Theatre

by William Somerset Maugham

  ‘What on earth are you wandering about like this for?’

  ‘I’ve been for a stroll. I was just going in to tea.’

  ‘Come and have tea with me.’

  His flat was just round the corner. Indeed he had caught sight of her just as he was going down the mews to get to it.

  ‘How is it you’re back so early?’

  ‘Oh, there’s nothing much on at the office just now. You know, one of our partners died a couple of months ago, and I’m getting a bigger share. It means I shall be able to keep on the flat after all. Michael was jolly decent about it, he said I could stay on rent free till things got better. I hated the idea of turning out. Do come. I’d love to make you a cup of tea.’

  He rattled on so vivaciously that Julia was amused. You would never have thought to listen to him that there had ever been anything between them. He seemed perfectly unembarrassed.

  ‘All right. But I can only stay a minute.’

  ‘O.K.’

  They turned into the mews and she preceded him up the narrow staircase.

  ‘You toddle along to the sitting-room and I’ll put the water on to boil.’

  She went in and sat down. She looked round the room that had been the scene of so many emotions for her. Nothing was changed. Her photograph stood in its old place, but on the chimney piece was a large photograph also of Avice Crichton. On it was written for Tom from Avice. Julia took everything in. The room might have been a set in which she had once acted; it was vaguely familiar, but no longer meant anything to her. The love that had consumed her then, the jealousy she had stifled, the ecstasy of surrender, it had no more reality than one of the innumerable parts she had played in the past. She relished her indifference. Tom came in, with the tea-cloth she had given him, and neatly set out the tea-service which she had also given him. She did not know why the thought of his casually using still all her little presents made her inclined to laugh. Then he came in with the tea and they drank it sitting side by side on the sofa. He told her more about his improved circumstances. In his pleasant, friendly way he acknowledged that it was owing to the work that through her he had been able to bring the firm that he had secured a larger share in the profits. He told her of the holiday from which he had just returned. It was quite clear to Julia that he had no inkling how much he had made her suffer. That too made her now inclined to laugh.

  ‘I hear you’re going to have an enormous success tonight.’

  ‘It would be nice, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘Avice says that both you and Michael have been awfully good to her. Take care she doesn’t romp away with the play.’

  He said it chaffingly, but Julia wondered whether Avice had told him that this was what she expected to do.

  ‘Are you engaged to her?’

  ‘No. She wants her freedom. She says an engagement would interfere with her career.’

  ‘With her what?’ The words slipped out of Julia’s mouth before she could stop them, but she immediately recovered herself. ‘Yes, I see what she means of course.’

  ‘Naturally, I don’t want to stand in her way. I mean, supposing after tonight she got a big offer for America I can quite see that she ought to be perfectly free to accept.’

  Her career! Julia smiled quietly to herself.

  ‘You know, I do think you’re a brick, the way you’ve behaved to her.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Oh well, you know what women are!’

  As he said this he slipped his arm round her waist and kissed her. She laughed outright.

  ‘What an absurd little thing you are.’

  ‘How about a bit of love?’

  ‘Don’t be so silly.’

  ‘What is there silly about it? Don’t you think we’ve been divorced long enough?’

  ‘I’m all for irrevocable divorce. And what about Avice?’

  ‘Oh, she’s different. Come on.’

  ‘Has it slipped your memory that I’ve got a first night tonight?’

  ‘There’s plenty of time.’

  He put both arms round her and kissed her softly. She looked at him with mocking eyes. Suddenly she made up her mind.

  ‘All right.’

  They got up and went into the bedroom. She took off her hat and slipped out of her dress. He held her in his arms as he had held her so often before. He kissed her closed eyes and the little breasts of which she was so proud. She gave him her body to do what he wanted with but her spirit held aloof. She returned his kisses out of amiability, but she caught herself thinking of the part she was going to play that night. She seemed to be two persons, the mistress in her lover’s embrace, and the actress who already saw in her mind’s eye the vast vague dark audience and heard the shouts of applause as she stepped on to the stage. When, a little later, they lay side by side, he with his arm round her neck, she forgot about him so completely that she was quite surprised when he broke a long silence.

