Devil in Disguise

by Julian Clary

  Molly finished her cigarette and went to Lilia’s bedroom. Heathcliff was laid on his side on the bed. His eyes were closed as if he was asleep, his big, pink tongue just poking out between fleshy black lips. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said quietly, rubbing his chest the way he’d liked. ‘We’re going to miss you, old boy, more than you know. God bless.’ She gave him a final stroke, covered him with a sheet and returned to the lounge.

  ‘A brandy, love?’ she asked Lilia, who was staring into space, her hands twisting in her lap. There was no response, so Molly poured her one anyway, and one for herself.

  ‘I’m sorry, Lilia,’ she said, placing the glass in the old lady’s hand.

  Lilia’s eyes flickered. ‘Why?’ she said flatly. ‘Why did she come here and ruin everything?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Molly, her voice full of pain. ‘She was worried about me.’

  ‘If she had taken my life it would have been easier to bear.’

  ‘Don’t say that.’

  ‘First Joey and now Heathcliff Everything is being taken from me.’

  ‘I’m still here,’ said Molly, giving Lilia’s hand a reassuring squeeze.

  ‘For how long?’ asked Lilia, hopelessly. ‘And then what is to become of me?’

  ‘I’m going to stay with you,’ replied Molly. ‘Seriously. You and I are a team. We have plans, remember?’

  ‘You are not going to leave me?’ asked Lilia, clutching Molly’s arm, a faint glimmer of hope detectable in her voice.

  ‘Never,’ said Molly.

  ‘Do you promise?’

  ‘I promise. I love you, Lilia.’

  The two women embraced and then Lilia wiped her eyes.

  ‘Could I have a line, please?’ asked Molly, who was feeling the vague, panicky beginnings of cocaine withdrawal. ‘I need something for my nerves.’

  Lilia reached down the side of her chair and produced her enamel box. ‘I’ll tell you what I am going to do with this,’ she said. ‘I am going to flush it down the toilet.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Molly, alarmed. ‘What would you do that for?’

  ‘Because you’ve had enough,’ said Lilia determinedly.

  ‘But I … It seems such a waste,’ said Molly, flustered and feeling the need for a line more strongly now that the supply was being removed.

  ‘If you hadn’t been so drugged up, Jane wouldn’t have been so overcome with sisterly concern. She would not have barged in here and Heathcliff would not be lying in the next room dead.’

  ‘Yes, but—’

  ‘Yes but nothing,’ said Lilia, standing up. ‘Your drug-taking is to blame for all this. Plain and simple.’ Lilia left the room, and a few moments later Molly heard the toilet flush. Her palms felt moist and she felt suddenly irritable and trapped.

  When Lilia returned she wore a look of triumph. ‘All gone!’ she said. ‘No more pills, powder or-puff Welcome back to reality.’

  Molly managed a tight smile. Probably, in the long term, it was just as well. She had only been on the stuff for a few weeks, but it was remarkable how much she had come to enjoy it. Depend on it, even.

  ‘You will be going cold turkey, my dear,’ continued Lilia. ‘Just as I will be suffering withdrawal symptoms from the passionate love and affection Heathcliff brought to my life, so will you from the drugs. Depression, sweating, panic attacks, sleeplessness: we will be in perfect harmony with each other.’

  Molly said nothing.

  ‘Now,’ said Lilia after a pause, ‘I am going to light some candles and burn some incense in my bedroom. I intend to spend one final night with my dear boy.’

  ‘Shall I come with you?’ asked Molly.

  ‘No. It is a private matter,’ replied Lilia, grandly. ‘You take a hot bath, and put some disinfectant on that bruise on your forehead. We have spent months working on your looks and the murderess has ruined them. Hopefully, it is just temporary.’

  ‘But I won’t be able to sleep without a pill,’ said Molly.

  ‘No, you won’t. Here,’ said Lilia. She passed her pupil a pile of sheet music. ‘Study the songs. Learn the lyrics, absorb them into your very being.’

  ‘Yes, Lilia,’ said Molly, meekly.

  ‘We will soon be ready for the next phase of your development.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘A public performance. I am ready to reveal to the world the remarkable creature I have created.’

