by Rosie Thomas
‘What did he expect from Arthur and Bella?’ Cornelius mumbled to Nancy. ‘Urchins?’
Arthur stood with his back to the fireplace, out of uniform today but always with the impression of red-tabbed khaki about him. He was now a major, working in a capacity that could never be discussed and which involved prolonged absences overseas.
‘It’s quite a tribute to you, Pa, that Arthur’s with us today and not riding his camel in the Empty Quarter.’ Bella was a little plumper, which suited her. She was an excellent army wife.
‘Don’t listen to her,’ Arthur said fondly. ‘I’ve been at home for weeks, getting under her feet. She’ll be glad to wave me off to Cairo again.’
The children thundered along the hall and clattered down the kitchen steps. The old house shook and a few flakes of loose distemper drifted from the ceiling like summer snow.
Cornelius was collarless and in his shirtsleeves with traces of the garden clinging to him. He carried a tray of cups and plates into the parlour and Nancy followed behind. She was bringing the birthday cake she had baked earlier and as she climbed the steps she felt suddenly dizzy. She had to steady herself with a hand against the wall, almost dropping the plate. Faith was sitting quietly in the corner. She had come for the family gathering, driven across town by her daughter although Lizzie complained that she could hardly squeeze herself behind the steering wheel. Matthew was too infirm to leave Bavaria.
‘Are you all right, dear?’ Faith whispered when Nancy came near.
‘I am fine, Aunt Faith, thank you.’
Nancy knew how she must appear, even to her aunt. She had turned into the dutiful unmarried daughter, whose main function was to stay at home and care for her widowed father and war-damaged brother. She couldn’t help com-paring herself with Lizzie, newly married and blooming in her voluminous dress. Tommy Shaw Hooper was apprenticed in an engineering company. The boy showed real promise, Matthew liked to say.
Nancy lifted her chin.
‘Wait and see,’ she heard herself laughing, although she didn’t know what she meant by it. Faith looked puzzled.
‘It’s my birthday. Am I going to get any of that cake?’ Devil called.
Nancy had agreed with Arthur and Cornelius that they must finally raise with him the question of selling the theatre. As they were so rarely together it had to be done today.
‘If only I were a banker or something lucrative I could keep the old place going,’ Arthur said.
Bella’s money meant that his family was secure and the boys’ education would be paid for, but he had only his service pay to call his own. His fair, good face was troubled and Nancy hated to see it.
‘You help us out quite enough.’
It was true. Arthur did as much as he could.
‘And anyway it’s not for you to worry about. I chose to give up the stage work.’
She had offered only the briefest explanation and her brothers had accepted it. They had never gone in for asking her a lot of questions. Nancy’s real role was to be their sister, and the daughter of the house.
She said, ‘We’ve got to find the money to pay the rent here and take care of Pa. I’ll find another job, but the best answer is still to sell the Palmyra. We can’t keep it going. I don’t even want to do it. Do you?’
Arthur shook his head. The old theatre had already eaten up too much of their lives.
Cornelius stared at his big hands.
‘I wish I could do more,’ he mumbled.
Nancy told him, ‘You do everything. You are everything, to me.’
Jinny leaned over his shoulder.
‘Nancy’s right. Let’s not hear any more talk like that.’
‘It won’t be easy to convince Pa,’ Cornelius warned them. ‘But I know it’s got to be done.’
David, Christopher and little Hugh Wix were clamouring for cake and sweets.
Jinny told them, ‘Pipe down, you loathsome creatures, or there won’t be another mouthful for any of you.’
They loved her mock strictness and acted up even more. With an iced bun in his fist the eldest ran at his grandfather and pounded his knee, scattering crumbs and sugar.
‘Magic. Do magic for us.’
‘Magic, eh? Let’s see.’
Devil patted his pocket and brought out the three cups.
