Devil in Disguise

by Julian Clary

  ‘Oh, right,’ said Molly, trying not to sound tipsy. ‘I shall engage him in conversation, then.’

  ‘I would,’ said Roger. ‘You’re going to Long Buckby, Lilia Delvard’s place. Pick a topic that’ll last, that’s my tip. Which rules out my sex life.’

  ‘Yes, love. Thanks again for giving me the number.’

  ‘Well, I wouldn’t want you sleeping on the streets. I hope it’s bearable there. It’ll be all right for a week, anyway. I know Lilia. She’s an odd fish but she’s one of us. She put on her own show here a few months ago.’

  ‘Lilia did?’ said Molly, more than a little surprised.

  ‘Yes,’ said Roger, rolling his eyes. ‘It didn’t go too well. She hired the whole place on a Sunday night. I think it was supposed to be some kind of comeback. Self-delusion, of course. She thought people would remember her from a hundred years ago.’

  ‘Oh dear. I feel sorry for the old thing,’ said Molly. ‘I bet it was her big night, too.’

  ‘She only sold fifty-eight tickets, and twenty of those were special needs.’

  ‘God, that’s awful. Poor Lilia!’

  ‘Poor me!’ retorted Roger. ‘I had tickets for Ronan Keating that night, and I had to bloody work. Your cab’s here.’

  It was almost midnight when Molly alighted outside Kit-Kat Cottage. She hadn’t needed to keep the driver awake by talking: he’d talked to her non-stop for the entire twenty minutes. ‘I was going to be an actor myself, years ago, but it’s no life, is it?’ were his parting words.

  The lights were on at the cottage, and Molly fancied nothing more than the promised nightcap so she hung her cardigan over her bedroom-door knob and knocked gently on the lounge door. There was a hurried rustling within, followed by a long pause. She knocked again, and said, ‘It’s Molly. Shall I come in?’

  ‘Ah! Molly!’ Lilia’s muffled voice exclaimed, as if she had been expecting someone called Nelly. ‘Do come in, my dear!’

  Molly opened the door and stepped inside. She glanced towards the alcove, but Joey’s chair was empty. Then she registered the hot fug in the room. Despite the sultry evening, the gas fire was on full blast. The dog was lying on the hearthrug, panting, and Lilia sat smiling in her armchair, looking a little flushed.

  ‘Sorry to bother you, Lilia,’ Molly began, fanning herself with one hand as she spoke, and wondering if perhaps she should have gone straight to her room.

  ‘Not at all, my dear!’ said Lilia. ‘Back from your triumphant first night? Come in, sit down and let us toast your success.’ A bottle of brandy and two glasses stood ready on the table. ‘Please pour us each a drink.’

  Molly went to the table obediently and uncorked the bottle.

  ‘How did it go?’ asked Lilia.

  ‘Oh, you know. Fine. I did my best.’

  ‘Good. I hope for your sake that was the case,’ said Lilia. ‘Beware the Northampton Gazette. They can make or break a career.’

  Molly handed her a glass of brandy and sat down opposite. Her landlady’s stockings, she noticed with surprise, were rolled down round her ankles. ‘I’m ever so bored with The Mikado, to be honest. I’m much rather hear about you. Tell me about your singing career, Lilia,’ she said earnestly. ‘Please?’

  ‘Oh.’ Lilia looked away. ‘You cannot really want to know. It was such a long time ago.’

  ‘I’d be interested. Really,’ said Molly. ‘I bet it’s fascinating.’

  Lilia looked bashfully at Molly. She exhaled through her nose, seeming to contemplate the wisdom of telling her story. Finally she spoke. Molly sat back, cradling her brandy glass and listening intently.

  ‘I was the great singer, Lilia Delvard,’ the old lady began. ‘The Céline Dion of my day, only not as horsy. Here. Look. This is me. ‘Lilia stood up and reached for a framed photograph from the many on the shelf. She showed Molly a black-and-white picture of her barely recognisable younger self.

  ‘Beautiful!’ said Molly, admiringly. ‘Foxy lady!’

  ‘This was 1950, I think, at the Café de Paris.’

  ‘Did you perform there?’

  ‘Well, I wasn’t cleaning the toilets. I was a star,’ Lilia said matter-of-factly.

  Molly studied the photograph. A young, elegantly dressed woman stood with her back to the camera, her neck bejewelled and her head turning, almost as an afterthought, towards the lens and her limpid eyes inviting, as if beckoning someone to follow her to the adjoining boudoir.