  ‘Don’t you care for me any more?’

  She gave him a little hug.

  ‘Of course, darling. I dote on you.’

  ‘You’re so strange today.’

  She realized that he was disappointed. Poor little thing, she didn’t want to hurt his feelings. He was very sweet really.

  ‘With the first night before me I’m not really myself today. You mustn’t mind.’

  When she came to the conclusion, quite definitely now, that she no longer cared two straws for him she could not help feeling a great pity for him. She stroked his cheek gently.

  ‘Sweetie pie. (I wonder if Michael remembered to have tea sent along to the queues. It doesn’t cost much and they do appreciate it so enormously.) You know, I really must get up. Miss Phillips is coming at six. Evie will be in a state, she won’t be able to think what’s happened to me.’

  She chattered brightly while she dressed. She was conscious, although she did not look at him, that Tom was vaguely uneasy. She put her hat on, then she took his face in both her hands and gave him a friendly kiss.

  ‘Good-bye, my lamb. Have a good time tonight.’

  ‘Best of luck.’

  He smiled with some awkwardness. She perceived that he did not quite know what to make of her. Julia slipped out of the flat, and if she had not been England’s leading actress, and a woman of hard on fifty, she would have hopped on one leg all the way down Stanhope Place till she got to her house. She was as pleased as punch. She let herself in with her latchkey and closed the front door behind her.

  ‘I dare say there’s something in what Roger said. Love isn’t worth all the fuss they make about it.’

  29

  FOUR hours later it was all over. The play went well from the beginning; the audience, notwithstanding the season, a fashionable one, were pleased after the holidays to find themselves once more in a playhouse, and were ready to be amused. It was an auspicious beginning for the theatrical season. There had been great applause after each act and at the end a dozen curtain calls; Julia took two by herself, and even she was startled by the warmth of her reception. She had made the little halting speech, prepared beforehand, which the occasion demanded. There had been a final call of the entire company and then the orchestra had struck up the National Anthem. Julia, pleased, excited and happy, went to her dressing-room. She had never felt more sure of herself. She had never acted with greater brilliance, variety and resource. The play ended with a long tirade in which Julia, as the retired harlot, castigated the flippancy, the uselessness, the immorality of the idle set into which her marriage had brought her. It was two pages long, and there was not another actress in England who could have held the attention of the audience while she delivered it. With her exquisite timing, with the modulation of her beautiful voice, with her command of the gamut of emotions, she had succeeded by a miracle of technique in making it a thrilling, almost spectacular climax to the play. A violent action could not have been more exciting nor an unexpected denouement more surprising. The whole cast had been excellent with the exception of Avice Cricht
on. Julia hummed in an undertone as she went into her dressing-room.

  Michael followed her in almost at once

  ‘It looks like a winner all right.’ He threw his arms round her and kissed her. ‘By God, what a performance you gave.’

  ‘You weren’t so bad yourself, dear.’

  ‘That’s the sort of part I can play on my head,’ he answered carelessly, modest as usual about his own acting. ‘Did you hear them during your long speech? That ought to knock the critics.’

  ‘Oh, you know what they are. They’ll give all their attention to the blasted play and then three lines at the end tome.’

  ‘You’re the greatest actress in the world, darling, but by God, you’re a bitch.’

  Julia opened her eyes very wide in an expression of the most naive surprise.

  ‘Michael, what do you mean?’

  ‘Don’t look so innocent. You know perfectly well. Do you think you can cod an old trooper like me?’

  He was looking at her with twinkling eyes, and it was very difficult for her not to burst out laughing.

  ‘I am as innocent as a babe unborn.’

  ‘Come off it. If anyone ever deliberately killed a performance you killed Avice’s. I couldn’t be angry with you, it was so beautifully done.’