Nancy loved seeing him with the children. It was a joy for all of them to have the house full of family and noise and too much food. The middle boy was persuaded to give up a glass marble from his pocket and the shuffle of the cups began. However certain of its whereabouts any of them might be, the marble was never under the cup they chose. Devil hooted with laughter at their confusion, his eyes screwing up with alert cunning.
‘No, it’s there,’ David yelled. Hugh stared from his mother’s side, a little afraid.
Devil’s finger oscillated over the cups.
‘Here? There?’
Empty. All three children gaped. The marble could only be under the last cup.
Faith and Lizzie and Jinny insisted together, ‘That one.’
Devil slid it towards Hugh.
‘Go on.’
The little boy flushed but he sidled forward and picked it up. There was no marble. In its place Nancy’s glass eye stared at the ceiling. The cup clattered to the floor.
‘Oh, oh, horrible.’
The children fell into paroxysms of delighted disgust. Devil sat back and beamed.
‘Auntie Pirate,’ David said. ‘I like you in your patch much better than with that eye in.’
‘That’s enough,’ Bella said. ‘Put your coats on. We’ll go for a little walk before it’s time to drive home.’
Lizzie said that she would take a nap on Nancy’s bed. She put her hands to the small of her back and crossed the room on splayed feet. Jinny and Faith went out to the kitchen to wash up and Devil was left in the parlour with his three children.
He spread his fingers and examined his hands, front and back.
‘Wonder. Creating wonder in a drab world, that’s what I do. You and me, Miss Zenobia Wix, eh?’
‘I don’t perform onstage any longer, Pa.’
‘What? Why not? I should get back to the theatre myself. No reason why not. Work up a couple of new illusions. That’ll bring them in. I’ll talk to … talk to … what is his name? We’ll need to get some flyers printed.’
He looked at his children, the light fading out of his face.
‘Eh? What do you say?’ He peered around the room and his hands trembled. ‘Where’s Eliza gone?’
Arthur sat down beside him and drew an inward breath.
‘We’ve been thinking, Cornelius and Nancy and me, that the time might have come to sell the theatre. Let some new blood take charge of bringing wonder to the world. What do you say?’
Devil rotated his stiff torso and cupped a hand to his ear. Vertical clefts appeared in his cheeks, his lips drew back from his teeth. Nancy had a flash of the old illusionist, mugging at centre stage for a matinee audience.
‘Sell? My thee-aaaa-tre?’
Arthur added, ‘Times have changed. No one has much money to spare. People go to the pictures.’
None of them was prepared for Devil’s outburst of genuine fury. When he realised they were serious the old man threw back his head and bellowed like an animal.
‘Never. I will never sell the Palmyra. I would rather go barefoot and beg in the streets.’
‘Pa, there’s no need for anything of the sort …’ Nancy tried to take his hand but he shook her off.
‘You will have to kill me first,’ he shouted.
‘Come, let’s talk about it, at the very least. There are some debts to pay. This house …’
Devil lurched to his feet. The loose flesh of his neck quivered and spittle flew from his lips.
‘Is that what you want? To have me dead and gone?’
Arthur flinched. ‘Of course we don’t. Please don’t say such a thing. We want the opposite, which is to secure your future and Nancy’s.’
Devil shook a fist at him.
‘I go before my theatre does. I’ve got a family, you know. My children will never let you sell my theatre. They know it would kill me.’
He groped for the back of the chair and used it to launch himself at the door.
They sat in silence as his carpet slippers slapped and shuffled up the stairs. Faith and Jinny’s alarmed faces appeared in the doorway.
Cornelius raised his head.
‘That didn’t go very well, did it?’
Not long afterwards Lizzie came downstairs with combed hair and freshly reddened lips. Arthur and Bella took their children home and the rest of them gathered in the parlour for a conference. Nancy insisted to Jinny that she was family too and of course she should stay.
Faith pursed her lips. ‘Devil always was a selfish, difficult man. He led your mother a dance.’
Lizzie frowned at her.
Cornelius was saying that they had sown the seed in Devil’s mind and the best thing would be to let the notion take root. In a week or a month he would probably claim the idea as his own and insist on following it through.
