The Cavendon Women (30 page)

A moment later he came back and Sid handed him the small glass of scotch. “Thanks.” James drank it in one swallow, and then put on his white shirt, buttoned the sleeves.

Sid took the trousers off the hanger, and James stepped into them, added a light blue tie around his neck, tied it. With Sid's help he was ready to join his guests within a few minutes. He glanced in the dressing table mirror and then turned and strode toward the door.

“Into the valley of death rode the six hundred,” Sid declared, sounding his usual warning. He stared at James. “Watch yerself, matey.”

“And you have a nice evening too, my lad,” James retorted. “See you tomorrow.”

Constance Lambert was standing in the doorway of the other dressing room, talking to Avery Cannon, the theater critic, and one of the most astute journalists in London. Cannon was one of his biggest boosters and a good friend.

James kissed Constance on the cheek and told her she looked as elegant as always. He embraced Cannon and promised to return in a moment or two.

Entering the second dressing room, he walked over to Lady Daphne and her husband, Hugo. They were talking to Felix amiably.

After greetings and introductions, Daphne said, “We enjoyed your performance enormously, Mr. Brentwood. I've never seen a Hamlet like yours. You were superb.”

“Thank you, Lady Daphne, you're most kind.”

“My sister was transfixed; that's the only word I can think of to describe how she reacted to your performance,” Lady Daphne added.

“I believe she was just as mesmerized as I was, Mr. Brentwood,” Hugo said. “Congratulations. You have an extraordinary talent.”

“Thank you, Mr. Stanton. And where is she? Lady Dulcie. Isn't she coming to supper with us?”

“Well, yes, she is.” Daphne glanced around, looked puzzled. “She was here a moment ago; now I don't see her.”

James peered down the room. He noticed a couple of actor friends who had stopped by, raised his hand in greeting. And then he suddenly spotted a flash of pale blue, the bottom of a skirt and a matching blue shoe disappearing behind the Chinese screen.

The two actors, moving toward him past a couple of people he hardly knew, now blocked his view of the screen. As they drew to a standstill, he said in a rush, “Back in a moment, chaps,” and hurried in the direction of the folding screen.

A young woman in a blue silk dress had opened the door and was going into his private dressing room.

He followed her inside on silent feet.

She had no idea he was right behind her.

“Lady Dulcie,” he said.

He had surprised her and, startled, she swung around swiftly, almost bumping into him. She took a step backward to avoid a collision.

So did he. And then he pushed the door of the other dressing room shut with his foot, not taking his eyes off her.

They stood staring at each other, eyeball to eyeball almost. He was six feet tall, and she was probably five feet nine, not quite as tall as he was. She had been startled by his arrival. He was startled by her appearance.

She was dazzling, the vividness of her coloring unique. Her eyes were so blue they looked unnatural, and yet they were beautiful. And the golden hair was a shining silvery halo around her lovely face; the features were delicate but well defined. She was a girl of the most incomparable beauty … and she was just a girl.

“I'm trespassing, aren't I?”

“You are indeed.”

“I'm so sorry.”

“Were you looking for me?”

“No. I saw you coming into the other room. I was escaping.”

“Didn't you want to meet me?”

“Yes. But … well, I was angry.”

“Why?”

“Because there were other people present. You see, I felt you were speaking to
me,
and only to me, when you were on stage. You
were
Hamlet, confiding in
me.
” She shook her head, as if in puzzlement at herself.

Sid, hovering in the doorway to the corridor, cleared his throat.

Looking across at him, James said pointedly, “Give us a moment, will you?”

His dresser nodded, closed the door quietly, and left them alone.

“Please continue,” James said, fascinated by her.

“It was the suspension of disbelief, I suppose,” Dulcie said at last.

“What do you mean?” James asked, even though he understood exactly what she was referring to. However, he was genuinely surprised this girl had such knowledge at her fingertips. Few people did, unless they were of the theater.