  ‘My image was rather femme fatale,’ Lilia explained. ‘I was German and the war was not long over. I could hardly pass myself off as Julie Andrews.’ Both women laughed lightly at the image. ‘I went the other way. I wasn’t Miss Squeaky Clean, like dear Julie. I get a Christmas card from her every year still. Just can’t seem to shake her off. I became the German Temptress, sultry and moody and difficult to predict. If anyone dared to talk during my set, I would stop singing and stare until they were embarrassed into silence. It was said that I was the only person in London who could shut Princess Margaret up.’

  ‘You sang for Princess Margaret?’ asked a breathless Molly.

  ‘She was one of my biggest fans.’

  ‘What did you sing?’

  ‘Bitter ballads, mostly. “Moon Over Alabama”. Brecht, of course, Kurt Weill. “I’m A Stranger Here Myself’, “September Song”. “Cuando Vuelva A Tu Lado” was about as upbeat as I was allowed to get. My signature song was “The Man That Got Away”.’

  ‘I love it!’ said Molly, enthralled, looking from Lilia to the photo and back again. ‘You’ve still got the twinkle in your eye, ‘she said sincerely. ‘Wow. What an amazing thing to have done! Did you make any recordings?’

  ‘That is a sore point!’ Lilia chuckled at the memory. “‘Fever” was to be my hit song, but Peggy Lee came to see me one night and the next thing I knew she had released it.’

  ‘Really? Did she know you were going to do it?’

  ‘I told her myself over martinis at Goldenhurst. We were staying at Nod’s for the weekend.’

  ‘What a bitch!’ said Molly, indignantly.

  ‘Eartha Kitt was the worst. You only had to hum a tune in the lift and she’d nick it.’

  ‘No!’ said Molly.

  ‘As for Sarah Vaughan!’

  ‘What did she do?’

  ‘We shared a dressing room once and I had hiccups. Half an hour later she goes on stage and starts all this scat singing!’

  ‘She was famous for her scat singing.’

  ‘After that she was,’ Lilia muttered. ‘I invented it. I was the first. It still rankles.’

  There was a slightly awkward silence. Molly handed the framed picture back to Lilia, who took it, and said, ‘Shall we have another brandy?’

  ‘Yes, please.’ Molly got up to do the refills.

  After a moment’s thought, Lilia said, ‘I’ve just had a wonderful idea. How about I throw a little after-show supper for you and the rest of the cast on Thursday night?’

  ‘Oh, Lilia, that’s so sweet of you. But I wouldn’t want you to go to the trouble—’

  ‘Not at all, my dear. Just a few little nibbles and some Cava. To tell you the truth, I’d love it.

  ‘Well, I’m sure they’d all be delighted to meet you.’

  ‘I remember Peter McDonald when he was on Dixon of Dock Green. And The Butler was my favourite show.’

  ‘He’s a really lovely man.’

  ‘Then I hope he will accept the invitation. Leave everything to me.’

  ‘It’s very kind of you, Lilia. We’re all far away from home and it’s our last week. It would be great to have a bit of a get-together.’

  ‘Then it is settled. Thursday night is open house at Kit-Kat Cottage. Here’s to you,’ said Lilia. They clinked glasses and smiled at each other.

  It must have been about three in the morning when Molly was woken by a light tapping on her door.

  She sat up and turned on the bedside light. The tapping came again.

  ‘Hello?’ said Moll
y. ‘Who is it?’

  ‘It’s Lilia. May I come in?’ Her voice sounded shaky and weak.

  Before Molly could answer, she saw the doorknob turn. Lilia, in a faded pink calf-length nightgown with bluebells jauntily dotted all over it, came silently in and shut the door behind her. ‘Forgive me,’ she said. ‘When Joey wets the bed, I sleep in this room.’ With that, she moved determinedly towards the bed, lifted up the blanket and hopped in before Molly had said a word. Then she turned on her side so that she was facing Molly and pulled the blanket up round her shoulders. ‘Turn the light out, Molly, dear,’ she whispered. ‘I am one tired old lady.’

  Molly was speechless. In her semi-conscious state she did not have the strength to express her discomfort, so she dutifully flicked the switch and lay down, staring into the darkness and trying to come to terms with the unexpected presence in her bed.

  Her hopes that sleep would envelop her swiftly and completely were unrewarded. She was tense and stiff and her eyelids fluttered open again the moment she instructed them to close.

