She’d imagined them sharing their mid-life crises: speeding through Europe, her wearing a headscarf, Grace Kelly style, dark glasses, arm dangling in the rushing air. Him, bronzed and –well, not beautiful perhaps, but beside her. He had, it turned out, shared her dream but was busy fulfilling it with Tina from accounts.
The period of mourning her marriage was long over. Gerry had been gone for more than eighteen months and Beth was in control of her life again. She pressed the horn just to demonstrate the fact. Other drivers turned and stared. She ignored them. With the traffic at a standstill there was nothing anyone could do, bar hurtle down the hard shoulder as if there was an emergency. But Betty couldn’t be relied on to get up the necessary speed so Beth could only resign herself to the wait. She channelled her thoughts towards Stephanie, her older daughter: the actress of the family.
That night Steph was opening in a summer production of Noël Coward’s Private Lives in Sheringham. Beth was on her way to play the role of proud parent, which she was. The niggling concern that her daughter might have invited Gerry too was not making the long journey any more bearable. He wasn’t mentioned the last time they spoke and Beth certainly hadn’t wanted to seed the possibility of his coming by posing the question. She would only have provoked a row. Nothing must spoil Steph’s moment of glory in this, her first professional engagement in a leading role.
‘You’ll probably have heard of the director, Mum. Rafe Starling? He’s an actor who’s been around for years.’ Steph dismissed him with the disregard of youth. ‘But this is his first directing job.’
Beth sat up immediately. Of course she had heard of him. She and Ralph –as he’d been known back then –Starling had been at university together; members of the same drama society. A shared history.
‘But how funny,’ she’d said. ‘We starred in our final year dram soc production together. And believe it or not, it was Private Lives.’ She had wanted to reminisce with her daughter, marvel at the coincidence, share her memories of her own days treading the boards but, full of excitement with her own achievement, Steph had cut her off.
‘How weird.’ She hadn’t wanted to know more. That was ancient history. She just carried on talking about how lucky she was to have got the lead role of Amanda, after the months of getting nowhere since drama school.
For Beth, however, it felt genuinely weird and sent her reeling back to the past. Until that university production she had barely known Ralph Starling, being, as she was, on the very periphery of the theatrical in-crowd. He was one of the stars of the society whereas she had only ever been given the most insignificant parts the group could offer. But two weeks before the first night their leading lady had gone down with glandular fever and Beth, the understudy, again, was asked to step in. ‘It’s time you had a chance to shine,’ said the director. Despite feeling ever so slightly patronised, Beth grasped the challenge, and that’s how she and Ralph had finally met.
She was already engaged to Gerry at the time, a promising young lawyer, who encouraged her involvement with the ‘amateur thesps’, as he irritatingly termed them. She had believed unconditionally in him then, admired his ambition and longed to be his wife. He was her first real love she reminded herself, staring out of the window past the stationary traffic into the distance.
What Gerry hadn’t understood was the thrill Beth experienced acting alongside Ralph, who, incidentally, boasted a university-wide reputation as a heart breaker. With Beth, he had been different. Throughout the rehearsals and three performances, he was professional to the tips of his shiny ponytail, but when the curtain came down for the final time and they were basking in the success of the production, he had turned to her and said, ‘Now the show’s over, come back to my flat. I’ve been wanting to ask you ever since you took the part.’
‘But what about Gerry?’ she replied, knowing full well the implications of the invitation and of her acceptance. ‘We’re getting married in a month.’
‘Don’t marry him,’ said Ralph, at his most dramatic as he leaned towards her. ‘I know that deep down you’re a free spirit like me. You need to spread your wings. See the world. Marriage isn’t for you.’
He gazed into her eyes, and for that moment, she knew he was right.
Gerry wasn’t around that evening, having been invited to London for an interview with a top law firm. If he got the job, his future would be assured. He had no alternative but to miss her last performance and go.
