Riley, page 29
‘I could never imagine you being lonely. As for being fed up, why don’t you take a job of some kind?’
‘Don’t be silly, Peter. What job could I do, apart from modelling? And I haven’t the patience to stand for hours and be moulded into clothes by somebody’s impersonal hands. In any case, I thought you would know me a little, enough to realise that I can be lonely at times. Women of my type are always lonely. Men want to fuss, fondle and possess us, and other women would like to strangle us. We are an unhappy breed, you know, and I’m serious when I say that people with my exterior and personality have a raw deal.’
He smiled widely now, and his voice had a mocking note in it when he said, ‘Oh, I’m very sorry for you, and all your kind. Oh yes, all your kind: poor, loveless creatures.’
‘You can mock, Peter, but I’m right, and you know I’m right. The awful thing is being aware that people are afraid of one, especially women.’ And Yvette now leant forward and nodded to him as she said, ‘You were afraid of me when we first met alone. Oh’—she wagged a hand impatiently at him—‘don’t deny it. Don’t deny it. You were petrified of me, so much so that you wrote home and told your wife straight away.’
He knew his skin was turning that irritating pink again, and his voice was stiff as he said, ‘How d’you make that out? Who told you that?’
‘My dear mother. She got it from her dear brother. Her dear brother got it from his dear wife, and dear Louise got it from your darling Nyrene.’
He sighed now, but did not speak, and she said, ‘Yes, we’re very tiring, aren’t we? May I ask if you’ve told her about our…chance meeting?’
‘Yes. Yes, of course I have,’ he lied firmly.
‘Oh, that’s all right then because I told dear Mama about it.’
He sat back looking at her. The sunlight was flickering across her face; her eyes were looking straight into his and they were giving off that…he shook his head against the words ‘fascinating charm’. He could imagine her driving fellows to the very end and then leaving them suspended. She had once said that Felix had been ready to throttle her, and he could well understand it.
Sometimes, just sometimes, he felt a spark of pity in him for her, but it never remained long: it would always be obliterated by her attitude and the tone of her voice, a tone that had the power to convey condescension while her smile remained pleasant. No wonder women hated her. Nyrene hated her.
His feet moved uneasily; he felt his shoulders hunching.
After a moment she said on a laugh, ‘You want to watch that.’
‘Watch what?’
‘The hunching of your shoulders. Sure sign of nerves.’
Of a sudden he felt angry. Yes, it was a sure sign of nerves. Over the past weeks it had almost become a habit. It had started when they had seen the child sitting on the edge of the stage. He now pulled himself to the end of the seat and, leaning his forearms on the table between them, he leant towards her, saying, ‘You know, Yvette, you’re not only cruel to almost everyone you come into contact with, you’re tactless, and unfortunately you will never know love. You haven’t it in you to love anyone, and in that line you only get what you give, and I’m not now going to say I’m sorry for speaking frankly; but you only go after what you find hard to get, and when you’ve got it you drop it like a hot coal. And that’s working to a lonely old age, let me tell you.’
He rose from his seat, and walked quickly down the compartment and into the toilet; and there he leant his head against the rail that ran below the opaque window. What in the name of God made him go for her like that! It was because she had mentioned his nerves, and his nerves had brought back the guilt feeling that had begun that day some weeks ago when Nyrene had brought the child and Hamish and Mrs Atkins to the flat for the weekend.
The theatre itself was nearing completion. The child had been running around wildly when suddenly he appeared on the stage and both he himself, and Nyrene were brought to a staring halt when they saw him sit down near the end of the footlights and assume a position exactly as he himself had done when playing the part of the handicapped boy in The Golden Mind. His feet were tucked under him and his hands were resting on his thighs, palms upwards, and his expressionless gaze was directed straight towards them.
They had taken a few quick steps forward, only to stop abruptly again, and the look that was exchanged between them was almost fearful; and when Peter said, ‘Oh my God!’ Nyrene muttered, ‘It’s nothing, just…just coincidence.’