  ‘Jeepers,’ said Molly, feeling a surge of nervous excitement wash over her.

  Lilia was true to her word. Just three weeks after they had buried Heathcliff (in the middle of the lawn, she had insisted), Molly was given a trial for a job singing at a restaurant opposite the stage door of the Derngate called the Snappy Italian. Roger had told Lilia of the vacancy after the resident entertainer, Betty Swollocks, had eloped with a Lost Boy from Peter Pan. He came round to tea one day to tell them the news. ‘An odder couple you will never see than Betty and that pimply youth,’ he said. ‘Well, good riddance, that’s what I say. If she thinks a nineteen-year-old pouf from Southampton is going to stay with her for more than a fortnight, she’s got another think coming. Anyway, Luigi needs somebody for Thursday, Friday and Saturday nights. I told him he should go upmarket. The bingo night wasn’t to everyone’s taste. I told him about you and he’d like to give you a trial. Am I the Angel Gabriel or not?’ Roger laughed, pleased to be the bringer of such happy tidings.

  Lilia gasped with excitement and clasped her face. ‘Oh, darling you!’ she declared, leaping up to kiss Roger on both cheeks. ‘This is just what I wanted.’

  ‘It’s been a while since I sang in restaurants,’ Molly said uncertainly. She was still recovering from an unpleasant few weeks of cold turkey and found it hard to muster much enthusiasm. ‘Isn’t this a step back for me?’

  ‘No. Forget your old life. This is your new life. It is the perfect place for you to work on your performance,’ Lilia declared. ‘We have the voice, we have the body, now we need to work on presentation. The Snappy Italian will be just the right training ground. You shall see.’

  Molly was more nervous than she’d expected on her first night. Lilia dressed her carefully in a plain black dress and high heels, pulled back her hair into a tight ponytail and gave her simple but effective makeup: pale eyes, swooping black lashes and a dark crimson mouth. Molly looked at herself in the mirror: the woman who stared back at her was a million miles from the plump, curly-headed girl who had belted out Broadway hits and Gilbert and Sullivan. What a strange path I’m on, she thought, feeling the pleasurable anticipation mixed with nervous dread that always came before a performance. I wonder where it’s leading …

  ‘Chop, chop!’ urged Lilia, obviously pleased with how Molly looked. ‘It’s time.’

  With the faithful Geoffrey on the piano, Molly sang her selection of sultry and bitter love songs to the largely theatrical clientele. They played two half-hour sets, one at ten forty-five and another at midnight. Her now deep and husky voice impressed the audience, and they whooped and cheered at the end. The moment she finished Lilia came into the tiny dressing room and congratulated her. ‘Excellent, my dear. Very well done. The songs are working nicely. But it is a mistake to look too happy when taking your applause — indifference would be more suitable. Remember, we are peddling misery here. It is not Butlins. Try not to smile until we have had your teeth fixed. Look at your audience as if they are low-life.’

  Molly was buzzing with adrenalin. ‘You are funny, Lilia! I had a ball out there. I can’t believe how much I enjoyed myself’

  When Luigi came in at the end of the evening and offered her a permanent booking, singing three nights a week, she was delighted. The money was pitiful, but that didn’t matter. They returned home to Long Buckby in triumph.

  Now Molly had something to live for outside Kit-Kat Cottage and she adored it, from the careful preparations, the selection of her outfit and the application of her makeup, to stepping out into the glare of the spotlight and hearing the first ti
nkle of the piano, knowing that she would open her mouth, begin to sing, and the restaurant would fall silent to listen to her astounding voice.

  Lilia managed to secure a table at the front for herself each night as part of the deal and sat, pen poised, taking notes and occasionally instructing Molly, in a loud whisper, to leave her hair alone or relax her shoulders. Generally the punters were respectful. The majority were performers or post-theatre diners, who listened appreciatively and applauded after each song. If, as occasionally happened, a few people talked loudly or laughed raucously, Lilia would ‘ssh’ loudly until others joined in and they were shamed into quiet.

