him around again.
He found an old rug and wrapped it round himself to stave off the cold but he was so chilled he began to feel slightly sick. And then he heard a car draw away. He had hardly moved towards the trapdoor when there were footsteps on the landing. Someone was whispering. At first he couldn’t make it out, and then to his relief he heard the word ‘Hollis’. Gingerly he moved the trapdoor and peered down but there was no one there. There was more whispering from one of the rooms.
‘Here!’ he whispered back urgently. He heard a hurried tread of shoes and Mrs Egerton-Smythe came into view.
‘Up here!’ he repeated.
She looked up. ‘My God, Hollis. Have you been up there all this time?’
‘Yes,’ he answered, his teeth chattering.
‘You must be frozen.’ He nodded. ‘Look, I know this is a lot to ask, but could you hang on for ten more minutes? Queenie is due to leave then.’
He nodded again, closed the trapdoor and lay down. He must have fallen asleep because he was startled to feel the trapdoor moving underneath him. He crawled backwards. The trapdoor was pulled aside and hands reached up for the ladder.
‘What time is it?’ he said through his clamped jaws.
‘Ten.’
‘Morning or night?’
‘Night.’
‘Saturday or Sunday?’
She gave a sudden snort. ‘That bad is it? It’s Saturday.’
‘I haven’t missed the strike then.’
‘Oh, lord, you’re delirious. Come on down before pneumonia or rigor mortis sets in.’
She had drawn the curtains in the library so that no one could see in. The embers from the fire were still warm. She insisted he sit in one of the leather armchairs as close to the fire as he could. To his embarrassment, she brought a tray of food in for him. He stood up and protested, but she only told him to shut up and do as he was told.
The combination of hot food and warmth was making him drowsy. He longed to lie down on the hearth and go to sleep but he resisted. He would miss the strike if he shut his eyes.
‘Now,’ she said, when he had finished eating, ‘what’s all this nonsense about a strike?’
‘They strike the set every Saturday at the Palace Theatre.’
‘And you help?’
‘I did a bit last week. But really I’m supposed to keep out of the way.’
‘So why are you going again?’
‘To learn and also because I want to get my foot in the door.’
She gazed at him steadily. ‘That important, is it?’
‘Very.’
‘You want to work backstage?’
‘No.’ He took a deep breath. ‘I’m going to be an actor.’
He had said it. Not even ‘I want to be an actor’, but ‘I’m going to be an actor’.
‘I see,’ she said slowly. ‘And what do your parents think?’
‘They don’t know. I hadn’t really dared say it till tonight. My father would probably shoot me.’
‘And your mother?’
‘She’d be worried, but . . .’ He paused. ‘She’d probably get used to the idea.’ He smiled. ‘I feel so relieved to have admitted it!’ And then he stopped. ‘Oh. Will this put you off employing me?’
‘I think I can cope,’ she said wryly, ‘but I wouldn’t let Queenie know.’
‘Rogues and vagabonds, and all that?’ said Ralph.
‘Exactly. Now, young man, you’d better get a move on.’
He removed Laurie Egerton-Smythe’s jacket.
‘Do you want to borrow it?’
It surprised him that she wasn’t upset to see him wearing it. ‘No. I’d better take my own one.’
‘Yes, it is rather large.’
‘It’s not that. I don’t want to mess it up at the strike.’
It was while she was letting him out that she brought up something which was so obvious he wondered why he hadn’t thought of it himself.
‘Have you asked to play any parts there?’
‘No,’ he said surprised. ‘I’ve had no training.’
‘And you’ve done no amateur dramatics?’
‘Only at school.’
‘Any good?’
Against his will he found himself smiling. ‘People seem to think so.’
‘You can mention that in a letter, can’t you? To the producer?
‘I suppose so.’
‘You’re small. There might be a young part going. You’re local. The producer can only say no.’
Ralph stood on the doorstep feeling slightly dazed.
‘You’d better go, Hollis,’ she said at last.
‘What?’ he said, suddenly remembering where he was. ‘Oh. Yes, madam. Goodnight, madam.’ He was about to leave when he realised what she was doing. ‘Are you sure you should be encouraging me?’
‘Be a waste of time discouraging you, wouldn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ he said happily. ‘Yes it would.’
‘I’ll see you Monday then.’ And she closed the door.
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала,