She had never told anyone what happened that night. But the following morning, despite Ralph’s attempts at persuasion, she was less sure about her future as a free spirit and her need to spread her wings. Besides, the invitations had been sent out weeks earlier. It was too late: she and Gerry were married a month later.
She had never quite forgotten Ralph and, in the drearier moments of her life as devoted wife and mother, had even occasionally been moved to wonder, ‘What if…’ But she had dismissed those possibilities and thrown herself into her teacher training course and the business of being Gerry’s ideal partner. After that, the girls and her career had taken up almost all her time. She was now deputy head of a highly regarded secondary school.
Over the years, she had tracked Ralph’s career, as he changed his name and starred in a couple of West End shows and turning up regular as clockwork in Midsomer Murders, Casualty, Lewis and the like. There had even been a flirtation with Hollywood that had lasted over several films in which he would be so reliably British. On Saturday afternoons, while Gerry was playing golf, Beth would sneak into the local cinema alone to watch Rafe. She loved the way he camped it up in Wilde, stiffened his lip for Rattigan, smouldered in Austen. When she saw his name on the celebrity gossip pages, Beth’s pulse would accelerate with the memory of their night together. Perhaps she saw those events in greater technicolour than was their due but certainly, as years went by, they made a stark contrast to the black and white of her marriage.
The frustrated drivers in the queue were getting back into their cars. Engines were being switched on again. She put Betty into gear and jerked forward as the file of traffic slowly moved off.
Two long hours later she was in Norfolk. The lanes were narrow, flanked by the rural landscape. Above her, a vast bowl of blue sky: ‘Very flat, Norfolk.’ She couldn’t help smiling as she remembered the words from Coward’s play, spoken out loud for the last time by Ralph when they were in bed together. His hand lay on her stomach when he’d given his finest imitation of Gertrude Lawrence, the original Amanda. And she’d followed the script, in her plummiest Noël Coward: ‘There’s no need to be unpleasant.’ They’d thought it was the funniest thing.
She was nearing Sheringham and the modest country house hotel where Steph had booked her in for the night. Steph had been very plain that she didn’t want to see her mother until after the show. ‘You’ll make me too nervous,’ she’d said. Beth glanced at the clock. Only an hour until curtain up. She would just have time to check in and change before racing down to the theatre.
She had chosen her dress carefully, the blue one that Lucy, her older daughter had insisted she bought shortly after Gerry left. ‘We can’t have you going round in sackcloth and ashes for ever,’ she said, her attitude in robust contrast to her mother’s miserable self-pity. The choice and the way the dress made her feel about herself had marked the beginning of her climb back to normality.
As she neared the theatre, Rafe crossed her mind again. After all, wasn’t he was the real reason she had chosen to wear the dress? As she walked past the parade of shops, she wondered if their paths would cross on the way to the theatre. What a ridiculous thought. Of course he’d be with his jittery cast, calming any last-minute nerves.
She picked up her ticket from the box office and ordered herself a glass of wine for the interval, feeling nerves of her own for her daughter’s performance. She rebuked herself. There was no need. Steph would shine as she always had in the unfortunately few leading parts she’d managed to land at drama school.
> The theatre itself was charming. Beth climbed the steep rake of the compact auditorium; sorry that Steph had got her a seat quite so close to the back. She settled in, angling herself to get the least interrupted view of the stage and waited for the show to begin.
From curtain up, she found herself echoing the words in her head; able to remember them as if she’d last recited them only yesterday. ‘Very flat Norfolk.’ She laughed with the rest of the audience, but wondered whether somewhere backstage, Ralph was sharing her memories.
Steph made a wonderful Amanda –glamorous, funny and sympathetic –as her character discovered she and her new husband were staying in the adjoining hotel room to Elyot, her ex, and his new wife as the marital merry-go-round turned.
During the interval, Beth sipped her drink, listening to the audience chatter. Everyone seemed to be enjoying the play and, to Beth’s pleasure, praising the two leading actors and their evident rapport, just as they once had admired her and Ralph. She was about to return to her seat when there was a tap on her shoulder. At last. She spun round, her stomach knotting, wondering what they would say to each other. She felt herself smile, then stopped. In front of her stood Gerry.
