Kitty Little (36 page)

But he was adamant. ‘No entertainers are allowed anywhere near the Front Line, male or female. Though I believe Harry Lauder has been given special dispensation to do so. He’s coming out sometime during the next few months.’ Then he took her hands and held them firm and warm within his own. ‘War is a game. A dreadful political game, played by men in shiny uniforms many miles from the mere sniff of a gun. But it’s one that Tommy Atkins means to win.’

A silence fell upon them all as they thought of all the men, some little more than boys, who had already lost the game, despite a valiant show of bravery on their part. Kitty had learned a good deal about the views of these gallant young soldiers. They believed they fought for a righteous cause. That they moved on from this mortal life to another, more glorious one. If they fell in battle, that was not the end but a beginning. To talk to them, to see that belief in action was a glimpse through the curtain of death into another dimension, one which was far greater than all they had known before. The thought put into perspective all Kitty’s foolish earthly fears and concerns. What did the failure of a girlish love affair count for, set against such sacrifice?

‘To victory,’ she said now, raising her glass.

‘To victory,’ came the echo around the table and as they drank, she smiled over the rim of her glass into Owen’s eyes.

Chapter Twenty-One

Tommy Atkins was not winning. Not yet. The war on the Western Front continued unabated with neither side ahead. If it had been a game of football, he said, it’d be considered a draw at this point, but he was hoping for better luck in the second half. The Germans had started their bombardment on Verdun in February but the French managed to hold on, minimising their losses by keeping the bulk of their troops out of the front line. But the future did not look promising, and men were losing hope.

It was March and the LTP’s were weary too. They’d been in France now for almost six months, without any leave and precious few letters, so it was with great excitement that Kitty heard of the arrival of a post bag. She set off at a run, hoping for news of Dixie, to be met by Frank.

‘I thought you’d like these. Just delivered at great expense over land and sea.’ He handed her two crumpled white envelopes with a sufficient air of condemnation to tell her, without even looking, that one of them was from Clara. She recognised Archie’s handwriting on the other and stuffed them both into her pocket, perversely quenching her excitement. Not once had he ever written to her before, in all the years she had known him.

‘Thanks. I’ll read them later I’m rather occupied at present.’

They were in the middle of rehearsal in an Estaminet near Amiens which, within the next hour or two, would be filled by servicemen and no doubt thick with smoke. Tessa had played the overture twice through already. The room was freezing cold and Kitty was quite certain she was coming down with ‘flu, so her tolerance level was low.

Frank stood blocking the path with his obtrusive presence. Resisting the urge to push past him, Kitty drew in a slow, patient breath. ‘I really don’t have time for games this afternoon, Frank.’ Still he made no attempt to move and she became filled with a sudden and infuriating sense of frustration. Why was he always
there
, under her feet, filling her with guilt.

‘Clara has written to me too. Are you going to write back? You should. You know she’d love to get a letter from you. I’ll find someone heading home who can deliver it. I’d do anything for you, Duchess.’

‘Don’t call me that.’ Shooting him a fierce glare, Kitty jerked away from him as he put out a hand towards her, her skin crawling in that all too familiar way, for she could barely tolerate his obsequiousness.

‘Did she send her love? She says in my letter that you don’t rightly deserve it, neglecting her as you do.’

Kitty was at once awash with fresh guilt. Like it or not, there was an element of truth in the accusation. She had neglected her mother, not having visited her once in all these years. She dreaded to think how she’d feel if Dixie ever treated her in the same way. But then Kitty would never dream of trying to marry her off to a man she didn’t love, in order to settle a few debts. Nor be discovered in her daughter’s fiancé's bed. ‘I’m surprised she notices I’ve even gone. You’re more likely to be the one she misses, wouldn’t you say? Though no doubt she’s found some other young fool to warm her bed,’ and Kitty walked briskly away before she could say anything that she might later regret.

Following the rehearsal, the Players grabbed coffee and a bun before the start of the evening performance, though as usual Kitty was far too nervous to eat. Afterwards she would eat like a horse, though it would probably be bully beef and mashed potato again.

