Wild Lavender (13 page)

‘Why are you here so early?’ asked Madame Tarasova, flitting into the room with the Zo-Zo sisters’ costumes.

‘I couldn’t sit still at home,’ I told her. ‘Look!’ I held up my hand.

‘You’ve got the jitters. It’s nothing,’ she said, hanging the costumes on a hook. ‘It means you’ll give a good performance tonight.’

She smiled reassuringly before darting out the door. I closed my eyes.
Slow breath in and slow breath out. Slow breath in and slow breath out.
I opened my eyes. The tremble was still there only now I was light-headed as well. ‘This is useless,’ I mumbled, examining my grubby facecloth. I needed to wet it again if I wanted to clean off the mascara I had smudged over my cheek. I pulled my kimono around my shoulders and headed towards the bathroom.

When I passed Zephora’s dressing room I heard a crash. The door swung open and Zephora stumbled out, clutching her stomach. She took two steps before doubling over and dropping to her knees.

‘Zephora!’ I rushed towards her. Her face was pale. ‘I’ll get Madame Tarasova,’ I said.

She grabbed my arm and dug her nails into my flesh. ‘No!’ she spat. ‘I don’t need your interference. I’m all right. It’s just…something I suffer from time to time.’ She let out a dry, spiteful laugh.

Her manner was more severe than her usual brusqueness. She was shivering although it was hot in the theatre. I stared at her, trying to think what I should do. I couldn’t leave her there like that. I rushed to the bathroom and wet my facecloth, intending to give it to Zephora to put on her forehead. When I returned she was sprawled on the floor, her face covered in a film of sweat.

‘Oh God,’ she moaned through chapped lips.

I knelt down and wiped her face. She stared back at me, clenching her teeth. There was something in her eyes that frightened me.

‘I will get help,’ I said.

Madame Tarasova was backstage, brushing down costumes with Vera and Martine, the new dresser. ‘Something has happened to Zephora!’ I told them.

The three women followed me up the stairs but Zephora was not in the corridor. ‘She’s in here!’ said Vera, pointing to the open dressing room door. Somehow Zephora had managed to drag herself back into the room and was lying on the floor, clutching the legs of a chair. Madame Tarasova’s eyes widened. She crouched down beside Zephora. The singer rolled onto her back, her hands gripping her stomach.

‘It is something she ate,’ said Martine, stepping forward. ‘My brother and I had something like that when we first came to Marseilles. It was terrible.’

Madame Tarasova frowned and pressed her hand to Zephora’s stomach. She looked up, alarm on her face. ‘Quick!’ she said. ‘Help me pull that couch from the wall and get her onto it!’

Martine and I dragged the divan to the centre of the room and Madame Tarasova and Vera lowered Zephora onto it. It was no easy feat for them, as Zephora was a few stones heavier than either woman and didn’t seem able to
exert any strength of her own. She curled up on the couch and stuck her fist in her mouth to stifle another groan.

‘Zephora,’ Madame Tarasova said, shaking her shoulder. ‘Is it what I think it is?’

The muscles in Zephora’s face tightened and she let out a wail which was drowned out by a blast of music from the rehearsal room. The spasm passed and she nodded. ‘It’s coming.’

Vera and I exchanged glances. Madame Tarasova hissed out a breath, readying herself for action. ‘Vera, go get a doctor! Quick!’

Martine grabbed my arm. ‘What is it?’ she asked. ‘Her appendix?’

‘No,’ said Madame Tarasova, propping a pillow under Zephora’s head. ‘Our star is about to have a baby.’

I stood outside Monsieur Dargent’s office, tying and untying the knot of my kimono. Somehow, in the chaos that followed Madame Tarasova’s announcement, it had been decided that I should be the one to break the news of Zephora’s impending motherhood to him. I knocked on the door.

‘Come in,’ he called out.

I was greeted with a mist of cigarette smoke. Monsieur Vaimber and two men I hadn’t seen before were sitting with Monsieur Dargent. From the relaxed expression on Monsieur Dargent’s face, I assumed that the men weren’t creditors trying to retrieve their money nor had they anything to do with the mafia.

Monsieur Dargent jumped up from his chair and ushered me into the room. ‘Ah, Simone, come in,’ he said. ‘Let me introduce you to Monsieur Ferriol and Monsieur Rey. They have come all the way from Nice to see the show.’

‘
Enchanté
,’ said Monsieur Ferriol, rising from his chair and kissing my hand. Monsieur Rey followed suit.

‘If they like the show, they will invest in it,’ whispered Monsieur Dargent.