‘Thought I might see you here.’ He’d grown a goatee since they’d last met and was sporting a golden tan. Europe, she thought bitterly. Tina was nowhere in evidence. At least he’d had the decency to leave her behind.
‘I wouldn’t miss it,’ she said, trying not to show her disappointment.
‘Nor me,’ he agreed. ‘But, don’t worry, I know you’re taking Steph out after the show, so I’ll make myself scarce and see her tomorrow. I’m sure you’ve got lots to talk about.’
‘Thanks.’ Beth had nothing to say to him, the man who had once meant everything to her.
‘Perhaps you and I could have a drink later on, after you’ve eaten?’ He sounded tentative but hopeful. ‘It’s been a long time.’
At that moment the bell rang for the audience to return to their seats. Beth hesitated. ‘I don’t think that would be a very good idea.’
‘Pity. I suppose it would be rather late.’ He let her lead the way into the auditorium. From her seat at the back, she could see his thinning hair where he sat in the second row. She tried not to feel hurt that Steph had got him a seat nearer the stage than hers.
After the final applause had died down, Beth headed for the foyer bar where they’d arranged to meet. She was relieved to see there was no sign of Gerry. He had obviously kept to his word and beaten a retreat. As she waited, she looked around, still hoping to catch a glimpse of Rafe Starling. The rapture in Steph’s eyes as she took one curtain call after another had been a powerful reminder of her own emotions after her own performances, nearly thirty years ago.
And then, there was Steph, pushing through the waiting crowd towards her, looking radiant and thanking people for their compliments. At last, she reached Beth. They hugged tightly.
‘You were wonderful, darling,’ Beth congratulated her.
‘You really think so? Not too shrill?’
‘Not at all. You judged it perfectly.’
‘Well, Rafe seemed pleased and that’s the main thing.’ Steph waved at someone across the foyer. Beth followed her gaze. Her stomach flipped as she realised she was looking at Rafe himself. Whatever damage the years had done, she would have recognised him anywhere. She raised a hand towards him but he looked straight through her then turned away. Her wave quickly transformed into a rearrangement of her hair, hoping no one had noticed her mistake. Of course he didn’t recognise her. How presumptuous to think that he might. Concealing her disappointment, she turned back to Steph.
‘So dinner. Where would you like to go? I saw Dad. He said you were meeting him tomorrow.’
‘Yes, if Rafe allows us a moment of free time,’ she laughed as she spoke, obviously not really minding that he might not. ‘I’ve booked you and me a table in the pub. But, Mum, I haven’t had a chance to tell you. I’ve asked Jack to come along too. Is that OK?’
Still smarting from her rebuttal, she only half heard what Steph had said. At that moment, the young actor who had played Elyot came up beside them, grinning as he tucked his arm around her daughter’s waist. The penny dropped. The evening that she’d anticipated as a rare opportunity for mother and daughter bonding wasn’t going to happen. Instead there would be the three of them and, judging by the way they were gazing into each other’s eyes, she was to be cast in the dual role of credit card and gooseberry. Suddenly ashamed of her attitude, she pulled herself up short. Whatever the evening threw at her, she would make the most of it. She hadn’t driven all this way for nothing.
As they left the theatre, she glanced over towards Rafe Starling again. He was holding court to a small circle of admirers. He looked briefly in her direction again, nodding at something someone said, but keeping his eyes fixed on her. Then he returned to his conversation. Had that been a glimmer of recognition? She doubted it.
She followed Steph and Jack to the pub. Steph was firmly entwined around her leading man and occasionally threw the odd remark over her shoulder towards her mother. The kitchen was closing and the specials board was rubbed clean so they ordered quickly from the menu. Beth had another glass of wine despite their refusal. Heady with their success, they could only talk about the play, their performances and the rest of the cast. Beth tried to keep up as she tackled her fish and chips, but was soon lost in the blizzard of unfamiliar names, except, of course, for that of Rafe.
