by Rebecca West
‘Oh, yes,’ he said, ‘The Times Book Club,’ and laughed.
With an entrancing slowness, he paced beside her across the hall. Quite certainly he loved being with her.
‘Georgy,’ he said with a chuckle, and jerked his head towards the open door of the library. They could see her standing at the other end of the room, looking out of the window with her back to them. The contrast between her fine head, so well held, and her stocky body and thick legs was so great that she reminded one of a bust on a tall cylindrical pedestal.
‘I like her,’ said Sunflower, ‘and that’s a lovely dress. It’s one of Vionnet’s best this year. Did you say she has only just started dressing up?’
‘Yes, just recently.’
‘Ah, that’s why she’s standing up. I used to do that when I first had good clothes.’
‘What do you mean? Why is she standing up?’
‘To keep the pleats in.’
He guffawed. ‘To keep the pleats in! Women are funny things.’ They moved on towards the front door. On the top step he checked her by laying his hand on her arm. ‘Well, God bless you, Sunflower, for bearing with me this afternoon. I suppose you think I’m a crazy fellow.’
‘No, I don’t,’ she said stoutly.
‘Then come back and bear with me some more. I do not know what I would do without you.’
‘It’s lovely of you to say that.’ Harrowby had driven the car up to the steps and was now looking up at them. She exclaimed, ‘Oh, doesn’t Harrowby look ill?’
‘He certainly does. I’ve never seen a man’s face so white. What’s the matter with him?’
‘I don’t know. I can’t find out. He’s been like this for the last two weeks. It’s terrible.’
‘Ah, he’s in love with you and jealous of me.’
She smiled at his joke and said, ‘Now you must go back to Miss Allardyce.’
He kept hold of her arm as they walked down the steps, almost fondling it. After he had put her in the car, he called through the window, ‘I will telephone you tonight … When you get in from the theatre, just to say goodnight.’
That was wonderful. He had never done that before. ‘Very well.’
‘And now,’ he said, ‘I must get back to Georgy, poor Georgy. Goodbye dear.’
She had done him a world of good. He ran up the steps like a schoolboy.
She felt ever so embarrassed when the dresser said, ‘Why, here’s Miss Tempest! She’s quite a stranger here nowadays!’ She had quite forgotten that dear old Maxi had written to say that she hadn’t seen the show yet because she’d had to take the baby down to Herne Bay to convalesce after whooping cough and had come back for a couple of days and was going to be in front with George that very evening. It was lovely to see her again, fatter than she used to be but still well, and hear her burst out not listening to one word of what you were asking about baby, though usually you weren’t allowed to talk about anything else, ‘Well, Sunflower, who’s the clever little actress now? Oh, I’m so pleased, I can’t tell you how pleased I am!’ and break into those funny laughs that used to make the other girls say, ‘Hello, old Maxi’s laid another egg!’ Only it was funny how men did get in the way of a girl’s friends. Sunflower couldn’t help remembering how Essington had previously described the greeting of any two actresses as a violent outburst of affection unaccompanied by cerebration, not unanalogous to a sneeze, and she felt miserable about remembering it, because though Maxi was noisy she really meant everything she said, and you ought to quarrel with a person who says things like that about your friends, but you can’t do that if the person is somebody that you have to be loyaller to than your friends. Also she had to dodge when Maxi hugged her and not hug back for fear of spoiling her make-up and her hair over which she had worked so carefully that several times she’d made a complete mess of it all and had to start from the beginning all over again. For if Francis Pitt had been to see her several times without telling her, he might be there that night. But she did love old Maxi, she was so warm and understanding.
‘Sunflower, I can’t tell you how wonderful you are! Of course you look too gorgeous. You’re the one woman in the world who looks well with long hair. But it’s your acting, darling, it’s your acting!’
‘Oh, Maxi, do you really think I pull it off? There’s one thing I wish you’d tell me about. I’m never sure I got that scene with the wineglass quite right. Doesn’t it look all wrong from the front?’
