exhausted. She felt guilty at feeling such a sense of relief now Bonny was gone, but there was only a certain amount of sympathy any one person could dole out and she’d come to the end of the line with hers. She pulled the eiderdown over her and dropped off to sleep.
The telephone ringing woke her with a start.
‘Miss Forester, it’s for you,’ Mrs Wheddle her landlady called out.
‘Coming,’ Ellie yelled back, stuffing her feet into her slippers and smoothing down her skirt.
It was Eric from Bloomfield’s again. Ellie was breathless from running down two flights of stairs. She listened while Eric asked if she thought she could handle being Prince Charming in Cinderella at the Little Theatre in Hampstead.
Ellie’s heart leaped with excitement. ‘Of course I can,’ she said gleefully.
Eric sounded a little uncertain. He said that there would be no time for a proper audition, as the original girl chosen for the part had left the company in the lurch in the middle of rehearsals. He asked if she could get there within an hour to meet Kennedy, the producer.
The line went dead before Ellie could ask any further questions. She rushed back up the stairs to brush her hair and collect her dancing shoes.
It was close to four in the afternoon, minutes to go before the deadline, as Ellie arrived at the stage door. She had run from the tube station and she was out of breath. She wasn’t in any way dismayed by the Little Theatre being shabby and small; it had a reputation for excellent plays and packed houses.
‘I’m Ellie Forester,’ she gasped out to the doorman. ‘I’m to meet Mr Kennedy here.’
‘I ’ope you’re the cavalry.’ His
thin, lined face broke into a wide grin. ‘Can’t ’ave Cinder-bleedin’ella wivout ’er Prince Charmin’, can we?’
Hearing the man’s cockney voice was like going home. It seemed like the best of good omens. ‘No we bleedin’ can’t, cock,’ she said lapsing into her old way of speaking.
He looked startled for a moment, then burst into laughter. ‘Gawd love us,’ he said, holding his sides. ‘We all thought you was gonna be some snooty bint from up west!’ His hand shot forward. ‘Alf’s the name,’ he said, brown eyes twinkling. ‘Come on in, ducks. We don’t stand on ceremony ’ere. Mr Kennedy’s out front now, waiting for yer.’
‘Ellie,’ she said, shaking his hand. ‘And I’m very pleased to meet you.’
As Alf led Ellie into the gloomy theatre a surprisingly young man came forward. He was thin, only a couple of inches taller than herself, with unruly curly brown hair and a boyish, broken-toothed smile.
‘Well done, Miss Forester,’ he said, shaking her hand as Alf made the introductions. ‘When I heard you had to come from south London I thought I was pushing my luck expecting you to be here within an hour.’
‘I’d have flown to get here on time.’ She smiled, remembering Marleen had always said it paid to look keen, but her stomach was churning with nerves and she wished she’d had time to put on something more attractive than her old checked skirt and a somewhat shrunken jumper. ‘I’m usually known as Ellie,’ she added.
Kennedy was perhaps thirty; he had a deep, resonant voice and blue-grey eyes. He looked a happy man, very relaxed in an ancient tweed jacket and trousers which needed a press.
‘I’m known as Ray to everyone,’ he said. ‘I am the producer, but in this theatre that’s a bit of a misnomer. I’m stage-manager, prompter, and often flunky too.’
Ellie liked Ray on sight. He had an open face and a straightforward, self-deprecating way of speaking which suggested he had a good sense of humour.
‘Take this,’ he said, handing her a couple of pages of a script. ‘Read it through and get the gist of it. I don’t expect you to learn it word for word. Let’s face it, we all know the story-line anyway. For now all I want to see is whether you can be a believable prince. I’ve just got to pop out for ten minutes. Sylvia who’s playing Cinderella will acquaint you with my ideas.’
Sylvia was another very pleasing surprise. Ellie felt she’d be the perfect partner. She was a small, quite plain girl of twenty-two with long mousy hair, but her blue eyes were warm and friendly and she grinned engagingly at Ellie as if delighted to meet her.
‘I loathed Delia Merchant, the original prince,’ she said without any hesitation, leading Ellie up on to the stage. It was bare aside from a few steps at the back; the scenery was still being painted elsewhere in the theatre. There were no spotlights switched on, just a couple of dim bulbs hanging above. ‘We’re all cheesed off with being left in the lurch halfway through rehearsals. You look nice, Ellie, I hope we can be friends too. So let’s get stuck into this and get it all tied up.’
The part of the story they were to run through was the ballroom scene as the clock strikes twelve and Cinderella runs away, leaving her glass slipper behind. Sylvia explained that the entire cast would normally be on the stage but that they’d all gone home for the afternoon.
‘Ray will play a waltz for us when he comes back,’ she said. ‘We have to dance, looking into each other’s eyes as if we’re falling in love, and try not to giggle. He’ll bang on a gong for the striking clock, then I’ll be off, leaving one of my size fours on the steps. Don’t forget you’re supposed to be a man, big strides and all that. When you speak your lines, aim them at the gallery, don’t look down at Ray.’
Ellie scanned through the script and ran through it a couple of times with Sylvia, then Ray appeared and sat down at the piano.
‘Right, girls!’ he shouted up at them. ‘From the beginning of the waltz.’
