‘I’ve come to see you, Margot.’ Salvatore put out his hand to help her from the stage.
‘I haven’t finished my set yet. Will you tell the band to play something I know, please?’
‘Yes, but it is time for your break. Let us go to your dressing room. We can talk, and they will play your song when you come back.’
‘Will they play “They Can’t Take That Away From Me”?’
‘Of course.’ Salvatore stood to the side of the stage while Margot took a bow. At first there was only a ripple of applause among an audience that wore worried expressions. But when Salvatore put his hands together they took his cue and applauded Margot as they always had.
‘It’s not a coincidence that you’re here, is it?’ she said, when she and Salvatore were in the dressing room.
‘No,’ he replied kindly. ‘Bernard telephoned me. He’s worried about you, Margot. We both are.’
There was a knock at the door, which Margot ignored. Salvatore answered it while she squinted in the mirror and put on more lipstick.
‘Margot?’ Salvatore held her by the shoulders and turned her round gently. ‘This is my good friend, Doctor Thurlingham,’ he said, pointing at the man who had just entered the room.
‘I saw you earlier with your wife. You were sitting at the table nearest the stage.’ Seeing the look of concern on the doctor’s face, she put up her hand. ‘So what is it?’ The doctor didn’t answer. ‘Don’t be shy. Are you here to tell me to take a week off? Two?’ She began to pick at the fabric on the sleeve of her dress. ‘He loves me, he loves me not. He loves me – hooray! He loves me,’ she said, lifting her left hand and showing them her wedding ring. ‘What? I’m fine. I’m just tired. Bill’s up in the Midlands and I never sleep when he’s away.’ Suddenly she looked at the doctor as if she’d remembered what she was saying. ‘Don’t say longer than two weeks. Well?’
‘Salvatore and I have been concerned about you for some time, Margot. You don’t look well and it isn’t just that you are tired. In my opinion you are heading for a breakdown if you don’t have a complete rest away from--’
‘I knew it! Longer.’
‘You’re not listening to me, Margot.’
‘I am! I’ll rest – tomorrow! I don’t know why Salvatore asked you to come backstage. He’s ruined your evening, and mine.’ Margot glared at Salvatore. ‘You can go now,’ she said. ‘Shoo!’ She looked into the mirror and stuck out her tongue. ‘Look. Pink. I don’t need a doctor. Bloody quacks, you’re all the same. All I need is a good night’s sleep. I find it difficult to get to sleep without--’ She picked up the framed photograph of Bill that she kept on her dressing table. ‘Did you know my husband has left me? Of course you didn’t. I’ve been abandoned, left to fend for myself.’ Margot suddenly let out a terrifying scream and hurled the photograph at the mirror, shattering both into hundreds of tiny pieces.
‘Do you feel better now?’ the doctor asked.
‘What do you care?’ Margot spat. The doctor moved towards her and put out his hand. ‘Don’t touch me! And don’t pretend you care,’ she said, jabbing her finger at him, ‘because you don’t. No one does.’
‘I care, Margot,’ Salvatore said. ‘Natalie and Anton care and so do George and Betsy – and Bill loves you, you know he does. We all love you.’
‘But it isn’t easy to love you when you’re like this,’ the doctor said.
Tears fell from Margot’s eyes and rolled down her cheeks. ‘Without Bill I have nothing! I am nothing! I’m a square peg in a round hole, the thirteenth guest at dinner – the odd one out.’ She buried her head in her hands and wept.
The doctor rested his hand gently on her shoulder while he spoke to Salvatore. ‘Margot’s missing her husband. He’s her anchor, keeps her feet on the ground. He has always been there when she gets home to look after her and to help her unwind and relax. She can do anything if Bill is by her side, but without him she finds it difficult to function. She may be Margot Dudley, West End star, to the public, but I can guarantee that at home without Bill, she’s frightened, paranoid and lost. She’s on the road to self-destruction, and if she doesn’t get help soon…’
‘Should we send for Bill?’ Salvatore asked.
‘No!’ Margot jumped up. ‘No, please don’t tell Bill…’
There was a knock on the door and Bernard Rudman stepped into the room. He told Dr Thurlingham that there was an ambulance outside.
‘I’d like you to come to the clinic with me, Margot.’ She shook her head violently. The doctor ignored her. ‘You can come voluntarily, or I can have you committed.’
Margot looked at Salvatore, her eyes wide and pleading, begging him to help her. ‘He can’t do that, can he, Salvatore? He can’t have me--?’
‘Not without Bill’s permission--’
Margot closed her eyes and hung her head. ‘All right.’ She looked up, the pretence and sparkle gone from her eyes. ‘I’m tired,’ she whispered through shuddering sobs.
Salvatore put her coat around her shoulders and picked up her handbag.
The official line: After a severe bout