My stomach twisted but I did my best to feign delight. ‘Monsieur Dargent,’ I said, smiling. ‘I need to speak to you for a moment.’

Monsieur Dargent gave me a puzzled look but didn’t seem alarmed. His carefree attitude made me all the more sorry for what I was about to tell him. He followed me to the cashier’s booth, which was empty.

‘Investors, Simone! Can you believe it?’ he said as soon as we were out of earshot. ‘Le Chat Espiègle has never had investors before…only me.’

‘Monsieur Dargent, I have…’ I clenched my toes. How
was
I going to tell him? I grasped for the right words but he didn’t give me a chance to speak.

‘My time has come!’ he said, squeezing my arms. ‘The day my father threw me out of home he said that I would die penniless in the gutter. What will he say now?’

‘Oh God, Monsieur Dargent—I have terrible news!’ There: it was out. He looked at me askance, his lips thinning into a frown.

‘Zephora is having a baby,’ I said.

Monsieur Dargent’s eyes bulged and he took a step back. At first he did not seem to believe me; then his face lit up with understanding. ‘No wonder she left that show in Nice. She probably figured she would get away with it in a smaller theatre. I’ve had pregnant performers before, but if she puts on any more weight I’ll have to fire her.’

‘You don’t understand,’ I said. ‘She’s having her baby
now
.’

At that moment Vera rushed into the foyer with the doctor. ‘Are they still in the dressing room?’ she asked. I nodded. Vera signalled for the doctor to follow her.

Monsieur Dargent’s face turned white. He pulled out his watch and stared at it. ‘It is an hour to the show. Can’t she wait until afterwards?’

‘It doesn’t work like that,’ I told him.

He squeezed his eyes shut and collapsed into the cashier’s chair. ‘We are ruined,’ he said, banging his head on the desk.

Monsieur Vaimber stepped into the booth. ‘What is taking you so long?’ he hissed. ‘I sent the gentlemen away. They will come back for the show.’

I explained the situation to him and was grateful when he took the news more calmly than Monsieur Dargent. ‘We shall have to cancel the show tonight,’ he said. ‘There’s nothing else we can do.’

‘We can’t cancel the show!’ cried Monsieur Dargent, tugging at his hair so viciously that I thought he was going to pull it out. ‘Those investors will go straight back to Nice. They aren’t going to wait around in Marseilles until we find a replacement.’

‘You don’t need to find a replacement.’

We turned around to see Madame Tarasova standing behind us. ‘You have someone who can stand in for the part right there,’ she said, pointing at me.

Monsieur Dargent looked from Madame Tarasova to me and back again. He shook his head. ‘She can’t carry it.’

Madame Tarasova crossed her arms. ‘She can do the part. I know. Vera has been teaching her. Marie can take over the handmaiden’s role.’

Monsieur Vaimber took his handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his forehead. ‘There is no way we can put—’

‘What choice do you have?’ Madame Tarasova cut him off. ‘You either take the chance or let those investors go for ever.’

Monsieur Dargent stopped pulling at his hair and looked up. ‘Okay!’ he said, wobbling to his feet. ‘Okay! She saved us once before—maybe she can perform that miracle again. She’s on!’

I don’t suppose that as long as I live, I shall forget that night at Le Chat Espiègle. Even as I stood in the wings,
listening to the orchestra play the lead-up to my first number, I couldn’t believe I was there. I had wanted a singing part and now I had one; albeit with no notice. I was going on cold again.

Monsieur Vaimber waited with me for my cue. Sweat dripped from his forehead and the way his hands trembled did nothing to calm my own nerves.

‘Okay,’ he said. ‘You’re on.’

I braced myself and swept onto the stage. The crowd sighed and clapped. I stretched out my arms and they applauded more. It was a good sign that they were cheering, but it could only have been for the beautiful costume I was wearing, because I had missed my first line and hadn’t sung a note. Luckily the conductor was used to covering mistakes and led the musicians into the introduction again. I glided towards the stage apron, bordered on either side by the chorus girls twirling in the harem dance. Marie winked at me and Jeanne smiled. Claire nodded. Had I really seen that? Perhaps she was grateful, understanding that I was risking my all to save everybody else.

The spotlights sent down a stream of white heat across my face and shoulders. I could only see as far as the first few rows of smiling faces, but I sensed that Bernard was out there somewhere. Oh God, I prayed, my legs shaking beneath me.

Other girls have gone to their deaths—but not me

I’m stronger

Other girls have lost their heads—not me

I’m smarter

He might be the ruler

But I am a woman.