‘My dear, you’re marvellous, there and everywhere else, marvellous. Well, you know what George is. Born in the theatre, my dear, and you can’t get a rise out of him in the ordinary way. I give you my word, he’s been sitting all the evening saying, “Well, where’s Brenda Burton now?” Though speaking for myself, I always knew where that Shakespearean Art gets off. My dear, you’re right there, up at the top.’
‘Oh, Maxi, you can’t think how funny it is to have your acting spoken freely about in front of your face instead of having it glossed over. The times I’ve nearly burst out crying because people kept on saying, “Charming, charming”, in that kind way. But of course it’s rather difficult now. I never know what to say. You can’t contradict people when they say you’re acting well, and yet you can’t agree with them, it seems so conceited.’
‘Well, my dear, that’s a very good line you had just now.’
‘Which?’
‘The one you just said to me. “I’m never sure if I get that scene with the wineglass quite right.” You keep on saying that.’
‘But I might get the scene right any time. I feel it’s something quite small that’s wrong. You could probably tell me what it was.’
‘Yes, dear, but in any case go on saying that, it sounds well. People’ll say you’re modest, and that you’re beginning to work so hard. Don’t you dare not say it. You couldn’t have a better line.’
‘Well, I don’t want to be a fraud.’
‘That isn’t being a fraud. You asked me that question when you came into the room, didn’t you? Well, you weren’t being a fraud, then, were you? Then there isn’t any harm in asking it again, is there? You silly girl. You always did waste things … And you’re a silly girl too about that scene with the wineglass. It does go wrong, but it isn’t your fault.’
‘But it is my fault. It must be, because it’s wrong when I play it with Cosmo Davis and it’s wrong now this other boy’s playing it. It isn’t likely that they’d both go wrong in the same place, is it?’
‘But that’s just what happens. The scene does break, you’re quite right, but it isn’t your fault. Don’t you see what happens? You work the scene up and up till you pass him the wineglass in that lovely soft, floppy sort of way, as if you were just ready to keel over, and he ought to grab it in a he-man sort of way, as if he were a bull at a gate. Well, he can’t do that, being a nancy-boy, as anyone can see, and neither could Cosmo, who’s a lamb, but we all know what he is.’
‘Well, it isn’t Cosmo’s fault, poor dear. They all seem to be that way nowadays.’
‘My dear, don’t I know it. For years before I left the stage I never played a love-scene that wasn’t just a romp with the girls. Well, you can’t make bricks without straw so the scene drops. But you’re all right. Oh, my dear, you’re going to be a fine actress. And the funny thing is I don’t mind. I’m just glad. I’ve minded all sorts of things about you before. I used to mind dreadfully because when we went out together, everybody looked at you first. Of course you never guessed that, because if it had been the other way round you wouldn’t have minded. You’re much nicer than I am, Sunflower.’
‘Oh, don’t be so silly. There isn’t anybody who isn’t nicer than me, and especially you, Maxi. And just to show it, I did mind dreadfully the way that however much people looked at me, they were always readier to laugh and joke with you. When a man danced with me, he used to just stand about and stare at me afterwards, as if I were something in a museum, and the men were always jolly and friendly with you. Why, don’t you remember ho
w nobody but the principals ever spoke to me in “Farandole” and you had the loveliest time larking about with everybody.’
‘Well, you were so beautiful that they felt as if you were set apart and only the most important people had the right to speak to you.’
‘It’s not much fun being set apart.’
‘Anyway I envied you that, and the way you could slip into anything and look lovely. With my bust I had always to be so careful. It’s haunted me for years that I once told you a dress didn’t suit you when it did. It was a lime-green silk with three flounces like how we used to wear them in a little shop in Brompton Road. It was before you had money, so that a cheap dress was something you ought to have laid hold of. I told you it didn’t suit you, because I just couldn’t bear the way it did. I’ve often worried about that.’
‘You silly.’
‘But the funny thing is that now you’ve come out as a great actress.’
‘Oh, go on, not a great actress, just a good actress.’
‘Well, my dear, there was a time when the one thing seemed just as unlikely as the other. And now you’ve got there, I’m just glad, I don’t feel any envy.’