‘Did you see him talking to that agent, Hope Fletcher, afterwards? He must be hoping she’ll take him on even though he hasn’t been on TV for ages.’
‘Maybe he fancies her.’ Jack laughed as if he was talking about a pair of dinosaurs. ‘Bout time he tried it on with someone his own age.’
‘Tell me about it,’ said Steph, taking a mouthful of scampi. ‘He can be so gross.’
All of a sudden, Beth was rather relieved that she hadn’t been recognised. ‘He hasn’t tried anything with you, has he?’ she asked, dreading the answer.
‘Christ, no.’ Steph’s eyes widened.’ He wouldn’t dare. It’s just his sense of humour, that’s all. You’d probably think he was funny.’
‘Thanks, darling. I’ll try to take that as a compliment.’
They all laughed. Steph had obviously completely forgotten about her mother’s foray into amateur dramatics with the object of her scorn.
As their evening drew to a close, Beth couldn’t wait to get back to her hotel. The hellish drive to Norfolk had taken it out of her and, despite her pleasure in seeing Steph and her success, her daughter was now so caught up with Jack she felt decidedly superfluous. By end of the meal, she’d have needed a crowbar to prise them apart. Not that she begrudged Steph her love life, not at all. She just didn’t want to be quite such a close spectator. They would meet the next day after Gerry had left and talk together then. If Rafe allowed it. Making her excuses, she paid the bill and left them, to their evident relief.
The lights of the hotel blazed a welcome. Walking through the car park, Beth spotted Gerry’s convertible parked near the door. She cursed under her breath. Steph must have booked him here too, without any consideration for the friction it might lead to. The last thing Beth wanted was to have to spend the next twenty-four hours avoiding her ex-husband.
She collected her key and went upstairs. Her room was cool and quiet, overlooking the large garden at the back of the hotel. Having made her break from the lovebirds, she felt less tired so took her book from her case and went out to enjoy the still balmy night on the veranda. Switching on the outside light, she sat on one of the two chairs at a small round metal table. From the room to her right came the sound of voices. From the room to her left, silence.
She turned her attention to her novel, a thriller set amid the frozen wastes of Norway, but she couldn’t concentrate. Her mind kept returning to Rafe and the look they’d exchanged across the crowded foyer. Could he really have forgotten her? She couldn’t believe
that their night together had meant nothing to him at all when it had remained so real to her. As she looked up to the stars, brilliant in the velvety blackness, the door of the room to her left slid open and its occupant stepped out. A man. He pulled out one of his two chairs from the table, scraping it over the concrete, then sat, mostly hidden by the rambling rose covered trellis between them.
Beth looked up as a ghastly thought struck her: she wouldn’t put it past Steph to have booked her parents into adjoining rooms. A misguided way of bringing them together again –not that there was any chance of that happening, however conciliatory Gerry had shown himself to be earlier in the evening. She sighed quietly, reminded momentarily that her ex did possess some good qualities. Better to return inside, rather than risk meeting again.
Determined to do this without alerting him to her presence, she stood up gingerly, but her chair repeated the noise of his. She froze, watching as he stood too but walked to the front of his veranda where he paused, a silhouette in the darkness, to stare across the garden.
She dared not move in case any more noise drew his attention. She heard him sigh as he turned back to his table, then stopped dead, having noticed her at last, standing in the spotlight on her veranda.
She tried to make out his features but they were hidden in shadow.
He cleared his throat and raised his glass in a toast. ‘Very flat, Norfolk,’ he said.
Her heart leaped. Definitely not Gerry. She would recognise those dark, chocolaty tones anywhere.
‘I thought it was you in the foyer,’ he added as he took a step towards the dividing trellis.
Rafe! He hadn’t forgotten her. All she could feel was the thudding of her pulse.
‘There’s no need…’ But she couldn’t finish the line. Was this coincidence or fate that had brought them together?
Truly, Madly, Deeply Page 13