The Dragonfly Brooch
Page 21
She was on blistering form. In fact she was flying. This was theatrical history in the making. The final action, the final word; the stage fell silent. It was done. Finished. A long stretched-out pause, and then the house erupted. Every person in every row was up on their feet applauding. The stalls, the boxes, the circles, were alive with an extraordinary cacophony of clapping, whooping and cries of praise.
She bowed. Holding her two co-stars by the hand, she walked towards the front of the stage and bowed again. They let go of her, leaving her standing alone, the sole focus of attention. The applause grew even louder. He noticed she was scanning the stalls searching for someone. Who? Minnie? Baxter? Amidst the uproar she was shading her eyes, seeking to left and right. A flicker of regret passed over her face, a tiny hint of disappointment before her professional smile returned. One more curtain call, then another, and finally a third.
At last the actors withdrew, the stage emptied, the curtain came down. Humming with enthusiasm the theatre-goers gathered their belongings and made their way out of the auditorium. It was marvellous, they said. Like she’d never been away.
Charlie turned around. The scene on stage was a familiar one …
A table and chairs, with cloths, candelabra and cutlery. The dinner party, with caterers again placing food and drink in the middle of the table. A group of men in evening dress, sprawl contentedly in their curly-backed chairs. Slightly dishevelled, slightly the worse for wear. And the young woman who they have all come to see, sweeps the stage with the hem of her skirt.
The scent of cigar smoke, perfume and hair oil mingles with the faint odour of musty cloth and scenery paint. Baxter, Farrar Fay, Geoffrey d’Urvaine and Robert Perry all turn towards their lady love, Minnie Etherege Devine as she takes her place at the head of the table. The turquoise enamel of the dragonfly brooch pinned to her breast winks in the glow from the footlights …
*
Outside the dressing room, he knocked smartly on the door. ‘Miss Devine?’ he shouted. ‘Mr Gilchrist to see you.’ There was a clatter from within and there she was in the doorway, blouse undone, make-up half removed. ‘Charlie! Where were you? I couldn’t see you out front!’
‘I was there,’ he said. ‘I promise you.’ He followed her in and shut the door. Bunches of flowers and cards from well-wishers were littered across the length of the dressing table. Her eyes were bright. ‘Charlie,’ she repeated. ‘Wow! So glad you came.’
‘My pleasure. My absolute pleasure.’ They gazed at each other a moment or two. ‘And how are you? How was it?’ Stupid question.
‘Good,’ she said. ‘Fine. Yes. Yes. It was. Wow,’ she said again. ‘Come here.’ She hugged him tight – a big, ebullient actorly hug. ‘It’s really good to see you! Sorry. I’m always like this when I come off stage. Hyper. Buzzing. I’ll be all right in a bit. We’ll go and get a drink. You want a drink? Let me get changed first. It’s hot in this costume. Roasting!’
‘You were brilliant out there,’ he remembered to tell her. ‘Remarkable!’
‘That translates as “a bit odd”,’ she said, wrestling with the buttons on her skirt, ‘hard to get to grips with, inaccessible?’
‘No, not at all. Remarkable – as in extraordinary, charismatic, mesmerising.’
She dropped the skirt to the floor and stepped out of it. ‘What do you think Angus Malone will say?’
‘Who cares what he thinks? He can’t stop you acting.’
‘No, you’re right,’ She retrieved a coathanger from the clothing rack on the wall and hung up the costume. ‘I was fine, wasn’t I? Since I met you, it’s all been fine. We actors love being the centre of attention and all that, but I already told you – we eat, sleep and piss like everyone else. It’s not glamorous, it’s just arsing about!’ She sat down at the dressing table and un-picked the hair piece from the back of her head. ‘I have to pin this monstrosity on every night for the next three months!’ She laughed. ‘I know, I’m just a vain peacock of a woman and you’re this beautifully serene, wonderful man – I mean it!’ she said, noticing his expression. ‘I spent so long pacing around that bloody farmhouse thinking what the hell am I doing with myself? Why aren’t I working? What’s stopping me doing what I love doing? And you’ve helped me get back out there. I owe you my career, Charlie. Thank you.’
‘Please,’ he said, ‘my head.’
She put the hair piece in its box and carried on undressing in front of him, right down to her underwear. ‘Oh, there’s something I have to tell you!’
He met her eye. ‘Never marry an actor?’
At this she threw her head back and laughed. ‘No! Although it’s funny you should say that …’
‘What is it then?’
She took a deep breath, ‘Francois has called off the divorce.’
‘He has?’
‘That’s right. He’s forgiven me.’ She pulled on a pair of jeans, hoisting herself in at the waist. ‘Roman will have his parents together again.’
‘That’s marvellous! Congratulations.’
‘Baby steps. For the moment. But who knows?’
He spotted a bag of Tetley teabags on the dressing table, a Mars bar and a small plate covered in toast crumbs. ‘Does this mean you’ll be leaving England to go back to France?’
‘Perhaps. But not to St Rémy. I’m giving Mas Daria to Valérie and Hélene.’ She fetched a jumper from the back of the chair and pulled it over her head, static from her messed up hair crackling around her face.
‘You are?’
‘It’s their home Charlie. It belongs to them. You knew it as soon as you set foot in it. It was one of the first things you said to me. You said you thought Valérie owned it.’
He smiled. ‘I did, didn’t I? But that’s an incredibly generous gesture…’
‘They can sell it or do what they want with it, it’s up to them. Oh, and I nearly forgot – The Bad Marriage Gang is back on! The original funding fell through and the whole thing got shelved.’ She picked up a hairbrush and gave her hair a few smart strokes before hunting around for her boots. ‘But another studio stepped in – and they want me. It’s with a much smaller budget of course. Six weeks filming in New Zealand. I finish the run here and then I fly out to the other side of the world.’
‘Wow. It’s all happening isn’t it?’
‘Thanks to you Charlie. I can’t tell you how grateful I am.’
‘We did it together,’ he said.
At last she was dressed and ready. She scanned the items on the dressing table, the flower basket, the good luck cards, the make-up-smeared tissues. ‘To think, this is the same dressing room Minnie Devine used all those years ago … Come on!’ She grabbed her jacket from the hook. ‘Let’s go and get that drink.’
*
The actor, Anne Marie Devine, seen here leaving the Haymead Theatre with an un-named friend, made a triumphant return to the stage this week, in a revival of The Strawberry Thief.
During her first performances in London for over five years, she has had the audience eating out of her hands. Particularly satisfying for the 34-year-old, as it is the play she previously walked out on when suffering her well-documented bout of crippling stage fright. Critics have been appreciative, although Angus Malone comments: ‘Hated the play first time round, can’t see any reason to change my opinion now.’ See Theatre: page 29.
Ms Devine has not yet been interviewed about her return to stage acting, but a statement from her agent makes it clear that she is looking forward to several new projects including a role in an Australian movie to begin shooting in the summer, and a projected biography of her acting ancestor Minnie Etherege Devine. It’s widely hoped that this flurry of activity anticipates a promising new phase of her career.
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About the author
Estella McQueen grew up in Leicestershire and studied English at Reading University before embarking on a career as a BBC researcher. She is married to a librarian, and now lives in London. When not writing she loves going to the theatre, visiting museums and art galleries and exploring her adopted city.