  Lilia’s breathing, on the other hand, was slow and heavy.

  Molly turned on her side, facing away from her, but the movement seemed to disturb her bedmate, and Lilia snuggled closer, snaking a sinewy arm round her waist. With two sleepy grunts and tugs she was spooning Molly from behind and breathing hot, decaying breath on the back of her neck.

  Molly lay rigid and uncomfortable, until at last sleep rescued her.

  Molly awoke the next morning with a dull, pulsing headache. Lilia was no longer beside her and she was alone with her Chardonnay-and-brandy hangover. She tried her best to revive herself under the trickle of water from the shower, then got dressed. When she went into the kitchen Lilia was sitting at the table in her usual silk arrangement, buttering a thin slice of toasted pumpernickel bread. ‘Good morning, Molly!’ she said cheerfully. ‘I have a glass of water and two aspirin ready for you.’

  ‘Oh, thank you, Lilia. I think I need them.’ She wondered whether to mention the curious incident in the night time but decided against it. Perhaps it would be best if I just forget about it, she thought, and hope to hell that Joey doesn’t wet the bed again.

  Lilia gazed at her wisely. ‘The trouble with brandy is it’s very difficult to stop at one glass. Or so it would seem in your case. Anyway, it is done now.‘

  Molly glanced around the room. There was no sign of Joey or Heathcliff.

  ‘It is still too early for the men,’ Lilia said, as if she had read her mind. ‘Please sit down and I will make you coffee.’

  ‘No, don’t get up. I’ll sort myself out,’ insisted Molly.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Really.’

  ‘You’re a lovely girl, Molly. Such a nice change. I had Toad of Toad Hall here last Christmas. He thought I was his personal handmaiden,’ said Lilia, taking a bite but continuing to talk nevertheless. ‘He had me grinding beans, stirring coffee, spreading organic anchovy paste on gluten-free crispbread. Such a carry-on.’

  ‘Goodness!’ said Molly. ‘You’ll have none of that trouble with me, I can assure you.’ She went over to the Welsh dresser and helped herself to some muesli, then turned to sit down.

  ‘While you are up, my dear,’ said Lilia, halting her in her tracks, ‘could you pop me a piece of bacon in the pan?’

  ‘Of course.’ Molly put her bowl on the table and set about her task. She lit a ring on the gas stove and placed the frying pan on top of it. She opened the fridge and reached in for the bacon.

  ‘The eggs are in there, too, as you’re in the vicinity. Scrambled, if you wouldn’t mind.’ The old lady’s lips made a quick cat’s cradle of pouts and smiles, finally selected the smile and gave it full vent.

  ‘Of course I don’t mind,’ Molly said, glad to help. It must be nice for Lilia to have someone to do things for her for a change, and if frying a bit of bacon and scrambling some eggs made her happy, she was glad to do it. ‘So I take it Toad was a bit of a pain. Some actors are like that, you know. Really precious.’

  ‘Mmm.’ Lilia looked mournful. ‘Poor Toad of Toad Hall. He went down with food poisoning on the Tuesday. He was Toad of the khazi for the rest of the week … He must have got it from some kebab he ate between shows.’

  Molly laughed. ‘Poor Toad!’

  ‘Indeed,’ said Lilia, joining in the laughter. ‘Missed his press night. Terrible business. But you look very well. Hung-over, but well.’

  ‘I’ll feel better once I’ve had my muesli,’ said Molly, feeling a little nauseated by the smell of bacon. She mixed the eggs and heated some butter in a pan, lifted it off the gas and swirled it round. She boiled some water to make a fresh pot of tea and put a plate under the grill to warm. When the bacon and eggs were done, she served Lilia from the right-hand side like a proper waitress and finally sat down to her own neglected breakfast.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Lilia. ‘This looks delicious.’ She picked up her knife and fork and cut the bacon into pieces. She piled the scrambled eggs on top, and gave it all an encouraging shuffle just as Heathcliff padded sleepily into the room.

  ‘Ah! There you are, my precious,’ said Lilia, placing the plate on the floor beside her. ‘Molly has made your breakfast! Isn’t she a darling?’

  After Heathcliff had finished his bacon and eggs, Lilia disappeared into her bedroom to get Joey up. Molly, finally enjoying her muesli and a cup of coffee, heard her humming ‘This Can’t Be Love’ as she went about her task.