“What I mean is this. A play is a play, written by a playwright. Actors act the roles. So there is always a bit of
disbelief
in my mind, because I know it's not real life … it's a play, an entertainment. But you made my disbelief disappear. I suspended it. Because
you
convinced
me
you were actually Hamlet, talking just to
me.
And then I was here, and all those other people were arriving in the other room. And it annoyed me.”

He stared at her for the longest moment. She had impressed him. Also he had the oddest feeling that he knew her, and knew her well, at that. “Have we met before?” he asked.

“No. But I have the strangest feeling that we have, and that I've known you for a long time, James. Oh, I'm sorry, Mr. Brentwood.”

“Call me James. May I call you Dulcie?”

“Yes, you must.”

There was a long silence.

James stared hard at her once more. She stared back at him. Their eyes locked. And then they understood that this had been a moment of recognition. They each accepted that they had found their soul mate. A deal had just been struck without a word being spoken. How to proceed? They were both wondering that …

There was a knock on the door, and it flew open as Felix came bursting into the dressing room. “There you are, Jamie! Everyone's been asking for you. Come on, your friends are waiting. Cannon must leave in a few minutes.”

“I need a word with Sid, and then I'm all yours, Felix.” He looked at Dulcie, and back at Felix. “Lady Dulcie somehow got lost. Thankfully I managed to find her.” He smiled at her, inclined his head. “Follow Felix, Lady Dulcie. I'll soon be with you.”

“Thank you for finding me, James. I'm so very glad you did.”

Felix, slightly baffled, took hold of Dulcie's elbow and ushered her out of the room, asking himself what all this was about.

James said, “Come in, Sid, don't loiter in the corridor.”

Sid did as he was told, and shut the door behind him. “Bleedin' hell, wot was all that abart? Fancy that, comin' in 'ere without so much as a by-your-leave. Blimey, she's got cheek.”

“Actually, she's got it all, as far as I'm concerned. She's extremely intelligent, and a stunning beauty.”

“Bloody jailbait, that's wot she is! Jailbait, Jamie. She looks all of sixteen, if that. Better watch yer step.”

“She's older than that, surely,” James murmured almost to himself, hoping he was right. Then he said, “I need another drink, Sid. Pour me a shot, please.”

James went into the bathroom and looked at himself in the mirror. He grimaced. He was tired and it showed. He took a face cloth, ran cold water on it, and held it against his eyes for a second. Then he combed his hair. He looked his age tonight, and certainly too old for her. But there wasn't much he could do about that. About anything, actually. He shrugged. He would take his chances. He always had.

Sid was waiting with the shot glass. “Thanks,” James said, and threw it back, then gave the empty glass to Sid.

“Watch yer step, James.
Be careful.
”

“No need to warn me. I'm fully aware of the grave danger she poses to me. And I will watch my step, as you call it. And everything else.”

*   *   *

“I'm sorry, Avery,” James said a moment later, as he joined the famous theater critic, who was now in conversation with Felix. “I had to sort out a bit of important business.”

The three men stood talking for a short while, and then James moved on to greet his other friends. Felix remained behind with him, whilst Constance left with Lady Daphne, Hugo, and Dulcie.

James watched Dulcie go out of the corner of his eye, and smiled to himself. She floated past him and out of the dressing room without giving him a backward glance. Style, he thought. She's certainly got style. He couldn't wait to leave and join her at Rules.

 

Thirty-eight

The moment James walked into Rules with Felix he felt better, less tense. This old place near Covent Garden was first opened in 1798 as an oyster bar, and it was a favorite of his.

He liked the warm and welcoming atmosphere, and its connection to the world he occupied. The walls were covered with sketches, cartoons, and oil paintings, mostly referring to the theater and its history. As for the food, it was the best of traditional English fare, which he preferred.

Constance stood up as they entered the main restaurant and walked across to greet them. She was their hostess tonight, at her insistence, and had informed Felix earlier that she was in charge.

“I've bagged you for myself, Jamie,” she whispered, taking his arm and leading him to the table, followed by Felix. “You're sitting between me and Lady Daphne, who's a sweetheart, by the way.”

