by Rosie Harris
Fern felt uneasy about what Ivan was proposing to do; she didn’t fancy being sold as part of the fixtures and fittings of the Katikav Circus. Furthermore, she was tired of being used to fill in between the more important acts, or as a warm-up artiste to keep the crowd entertained before the show started.
She was astute enough to know that she would never top the bill as a singer but she was also aware that her dancing skills were better than most and she was determined to exploit them to the full.
The circus had served its purpose as far as she was concerned; it had made it possible for her to get out of Russia and into Europe. She felt sure that from now on she could stand on her own two feet and make her way home.
Although she had only been a fill-in for the Katikav Circus, it had given her a taste for entertaining and she wondered if, before she went home, she could make a name for herself.
It was probably too much to hope that she would ever become so well known that she would arrive back in Cardiff as a famous celebrated dancer. The thought of how astounded Maria would be if that ever did happen brought a rare smile to her face.
There was no point in simply dreaming about it, she told herself. The thing to do was to set about achieving it. Now that Anastasia and Alina had left, there was only Marlene to compete with and Marlene was a singer not a dancer.
Perhaps she could persuade Ivan that it would be to his advantage to bill her as a dancer when he came to sell the circus, even though she had no intention of staying with them. She wished there was someone she could talk her ideas over with, but she wasn’t too confident about confiding in Marlene.
She had noticed right from the first day she’d joined them that Ivan treated Marlene differently. Her name was always printed very prominently on all the posters and flyers; there was no doubt that she was his favourite.
It made Fern curious to find out what Marlene was going to do; was she going to let him sell her on, or would she be interested in teaming up with Fern so that they could strike out on their own?
She kept turning the idea over in her mind. Marlene was as blonde as Fern was dark, so they were the perfect foil for each other; they could be an ideal partnership in a singing and dancing act.
She kept her own counsel as she listened to all the rumours that went round about the sale of the circus. She noted all the comments from the other performers as they debated whether they were staying on or not, but she said nothing.
Several times she was on the point of asking Marlene what her plans for the future were but something always held her back. There was a secretiveness about Marlene, even about her comings and goings, that made Fern cautious. She didn’t want Marlene telling Ivan of her plans; there was time enough for him to know when she was ready to put them into action.
Shortly after they arrived in Warsaw, Ivan announced that the sale of the circus had been accomplished and said they would all have to sign an agreement to work for the new owners. Since she had no intention of doing this, Fern felt she had no option but to make a clean breast of her own plans.
Summoning up her courage she went to see him. He listened in silence, his face impassive, his eyes hooded, as he leaned back in his chair with his hands together and his fingers making a pyramid over his rotund stomach.
‘So you think that you can find enough work as a dancer to pay your way back to Cardiff, do you?’ he said suddenly, sitting bolt upright as she finished telling him what she proposed to do. ‘Within a couple of weeks, without an agent to represent you, or a man to support you, you will find it impossible; you will probably end up as a prostitute.’
‘What nonsense,’ Fern declared angrily. ‘I’m not that sort of girl. Have you ever found me flirting with any of the men who work here or with any of the patrons?’
‘No, but then, up until now, you have had no need to do so,’ Ivan said quietly, his eyes narrowing. ‘Since you are attractive, then why not sell your body? You will find you can earn far more money by doing that than by dancing.’
‘Never!’ Fern almost screamed the word at him, she felt so angry at his insinuation.
‘I am only warning you of what the consequences could be if you set off on such a reckless adventure all on your own.’ Ivan shrugged dismissively.
‘You think I would do better to sign this piece of paper and become part of the property of the new circus owner, do you?’ Fern said in a withering tone.
Ivan stood up and paced the floor. ‘I have a suggestion. Marlene is not staying with the new owners. I am going to act as her agent and promote her as a singer and we will tour Europe. If you wish to accompany us, then I will put the idea to Marlene; a double act perhaps; Marlene singing and you dancing.’
Fern stared at him in astonishment. It was almost as if he’d read her thoughts. This was exactly what she’d had in mind. Not with him involved in any way, of course, but she was quick to realise that this could be to her advantage.
Fern didn’t know what Ivan said to Marlene but she accepted the arrangement without question. Ivan told both of them to say nothing to any of those members who had elected to stay on when the circus was sold but to leave everything to him.
For the next couple of weeks things seemed to go on as usual, although there were rumours and speculations in plenty about what was to happen. Then came the big day when the new owners officially took possession and Ivan, Marlene and Fern quietly took their leave.
So that there was no infringement of the new owners’ performing rights, Ivan told Marlene and Fern that they must move out of Poland and into Germany before they could announce or advertise their act.
Their lodgings in Berlin consisted of a very small two-bedroom apartment, but compared to what she’d once shared with Jacob and Dairvy, it was quite spacious.
Fern had assumed that she would be sharing a bedroom with Marlene but she was not altogether surprised when Marlene and Ivan moved into the larger bedroom together and she was given the room that ran alongside it. The single bed, a chest of drawers with a mirror over it and a chair almost completely filled it and left very little space to move around, but it was hers.
