Rivals

‘So do you,’ said Maud, whose teeth were chattering loud enough to provide the castanets in the orchestra.

‘You’ll be all right,’ said Rupert, patting her shoulder.

And suddenly she was. There was no more need of Rupert’s presence; she was really keen to get on stage. She must gather the audience into the play and say every line exactly right. She was only nervous because she was a young provincial widow, a little shy but heartbreakingly beautiful, about to be launched on Parisian society.

There was a terrific roll of drums, a tantivy of horns, and she glided into the glittering ballroom, standing deliberately under the huge chandelier so all her jewels sparked and the audience could take in the beauty of her body in the tight black dress, and her pallor which only set off her red lips and her brilliant red hair.

‘Gentlemen no more,’ sang Maud, pianissimo.

‘I’ve never seen the Spring going to a ball before,’ sang a swooning French aristocrat, played by the bank manager of Lloyds, Cotchester. ‘You throw us into ecstasies, lovely lady.’

And for once the words were believable. Now Maud was singing again, the exquisite voice hitting F sharp as clear as a bell.

‘Shit,’ murmured Caitlin. ‘She’s fucking good.’

‘Oh, thank God,’ breathed Taggie. ‘It’s going to be all right.’

I can’t bear it, thought Cameron. She’d dismissed Maud as a sluttish, middle-aged parasite with unfashionably long hair, who dressed like a tramp, and here she was bringing the entire audience to their feet at the end of her first number.

Bas’s entrance stepped up the excitement even more. He had a glorious, slightly husky voice and added just the right touch of rakish Latin glamour.

‘Shit,’ said Caitlin again. ‘Lucky Mummy. He’s dead attractive.’

The sexual tension between him and Maud was incredible, particularly when offset by Monica and Charles, who, stepping up the camping, got more and more like Dignity and Impudence. Having dispatched all the competition, Bas was left alone on the stage with Maud at the end of the first act.

‘Music so sweet,’ he crooned softly, dancing round and round her, tempting her into his arms, ‘speaks to the heart and the feet.’ And finally, triumphantly, he swept her into a waltz.

Elegant, incredibly romantic, they revolved under the chandelier until the curtain came down to a deafening roar of applause and a fusillade of bravoes.

After the first act, even though there was the Vilja song and several big numbers to come, Maud felt nothing but relief. It didn’t matter that Declan hadn’t turned up. She even sent Rupert back to his seat. She felt totally insulated. She’d been so petrified, and concentrated so hard on getting that first act perfect, that now she felt on automatic pilot. All trace of tears had gone. And although Charles almost stole the show when he bent down to retrieve his moustache yet again and his trousers split to reveal pink boxer shorts covered in pale-blue teddy bears, it was Maud’s night. When the final curtain came down she was cheered to the rooftops, taking curtain call after curtain call, as the whole audience, even Tony, were on their feet, yelling and clapping like promenaders.

Rupert turned to Taggie. ‘We did it,’ he said triumphantly.

‘No,’ she said. ‘You did it.’

‘Don’t cry,’ said Basil, as he and Maud took their final bows.

‘You were better than anyone could have dreamed,’ said Barton Sinclair, pale beside the made-up actors, as he kissed Maud’s hand and, to roars of applause handed her a huge bouquet of flowers that appeared through the curtains.

‘I saw The Merry Widow in Paris,’ said Valerie Jones petulantly to Professor Graystock. ‘It was quite a different opera. But then it was performed by professionals.’

‘I wouldn’t call Die Lustige Witwe opera,’ said the Professor, showing off that he knew the German title, ‘but I did think Maud O’Hara was marvellously in voice.’

‘I’d like to meet Maud O’Hara,’ said the Prebendary. ‘She seems an interesting person.’

‘You shall in a minute,’ said Tony cosily.

Maud rushed back to her dressing-room to change out of her gold last-act dress into a blue silk suit she’d bought for the occasion. After that it was bedlam, people pouring in and out, hugging, kissing and congratulating her. The champagne went in a flash. The press bombarded her with questions, but she was not to be drawn on the subject of Declan. ‘My husband’s in Ireland on business,’ she said firmly. ‘He’ll be here later.’

At the party everyone kept coming up and saying how marvellous she’d been, but she still felt curiously detached, as though nothing could dent her now.

‘I wonder if you’d like to have lunch one day,’ said the Prebendary, his voice thickening. ‘Now I’m in the autumn of my life, I enjoy the company of lovely women.’ He was furious when the Bishop came up and joined them, with a plate piled high with Taggie’s food.

‘Evening, Fergus, you look very fit. Good to see Venturer pulling their weight this evening. Maud, my dear, you were absolutely splendid, such good tunes too, nice to see my flock enjoying it so much. Can I get you some refreshment?’

‘I’d love another drink,’ said Maud.

‘Well, go and get her one,’ said the Prebendary irritably.

‘Here’s a waiter coming,’ said the Bishop, not budging. ‘I must tell you about my recent trip to the Holy Land, Fergus.’

The Prebendary didn’t want to hear about the Holy Land one bit, particularly when Maud excused herself. She was just going over to thank Rupert once again when she felt a warm hand on her back.

It was Tony. ‘Even the ranks of Tuscany could scarce forbear to cheer,’ he said softly. ‘Couldn’t you hear me yelling like a schoolboy?’

‘Was it really all right?’

‘Stupendous. There wasn’t a man in the audience who wasn’t madly in love with you. I’m sorry your husband didn’t make the grade. But then making the grade has never been one of his specialities, has it?’

‘Unfortunately he takes the franchise as seriously as you,’ said Maud bitterly.

‘Ah,’ said Tony with an evil smile. ‘But the difference is, he’s not going to win.’

‘Maud, my dear,’ said Monica, bringing forward a distinguished-looking man in a leather jacket with greying hair. ‘I didn’t tell you before, but this is Pascoe Rawlings.’

Maud’s jaw dropped. Pascoe Rawlings was simply the most powerful theatrical agent in London.

‘Were you in the audience?’ said Maud.

‘And in total raptures,’ said Pascoe, drawing her out of the shadowy corner and under the naked light bulb hanging in the wings and examining her face carefully. ‘Yes, close-up you’re even better. Look, Jonathan Miller’s casting A Doll’s House. Can you have lunch with me very early next week?’

The party was, in fact, a great success. James spent the evening holding Lizzie in front of him like a riot shield to ward off the advances of Sarah Stratton, and only let her go because he wanted to be introduced to Pascoe Rawlings. The next moment Freddie had whipped Lizzie behind one of the huge cardboard pillars which had stood in the Pontevedrian ballroom.

‘This is a pillar of unrespectability,’ said Lizzie.

‘I love you,’ said Freddie desperately.

‘And I love you. James is going to London tomorrow night.’

‘What time will the children be asleep?’

‘By nine,’ said Lizzie, ‘even if I have to drug them.’

‘I’ll be there at nine-firty,’ said Freddie.

In her mother’s dressing-room, on a floor of wilting petals, Caitlin lay in Archie’s arms and had no need of words.

Taggie spent the evening removing plates, keeping out of Rupert’s way and sticking up for her father. It was not just Tony who thought he’d behaved appallingly.

‘So unsupportive,’ snapped Cameron.

‘He ought to have his knuckles rapped,’ said Monica, ‘but in a way that storm of grief seemed to enhance her performance.’