  One night when they’d arrived back at the bungalow, after Molly had been performing regularly at the Snappy Italian for a fortnight, Lilia suggested they settle down for a brandy and chat. ‘Chin, chin,’ she said, raising her glass.

  ‘Cheers!’ Molly took a sip, then let out a deep sigh. ‘Ah! That’s better.’

  Lilia produced her pad. ‘I took some very thorough notes tonight,’ she said. ‘It’s time for a review. You have settled in well, but that doesn’t mean you can stop tying.’ She peered down at her scribbles, then said briskly, ‘Remember to walk slowly when you first emerge on stage. No bounce. Your soul is full of despair, remember. You are Our Lady of the Camellias, a tragic, wasted beauty who can only alleviate the pain by singing.’

  ‘Right,’ said Molly, paying rapt attention.

  ‘I have decided to change your name, too. Molly Douglas is all wrong.’

  ‘Not very torch song, is it?’

  ‘No. Sounds like a cleaning woman.’

  ‘What do you suggest?’

  ‘First, let’s get rid of Douglas. How about … for want of something better … Delvard?’

  ‘Oh, I love it!’ said Molly, excitedly. ‘Molly Delvard,’ she said, trying it out. ‘I’d be honoured to perform under your name.’

  ‘Now. The Molly part. We need to do something about that too. I suggest something a little less chambermaid. How about … Mia?’

  ‘Oh.’ Molly blinked. She hadn’t expected to lose her name entirely. But she liked Mia. ‘Yes … Mia Delvard. That’s good. I like it.’

  ‘Excellent. That is settled. Next we come to your hair. It looked a little dull under the lights, and I think we should go for some colour.’

  ‘I’ve always wanted to be platinum blonde.’

  ‘I have some henna in the bathroom,’ replied Lilia, ignoring Molly’s statement. ‘We will try that on you tomorrow.’

  ‘So I’ll be a redhead like you.’

  ‘Redheads are more worldly wise. It was Leonard Cohen who advised me to go this colour.’

  ‘When did you work with him? I love his music.’

  ‘We met at the Trident Studios in 1967. We sang a duet together on his album Songs of Hate. “Lilia,” he said to me, “a woman such as yourself should have hair like fire!” The next day I bought my first tub of henna and I have never looked back.’

  ‘I can’t imagine you any other colour,’ said Molly.

  ‘Leonard was right, of course.’

  ‘What was the duet you sang together?’

  ‘A song he wrote for me called “Lady Lilia”. A pretty ballad, it was. They didn’t put it on the album in the end. I rather out-sang poor Leonard on the track, so the producers cut it.’

  ‘How amazing,’ said Molly.

  Lilia returned to her notes. ‘Your clothes are not suitable either. We will take a trip to London on Tuesday and go to Chanel.’

  ‘Chanel — how fabulous!’

  ‘As Coco said to me once, at the Ritz in Paris, “Simplicity is the key to all elegance.”’

  ‘You knew Coco Chanel?’

  ‘I was her muse for several seasons. In my modelling days.’

  Molly shook her head in amazement. ‘You’ve done everything, met everybody.’

  ‘I’ve led a glamorous life, it’s true.’

  Molly was worried. ‘But isn’t Chanel terribly expensive?’

  ‘Yes. No matter. I have a few pennies left from auctioning Joey’s Victoria Cross. Chanel is the only place suitable. We will see what Jasper Conran has to offer as well while we are in town. He is the only modern designer with taste, in my opinion. A tight cashmere dress with a belt. All black. You must only ever wear black. And some serious heels.’

  ‘Oh, yes, yes!’ said Molly.

  The trip to London passed in a haze of excitement and pleasure. They took the train to Euston and then a black cab to the West End, where they spent a couple of happy hours in the Chanel boutique. Molly was astonished to find that she was now a slip of a size eight, and that clothes she’d never have dreamt she could wear now fitted beautifully.

  As she stood in the soft gold lighting of the boutique, studying her reflection in the flattering mirrors, she could understand why these clothes were so expensive: they were exquisite, designed to enhance her figure with elegance and structure.