The important factor, as Ivan pointed out, was that they were now safely in Berlin which was renowned for its nightlife and as being a city of cabaret acts.
When she saw the new posters which Ivan had designed Fern felt both hurt and annoyed that Marlene was billed first and in letters so large that they entirely overshadowed her own name and act.
As she feared, Fern found that their partnership was anything but smooth. The first week they were in Germany she and Marlene spent quite a lot of time together while Ivan was out arranging fixtures at various clubs and restaurants. Fern tried to find out from Marlene what Ivan’s future plans were but her replies were so vague that in the end she gave up.
She wasn’t sure if Marlene really had no idea or whether Ivan had told her not to say anything. When the three of them were together he talked constantly about the promotions he was doing for Marlene and how one day soon she would be even more popular than Marlene Dietrich, who at present was the top cabaret actress and singer in Germany.
‘If only you were able to dance as well as you sing, Marlene,’ Ivan would sigh.
‘I can’t be expected to do everything and, anyway, Fern is the dancer,’ Marlene would say, pouting and fluttering her eyelashes.
‘I know, I know, and Fern certainly can’t sing,’ Ivan would say quickly in an attempt to placate her.
Fern merely smiled at their exchanges but playing second fiddle to Marlene didn’t suit her. If Ivan wasn’t prepared to see that she had equal billing and publicity then she would split up with him and Marlene and make her own way, she resolved.
Berlin might be the city of cabarets, but there were other European cities equally as good. Her ultimate aim was to reach Paris and join the Folies Bergère.
Meanwhile, she consoled herself, she had a roof over her head and, with every show she took part in, she was improving her dancing skills.
Furthermore, although Marlene might top the bill and receive most of the accolades, Fern also had her admirers. One man in particular seemed to follow her from restaurant to nightclub in order to watch her dance and without fail sent her either flowers or chocolates or both at the end of every performance.
Discreetly she tried to find out more about him and discovered that he was the head of a large chain of hotels in Germany and was extremely wealthy. When one night she found a slip of paper with a telephone number tucked into the flowers when they were handed to her, she felt both intrigued and jubilant.
Two days later she met up with Heinz Knox and listened carefully to his suggestion that she should work for him.
‘I would give you star billing as a cabaret act at my hotels. You would travel throughout Germany, spending up to three nights at each hotel. Your act would be exclusive to my hotels for the next six months. After that we could talk some more,’ he told her.
Fern promised to think about it.
‘I need a decision promptly. If you do not wish to undertake such an assignment, then there are other artistes who are eager to audition,’ he explained.
When Fern told Ivan what she intended to do he was furious. He immediately went to see Heinz Knox to suggest that Marlene should be included in the arrangement but Heinz was adamant that he wanted Fern on her own. He already had an established cabaret and all he needed was a dancer, and Fern was the one he wanted.
Fern ignored Ivan’s warning that she was making a great mistake and decided to seize the opportunity to strike out on her own. Marlene expressed no view whatsoever when she told her what she was planning to do and Fern suspected that Marlene was quite pleased to see her go so that she had Ivan all to herself.
As Ivan had warned, working for Heinz Knox had its drawbacks. In return for giving her a star billing he expected favours; ones which she was not prepared to give.
Glanmor still figured exclusively in her heart and in her mind and she had no wish for a dalliance with any other man. It was a state of affairs which didn’t please Heinz Knox and he repeatedly told her how much she owed him. When her six months contract expired he refused to renew it unless she conceded to his demands for sexual favours.
‘There is no other man in your life, so why are you so frigid?’ he asked contemptuously when she continued to reject his advances. When she tried to explain about her love for Glanmor he was cynical and disparaging.
‘This Glanmor is dead, so it is time to forget about him. Move on. Soon you will lose your looks and your ability to dance and then what will you do?’
‘I shall go home to Cardiff and find some other way of earning my living and it won’t be sleeping with you or any other man,’ Fern told him quietly.
‘Perhaps then the time has come to pack your suitcase and start your journey,’ he told her. ‘There is no more work for you here and if I should be asked for recommendations I will not be giving them. You are finished in Germany.’
Fern didn’t argue with him, she merely nodded in acceptance, which seemed to anger him all the more.
That night as she packed her few belongings she tried to make her mind up whether she ought to try and work her way through Holland and Belgium or whether she should spend more than half her savings on the train fare and go direct to Paris.
Deep down she longed to be back in Cardiff; she was missing Maria and she was worried because she hadn’t heard from her or from Rhodri for a long time. She was so homesick that she wondered if, in fact, it might be better to spend every penny she had and head for Cardiff. The thought of arriving back there completely penniless and with only the few scrappy posters that Ivan had produced to prove how successful she’d been as a dancer, deterred her.
It would be wonderful to tell them that she had appeared at the Folies Bergère. It was one of her dreams and she resolved that now was the time to give herself the chance to do so.
