The Boy I Love (2 page)

‘Sorry, sorry,’ she called out. ‘Is there someone there? My name is Sally Thomas and I have come for an audition. Please take the light off me as I can’t see a
thing!’ She moved towards the front of the stage, trying to get out of the spotlight, and peered out into the auditorium – but could see nothing because she still had spots in front of
her eyes.

Then, as her vision slowly adjusted, she felt a presence up to her left – and there in the box, she could make out a figure standing just inside the doorway. There was a red glow burning
in the dark and the faint hint of cigar tobacco – but before she could speak, a voice filled the theatre with liquid gold. Sally had never heard such an incredible voice.

‘Sorry, young lady. Didn’t mean to frighten you. We have trouble with the lighting board. Who did you say you were again?’

‘Sally Thomas. Are you Giles Longfellow, by any chance?’ Sally was regaining her composure and feeling ready to present herself. After all, she had come a long way for this audition
and had no intention of messing it up.

‘Yes, indeed I am. Eric, are you still up there?’ Giles Longfellow called up to the gods, to where his lighting man was perched on a follow spot trying to adjust the bulb.

A voice wafted out from the darkness. ‘Yes, guvnor. All sorted. Be down in a tick.’

‘Thank you, Eric. Now, young lady, what are you going to do for me?’ The man in the box leaned over the rail towards Sally and she felt she could almost reach up and touch him.

Suddenly, all the house-lights came on and the full beauty of the theatre revealed itself. It was like a wedding cake of pink and white stucco. The red plush seats and the gleaming brass rails
set off the intricate plasterwork on the walls and the boxes, rising to a ceiling that was covered in cherubs and flowers. A huge crystal chandelier sent shafts of light down onto the seats below
like rays of sunshine piercing a dark forest.

Sally gasped and looked back up to the box, from whence came Giles’s richly mellow voice again: ‘Young lady, did you hear me? You look like a frightened rabbit.’ He stepped
back and sat down.

Sally gave him her full attention at once and announced with as much aplomb as she could muster, ‘I would like to do Portia’s speech from
The Merchant of Venice
: “The
quality of mercy is not strained . . .”’

‘Very well, continue.’

The girl walked to the centre of the stage and took a deep breath. This was the moment she had trained for and lived for. Her first proper audition for the professional theatre.

Sally had left drama school six months ago, and had spent the intervening time writing to dozens of repertory theatres throughout the country. Some responded but most never did. It had proved
very disheartening in the main, but Sally was determined and driven, and was not going to give up easily. She had managed to get a job at the British Drama League in Fitzroy Square, London. It was
an extraordinary place, a cross between a library and advice centre for foreign students, offering drama courses and training for stage management. It also had offices for various departments in
theatre, from the technical staff to visiting directors, and was a popular venue for theatres to hold auditions. Sally manned the ancient telephone switchboard, which was like a puzzle for wiring
aficionados. Each line had a connection, but oh! – how often did she put the wrong plug in the wrong hole!

‘Bear with me, caller,’ was her cri de coeur all day long. ‘I am so sorry, sir, you have been disconnected.’

By the end of a busy day, Sally would be distraught – but her boss, a lovely man called James Langton, was ever ready to offer her encouragement. James had always been associated with the
theatre in some way. Sally was never sure if he had been an actor himself, years ago. He certainly had theatricality about him – and great charm. James ran the Drama League like an historic
institution and had taken Sally and another young actor, Jeremy Sinclair, under his wing. Every time a theatre booked the rehearsal rooms to hold auditions, he would ring down and inform them both.
This meant that the two actors could ensure that at some point, they were able to insinuate themselves into a position to get an audition.

Sally used to wait until the director had seen everybody, and then she would appear at the door and announce that – what a coincidence! She was an actress and not a telephone operator,
after all, and would they please let her audition? Most of the time it worked a treat, but so far she had not managed to get a job. Then one afternoon Mr Langton had come down to her little booth
and informed her that Crewe Theatre would soon be holding auditions for its new season, starting in September, and that she should write or phone. Sally wasted no time: she immediately rang the
theatre and was told that the director, Giles Longfellow, would indeed be coming down to London to the BDL to hold auditions, but if she was able to come up to Crewe before then, he would be
delighted to see her ‘in situ’ as it were. Seizing this opportunity to get in early, she made an appointment for the following week.

Now here she was, standing on the stage at Crewe, launching into her audition piece with gusto.

Halfway through, however, Giles Longfellow called down from the box, ‘Thank you, my dear, that will do. Can you sing?’

Sally was completely thrown by this question. Not because she couldn’t sing, but because he had not let her finish her speech. She stammered a, ‘Y-yes, I can.’

‘Then away you go,’ came the response from above.

Sally sang the Victorian music-hall song called ‘The Boy I Love’, made famous by the great Marie Lloyd. It was a good choice as she could sing it unaccompanied. Her strong, clear
soprano voice filled the auditorium with the sweet, affecting melody, and was rewarded by a handclap from the director.

‘Well done! Delightful. Stay there – I am coming down.’ And Giles disappeared.

Sally admired yet again the elegance of the box and noted that there was a coat of arms on the front. The Royal Box – how very appropriate for the flamboyant Giles Longfellow, she decided.
Maybe one day
she
would be singing to Royalty in the box! Her daydreams were interrupted by the arrival of the Director.