It was good to act again. Ellie shut out the empty theatre, the bare stage and the lack of atmosphere. As she took Sylvia into her arms she imagined the smaller girl in a hooped ballgown, herself in a prince’s satin tunic with buckle shoes and tights, and drifted away with the music, gazing into Cinderella’s eyes.
The gong boomed out. Cinderella stiffened, gasped in horror, then broke away from Ellie’s arms, fleeing up the wooden steps at the back of the stage. By now, Ellie had almost forgotten Ray was sitting at the piano. She was a man in love, stunned by losing her partner so unexpectedly. She strode over to the dropped slipper, picked it up and turned to the invisible audience.
‘Search my kingdom for the owner of this glass slipper,’ she commanded. ‘Every castle, every house, every cottage. I will not rest until you find my love. The girl whose tiny foot fits this slipper will be my wife.’
There was a moment’s silence, then Ray clapped down in the orchestra pit. ‘Bravo,’ he called out. ‘You’re a natural prince, Ellie. Now let’s just run through a couple of the songs, shall we?’
It was after six by the time Ellie left the theatre to go back to her digs in Catford to pack. She was due to start rehearsals at ten the following morning and Ray had promised to get her fixed up in the same digs as Sylvia.
‘I hope you’ll be happy with us,’ he said as he saw her out. ‘The pantomime’s due to run until the end of February; that gives us plenty of time to get to know each other better.’
On the journey back to Catford, Ellie thought about Ray Kennedy and smiled happily. Things were looking up. She had a leading role, with the chance to let her career take a slightly new direction. Hampstead was one of the nicest parts of London, and she was free for once to make new friends, away from the often intolerable pressures Bonny put her under. But above all, she had a feeling Ray would be important in her life.
It was a long time since she’d met any man who really interested her. But as Ray spoke she had felt a faint tingle of something special, just the way she had with Charley. He was a little like Charley, now she came to think about it; not just his curly hair, but that openness, the curiosity mixed with eagerness. Maybe she was a bit impudent in imagining a producer could be tempted into a relationship with a relatively inexperienced actress, but it was cheering to find she was capable of thinking of something other than just work.
‘Ellie, you’re marvellous!’ Ray called out from the orchestra pit. ‘Let’s just run through the scene with the ugly sisters one more time. Let the audience see you pulling faces as they try to force the slipper on, and don’t be afraid to ham it up a bit more, that’s what panto’s all about.’
Ellie had been in rehearsal for five days now and she didn’t think she’d ever enjoyed herself so much. She couldn’t wait for opening night on Friday. Her satin and brocade costumes suited her admirably, even if close up they were old and patched. She liked every single member of the cast. Monty and Charles, the ugly sisters, had her in stitches all the time. They were a pair of old comics from music hall and she remembered going with Marleen to see them in the Mile End Road when she was eight or nine. They’d spent the war years with ENSA and their stories of those days were hilarious. As for Sylvia, she was fast becoming a very good friend. After all the tumult Bonny created in her wake, it was good to be with someone gentler. Sylvia was uncomplicated, generous and warm-hearted and she wasn’t always out to hog the limelight.
‘Knock it on the head now,’ Ray called out after they’d repeated the scene. ‘Be here at ten tomorrow morning for a complete run-through. Then a full dress rehearsal in the afternoon. Ellie, stay behind a moment please.’
Ellie jumped down off the stage into the front of the house. Ray was leafing through some music on the piano. He turned and smiled at her.
Her feelings that Ray was interested in her as a woman rather than just an actress had grown even stronger in the last couple of days. He seemed to go out of his way to talk to her alone. Yesterday he’d kept her back to run through one scene which she knew didn’t really call for such personal coaching. They’d had a cup of tea
later in his office and talked for over an hour. He’d encouraged her to tell him a great deal about her past and in turn he’d revealed quite a lot about himself.
He was one of four children and his family home was in Orpington in Kent. Ellie surmised, though he hadn’t actually said so, that his parents were middle-class and comfortably off. He said he went to grammar school, then on to RADA, but being called up into the army had halted his acting career. During his time in the army, which he laughingly admitted was mainly spent in the stores, he’d been responsible for putting on a few shows. When he was demobbed he came back to London looking for work and the only job he could get was as under-stage-manager in the Haymarket Theatre. After a year there, doing little more than painting scenery and finding props, he got the opportunity to stand in as temporary stage-manager here in Hampstead, while the man who’d had the job before underwent a serious operation. The Little Theatre was struggling to keep going. Ray brought with him new enthusiasm and some good ideas, and when the previous stage-manager found he couldn’t return, Ray was offered the permanent job.
‘I flannelled my way into becoming producer,’ he laughed. ‘I had a great many contacts with decent actors and actresses and I was prepared to do anything to put bottoms on the seats. The owners let me have a free hand for a while to see if I could pull things into shape and I managed it, somehow. But I haven’t got any illusions about my ability. I’m just good at motivating others, and I’ve got an eye for embryo talent. Luckily, aside from the panto season, we put on a different play once a fortnight, so if one is awful there’s always the next one. I’ve got quite smart about what the Hampstead crowd want to see, keep them entertained and they come back for each new production.’
Ellie Page 54