If she failed the audition, she promised herself, then she would abandon the idea and head straight back to Cardiff. If she succeeded, then how long she stayed in Paris would depend on how successful she proved to be.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Fern was fortunate enough to find a window seat and as the train thundered across Western Germany, through Holland and Belgium and on into France, she either stared out at the passing countryside or closed her eyes and dozed.
As they neared their destination she tried to decide what her course of action should be when they arrived in Paris. How did she go about arranging an audition for herself at the Folies Bergère? she wondered. Should she book into the cheapest hotel she could find or go straight to 32 Rue Richer?
Mentally, she counted up how much money she had left after paying her train fare and wondered if it would be better to find out what her chances were of achieving an audition before spending it on accommodation.
Although becoming one of their dancers was her ultimate goal, if it looked as though it was going to be impossible, then perhaps the wisest course of action would be to go straight back to Cardiff. She was worried about Maria and longed to see her again. Even though she was sure that Rhodri was taking care of her as he had promised to do, it would be wonderful to see them both again.
Fern wasn’t sure if Maria would have heard about what had happened to Glanmor.
As she alighted from the train and stood on the platform still debating with herself what to do for the best, a bustling porter picked up her bag which she had put down by her feet and loaded it on to his trolley.
Grabbing hold of it, she pulled it free, shaking her head when he began questioning her in voluble French before hurrying off in the opposite direction.
Deciding that it was no place to tarry she headed for the exit. Her mind was made up. She’d try her luck at the Folies Bergère.
Ignoring the main entrance she made her way down the passageway at the side to the stage door. It opened to her touch and, apprehensively, she made her way up the narrow wooden stairs, trying to work out in her mind what she would say when she met someone.
Before she reached the top a small wizened woman appeared, scowling fiercely.
Fern realised from the woman’s tone that she was being scolded and that it was something to do with being late. Too breathless to explain she allowed herself to be taken by the arm and hurried down a carpeted passage and into a room at the far end.
‘Madame Delcourt, the girl has arrived at last.’
The elegant woman wore a black woollen dress and her dark hair was swept up into a smooth chignon. She was seated behind the desk sorting a pile of papers and didn’t even glance up; she merely waved to the chair opposite her desk.
Fern sat down on the edge of the chair, clutching the handle of her suitcase, not sure what to say or do.
When Madame Delcourt finally looked up she spoke so fast that Fern had no idea what she was saying. Pointing to herself she murmured, ‘English, not Française.’
The woman frowned and then, to Fern’s relief, began speaking quite slowly, this time in English.
‘You are very late,’ she admonished. ‘There was no need to bring your costume,’ she said dismissively, indicating the suitcase at Fern’s feet. ‘If you are satisfactory, then you will wear something from our collection.’ Standing up, she added impatiently, ‘Leave your valise and come this way and show me what you can do.’
Fern opened her mouth to speak, to explain that there must be some mistake because she didn’t have an appointment. Realising that this was an unexpected opportunity to have an audition, she slipped off her coat and followed Madame Delcourt.
Madame Delcourt led the way into a small ballroom; at one end was a stage with a piano in one corner. With a nod to Fern she sat down at the piano and began to play.
‘Come, then; show me what you can do,’ she said impatiently.
Fern hesitated; she couldn’t believe she was actually auditioning for the Folies Bergère; it was nerve-wracking. To her consternation she was not familiar with t
he tune and she had no idea what was expected of her. It mattered so much that she made a good impression but all she could do was to improvise and simply let the music dictate what her feet must do.
In a dream, she danced for almost fifteen minutes. As Madame Delcourt stopped playing Fern felt as if she was coming out of a trance. Had it been real or was she imagining it was all taking place? she wondered.
Madam Delcourt’s next words brought her down to earth.
‘You are very talented. I am not sure you will fit into the chorus, but possibly you can still dance for us. Tell me something of your background. In English, if you must, but speak slowly.’
Haltingly, Fern explained that she had called there on the spur of the moment and that she was not the dancer that Madame Delcourt had obviously been expecting.
The other woman shrugged. ‘She still has not come, so no matter. Perhaps it was meant to be this way,’ she added with a smile that softened her features. ‘Come, tell me about yourself and why you are here.’
Very concisely Fern explained about Glanmor being a sailor and how after he’d died at sea she had been working as a dancer in Russia. She said nothing about the baby she had lost.
‘So you have become tired of Russia and the Bolsheviks’ way of living?’ Madame Delcourt questioned.
‘I found that their ways were different to what I had been used to in Cardiff,’ Fern murmured non-committaly.
‘Very tactfully expressed,’ Madame Delcourt commented dryly. ‘Let us hope that you will find French ways are more pleasing. Now, where is it you are living?’
‘I’ve not found anywhere, not yet. I only arrived in Paris a couple of hours ago and I came straight here from the railway station,’ she explained.
‘I see!’ Madame Delcourt looked surprised. ‘You were expecting to be auditioned without making any application?’
‘No, no; most certainly not,’ Fern said quickly. ‘It has always been my ambition to dance with the Folies Bergère,’ she sighed. ‘I simply came to see where they were housed; to enjoy the atmosphere of such a famous theatre.’