‘L-L-look!’ he remembered stammering. ‘Look at his face. Look at it! It is mine, and he’s seven and he’s Larry. Oh my God!’
He recalled how he had sprung forward and grabbed the boy from the platform, causing a cry of alarm to escape from the child. Nyrene pulled the boy from his embrace, saying, ‘There now. There now. It’s all right. Daddy was only playing.’
‘I nearly fell asleep, Mummy.’
‘Yes, yes, I know you did, dear; but come along, we’ll go into the flat and then you can lie down.’
Peter now straightened up, brought his head from the bar and looked into the small mirror. He could see Nyrene and himself in the sitting room of the flat. He was saying, ‘I…I must have picked it up from Larry. I became lost in him and I never got rid of him. He’s there in me yet. And oh, dear God! In some way I must have passed it on to the child: that was Larry sitting there, as real as when I portrayed him. And you know it. I could see it in your face.’
He remembered she had bowed her head as she said, ‘Our son isn’t mental,’ and he hadn’t come back at her, saying, ‘Of course he isn’t! Of course he isn’t!’ And it was then that she practically screamed at him, ‘Peter, our son isn’t mental! He’s a highly intelligent boy. He’s artistic and he is highly strung. The doctors themselves say that, every one of them. He is not mental; he’s an intelligent child way beyond his years. The things he comes out with are way beyond his years.’ At this he had answered her, saying, ‘Yes, yes, way beyond his years. Like Larry. Larry was way beyond his years, too.’
They had not loved that night, nor found any comfort even as they lay side by side.
He now turned on the tap and sluiced his face. There were no paper towels in the rack, so he used his handkerchief.
Again he stood looking into the mirror, asking himself how he was going to go back there and apologise, for apologise he must.
Apologise he did, and with much more fervour than he had intended, for when he saw her face, which was no longer pert, he had the desire to sit by her side and put his arm around her and say, ‘I didn’t mean all that, I really didn’t.’ She did not look beautiful at this moment: her eyes were deep and bright and sad. She could have been crying.
He slowly sat down in his seat again. She didn’t look at him, but it was she who spoke first. Her eyes cast down, she said, ‘You needn’t say you’re sorry, Peter, for you meant every word; and…and I know you’re right. At least, up to a point, because, and I repeat what I said earlier, I am not inside as I appear outside. We all have façades and my beauty and dulcet tongue are mine. Now I can forget what you said and I would like you to forget it too. In a way I am glad that you came into the open with your thoughts about me, for it shows, as I have thought all along, that we could be friends.’
Oh no! No! Lord, friends with her! Nyrene would go berserk at the mention of it. He could make no reply; and for the rest of the journey they exchanged few words, until, glancing out of the window, he said, ‘We are running in now.’
He stood up and took his coat and hat and briefcase from the rack; and when she rose he had to force himself to help her into her coat, when he said, ‘No hard feelings?’
‘Of course not, Peter.’ And there was the gentlest smile on her face as she said, ‘Until we meet again then?’ only to add quickly in her usual tone, holding a slightly sarcastic laugh, ‘I’ll be taking a taxi, but I won’t offer you a lift.’
He decided not to take the bus, but to walk.
Her last look as he had helped her into the taxi remained with him. She was getting under his skin—if she wasn’t already there. The thought hunched his shoulders and put a spurt into his step. He had to face Nyrene and tell her of his company on the train journey, for he knew that that disturbing sprite would tell her mother as soon as she got home, and her mother would definitely tell her brother. Of course, Louise would not pass such information on to Nyrene but Fred would. Oh yes, Fred had become a disturbing influence in the matter of his niece. At times he himself thought it was as if Fred were pointing out in his verbose way the difference in the ages of the woman and the girl.
The flat, unlike the Little Grange, was very modern, but comfortably so. It had two bedrooms, a small dining room, an extra large sitting room, all the latest in kitchen devices, and in the luxurious bathroom there was an exercise bicycle which was discreetly screened off.
