‘I see,’ she said, thoughtfully. ‘What skill does the under-manager need, Mr Rogers? You seem to do most things yourself.’
‘I do,’ he said mournfully. ‘You know how it is; sometimes it’s quicker to do something oneself than explain how it should be done. Yet it shouldn’t be too difficult.’
‘Can I help at all?’ she asked. ‘I have a good head for figures and could perhaps help in the box office – temporarily, of course, until you find someone.’
Oh, please, she thought. I’ll do anything. Then she opened up and confessed. ‘It was before your time, Mr Rogers, so you won’t know that I once worked at the old theatre, the one that burned down.’ She thought back to that time, when she was distraught, knew no one and was given a chance. ‘I was in unfortunate circumstances at the time and was offered work as a cleaner and general run-around. I took it, and several months later the manager of the touring company that was performing there heard me singing and gave me a small part to try me out.’
She gave a huge smile. She would bless that man for ever. ‘I’m not exaggerating when I say that he saved my life. The theatre and this town have been good to me. They didn’t judge me or blame me for my circumstances.’
Dennis Rogers stared at her. ‘You had a child!’
Swallowing, and wondering how he had put two and two together, and if he would now want rid of her, she whispered, ‘I did.’
‘It was born here?’
‘Yes. He was. In the old theatre that once stood here.’ Her mouth trembled. ‘He came so quickly. Everyone looked after me so well. They cleared a dressing room and someone ran for a doctor, but he arrived too late. The woman in the ticket office and the star of the show, a singer, delivered my son.’
She was choked with emotion as she admitted the truth. ‘Someone asked where I lived and said they’d arrange to take me home, and I had to explain that I didn’t live anywhere and that I’d been sleeping in the theatre.’
‘I was working in Hull at another theatre, but I heard about you,’ Dennis Rogers said in astonishment. ‘The news ran round the theatres like wildfire; everyone wanted to see the baby that was born on stage, that’s what the rumour said!’ He smiled. ‘You were legendary, coping alone without family, and everyone wondered later where you had gone and what had happened to you and your child.’
‘I was offered a role with the touring company. I did whatever was needed, including’ – she gave a choked laugh – ‘including in the ticket office when the theatres were short-staffed.’
She told him many things during the course of the next hour, including the information that her son was presently living with relatives nearby, which was why she wanted to stay in the area. He seemed to understand.
‘He’ll be of an age when he needs a regular education,’ he said, ‘and it’s fortunate that there’s someone to care for him; the theatre is not conducive to learning the three R’s, though many seem to thrive on it. He should be given the chance to choose a career and perhaps he might come back to the theatre one day?’
She told him about Robin’s enjoyment of prompting for Arthur Crawshaw and agreed that he might, but not yet. Mr Rogers sat pondering for a moment, and then said, ‘My word, Miss Delamour, I think I have little to worry about after hearing your story. You have done remarkably well to survive and thrive.’
He sat thinking for a moment or two longer and Delia suggested that she might make them some coffee or tea rather than bother the caretaker, and he readily agreed. When she returned five minutes later with two steaming hot drinks, he was smiling.
‘I should be delighted if you would agree to help,’ he said. ‘We’ve booked a variety show in which I couldn’t offer you a part in any case; it includes a music hall singer and a rather risqué comedian, so it’s not at all the type of show that would interest you. But …’ He raised his forefinger and took a sip of coffee, and Delia felt her breath quicken. ‘I think you might be able to help on several fronts.’
He pulled forward a clean sheet of paper and a pencil. ‘You know the workings of the box office, so perhaps you could interview potential staff and find someone who is numerate and able to deal with seating arrangements?’ Delia nodded, and he went on, ‘And maybe help to arrange forthcoming programmes, enquire about suitable lodging houses that we might recommend for top of the bill, and, most important, remind me to send out contracts to agents and file their return?’
‘The usual matters,’ she said lightly. ‘Yes, there’s far too much for one person to deal with.’ Privately, she considered that she was quite used to juggling and there was nothing he had mentioned so far that she couldn’t do.
‘There would be other matters if you took on the role of under-manager, and although the position is normally filled by a man I don’t see any reason why a woman can’t do it.’ He looked at her anxiously. ‘But you’re a singer; would you not prefer to continue to perform?’
‘Normally I would,’ she agreed. ‘But touring is out of the question whilst my son is still young. I would be anxious if I thought he needed me and I was out of the district, and I have never yet broken a contract. I would relish the chance of being in one place, and, as I said, this town has always been kind to me.’
He stood up