James looked down at her, his brown eyes warm and loving. “I'm happy about that,” he said. Constance had been like a mother to him since he was fifteen, and he treasured her. So did his adoring sisters. Thankfully. There was no competition there. Ruby, Dolores, and Faye were her coconspirators, looking after his well-being and guarding him possessively. Somewhat too possessively, at times. But he managed to dodge around them when it was absolutely necessary.

Once he was seated at the table, James realized he was facing Dulcie. Whilst this pleased him in one way, it presented a problem in another. He had to be careful he didn't stare at her too much, or show his intense interest in her.

He reminded himself he was an actor. Which solved the problem, didn't it? Maybe. Maybe not. And that was because he
wanted
to look at her, to study her, devour her with his eyes. Her beauty was unique. It took his breath away. Even her lovely older sister paled in comparison.

Constance turned to him almost immediately, and said, “I ordered champagne for everyone, but perhaps you'd prefer something else?”

“The champagne is fine, and I suppose you've also ordered my usual dinner?” He laughed as he asked this, thinking how lovely she looked. Her short, sleek hair was full of auburn lights and her green eyes sparkled. Constance, who was now in her mid-fifties, looked much younger, and she was never anything but chicly dressed. She did Felix proud as his wife and business partner.

“You know I had to do that,” Constance remarked. “Because of the time element. They close at midnight, remember.” Looking across the table at her husband, she added, “And I ordered the same for you, my darling. Oysters and grilled sole.”

Felix thanked her, and then turned to his dinner partner. “You probably know about this old restaurant, so I won't bore you with its history, Lady Daphne.”

Daphne nodded. “Yes, I do, we all do. Papa often brings us here, mostly for lunch. We enjoy Rules, actually.”

Hugo made a comment about the food, and Constance joined in extolling the virtues of certain dishes she preferred. And James felt the pressure easing off him to be charming and entertaining. He sat back in his chair and looked, for a short while, at Dulcie, fascinated by her. In an odd sort of way he found her presence soothing, even comforting. How strange, he thought, and picked up his glass, sipped the champagne. She seemed to touch him on so many levels.

As the evening progressed, James was struck by the charm and ease of Lady Daphne and her husband, Hugo. They were friendly and companionable, able to talk about anything. Good conversation whirled around the table as they sipped their wine and ate their oysters, which everyone had ordered, he noticed.

Dulcie was quiet, not saying very much at all. She glanced at him occasionally, and carefully, when she thought no one was watching her. He was not talkative himself, preoccupied as he was with the girl seated opposite. He longed to get her alone, find out about her, ask her so many questions about her life. Which he couldn't very well do here.

This thought made him wonder what Dulcie knew about him. He was often written about in the papers, but it was mostly stories about his acting, his career, not his personal life. Perhaps she had questions, too. He could do something about that, and he would.

But before he got a chance to do this, Constance looked at Dulcie and asked, “How long are you staying in London?”

“I live here,” she answered. “I have a job. I work with Cecily Swann, the designer. At her main shop in the Burlington Arcade.”

James smiled inwardly. Thank you, clever girl, he thought. Now I know where to find you.

“How wonderful,” Constance exclaimed, obviously impressed. “I love her clothes; they are simply gorgeous. And how did you get the job? Did you study fashion design?”

“No, I didn't, Mrs. Lambert. Art history. But Ceci and I grew up together at Cavendon Hall, our family home in Yorkshire. I asked her for a job because I wanted to learn about dealing with the public. You see, one day I'm going to open my own art gallery.”

James sat up straighter in the chair and stared at her. He was pleased by what he was hearing. This was not an indulged and indolent girl, a socialite; this was one who had a purpose. It made him happy for some reason.

Daphne said, “The entire Swann family are very much part of our lives, not only Ceci. The Inghams and the Swanns have lived together at Cavendon Hall for over one hundred and seventy odd years. And, in fact, we even have Swanns working with us here at the Grosvenor Square house.”