The flat, being an end one on the ground floor, had its own side entrance situated up a short alleyway.
It was centrally heated, with an extra modern gas fire in the sitting room, and which looked so real it was always mistaken for a coal fire. Altogether, it was a splendid flat.
However, Nyrene could not see why Riley should not spend his weekends at home; it would give him a much needed break. But, as he had told her, he now had to prepare new plays and fetch the cast in often on a Sunday. He considered it to be much easier for her to come to the flat. But there was the child. Oh Lord! Yes, the child. Both knew this, but he had brought it into the open last week by saying pointedly to her, ‘He’s seven years old; you should be able to leave him with Mac and Mrs A by now.’
She had kept a patient note in her voice as she replied, ‘You know I have tried, and what happens? They both say the same thing: he just sits there waiting, hardly eats anything. And look what happened during the last two times I brought him here: he ran outside, and he’s not used to traffic.’
This had brought the retort from him, ‘Well, he’s got to be taught to behave and to stay indoors when he’s told. Something must be done with him; you can’t let him rule our lives.’
Still quietly, but ominously, she had answered, ‘Would you like me to put him into a home?’
They had stared at each other for a moment; then had fallen together and held each other close. They had both said they were sorry and that they understood the other’s situation.
He was now inserting his latch key when the side door was almost pulled out of his hand, and there she was. ‘Hello!’ Nyrene said. ‘The train must have been on time. How did things go?’
Getting over his surprise, he said, ‘Fine. I chose the less good-looking one, he could act; and two girls…well, young women, one very experienced. That completes the cast now.’
‘Let me have your coat,’ she said, ‘I’ve got some broth on.’
‘Do you mind if I kiss my wife first?’
A few minutes later, seated at the kitchen table, he said, as if making a casual remark, ‘Guess who I bumped into on the train?’
‘Now you know so many people whom I don’t know, so how could I guess who?’ She had stopped, the pan held over the basin that was set on a tray. Then she added, ‘Well, we both know Louise and Fred, and his darling sister’s daughter.’
The soup splashed into the basin; then she returned the pan to the stove, picked up a tea towel and dabbed at some splashes on the tray cloth, saying, ‘Get started on that,’ before adding tartly, ‘Oh. I thought milady always travelled by high-powered car. It was she, wasn’t it?’
He was thinking, Not always, because this was the second time he had met her in a train, but what he said was, ‘Well, there she was. She was going to call at Fred’s before going on home, I suppose, expecting him to give her a lift from there.’
She said now, ‘She’d be travelling first class, but you rarely do.’
His spoon in mid-air, he said, ‘That’s odd. Yes, she does; she always travels first class. But there she was, second class, among the common lot. I wonder why.’
‘Oh.’ She sat down opposite him before saying, ‘I think I can explain; or at least put two and two together. I understand from Louise, but I could hardly believe it, neither could she, that her dear mother was going to stop her allowance or make it almost negligible after Yvette had dropped yet another one of the swains who she had brought almost to the point of matrimony. And he wasn’t all that old, but he was all that wealthy, and it should be remembered that dear Gwendoline has a keen eye for cash. Well, look where she’s got.’
Riley shook his head, which she answered with a shake of her own, saying, ‘Yes, yes, I know I’m being bitchy, but not half as much as Louise is, and with every reason. She’s sick of the sound of dear Gwendoline and of Yvette. There’s always talk about mothers-in-law bruising a marriage, but in this case a beloved sister is doing her best. Anyway, the second-class railway carriage proves that the rumour of a cut allowance has a firm foundation because where is her car?’
Yes, Riley thought, where was her car?
He took a spoonful of soup, then another; then stared into the bowl for a moment as he saw a picture of himself leaning towards Yvette, telling her what he thought of her.