‘Well, who would?’ Sunflower asked languidly. ‘Acting doesn’t really matter very much, does it, when you come to think of it!’
‘Well, no. I see what you mean. No, of course it doesn’t matter, not really, it doesn’t make you happy. But still, there’s a sort of working agreement that it does, and after all, we all draw our money from it, don’t we? Even George!’
‘How is old George?’
‘He’s fine and he sends his love and he’s been saying all that I’ve been saying. I left him down in front because I wanted to have a talk with you. How are you, old thing? Apart from all this, I mean? How’s old Essington?’
‘Very well.’
‘Still the gentleman who hangs his hat up in your hall?’
‘Yes. And always will be.’
‘Oh, go on. You’ll wake up some day and turn that silly old pope out of doors.’
‘Maxi, dear, I wish you wouldn’t. You don’t understand him.’
‘You bet I do. Better than you do, a lot. I hate the way he thinks he’s a good man and isn’t. Prides himself on not drinking and made just as much a pig of himself swilling down your youth as other men do when they swill down champagne. He’s never hidden what he thinks of me, so I don’t see why I should hide what I think of him. George saw you at the Embassy the other night.’
‘Did he? I’m sorry I didn’t see him.’
‘George said he didn’t think you saw anybody. Said your eyes were like stars and you just floated. With Francis Pitt, weren’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Seen much of him lately?’
‘A bit. You see he’s in trouble. His best friend’s dying. And he wants company. I go up to lunch with him nearly every day.’
‘Is he nice?’
‘Yes.’
‘Straight?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you really like him?’
‘Yes. But we’re just friends. Nothing but friends. I lunched with him today. We’re just friends.’
‘That’s just what I’ve always objected to about lunch. One’s apt to be just friends. I always say lunch isn’t worth the trouble of dressing for it. You can do as much with two dinners or one supper as you can with five lunches.’
‘But Maxi, it isn’t like that. I wouldn’t try to make anything happen. It wouldn’t seem right. And anyway, I don’t care if nothing ever happens. This is different. So long as I can see him …’ She turned way and fumbled on the table for her powder puff.
‘Oh!’ breathed Maxine in consternation. ‘You would take it like that, wouldn’t you?’
There was a pause. Sunflower said, ‘People aren’t talking, are they?’
‘A bit.’
Insincerely she muttered, ‘Horrid of them.’ For the first time in her life she glowed at the thought that she was being gossiped about. It was better that she should be embraced by Francis Pitt in the imagination of others than nowhere at all.
‘Hasn’t he said anything at all?’
Sunflower shook her head.
‘Do you think he cares for you?’
‘Yes. I’m almost sure.’
‘I wonder why he doesn’t come across? Do you think there’s a Reason?’
‘I’ve thought sometimes there might be a Reason.’
‘If it’s a Reason you’ll get him all right. You’re so lovely. You needn’t worry. But I wish there wasn’t so much of this lunch business. It’s so much easier to make things happen at night.’
‘But I tell you I don’t want to make things happen. It would spoil it: I want to stand back and let it happen.’
‘My dear, I know just how you feel. Isn’t it awful when it makes you come over all religious like that! I do hope it’ll be all right, I do hope it’ll be all right, I do hope—you’re sure he really is nice?’
‘I’m quite sure.’
‘I do want you to have a bit of luck after all you’ve been through with that old beast. Do … do you think he’d marry?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Sunflower, you ought to try for that. Don’t be too good-natured. You’re far too soft. Not that I mean you’ve ever done it with anybody but Essington. But you’re soft about everything. It’s made me sick sometimes, the way you’ve let girls copy your best dresses that wouldn’t have given you a loan of their lipsticks. Don’t be a silly girl over this. You don’t know how good it is afterwards. After you’ve got through all this stage you’re in now. There’s something after that. Sunflower, I’m happy. I really am happy, and I didn’t think I ever would be again.’
‘You did go through an awful time with Jerry.’
They stared at each other palely, shaking their heads.