  Now Julia simply could not conceal the little smile that curled her lips. Praise is always grateful to the artist. Avice’s one big scene was in the second act. It was with Julia, and Michael had rehearsed it so as to give it all to the girl. This was indeed what the play demanded and Julia, as always, had in rehearsals accepted his direction. To bring out the colour of her blue eyes and to emphasize her fair hair they had dressed Avice in pale blue. To contrast with this Julia had chosen a dress of an agreeable yellow. This she had worn at the dress rehearsal. But she had ordered another dress at the same time, of sparkling silver, and to the surprise of Michael and the consternation of Avice it was in this that she made her entrance in the second act. Its brilliance, the way it took the light, attracted the attention of the audience. Avice’s blue looked drab by comparison. When they reached the important scene they were to have together Julia produced, as a conjurer produces a rabbit from his hat, a large handkerchief of scarlet chiffon and with this she played. She waved it, she spread it out as though to look at it, she screwed it up, she wiped her brow with it, she delicately blew her nose. The audience fascinated could not take their eyes away from the red rag. And she moved up stage so that Avice to speak to her had to turn her back on the audience, and when they were sitting on a sofa together she took her hand, in an impulsive way that seemed to the public exquisitely natural, and sitting well back herself forced Avice to turn her profile to the house. Julia had noticed early in rehearsals that in profile Avice had a sheep-like look. The author had given Avice lines to say that had so much amused the cast at the first rehearsal that they had all burst out laughing. Before the audience had quite realized how funny they were Julia had cut in with her reply, and the audience anxious to hear it suppressed their laughter. The scene which was devised to be extremely amusing took on a sardonic colour, and the character Avice played acquired a certain odiousness. Avice in her inexperience, not getting the laughs she had expected, was rattled; her voice grew hard and her gestures awkward. Julia took the scene away from her and played it with miraculous virtuosity. But her final stroke was accidental. Avice had a long speech to deliver, and Julia nervously screwed her red handkerchief into a ball; the action almost automatically suggested an expression; she looked at Avice with troubled eyes and two heavy tears rolled down her cheeks. You felt the shame with which the girl’s flippancy affected her, and you saw her pain because her poor little ideals of uprightness, her hankering for goodness, were so brutally mocked. The episode lasted no more than a minute, but in that minute, by those tears and by the anguish of her look, Julia laid bare the sordid misery of the woman’s life. That was the end of Avice.

  ‘And I was such a damned fool, I thought of giving her a contract,’ said Michael.

  ‘Why don’t you?’

  ‘When you’ve got your knife into her? Not on your life. You’re a naughty little thing to be so jealous. You don’t really think she means anything to me, do you? You ought to know by now that you’re the only woman in the world for me.’

  Michael thought that Julia had played this trick on account of the rather violent flirtation he had been having with Avice, and though, of course, it was hard luck on Avice he could not help being a trifle flattered.

  ‘You old donkey,’ smiled Julia, knowing exactly what he was thinking and tickled to death at his mistake. ‘After all, you are the handsomest man in London.’

  ‘All that’s as it may be. But I don’t know what the author’ll say. He’s a conceited little ape and it’s not a bit the scene he wrote.’

  ‘Oh, leave him to me. I’ll fix him.’

  There was a knock at the door and it was the author himself who came in. With a cry of delight, Julia went up to him, threw her arms round his neck and kissed him on both cheeks.

  ‘Are you pleased?’

  ‘It looks like a success,’ he answered, but a trifle coldly.

  ‘My dear, it’ll run for a year.’ She placed her hands on his shoulders and looked him full in the face. ‘But you’re a wicked, wicked man.’

  ‘I?’

  ‘You almost ruined my performance. When I came to that bit in the second act and suddenly saw what it meant I nearly broke down. You knew what was in that scene, you’re the author; why did you let us rehearse it all the time as if there was no more in it than appeared on the surface? We’re only actors, how can you expect us to—to fathom your subtlety? It’s the best scene in your play and I almost bungled it. No one in the world could have written it but you. Your play’s brilliant, but in that scene there’s more than brilliance, there’s genius.’