Nancy’s attention was taken by the sound of a car drawing up. She had to twist in her chair to see through the lace curtain at the lower half of the window. Not many cars came this way, and none like this one.
A moment later there was a knock at the front door.
‘Excuse me,’ she mumbled.
She rushed to open it but it wasn’t Gil on the step.
‘Miss Wix.’
‘Lady Celia?’
The Bentley was drawn up behind her, the chauffeur standing bolt upright beside it. Of course Celia Maitland would not drive herself around London. Nancy knew that every eye in Waterloo Street would be on this apparition of opulence. The juxtaposition was brutal.
And then with a shock as sudden as the reveal in one of Devil’s illusions Nancy saw the truth. For all her dreams she had never really, properly been admitted to Gil’s world, any more than he had owned a genuine stake in hers. She felt stripped bare.
In a shock of anguish she dragged her gaze back to Gil’s wife.
Celia’s face was thickly powdered, her hair and brows hidden under a cloche hat swathed in net veiling. Her mouth was a crooked slash of lipstick. She held out a suede-gloved hand but it was not offered for Nancy to shake. It was more of a warning.
‘I am so sorry. May I speak to you urgently? I didn’t find you at the Bloomsbury address so I took the liberty of coming on here.’
Celia could never before have paid a visit in a street like this. Nancy glimpsed it through her eyes: the row of low houses, the corner shop with the rusty tin Fry’s Chocolate sign, the public house with a bench placed against the wall where the men with no money for beer could sit down. How did Celia know about Bloomsbury?
A rush of emotions made her feel dizzy again.
‘Is Gil hurt? I mean, Mr Maitland?’
Where was he? How was he allowing this scene to come about?
‘No, my husband is not hurt or ill.’
There was no point in pretending any longer. Celia knew she was Gil’s mistress. In a way, the knowledge came as a relief.
Peering over Nancy’s shoulder Celia said, ‘May I come in?’
‘I’m afraid it’s not very convenient.’
She tried to block the doorway, to head off the unthinkable collision between Celia Maitland and her family, but it was already too late. Devil came down the stairs, ordering Cornelius not to stand in his way like a sack of spuds. He put Nancy aside too.
‘A Bentley,’ he crooned. ‘I’ve seen an earlier model very similar to this one. The same colours, cream and red.’
The chauffeur touched a smut off the gleaming bonnet as Devil approached.
Devil said to him as if he was talking to old Gibb, ‘My word, look at this. A Walter Owen Bentley, four and a half litre. 1931, is it?’
He stroked the coachwork.
‘Yes, sir. The year the company was bought up, of course. Mr Maitland is expecting delivery of the new model later this year. I’m not convinced it’ll be an improvement, myself.’
‘I had cars once, you know. There was a … a … I’ve forgotten its name.’
‘Yes, sir.’
The man cleared his throat, shooting a look at his employer.
‘Come back inside, Pa.’
Cornelius seized Devil’s arm and drew his father back towards the house.
‘Then won’t you join me for a drive?’ Celia begged Nancy in a low voice. ‘I’d be particularly grateful.’
She answered wildly, ‘All right. Yes, of course.’
A moment later they were sitting in the back of the Bentley. Celia leaned forward to the chauffeur.
‘If you would drive us around for half an hour, Tate, I will let you know when to bring us back here.’
‘Yes, my lady.’
She slid the glass panel shut and the Bentley purred down Waterloo Street. The men gathered outside the pub craned for a closer look.
How ridiculous I was, Nancy thought, ever to imagine I could shift out of that world into this. How lovingly naive.
Celia’s gloved fingers tapped on the leather armrest.
‘You will be wondering why I have chosen to speak, after all these years?’
It was even more absurd, Nancy understood, to have imagined that her liaison with Gil was a secret. It was as if she had been purblind before, instead of now.
‘Yes. As you say, after all this time.’
‘I have come to beg for your help. I need you.’