She did find a moment’s privacy to open the letter from Archie, which informed her that things hadn’t quite worked out as he’d hoped. The tone was bitter, of his dissatisfaction with his marriage, how Charlotte was determined to bankrupt him, and how much he missed Kitty.

She gazed upon the words with awe. There was no mistake. He’d written it clear as clear, if in Archie’s usual sort of blunt shorthand. ‘
Miss you Kitty, old thing. Still love you. Wonder sometimes if I married the right girl. What a rotter I was. Will you ever forgive me I wonder?
’ She felt herself start to tremble with shock.

He concluded with a postscript which informed her that Dixie was now staying with the Misses Frost, two delightful eccentrics who kept a boarding house in Carreckwater near Ambleside. Kitty scanned the rest of the page with dawning dismay, searching in vain for some reason, some explanation as to why he should be so heartless as to abandon his own child.

This must be Charlotte’s idea. How
could
she do that? Kitty took comfort from the fact that at least Dixie would still have Nanny, a plump, well-meaning girl who absolutely adored her young charge. But who were these Misses Frost? Would they give Dixie the love and care she needed? Kitty felt sick with fear. What on earth was she doing here in France, when she should be caring for her own daughter back home in the Lakes.

Clara’s letter remained in her pocket, unopened.

Moments later, hurriedly tidying her hair ready to go on, Frank turned up at her side again, just like a bad penny, Kitty thought. ‘Sarcasm don’t suit you, Duchess. Beware of it,’ he warned, breezily tying on the red bow tie he always wore as he showed the audience to their seats, even here for the soldiers, in war-torn France. She had to admire that in him, though it was probably more out of vanity than respect for fighting men. He slicked down his hair and gave one of his cocky little winks. ‘Your ma says it’s time you and me was naming the day.’

Kitty groaned. ‘Not that old chestnut again.’

‘Why d’you reckon I’ve hung around all these years? For the good of my health?’

‘Because no one else will have you. Because you don’t know how to keep your stupid mouth shut.’ Kitty blamed Frank entirely for Archie running off with Charlotte. Someone had told him the truth about Dixie, and it wasn’t difficult to guess who. Perhaps that was why Charlotte had thrown Dixie out. Taking her grievances out on Kitty’s child.

‘You could do worse than take me on, Duchess. Far worse, and, like I said, I don’t mind waiting.’ With a cheery grin he strolled off to conduct his duties in his usual officious manner. ‘Thank you, sir. That’s five bob for two. Second row down the front in the orchestra stalls, so you can hide under the stage if we get bombed.’ This was Frank’s idea of a joke, for the “theatre” was little more than a wooden hut with a tin roof, the performance was free and everyone grabbed a seat where they could. The two soldiers took the joking in good part though, saying the show was cheap at twice the price to hear Kitty Little sing, and chose the two best seats in the front row.

‘Five minutes to curtain up,’ Reg called. ‘Not that there is a curtain, but you know what I mean.’

Kitty was suddenly overwhelmed by emotion, by memories of past shows before the war, by her worries over Dixie, of missing dear Esme from whom there was still no word and of Archie who claimed to still love her. She dashed outside for a breath of cooling fresh air, flew round the back of the truck and ran full tilt into Suzy who was puffing on a cigarette stuck in her favourite tortoiseshell holder. Suzy put out a hand to steady her, chuckling softly until she saw the tears streaming down Kitty’s cheeks. ‘What is it, love? What’s happened?’

‘Nothing. Oh, it’s Dixie,’ and Kitty burst into tears.

‘Oh God, no. What’s happened to her, poor lamb?’ Suzy was hugging Kitty, dabbing at her eyes, smoothing her hair. ‘Tell me quickly. What is it?’

Kitty put her hand to her mouth and gulped back the tears. Then she gave a shaky laugh. ‘There’s nothing at all the matter with Dixie really, only with her silly mother. Oh Suzy, I miss her so much,’ and then they were both laughing through their tears and Kitty began to tell her about the Misses Frost. Suzy quickly calmed her concerns, saying the two sisters may well be a welcome improvement on Charlotte. After that it seemed perfectly natural to pour out her frustrations on the subject of Frank, and how he’d been working on her sense of guilt again. ‘I’ll swing for that man, I will really.’