‘You did well, my dear, and I am very pleased to say I think we can offer you a place in our company next season. You are not experienced enough to play leads, but depending on how well
you adapt, and how hard you work, I can certainly promise you some decent roles – and thanks to your fine singing voice I see you in some of our musical productions. It does mean you will
have to accept some stage-management work, but at least you will get your forty-two weeks in the theatre, which will make you eligible for your full Equity card. Do you have an agent, by the
way?’

Sally had not managed to attract the attention of an agent so far, but she had discussed this with Mr Langton and he had offered to advise her, should the need arise, on the financial side of
things. So bearing this in mind, she replied, ‘No, but I have a manager called James Langton and he has said he will deal with the fee, if that is convenient to you, sir.’

‘James Langton as in the British Drama League?’ Giles looked amused.

‘Um, yes. Do you know him?’ asked Sally.

‘Absolutely, my dear! We are old friends. But what is his interest in you, may I ask?’

Sally was not sure which way this conversation should be going, but decided that honesty was the best policy.

‘I work in reception at the BDL,’ she explained, ‘and Mr Langton very kindly helps me find auditions, et cetera, while I am working there. He has been so supportive, and told
me that any time I needed advice, he would help me. So I just thought to mention him to you with respect of salary or whatever. I hope that is all right?’

‘Of course, no problem at all. I will talk to him asap. Thank you for coming all this way, dear, and I look forward to welcoming you to the new company in September.’

‘Oh, thank you so much, Mr Longfellow, I am thrilled to be working for you and I—’

But he had gone. Disappeared like a magician, without the puff of smoke, although the smell of his cigar drifted across the footlights like a longlost memory. Sally’s heart was thumping.
She had her first job! Going to the footlights, she took in the auditorium one last time from top to bottom. She loved it! And then she looked up to the Royal Box – and blew a kiss.

Giles Longfellow was ambitious, but he was also weak. He had talent, but lacked the iron will to pursue his dreams to their ultimate conclusion. All his life he had been led
by his heart – well, his nether regions, to be absolutely blunt. He would fall wildly in love and indulge every emotional level of his intellect and physical need. This would last for months,
or sometimes only weeks, but it drained him of all his energy and left him reeling. In his youth it had cost him a promising career as an actor because he would lose all interest in a job if the
mood for love took him over, and employers soon realized he was a liability. Not only because his stagecraft suffered as his concentration wavered, but on one particular occasion his pursuit of
happiness with one individual had led to accusations of rape and he had only just escaped jail.

James Langton was remembering the incident now. He and Giles did not know each other that well, but had agreed to meet after James had rung Giles’s secretary to discuss Sally
Thomas’s contract for the upcoming season.

‘You went through a very bad patch a few years back, I seem to recall,’ mused James over a very fine dinner at the Garrick Club.

‘Oh God, yes, it was a pretty close thing, but I was bailed out by the lovely Lord Graham. We have been friends ever since.’ Giles did not add that they were also lovers, on and off.
After the police arrested Giles for indecently assaulting a young man, Lord Edward (Teddie) Graham had stepped in and paid off the boy and his parents and pulled strings with the Commissioner of
Police. He and Giles had then had an affair, but unlike most of Giles’s romantic attachments it had not fizzled out or ended dramatically, but every now and then had renewed itself.

Lord Graham was married to money and had managed to father three children, most importantly an heir and a spare, as they said in those rarefied social circles. This secured the marriage, and the
family seat, which was a beautiful hundred-room stately home in Cheshire. Teddie was able, in the main, to keep his preferences under wraps, but when the need arose he would stay down in London at
his club and seek out Giles Longfellow, who after his run-in with the authorities had also had to keep himself in check. Both men enjoyed each other’s company and although it was hardly a
relationship based on passion it served them both well.

Giles finally started to focus on his career as a director and was offered the post at Crewe five years ago. Edward Graham’s country pile was just up the road so it seemed the perfect post
– for the time being, at any rate. As he became more confident as a director, thanks to his work at Crewe, so Giles’s ambition returned. This season he wanted to make his mark, and head
for the West End and perhaps a post with the Royal Shakespeare Company. He had proven himself with several productions at Crewe, and surprisingly, run the financial side at a profit with the help
of an Arts Council grant. However, in order to achieve the kind of production that would turn heads in his direction, he was going to need extra cash to lure some exciting talent up to Crewe. Lord
Graham was his golden ticket. Teddie had become a patron of the arts, in particular of Crewe Theatre, and had pledged financial support to Giles for his new season. So, Giles was down in London to
court a young actor called Rupert Hallam, who was making waves in theatrical circles, to persuade him to come to Crewe to do
Hamlet
. The rest of the cast would soon fall into place if Giles
secured the young man. God knows, there were enough actors to choose from, and he had already chosen Sally Thomas.

‘I liked her because she showed pluck coming all the way to see me. She gave a consummate performance, maybe not glittering, but she has a good singing voice and I need that in the
company, as I am hoping to do two or three music-based productions: a revival of
The Boyfriend
, a Victorian music-hall show, and of course, a pantomime at Christmas. I have told the girl
that she will have to do some stage management at first until I can really see her strengths, but I promised her she would get her chance. And, of course, she would be official understudy
too.’ Giles took a sip of very expensive Bordeaux. As James was paying the bill, he had offered to choose the wine!

James couldn’t hide his pride and delight for his protége.

‘Oh, believe me she is thrilled, and quite understands the situation. I am very grateful to you, Giles. Actually I have another young actor I would be very pleased if you could audition
and give me your thoughts. His name is Jeremy Sinclair and he works for me part-time in the reference library.’ James refilled Giles Longfellow’s glass.

Giles regarded the other man for a few moments and then said, ‘Is it love, James?’