They looked full at each other. Celia was so heavily made up that it was difficult to read her expression. Through the net veil Nancy caught the glint of desperation.
‘What can I do?’
‘There is a woman called Thelma Auger. I believe she intends to marry my husband.’
They passed the turning to the old house overlooking the canal and the low buildings where the barge horses had once been stabled. The car plunged over the canal bridge and Nancy began to feel slightly sick.
‘I don’t think she can do that without his agreement, can she?’
Without warning Celia began to sob.
‘He will agree. He intends to divorce me. I have been a terrible wife. I couldn’t even give him an heir for the Maitland Process. How I hate his damned Process, all those lurid colours and miles of cheap printed cloth.’
A hiccough of wild laughter cut through the sobs. ‘I thought perhaps you and I might confront him together. Join forces as his wife and his mistress. We can go and confront him right away, don’t you think? He’s in his office in the City. We’ll persuade him to leave matters as they are.’
She abandoned herself to weeping, the tears flowing from under the veil and dripping off her chin. Nancy tried to pass her a handkerchief and Celia suddenly flung herself into her arms. Nancy awkwardly held her as she gulped and sobbed.
She murmured, ‘Celia, I’m sorry. It was a wretched thing to have done to you and I am ashamed of it. I was his mistress, but it’s over now.’
Only at this moment did she know it. Deep in her belly, inside the nausea, she felt the first twist of desolation.
Celia’s sobbing abruptly stopped. She threw her head back, staring in horror through the ruined veil.
‘Oh, God.’
‘What? What is it?’
‘Don’t you understand?’
Humbly Nancy said, ‘I’m afraid not.’
‘It was all right when he was with you. I didn’t particularly worry about that. But if it’s ended for you it must be because he plans to marry her. Don’t you see?’
She did.
She felt cold, and gripped by the rising nausea.
She was a fool, because she hadn’t learned her lesson from Lion Stone.
I never thought of marrying you.
Of course a man like Gil Maitland didn’t marry a stage medium from a family like the Wixes.
Gil Maitland married into the
de Laury family. A man like Gil kept a woman like Nancy in a flat in Bloomsbury and once their liaison was properly established they went out and about a little, to the opera and innocuous public entertainments, to discreet suppers or even to stay abroad with similarly marginal people.
Everyone understood these things, including the man’s wife. Except the foolish blind-eyed mistress herself.
And then, if he were driven through desperation to seek a divorce and if circumstances permitted, such a man might take a chic American lady, an heiress in her own right, as his second choice.
Celia read the signs correctly, Nancy knew it.
She was shivering and it was a moment before she could bring herself to speak.
She mumbled, ‘I don’t know anything about that. I do know that he was loyal to you, in his way. He always wanted to protect you. He’s not a bad man. I think he’s only a man.’
‘Did you love him?’
‘Yes, I did.’ The car was swaying horribly now. Nancy swallowed down the sickness and the first great wave of loss.
Celia’s face crumpled before the tears flowed again.
‘I still do love him. If I didn’t love him so much I’d have gone to join Richard long ago. He’s waiting for me, you know.’
The poor demented creature.
‘Don’t say such a thing. I’m so sorry I can’t help you, Celia. Nothing I could say to Gil would make any difference. Just try to be as brave as you can. Maybe the affair with Mrs Auger will blow over.’
Affairs did that.
Celia turned to stare out of the car window, her narrow shoulders hunched with misery.
She demanded abruptly, ‘Do you think it is possible to have too much money, Miss Wix?’
‘I don’t know. It’s not a question I have ever had to ask or therefore answer.’
‘I think perhaps you can.’
The dingy streets slid past.
‘How wretched it is,’ Celia added. Nancy didn’t know whether she meant her own life or those she glimpsed through the car windows.
Celia leaned forward and rapped on the glass. She slid the partition open and ordered the chauffeur, ‘Take us back to that address, Tate.’
‘Yes, my lady.’
The Bentley drew up once more in Waterloo Street. Nancy wound down the window and gulped some fresh air.