‘Is it all right?’ Nyrene was looking across at the bowl, and, as if slightly startled, he said, ‘Yes. Yes. Of course it’s all right. Beautiful. You’ve never made soup that could be anything else but good. I was just thinking though about that set-up; dear Gwendoline and her daughter both of the same type really, as far as one can judge, but living like cat and dog.’
Nyrene nodded at him now, saying, ‘Yes, yes, it is a queer set-up, and the cat and dog business is not far off the mark, so Louise says. By the way, I had a phone call from home just a while ago.’
‘Oh yes? Is he all right?’
‘Yes, he seemed so very bright. He asked to speak to you.’
‘Oh dear! And I wasn’t in. But I’ll get on to him after I’ve finished this.’
‘That would be nice.’ Nyrene smiled at him.
Their compromise was holding.
Eleven
Riley had left David’s office in the New Palace, where they had been discussing a suitable play for the Gala Night Opening.
When he passed through the doors to the canopied entrance, he was surprised to see Lily Poole sheltering there. Pulling his coat collar tight against the driving sleet, he said in surprise, ‘What! You still here? I thought you had gone ages ago.’
‘I missed the damn bus.’
‘Well, look! I’ve left my car keys in my other coat in the flat. Come on! I’ll give you a lift.’ And with this, he grabbed her hand and ran her along to the end of the street and up the short alleyway to the door.
Inside she said, ‘By, it’s lovely and warm.’ Then, looking at the pile of papers on the couch and the two empty coffee cups on the low table, she said ‘How disgraceful! How untidy! Someone should have been in attendance here, shouldn’t they, sir?’
‘Yes, they should, cheeky face. Anyway I usually have a Mrs Mop, but she didn’t turn up.’
‘I’ll pop in tomorrow morning and do a bit of roughing. I’ll bet your kitchen’s in a muddle.’
‘No, it isn’t; you can go and see.’ He was shouting from the bedroom now. ‘A few dirty shirts, that’s all.’
‘Why don’t you use your washing machine?’
‘Too complicated, too many buttons. Anyway the shirts have to be ironed; I can only wear cotton. Nyrene will see to them when she comes.’
‘Oh, that’ll be a lovely welcome for her.’
He was in the hall now, pulling on his cap, and he said, ‘Come on, you! Get going, and stop interfering in other people’s lives.’
Their camaraderie could be explained by the fact that they were the only two remaining members of the cast from the time Riley had joined it. She was Lily Stewart then. He had been there only a few weeks when she came on the scene. She was then fifteen years old and acted as usherette, ticket office attendant, and relieved him of his tea-making; from the beginning she had addressed him as Mr Riley and confided in him that she wanted to be an actress.
Like his own at that time, her accent had been rather broad, and during her early efforts at acting she caused many a laugh with such lines as ‘The pollis is outside, ma’am,’ for ‘There’s a policeman at the door.’
He understood it had surprised everyone when, two years before, she married a long-distance lorry driver, all of six feet two inches tall, and broad with it.
In the car, she said, ‘If this is widespread Johnny’ll stay in some lay-by the night.’
‘Tonight, Lily.’
‘Oh you!’
He laughed as he started up the car, saying, ‘Those long distance lorries have enormous tyres; they can grip the ice, I understand.’
‘He hates slippery roads. He doesn’t mind it when it’s coming down but when it becomes skid stuff, as he calls it, he never risks his lorry, because it isn’t his.’
‘Wise man.’
‘What did you think of him when you saw him the other night in the bar?’
‘Well, I thought he’d make a good boxer.’
‘Funny, that’s what he intended to be, but he was wise enough to know that it takes more than a good punch to get you to the top in that business, and he’s too much of his own man to be bossed about.’
‘He seemed a quiet fellow, with not much to say.’
‘Yes, he is; but not all the time. He can do a lot of talking when he thinks it’s necessary.’ She gave a little huh! of a laugh here before she said, ‘He’s very jealous, you know.’
‘Well, I can understand that. You’re a bonny lass.’