  Molly washed up the plates, then scrubbed the saucepan, and put them all neatly on the Welsh dresser. When she’d wiped the grill, she went to her room and called Daniel on her mobile phone.

  ‘Molls!’ he answered. ‘Are you ever coming home?’

  ‘Last week away, I promise. Home on Sunday. I can’t wait, I miss you too.’

  ‘How’s the show going?’

  ‘All right. Michael Ball’s coming to town to do a concert in a few weeks’ time. I think most people in Northampton are saving themselves for that. Can’t say I blame them.’

  ‘They’re only human,’ said Daniel. Then he said yearningly, ‘Please come back. I want you — I need you! I’ve been sniffing your underwear, that’s how desperate I am.’

  ‘Dirty pervert,’ laughed Molly. ‘Wherever are you? It sounds very noisy.’

  ‘That’s because I’m hanging off a ladder three storeys up somewhere in Dulwich.’

  ‘I suppose phone sex is out of the question, then?’

  ‘They take that kind of thing in their stride here in Dulwich. Might be dangerous, though. I’m hanging on to the scaffolding with one hand and the phone’s in the other.’

  ‘Oh, well. We’ll just have to wait until the end of the week.’

  ‘Looks like it. Shame.’

  ‘That poor mattress. Battered rotten.’

  ‘Can’t wait.’

  ‘Can we have roast beef and Yorkshire pudding when I get home, please?’

  ‘Only if you promise to prod the joint the moment you walk through the door.’

  ‘It’s a deal.’

  ‘I love you,’ said Daniel.

  ‘I don’t think anyone’s ever told me that from up a ladder before. I love you, too.’

  ‘See you Sunday.’

  ‘My mouth’s watering.’

  “Bye, sweetheart.’

  After she’d disconnected, Molly sat and smiled for a while, feeling the warm glow of love creep over her as comforting and luxurious as scented bathwater. It had been hard to be away from him for so long, but the reunion would be all the sweeter for that.

  A little later she went back to the kitchen to make herself another cup of coffee. Joey was in his wheelchair, a plastic bib round his neck. Lilia sat stock still beside him. She held a finger to her mouth as Molly came in. ‘Sssh!’ she said softly. ‘My starling is paying a visit.’ She nodded towards the draining-board where a bright-eyed bird was perched on the edge of a fruit bowl. He was quite big, a good four inches tall with black eyes. His back and w
ings were a shimmering mixture of bottle-green and purple. The starling eyed Molly fearlessly for a moment, looked towards the open back door to check his escape route. Then, obviously deciding that she posed no danger, he took several healthy pecks at a Conference pear. ‘He’s a hungry boy!’ whispered Lilia.

  ‘He’s fantastic!’ breathed Molly, not wanting to scare him.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ agreed Lilia. ‘He comes to see me every day. He waits in the garden until I open the door. He’s very fond of Joey. I think it’s because he doesn’t move. Then when I go to the shops he follows me to the bus stop and waits there for me to return. He hops along the garden walls just ahead of me.’

  Having had his fill of pear, the bird embarked on a quick hop-skip around the room, then flew out of the open kitchen door.

  ‘Have a nice day!’ trilled Lilia.

  ‘You’re like Mary Poppins,’ said Molly, laughing.

  ‘Next time, I hope you will meet my little thrush, who also comes calling. Now, then, ,where was I?’ asked Lilia. She scooped up some porridge with a spoon and resumed feeding Joey, who looked not at her but at Molly, his eyes more alive than they had been when she had first seen him in the lounge. Molly sat down at the table and smiled warmly back at him. It felt surprisingly intimate to be there with the two of them, witnessing their morning ritual and the starling’s visit. ‘Do you mind if I stay?’ she asked.

  ‘Stay?’ said Lilia, pausing in her task.

  ‘Here. In the kitchen with you both.’

  ‘Oh.’ Lilia spooned up some more of Joey’s breakfast. ‘We don’t mind at all, do we?’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Molly. It was warm and cosy, with the sun shining through the window and Heathcliff asleep on the lawn —it almost felt like being part of a proper family. She daydreamed that Lilia and Joey were the grandparents she’d never known and that by some extraordinary chance she had ended up in their home, to be welcomed and loved and looked after. Molly glanced over at the old man in his wheelchair. Was Joey trying to tell her something when he looked at her? There certainly seemed to be more in his expression than the eerie blankness she had seen the other afternoon.