‘Without so much as a by-your-leave,’ said Maxine.
‘I often wonder if they never think.’
‘I don’t suppose they ever do.’
Sunflower turned back to her dressing-table and fiddled with the jars and bottles.
‘Maxi, dear.’
‘Yes, old Sunflower.’
‘There’s something I’d like to ask you, only …’
‘My dear, we’ve slept in the same bed in the old days and used the same hairbrush when mine wore out. There isn’t anything you can’t ask me.’
‘Well … does George mind about the others?’
‘Oh, that. Well, I don’t suppose he actually cheers when he thinks about them, but I don’t think he does think about them much. Men don’t nowadays. They’re much more sensible. They realise that unless we were born twins with our husbands, which would be incest, which is horrid, there’s bound to be a few mistakes while you’re waiting round. Anyway it doesn’t seem to worry him. Except Jerry. He wouldn’t like me to see Jerry.’
‘Do you ever run across Jerry now?’
‘Once in a blue moon. At Ciro’s. And the Fifty-Fifty. Always with a girl. Different girls. He doesn’t ever seem to keep a girl long. Not longer than three months.’
‘Well, you were with him much longer than that.’
‘A year and ten days. October the third, October the thirteenth. Friday the thirteenth it was that day I came round to you.’
‘You don’t care for him any more, do you?’
‘Oh no. I can think of him now without crying. And look right across the room at him as cool as a cucumber and bow. I’m always so glad George is good-looking when I see Jerry. He’s better looking than Jerry, you know, really. You think George is good-looking, don’t you?’
‘Oh yes, he’s very handsome.’
‘You wouldn’t say he looked Jewish, would you?’
‘Oh, no, not really. A Spanish type, I’d call George.’
‘Mind you, I’m glad George is a Jew. It’s a good thing to marry a Jew. They don’t look on their wives and children as being something they let themselves in for when they were silly, like
how a lot of Christians do. But I don’t see any sense in anybody looking like a Jew, just because they are a Jew, do you? I mean, it isn’t necessary, is it? But then George doesn’t look Jewish. You’re quite right, he’s a Spanish type. But anyway he doesn’t mind about the others, not so that it matters. You see he’s fond of me. And if they’re fond of you they never think of it.’
‘You really think so?’
‘I know it … And you see … by the time baby grows up it’ll be forgotten. It’s funny how people forget one. I’ll be forgotten in no time. Why, the doorkeeper downstairs didn’t know me tonight, though I played here for six months for you in “Ashes of Roses". You see, I’m not like you. You’re News. You always were from the start.’
‘Oh, but I’m not so much News as I used to be. People aren’t taking half the notice of me they did.’
‘Never took more, my dear. And small wonder after this performance.’
‘But I’m dropping out! I’m dropping out more and more every year. Haven’t you noticed?’
‘Noticed nothing! Everybody’s crazy about you. Why, the paragraphs you get all the time.’
‘Oh, but I’m bound to drop out at my age!’
‘Nonsense! Oh … I see. Well, dear, I see what you mean. I think you’re right. Maybe your paragraphs are more about your work and less about you. I think you’re right. In ten or fifteen years nobody won’t ever remember a thing about you and Essington. Not a thing.’
‘I don’t think they will,’ said Sunflower; and fell to fooling again with the jars and bottles on her tables.
‘Maxi…’
‘What is it?’
‘Is it really so bad having a baby? I mean, does it really hurt such a lot?’
‘Well, yes and no. You can’t call it a picnic. But then what I say is you get something for it. Think of the people that are operated on for appendicitis and this and that and have all that pain and all that expense and three weeks spent in bed and nothing to show for it. That makes having a baby seem more sensible, doesn’t it? And anyway it’s awfully interesting. Sunflower, you can’t think how interesting it is. I mean it makes you think. It’s all so queer. I mean, one day the baby’s you, it’s just a part of you. And then there it is, on the other side of the room, with its own ideas about things and making a noise. Well, you know, that’s wonderful. I dare say I don’t make it sound anything, because I’m not one of your talky birds, but really it is quite wonderful.’