The audience cheered again. My voice rang out over the noise, clear and strong. I had no trouble keeping my breath. My legs stopped trembling and I wiggled and swirled and improvised a dance to go with the words.
Something fell at my feet and my heel clamped down on it.
Squish
. Oh no, I thought, they’re throwing food at me already. I glanced at my foot but instead of a tomato, which had happened before even when they’d liked my act, I saw a rose. I bent and picked it up. Still singing, I held the flower to my nose, as if I were appreciating its scent, then passed it to Claire with a flourish. I didn’t miss a note. The cheers sounded louder.

‘Mademoiselle Fleurier!’ a man shouted from the audience. Other voices joined him. ‘
Other girls have gone to their deaths—but not me, I’m stronger.
’ The song that had caused me so much pain a few weeks ago was now my battle cry. When I hit the last note, unwavering, and threw my arms up bravely for the finish, the roar from the audience told me that I had won.

The rest of the show was a blur: two and a half hours flew by as if they had been only two minutes. Each time I raced upstairs for a costume change, Vera was ready with an update on Zephora’s labour. ‘The doctor says she hasn’t long to go. It won’t be too bad for her. She’s built for it.’

I tried to sit still while Martine pinned on my wedding headdress. ‘The doctor has been listening to you between the contractions,’ she told me. ‘He says you are very good and that with a voice like yours you could sing anywhere.’

I stood up while Madame Tarasova and Martine checked my hooks and pins. There were so many sequins and diamantés on the wedding gown that it took all my concentration to keep my balance. When I stepped out the door, I heard a long moan come from the direction of Zephora’s dressing room and, seconds later, the sound of a baby crying.

It was all Martine and I could do to stop from laughing. ‘Two new people have been born tonight,’ she said.

The curtain came down after the ninth encore. The adrenaline that had sustained me for the show plummeted. My heart pounded and pins and needles prickled my feet and fingertips. Marcel took my arm and squeezed it. He had been shocked to find out that I was going to be his
leading lady, but the surprise had improved his performance. I struggled to get my bearings. The rest of the cast flocked around us.

‘Well done, Simone!’ cried Claude.

‘You look beautiful,’ gushed Marie.

Monsieur Vaimber and the stagehands called out ‘Bravo!’ from the flies and even Claire’s clique was solicitous. ‘You look so different. I can’t believe it is you,’ said Paulette. ‘It’s amazing what a nice costume can do.’

Monsieur Dargent appeared in the wings and the others parted to let him through. ‘Simone,’ he said, throwing his arms around me and kissing my cheeks. ‘Who would have thought? You have taken to the part of the star like a duck to water.’

He ushered me upstairs to the dressing room. The corridor was crowded with fans and well-wishers. Women in dresses with plunging necklines leaned on the arms of men with pencil moustaches. They seemed to sparkle and shimmer before me like a river in the sunshine. Their mouths moved rapidly, discussing their reactions to the show, but they fell silent when they saw me.

‘
Bonsoir
, Mademoiselle Fleurier!’ someone shrieked. That started everyone up again. ‘Bravo, Mademoiselle Fleurier!’ they shouted. ‘What an act!’

I searched for Bernard amongst their faces, but couldn’t find him. Despite what Monsieur Dargent had said about me taking naturally to the role of a star, I was paralysed by so many people paying attention to me. I would have liked to have run away, but I didn’t want to let Monsieur Dargent down. I signed autographs in a daze, kissed cheeks and shook hands, doing my best to maintain the appearance of bravado when all I wanted to do was lie down.

‘I can’t see Bernard,’ I whispered to Monsieur Dargent. I had told him earlier that a family friend was in the audience that evening.

He patted my arm. ‘Go to your dressing room and I’ll see if I can find him for you.’

Monsieur Dargent turned to the well-wishers and clapped his hands. ‘Mademoiselle Fleurier needs a rest. She will meet you again tomorrow night.’ The crowd began to move away. Several people shouted out that they would return. A trio of men in tuxedos and top hats lingered a while longer, the tallest one eyeing me. But whatever message he was trying to convey was lost. I was on the verge of collapse.

I closed my dressing room door and sank to my knees, too exhausted to think of removing my shoes or my headdress. Fabienne and the Zo-Zo sisters were still downstairs and I was grateful to have a few minutes of peace before they returned. The room smelt of lemon and mint, and something else…Tobacco? I opened my eyes and started when I noticed the man sitting in my make-up chair. At first, I thought it was Bernard, but this man was a few years older although he was as impeccably dressed.