“Yes,” he said quietly. “I have.”
He sat there for a long minute, looking at her, his face unreadable. I did it, she thought. I’ve succeeded in sending him away for good.
And in hurting him cruelly. I am so sorry. Sir Godfrey, but it’s for your own good.
“I am sorry,” she said carelessly. “I’m afraid I’ve got to go on in a moment.” She bent down and began fastening the gilt strap on her shoe. “I’ve got a costume change.”
“Of course,” he said. “I understand. You mustn’t miss your entrance.” He watched her struggle with the stiff strap for a moment, then stood up and, with great care, took his coat down from the screen and turned to go.
I’ll never see you again, she thought, keeping her eyes firmly on her shoe.
“Goodbye,” she said without looking up.
He moved the chair aside, put his hand to the doorknob, stood there a moment, and then turned back to face her. “Have I ever told you what a wretched actress you are, Viola?”
Her heart began to pound. “I thought you said I was born to be on the stage,” she said, her chin in the air.
“And so I did,” he said, “but not because you could act. Your acting wouldn’t convince Trot. Or Nelson.”
“Well, then it’s a good thing I turned down your offer, isn’t it?” she said angrily. “Luckily, ENSA audiences aren’t quite so critical.” She reached past him for her railway-station costume. “Now, if you’ll forgive me—”
“There is nothing to forgive,” he said, “except perhaps that unnecessarily unkind reference to my age. But then again, you were attempting to send me away—”
And I didn’t succeed, Polly thought despairingly.
“—so you may be excused for employing extreme measures. You are meant for the stage,” he said, “but not for your ability to dissemble. Quite the opposite. It is because everything you feel is there in your face—your thoughts, your hopes—” He looked hard at her. “Your fears. It’s a rare gift—Ellen Terry had it, and, on rare occasions, Sarah Bernhardt—though it is not an unmixed blessing. It makes it quite impossible to lie, as you have so obviously been attempting to do to me for the last quarter of an hour. It is equally obvious you are in some sort of trouble—”
“That’s ridiculous,” she said. “I told you, I’ve met a young man. We’re in love—”
He shook his head. “Whatever your reason for turning down my offer, it is not some green and callow youth you met outside a stage door. It is also clear this trouble is something you think you must face alone, else why would you hide yourself away from your friends?”
He cocked his head inquisitively at her. “Perhaps you are right to do so. Illyria is a dangerous place. But silence is not always the best defense.” He looked at her steadily. “Are you quite certain I can’t help?”
No one can help, Polly thought. And I’m putting you in danger just by standing here talking to you. Please go away. If you love me, please …
“Two minutes,” Reggie said, sticking his head in the door, and she had never been so glad to see anyone in her life.
“Coming,” she called. “It was ever so nice to have seen you, Sir Godfrey, but as you can see, I have a show to do—”
“Very well. We shall act the scene as you have written it. You have found young love and have no time for an old man with a foolish fondness for you. And I, heartbroken, shall retire from the field and set about finding another principal boy. Miss Laburnum might look well in tights,” he mused.
“I’m sorry you had to come all this way for nothing,” Polly said, taking her costume off its hanger.
“Oh, but it wasn’t for nothing,” he said. “I learned a good deal. And I found a theater to house our pantomime. On my way here last night as I came down Shaftesbury, I saw that the Phoenix was standing empty, and I arranged with the owner—an old friend of mine, we did Lear together—to let us use it for Sleeping Beauty. If you should change your mind—”
“I won’t.”
“If you should change your mind,” he repeated firmly, “I shall be there both tonight and tomorrow. I will be backstage looking at possible sets and attempting to forestall the disaster which I know is to come. So if your young man should turn out to be a bounder and a cad, and you should reconsider—”
“I’ll know where to find you,” she said lightly, stepping behind the screen. “Now, I’m afraid I really must change. Goodbye.” She shrugged off her wrapper and flung it carelessly over the screen. “Tell everyone hullo for me, won’t you?”
“Yes,” he said, and after a pause, added, “my lady.”
And it was a good thing she was behind the screen, that he couldn’t see her face, because that was the line from Lady Mary’s final scene with Crichton. She had to clutch her costume to her chest to keep from holding her hand impulsively out to him as Lady Mary had done, to keep from saying, “I will never give you up.”
She swallowed hard. “Tell them to break a leg,” she said lightly.
There was no answer, and when she peeked around the screen a long minute later, he was gone. For good. Because that was what that last scene of The Admirable Crichton was all about, lovers parting forever. And that was what she’d wanted, wasn’t it? What she’d—
The girls came tumbling through the door, grabbing costumes, plunking down to touch up their makeup. “No wonder you wouldn’t go out with the stage-door hangers-on,” Cora said. “Clever girl. You had your eyes on something much better, didn’t you?”
Polly didn’t answer. She stepped into her costume and turned to have Hattie do the slide fastener.
“What I don’t understand is, what are you doing at ENSA?” Hattie asked. “He could get you a part in a real show.”
Reggie leaned in again. “Curtain.”
Polly hurried onstage, glad to have something to take her mind off Sir Godfrey. When she came off, Mr. Tabbitt told her to go change into her Air Raid Adelaide costume.
“But what about the barrage-balloon skit?”
“Cora can do it,” he said. “I have a feeling the raids are going to be bad tonight.”
He was right. She’d scarcely had time to get into her bloomers before the sirens went, and it was a bad raid—nearly all HEs. Polly, changing into her nurse’s costume for the hospital skit, felt her heart jerk with each one. What if she hadn’t sent Sir Godfrey away soon enough?
I shouldn’t have talked to him at all, she thought. I should have shut the door in his face.
Tabbitt knocked and then leaned in. “The bombs are making the audience nervy. I need you to do another air-raid bit,” and sent her out to show her knickers again.
“I don’t like this,” Hattie said nervously as Polly came off. “That last one sounded like it was next door.”
“It was two streets over,” Reggie said, pulling on his general’s uniform. “On Shaftesbury.”
“How do you know?” Hattie demanded.
“I was outside, smoking a fag, and the warden told me. The Phoenix got hit.”
I cannot overemphasize the importance of maintaining as long as humanly possible the Allied threat to the Pas-de-Calais area.
—GENERAL DWIGHT D. EISENHOWER,
June 1944
London—May 1944
ERNEST STARED STUPIDLY AT CESS ACROSS THE RAISED hood of the car. “We’re to take Colonel von Sprecht to Kensington Palace?”
“Yes,” Cess said, looking from him to the colonel, still asleep inside the car. “What’s wrong, Worthing?”
Kensington Palace is only two streets away from Notting Hill Gate Station, that’s what’s wrong. It’s only a few streets away from Mrs. Rickett’s.
“You don’t think the colonel will die before we get him there, do you?” Cess asked nervously.