  The author flushed. Julia looked at him with veneration. He felt shy and happy and proud.

  (‘In twenty-four hours the mugil think he really meant the scene to go like that.’)

  Michael beamed.

  ‘Come along to my dressing-room and have a whisky and soda. I’m sure you need a drink after all that emotion.’

  They went out as Tom came in. Tom’s face was red with excitement.

  ‘My dear, it was grand. You were simply wonderful. Gosh, what a performance.’

  ‘Did you like it? Avice was good, wasn’t she?’

  ‘No, rotten.’

  ‘My dear, what do you mean? I thought she was charming.’

  ‘You simply wiped the floor with her. She didn’t even look pretty in the second act.’

  Avice’s career!

  ‘I say, what are you doing afterwards?’

  ‘Dolly’s giving a party for us.’

  ‘Can’t you cut it and come along to supper with me? I’m madly in love with you.’

  ‘Oh, what nonsense. How can I let Dolly down?’

  ‘Oh, do.’

  His eyes were eager. She could see that he desired her as he had never done before, and she rejoiced in her triumph. But she shook her head firmly. There was a sound in the corridor of a crowd of people talking, and they both knew that a troop of friends were forcing their way down the narrow passage to congratulate her.

  ‘Damn all these people. God, how I want to kiss you. I’ll ring you up in the morning.’

  The door burst open and Dolly, fat, perspiring and bubbling over with enthusiasm, swept in at the head of a throng that packed the dressing-room to suffocation. Julia submitted to being kissed by all and sundry. Among others were three or four well-known actresses, and they were prodigal of their praise. Julia gave a beautiful performance of unaffected modesty. The corridor was packed now with people who wanted to get at least a glimpse of her. Dolly had to fight her way out.

  ‘Try not to be too late,’ she said to Julia, ‘It’s going to be a heavenly party.’

  ‘I’ll come as soon as ever I can.’

  At last the crowd was go
t rid of and Julia, having undressed, began to take off her make-up. Michael came in, wearing a dressing-gown.

  ‘I say, Julia, you’ll have to go to Dolly’s party by yourself. I’ve got to see the libraries and I can’t manage it. I’m going to sting them.’

  ‘Oh, all right.’

  ‘They’re waiting for me now. See you in the morning.’

  He went out and she was left alone with Evie. The dress she had arranged to wear for Dolly’s party was placed over a chair. Julia smeared her face with cleansing cream.

  ‘Evie, Mr Fennel will be ringing up tomorrow. Will you say I’m out?’

  Evie looked in the mirror and caught Julia’s eyes. ‘And if he rings up again?’

  ‘I don’t want to hurt his feelings, poor lamb, but I have a notion I shall be very much engaged for some time now.’

  Evie sniffed loudly, and with that rather disgusting habit of hers drew her forefinger across the bottom of her nose.

  ‘I understand,’ she said dryly.

  ‘I always said you weren’t such a fool as you looked.’ Julia went on with her face. ‘What’s that dress doing on that chair?’

  ‘That? That’s the dress you said you’d wear for the party.’

  ‘Put it away. I can’t go to the party without Mr Gosselyn.’

  ‘Since when?’

  ‘Shut up, you old hag. Phone through and say that I’ve got a bad headache and had to go home to bed, but Mr Gosselyn will come if he possibly can.’

  ‘The party’s being given special for you. You can’t let the poor old gal down like that?’

  Julia stamped her feet.

  ‘I don’t want to go to a party. I won’t go to a party.’

  ‘There’s nothing for you to eat at home.’

  ‘I don’t want to go home. I’ll go and have supper at a restaurant.’

  ‘Who with?’

  ‘By myself.’

  Evie gave her a puzzled glance.

  ‘The play’s a success, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes. Everything’s a success. I feel on the top of the world. I feel like a million dollars. I want to be alone and enjoy myself. Ring up the Berkeley and tell them to keep a table for one in the little room. They’ll know what I mean.’