door. Martyn answered it and found the little dresser with a florists’ box in his hands. ‘Mr Poole’s compliments,’ he said and winked broadly before retiring.
Miss Hamilton by this time was spreading a yellow film over her face. She asked Martyn to open the box and, on seeing three orchids that lay, crisp and fabulous on their mossy bed, sang ‘Darling!’ on two clear notes.
The voice beyond the wall responded. ‘Hallo?’
‘They’re quite perfect. Thank you, my sweet.’
‘Good,’ the voice said. Martyn laid the box on the dressing-table and saw the card: ‘Until tomorrow. Adam.’
She got through the next half-hour pretty successfully, she hoped. There seemed to be no blunders and Miss Hamilton continued charming and apparently delighted. There were constant visitors. A tap on the door would be followed by a head looking round and always by the invitation to come in. First there was Miss Gay Gainsford, a young and rather intense person with a pretty air of deference who seemed to be in a state of extreme anxiety.
‘Well, darling,’ Miss Hamilton said, glancing at her in the glass: ‘Everything under strict control?’
Miss Gainsford said unevenly: ‘I suppose so. I’m trying to be good and sort of biddable, do you know, but underneath I realize that I’m seething like a cauldron. Butterflies the size of bats in the stomach.’
‘Well, of course. But you mustn’t be terrified really, because whatever happens we all know John’s written a good play, don’t we?’
‘I suppose we do.’
‘We do indeed. And Gay – you’re going to make a great personal success in this part. I want you to tell yourself you are. Do you know? Tell yourself.’
‘I wish I could believe it.’ Miss Gainsford clasped her hands and raised them to her lips. ‘It’s not very easy,’ she said, ‘when he – John – Dr Rutherford – so obviously thinks I’m a misfit. Everybody keeps telling me it’s a marvellous part but for me it’s twenty sides of hopeless hell. Honestly, it is.’
‘Gay, what nonsense. John may seem hard –’
‘Seem?’
‘Well, he may be hard, then. He’s famous for it, after all. But you’ll get your reward, my dear, when the time comes. Remember,’ said Miss Hamilton with immense gravity, ‘we all have faith in you.’
‘Of course,’ said Miss Gainsford with an increased quaver in her voice, ‘it’s too marvellous your feeling like that about it. You’ve been so miraculously kind. And Uncle Ben, of course. Both of you. I can’t get over it.’
‘But, my dear, that’s utter nonsense. You’re going to be one of our rising young actresses.’
‘You do really think so!’
‘But yes. We all do.’ Her voice lost a little colour and then freshened. ‘We all do,’ she repeated firmly and turned back to her glass.
Miss Gainsford went to the door and hesitated there. ‘Adam doesn’t,’ she said loudly.
Miss Hamilton made a quick expressive gesture toward the next dressing-room and put her fingers to her lips. ‘He’ll be really angry if he hears you say that,’ she whispered and added aloud with somewhat forced casualness: ‘Is John down this morning?’
‘He’s on-stage. I think he said he’d like to speak to you.’
‘I want to see him particularly. Will you tell him, darling?’
‘Of course, Aunty Ella,’ Miss Gainsford said rather miserably and added, ‘I’m sorry. I forgot. Of course, Ella, darling.’ With a wan smile she was gone.
‘Oh, dear!’ Miss Hamilton sighed and catching Martyn’s eye in the looking-glass made a rueful face. ‘If only –’ she began and stopped unaccountably, her gaze still fixed on Martyn’s image. ‘Never mind,’ she said.
There was a noisy footfall in the passage followed by a bang on the door, and, with scarcely a pause for permission, by the entry of a large, florid and angry-looking man wearing a sweater, a leather waistcoat, a muffler and a very old duffel coat.
‘Good morning, John darling,’ said Miss Hamilton gaily and extended her hand. The newcomer planted a smacking kiss on it and fixed Martyn with a china-blue and bulging pair of eyes. Martyn turned away from this embarrassing regard.
‘What have we here?’ he demanded. His voice was loud and rumbling.
‘My new dresser. Dr Rutherford, Martyn.’
‘Stay me with flagons!’ said Dr Rutherford. He turned on Miss Hamilton. ‘That fool of a wench Gainsford said you wanted me,’ he said. ‘What’s up?’
‘John, what have you been saying to that child?’
‘I? Nothing. Nothing to what I could, and, mark you, what I ought to say to her. I merely asked if, for the sake of my sanity, she’d be good enough to play the central scene without a goddam simper on her fat and wholly unsuitable dial.’
‘You’re frightening her.’
‘She’s terrifying me. She may be your niece, Ella –’
‘She’s not my niece. She’s Ben’s niece.’
‘If she was the Pope’s niece she’d still be a goddam pain in the neck. I wrote this part for an intelligent actress who could be made to look reasonably like Adam. What do you give me? A moronic amateur who looks like nothing on God’s earth.’
‘She’s extremely pretty.’
‘Lollypops! Adam’s too damn easy on her. The only hope lies in shaking her up. Or kicking her out and I’d do that myself if I had my way. It ought to have been done a month back. Even now –’
‘Oh, my dear John! We open in two days you might remember.’
‘An actress worth her salt’d memorize it in an hour. I told her –’
‘I do beg you,’ she said, ‘to leave her to Adam. After all, he is the producer, John, and he’s very wise.’
Dr Rutherford pulled out of some submerged pocket a metal box. From this he extracted a pinch of snuff which he took with loud and uncouth noises.
‘In a moment,’ he said, ‘you’ll be telling me the author ought to keep out of the theatre.’
‘That’s utter nonsense.’
‘Let them try to keep me out,’ he said and burst into a neighing laugh.
Miss Hamilton slightly opened her mouth, hardened her upper lip, and with the closest attention, painted it a purplish red. ‘Really,’ she said briskly, ‘you’d much better behave prettily, you know. You’ll end by having her on your hands with a nervous breakdown.’
‘The sooner the better if it’s a
