Looking at her reflection in the mirror as she applied her lipstick, Margot could see how tired she looked. Gently she dabbed face powder under her eyes and rubbed a little more rouge into her cheeks – she looked better.
Seeing Lieutenant Murphy at Trafalgar Square had reminded Margot of the silver wings he’d given her when she was touring with ENSA. She took them from her handbag and put them on. They were lovely and set the dress off perfectly.
Waiting in the wings, Margot listened to the applause as the band played the first few chords of her signature tune. When she felt the audience had clapped enough, she entered the room smiling. Thanking them and blowing kisses, she made her way to the stage and the microphone. ‘“They Can’t Take That Away From Me,”’ she said, ‘for my husband, Bill.’ Margot looked over to the bar and blew him a kiss.
Her second song was a Talk of London favourite, “That Old Black Magic”. Coincidentally an elderly gentleman walked across the dance floor as Margot began to sing “It Had to be You”. She sang the first line of the song to him and everyone laughed, including the man.
Taking a short break to mingle with the audience, as she always did, she spotted Lieutenant Boyd Murphy walking towards her. ‘You’re wearing the wings?’
‘What? She put her hand up and touched the brooch he had given her. She could feel her heart beating. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘When we got to Hendon we were given our papers to go home,’ Murphy said. ‘I leave tomorrow. I won’t be coming into London again, but I wanted to give you this.’ He handed Margot his card. ‘My address in the States. On the flip side is the movie studio. You’re made for the movies, Margot.’
‘I don’t know what to say.’ She looked down at the small card.
‘Say you’ll come! Or at least say you’ll think about it,’ he said, taking her hand. ‘This blue bird is done flying over the white cliffs of Dover, it’s the Atlantic tomorrow.’
‘I’m sorry. I have to go.’
‘Promise you’ll think about it,’ he said, his eyes penetrating hers.
With butterflies of excitement flying around in the pit of her stomach, she nodded. ‘I’ll think about it.’ The band began to play the opening chords of “Every Time We Say Goodbye”. ‘I must go.’ Letting go of his hand, Margot returned to the stage. She looked into the audience, to where her American film maker had been standing. He had gone.
Margot brought the first day of VE celebrations to an end with “I'll Be Seeing You” and left the stage to rapturous applause. After talking to people, accepting their compliments and thanking them, she joined Bill at the bar.
‘You were wonderful, sweetheart.’
‘Thank you,’ she said, kissing him on the cheek.
‘Drink?’
‘Please. Make it a large one,’ she whispered to the bartender. ‘It’s been quite a day.’
‘What did the GI want?’ Bill asked as soon as they were home.
Margot looked at him quizzically before remembering the card that she’d tucked down the front of her dress. ‘Ah,’ she said, producing it. ‘He’s in films.’ She handed Bill the card. ‘He said if I ever go to America I should get in touch with him, and he’ll get me work in the movies.’
Bill rolled his eyes. ‘And what did you say?’
‘I didn’t say anything.’
‘You were a long time not saying anything.’
‘He’d been given his papers and was going back to America. He’d come from Hendon specially. I could hardly ignore him.’
‘Still, it’s academic, as my boss would say.’
‘What is?’
‘You going to America. It’s academic, because we’re going home now the war’s over. I’ll be demobbed from the MoD soon, and then we’ll go home.’
‘I’ve signed a contract to do the summer at the Albert.’
‘What the hell have you done that for?’
‘My contract at The Talk takes me up to August, so when Salvatore asked me, I thought I might as well. How was I to know the war was going to end?’
‘Because I’ve been telling you for a year it was gearing up to end,’ Bill shouted. ‘You just didn’t bloody listen!’ He stormed off. ‘Do what you like Margot, but I’m going home as we both agreed we’d do.’ Margot heard the bedroom door slam.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Margot took her bow, threw back her head and opened her arms to the audience. They weren’t clapping. They always clapped when she finished singing, often before. She bowed again. Still no applause. She looked around the audience and settled on the table nearest the stage. The couple looked familiar. Of course they do, she thought. They come to see me every time I appear at The Talk of London. ‘Hello,’ she said, smiling. The man looked away and busied himself with his cigarette case. He took out a cigarette and immediately the waiter nearest to him struck a match. Margot smiled at his wife. She smiled back, but looked sad. How could that be? She dropped her head. She looked as if she was going to cry. ‘Don’t cry,’ Margot whispered.