  ‘Two dresses, a classic suit and some cashmere knitwear. All monochrome or shades of grey and pearl,’ declared Lilia. ‘And while we’re here, we may as well take a look in Prada.’

  When it came time to pay, Lilia opened her handbag and brought out packets of twenty-pound notes, stacking them up on the counter. The staff showed only a flicker of surprise as they accepted them.

  ‘Thank you, Lilia,’ said Molly, on the train home, looking at her smart shopping bags. They’d also bought a black dress in Prada, some shoes in Gina and put her name down for a black Kelly bag in Hermès. ‘What incredible generosity. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.’

  ‘I enjoyed it too. A taste of my old life,’ said Lilia, smiling.

  ‘And don’t worry, my dear. You will repay me many times over and in many different ways — I can promise you that.’

  By the time of her next appearance at the Snappy Italian on the following Friday, Molly was even further transformed, with startling red hair, a beautiful figure-hugging dress and six-inch stilettos.

  ‘You look amazing!’ declared Roger, congratulating her after the show. ‘You’re too good for this place, girl. Northampton isn’t used to such class. And your singing’s fantastic. You had me in tears!’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Molly.

  ‘And you’re a Delvard now,’ he said, with a giggle. ‘Lilia is recreating you in her own image.’

  Lilia, too, dressed up for these evenings at the restaurant. Her hair was swept up in a raspberry-coloured meringue, and she would wrap a beaded pashmina round her shoulders, later revealing a low-cut vintage evening gown. She always sat in the same place at the front, elbows on the table, chin supported by her knuckles, watching Molly closely, smiling sagely, blinking and nodding after every song. Occasionally she would frown and break her pose to write something on her pad with a silver Mont Blanc fountain pen. Together they made an enigmatic pair, dripping style, talent and a distant, haughty air.

  Within weeks, word had got round, and the Snappy Italian was packed whenever Mia Delvard was due to appear. After a month of full houses and a huge surge in bookings for the restaurant, Lilia requested a meeting with Luigi. ‘We want more money,’ she told him bluntly, ‘or we will leave. I also want large framed photos of Mia both inside and outside the premises. Furthermore, Miss Delvard’s second set will not be until one a.m. We will keep them waiting from now on.’

  Luigi didn’t hesitate. ‘Of course, I shall see to it. A very good idea. None of this is a problem,’ he said, even bowing slightly to Lilia as he spoke. ‘And perhaps you’d consider double the fee?’

  But despite Luigi’s willingness to please, three weeks later Lilia cancelled Molly’s appearances at the Snappy Italian altogether. ‘I’m sorry,’ she told Luigi one Saturday after the show ‘Molly is an artist. I can no longer allow her to sing in front of people who are chewing microwaved spaghetti carbonara.’

  ‘How dare you?’ said Luigi, furious. ‘Everything is freshly cooked.’

  ‘Whatever,’ said Lilia, picking up
her fur stole. ‘So long, baby. We’ve got bigger fish to fry.’

  During this conversation Molly stood meekly by. It was the first she’d heard about leaving but she trusted Lilia implicitly. Whatever she said was right — must be right. She’d be sad to leave the Snappy Italian, but she had absolute faith that something better was about to come along.

  Roger came over when he heard. ‘Is it true you’ve sacked Luigi?’ he asked disbelievingly.

  ‘Yes, Molly’s leaving,’ Lilia announced grandly. She flung her shawl round her shoulders. ‘We’re moving on.’

  ‘Fuck me,’ he said. ‘This is turning into Gypsy fucking Rose Lee.’

  ‘We’re leaving here as well,’ said Lilia. ‘Molly and I will be renting out Kit-Kat Cottage and moving to London. So it’s goodbye, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Charming,’ said Roger. ‘Is that all the thanks I get?’ He turned to Molly. ‘Well?’ he asked petulantly. ‘Is it? You’re fucking off to London and you don’t have the good grace to tell me?’

  ‘I didn’t know we were moving to London,’ said Molly, a trifle bewildered. ‘Lilia?’

  ‘Well, we’re not going to conquer the world from Long Buckby, are we? Even Jane McDonald had go south eventually to fulfil her potential.’