Suzy’s eyes were dancing with laughter, being all too familiar with Kitty’s fierce passions and her dislike of her one-time fiancé. ‘What’s he done now?’

Kitty brushed away her tears and began to smooth and tidy the trimmings and ribbons on the diva’s lavender silk gown, one that was all too familiar. ‘It’s amazing how much wear we’ve had out of this frock.’ She gave a harsh little laugh. ‘Though it was intended to catch Frank.’

‘Clearly it worked.’ Suzy chuckled. ‘He’s hardly left your side since he first saw you in it, I shouldn’t think. Perhaps it has magical powers. Would it catch me a fine young man too, do you reckon?’

‘Frank isn’t a fine young man. Frank is a
bore
! The dress doesn’t work with the
right
man. At least it didn’t with me.’

‘Perhaps that’s because you haven’t met the right man yet. Or not recognised him as such, shall we say?’

‘What? Of course I’ve met him. And lost him. You
know
how I felt about Archie. How I
still
feel.’ She did not dare mention what Archie had written in his letter about his own feelings.

‘Sometimes it’s best to let the past go. However...’ Suzy gave a shrug and a wry smile and, tucking her arm into Kitty’s they walked together back to the Estaminet. ‘Is Frank still going on about you two getting spliced?’ When Kitty groaned and nodded, she gave a little shrug. ’I suppose it is rather daring of you sweetie to be quite so modern. I must say I admire you for not rushing headlong into matrimony but independence can be carried too far. Men can be utter darlings, or so I’m told. Don’t you fancy being married to a lovely chap and having more little Dixies?’

‘No, of course I don’t. I’m not in the least interested in marriage or domestic bliss and all of that stuff. I have the LTP’s, and that’s enough for me.’

‘Well, my dear, if that’s the case and you truly aren’t interested in either marriage or men, why are you crying?’

‘I’m not crying.’ Perversely, Kitty found tears were indeed still running down her cheeks and she angrily slapped them away. Desperate to change the subject, she pulled out the other, still unopened letter, confessing to yet more self-pity for having neglected her mother.

Suzy dabbed at the tears with a large handkerchief and declared that everyone neglected their mother. ‘That’s the way of human nature, darling child. We take the poor souls for granted and never fully appreciate them until it’s too late. You’re tired. Take a break. Go home to Blighty and see her. It will do you good.’

‘But its
years
too late.’

‘It’s never too late to visit your mother. Go and make your peace. Take little Dixie to see her grandmother, why don’t you?’

Kitty had a sudden longing to hold her child close and breathe in the sweet scent of her. How could she have even borne being away for so long. What was wrong with her, neglecting everyone she loved for the sake of a troupe of travelling players. How many times had Archie complained about her being far too independent? No wonder Charlotte was able to march off with him from right under her nose. Was it too late to win him back? The thought made her smile, even so... ‘When do I have time to take a trip to London?’

‘Make time. We’ll manage.’

‘On the grounds that no one is indispensable?’

‘You come very near that, my dear. Now perk up and dab some powder on your nose. We have a show to do and it’s a brilliant one because you directed and star in it,’ which made Kitty cry all the more.

‘I don’t know how I’d manage without you and Jacob and all my friends. You’re like family to me. But everyone assumes I’m so strong.’

‘While underneath you’re as vulnerable and confused as the rest of us. I know darling. Pardon me for saying so, but you don’t always give that impression.’ Suzy kept her expression carefully bland as she stubbed out the remains of her cigarette. ‘Perhaps you should let that vulnerability show once in a while.’ Kissing Kitty on each cheek, she pushed her through the door. ‘And don’t worry about Frank. Why not persuade your ma to marry the little blighter herself,’ which set Kitty giggling so much, she went off happily to get changed.

Esme was starting the third show of the day, though the first of a new routine and she was shaking with nerves. From two o’clock onwards there hardly seemed a minute to call her own. It was the immobile tableaux only in the afternoon so not too taxing, followed by Egyptian dancing in the early evening and later, when the lights were dimmed, came the lightly draped nymphs and goddesses. Live art, Terrence called it.