The band began to play and Margot stepped back behind the microphone and into her light. She turned to the bandleader and frowned. The band was playing a tune she didn’t recognise. Why were they doing that? She bit her bottom lip and shook her head, trying desperately to remember the words. Perhaps the tune didn’t have any. Ah, that was it. There were no words. She gave the bandmaster a hard stare. He should have told her she wasn’t singing the next number. She’d report him to Bernard … Bernard… Exasperated that she couldn’t remember his name, she looked up. Swaying from side to side, her eyes darting from left to right, she began searching the ceiling for something. She wasn’t sure what. Bringing her focus back to the room she squealed with delight and threw her arms open wide as Salvatore appeared out of the shadows and walked towards her. ‘My dear beautiful friend Nancy’s fiancé, Salvatore,’ she told the audience, and began to applaud him. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I’ve come to see you, Margot.’ Salvatore put out his hand to help her from the stage.
‘I haven’t finished my set yet. Will you tell the band to play something I know, please?’
‘Yes, but it is time for your break. Let us go to your dressing room. We can talk, and they will play your song when you come back.’
‘Will they play “They Can’t Take That Away From Me”?’
‘Of course.’ Salvatore stood to the side of the stage while Margot took a bow. At first there was only a ripple of applause among an audience that wore worried expressions. But when Salvatore put his hands together they took his cue and applauded Margot as they always had.
‘It’s not a coincidence that you’re here, is it?’ she said, when she and Salvatore were in the dressing room.
‘No,’ he replied kindly. ‘Bernard telephoned me. He’s worried about you, Margot. We both are.’
There was a knock at the door, which Margot ignored. Salvatore answered it while she squinted in the mirror and put on more lipstick.
‘Margot?’ Salvatore held her by the shoulders and turned her round gently. ‘This is my good friend, Doctor Thurlingham,’ he said, pointing at the man who had just entered the room.
‘I saw you earlier with your wife. You were sitting at the table nearest the stage.’ Seeing the look of concern on the doctor’s face, she put up her hand. ‘So what is it?’ The doctor didn’t answer. ‘Don’t be shy. Are you here to tell me to take a week off? Two?’ She began to pick at the fabric on the sleeve of her dress. ‘He loves me, he loves me not. He loves me – hooray! He loves me,’ she said, lifting her left hand and showing them her wedding ring. ‘What? I’m fine. I’m just tired. Bill’s up in the Midlands and I never sleep when he’s away.’ Suddenly she looked at the doctor as if she’d remembered what she was saying. ‘Don’t say longer than two weeks. Well?’
‘Salvatore and I have been concerned about you for some time, Margot. You don’t look well and it isn’t just that you are tired. In my opinion you are heading for a breakdown
if you don’t have a complete rest away from--’
‘I knew it! Longer.’
‘You’re not listening to me, Margot.’
‘I am! I’ll rest – tomorrow! I don’t know why Salvatore asked you to come backstage. He’s ruined your evening, and mine.’ Margot glared at Salvatore. ‘You can go now,’ she said. ‘Shoo!’ She looked into the mirror and stuck out her tongue. ‘Look. Pink. I don’t need a doctor. Bloody quacks, you’re all the same. All I need is a good night’s sleep. I find it difficult to get to sleep without--’ She picked up the framed photograph of Bill that she kept on her dressing table. ‘Did you know my husband has left me? Of course you didn’t. I’ve been abandoned, left to fend for myself.’ Margot suddenly let out a terrifying scream and hurled the photograph at the mirror, shattering both into hundreds of tiny pieces.
‘Do you feel better now?’ the doctor asked.
‘What do you care?’ Margot spat. The doctor moved towards her and put out his hand. ‘Don’t touch me! And don’t pretend you care,’ she said, jabbing her finger at him, ‘because you don’t. No one does.’
‘I care, Margot,’ Salvatore said. ‘Natalie and Anton care and so do George and Betsy – and Bill loves you, you know he does. We all love you.’
‘But it isn’t easy to love you when you’re like this,’ the doctor said.
Tears fell from Margot’s eyes and rolled down her cheeks. ‘Without Bill I have nothing! I am nothing! I’m a square peg in a round hole, the thirteenth guest at dinner – the odd one out.’ She buried her head in her hands and wept.
The doctor rested his hand gently on her shoulder while he spoke to Salvatore. ‘Margot’s missing her husband. He’s her anchor, keeps her feet on the ground. He has always been there when she gets home to look after her and to help her unwind and relax. She can do anything if Bill is by her side, but without him she finds it difficult to function. She may be Margot Dudley, West End star, to the public, but I can guarantee that at home without Bill, she’s frightened, paranoid and lost. She’s on the road to self-destruction, and if she doesn’t get help soon…’
‘Should we send for Bill?’ Salvatore asked.
‘No!’ Margot jumped up. ‘No, please don’t tell Bill…’
There was a knock on the door and Bernard Rudman stepped into the room. He told Dr Thurlingham that there was an ambulance outside.
‘I’d like you to come to the clinic with me, Margot.’ She shook her head violently. The doctor ignored her. ‘You can come voluntarily, or I can have you committed.’
Margot looked at Salvatore, her eyes wide and pleading, begging him to help her. ‘He can’t do that, can he, Salvatore? He can’t have me--?’
‘Not without Bill’s permission--’
Margot closed her eyes and hung her head. ‘All right.’ She looked up, the pretence and sparkle gone from her eyes. ‘I’m tired,’ she whispered through shuddering sobs.
Salvatore put her coat around her shoulders and picked up her handbag.
The official line: After a severe bout of flu, Miss Dudley had taken a well-earned holiday. The truth was very different. Margot had been admitted to the Thurlingham Clinic where she was being treated for depression and paranoia, brought on by sleep deprivation, caused through the over use of sleeping pills, pep pills, pain killers and alcohol.
‘Is that Bill?’
‘Margot? Is something wrong?’
‘Why does there have to be something wrong? Can’t a wife telephone her husband to see how he is after years of being apart?’
‘It’s only been a couple of months, Margot, don’t exaggerate.’
‘It feels like years.’ Bill laughed. There was silence for some seconds. Then Margot said, ‘I miss you, Bill. Please come home?’
‘I am home, Margot.’
Margot held the telephone away from her ear. She scrunched up her face, closed her eyes, and opened her mouth wide. She wanted to scream. Instead she whispered, ‘Of course you are.’
‘I miss you too, Margot, but--’
‘But what?’ Margot hissed. ‘Sorry! I’m sorry,’ she said again, ‘but I hate it here. I’m frightened. There are strange people everywhere.’
‘There aren’t any strange people in the Mews, Margot. Well, no more than there were when you insisted we moved there.’
‘I’m not in the Mews, Bill.’
‘Not in-- Where are you, the Albert?’
‘No.’
‘Then where?’
‘I don’t know. Please come and get me, Bill. The bed’s ever so hard and I can’t switch the light off. It’s so bright it hurts my eyes. And they’re trying to poison me. Shush! Someone’s coming,’ Margot said. ‘I shouldn’t be in here. I’ll be punished if they catch me. Bill, I’m frightened.’
As he entered the consulting room, Dr Thurlingham held out his hand for the telephone.
‘Margot, what the hell’s going on? Margot! Are you there?’
‘Goodbye, Bill,’ she said, and she handed the telephone to the doctor.
‘Mr Burrell? This is Dr Thurlingham. We’ve been trying to get hold of you.’ Margot moved to the far side of the room and stood in the corner. ‘No, your wife hasn’t been in an accident. She has had a breakdown and has been admitted to the Thurlingham Clinic with severe nervous exhaustion. There’s nothing to be alarmed about, she-- Yes, Harley Street, but there’s no need for you to--’ The doctor held the telephone away from his ear, and then put it down.
After talking to Margot’s doctor, Bill understood more about her condition and was given permission to see her. Rustling behind him in a stiff white uniform, the nurse given the task of accompanying Bill to see Margot could hardly keep up with him. As soon as they reached Margot’s room she left, muttering something about visitors turning up out of hours.
Bill tapped the door before entering. Margot, crouched in the corner of the room, looked up. She wiped her hand across her face and scraped her fingers through her hair. ‘Bill?’ she cried, stumbling to her feet. With tears in her eyes, she ran across the room and threw her arms around her husband’s neck. ‘Take me home, Bill,’ she pleaded, ‘take me home.’
Bill held her tightly and whispered, ‘Shush sweetheart. Shush…’
‘Please, Bill,’ she cried. ‘I miss you. I want to come home.’
‘I miss you too, darling. And I’ll take you home as soon as you’re better.’
Margot pushed him away and returned to the corner. Sliding down the wall, she hugged her knees and laid her head on them. Bill followed and put his hand on her shoulder, but Margot shrugged it off. ‘Leave me alone!’ Turning her face to the wall, she began to mumble.
‘Margot? Talk to me, love. Come on.’ Bill crossed the room to Margot’s bed and sat down. This isn’t so bad,’ he said, bouncing up and down a couple of times. ‘And look? Here’s your tea. Come and sit with me and have something to eat?’
‘You eat it!’ she spat, and resumed mumbling.
‘If you want to get better and come home, you’ve got to eat, Margot. And you’ve got to talk to the doctor. He can’t help you unless you do,’ Bill said.
Margot looked up. Her eyes roamed round the room. ‘Shush!’ She put her finger to her lips. ‘They’re listening,’ she whispered, beckoning Bill. Bill went over and knelt beside her. ‘They’re trying to kill me,’ she hissed. ‘Do-not-eat-the-jam!’ Bill looked around. There wasn’t any jam. Margot waved her hand in his face. ‘It’s in the food,’ she said, pointing to the plate of sandwiches. ‘Go on, have a look. Open one and smell it, but be careful… They say it’s salt and pepper, but everyone knows it’s poison.’
‘I can’t see any poison, Margot.’ Bill sniffed the food. ‘I can’t smell any either. I know,’ he said, ‘what if I taste it? Take a bite of the sandwich before you eat it. I’ll be your personal taster. Like the kings and queens had in the old days,’ he laughed.
Margot laughed with him. ‘Like in Laurence Olivier’s Henry V? Like that?’
‘Yes, love, like
that. Come over here and sit by me, and we’ll eat the sandwiches together.’
Smiling for the first time since being admitted to the clinic, Margot rolled over until she was on all fours and pushed herself up. Walking slowly across the room to the bed, she sat down next to her husband. ‘Right!’ he said, picking up a quarter square of sandwich. ‘Let’s see.’ He took a bite. ‘Mm-hum, it tastes good. Everything is as it should be, your Majesty,’ he said, offering it to Margot.
She took a bite. ‘Not up to my usual standard, but it will suffice,’ she giggled.
Bill picked up another quarter, tasted it and nodded. After Margot had eaten the first small square of sandwich she ate the second. ‘I was hungry,’ she said when she’d eaten them all.
‘So will you eat your dinner tonight?’
Margot nodded. ‘That’s my girl,’ Bill said, putting his arms around her. ‘And will you talk to Dr Thurlingham?’
‘He’s a psychiatrist, Bill. Only mad people talk to psychiatrists. I’m not mad, am I?’
‘No, you silly goose. Sorry I--’ They both laughed. ‘Of course you’re not mad, Margot. You’ve become dependent on pills and you’ve been drinking too much--’
‘But I’m not--’
‘Shush darling, let me finish. You became dependent on the tablets you were given to stop the pain in your ankle. You weren’t able to sleep so you were given sleeping pills by the private quack you went to.’
‘I know. Then he gave me pills to get me up in the morning. I told him I didn’t want to take more pills, honestly I did.’ Bill put his arms around her and rocked her gently. ‘I shouldn’t have taken all those pills – and I shouldn’t have been drinking with them.’ Margot looked up into Bill’s eyes and took a shuddering breath. ‘I’ll see the doctor-- psychiatrist. I’ll see anyone and do anything not to feel like this,’ she cried.
Bill held her until she fell asleep. Then he laid her down, put a blanket over her, and went to see her doctor.
Applause (The Dudley Sisters Quartet Book 2) Page 27