* * *
In the end Kirsty elected to wear a silk jersey dress in a rich cinnamon shade which had been a gift from Chelsea. Her aunt had brought it for herself and then decided that the colour did nothing for her, so Kirsty had inherited it.
It was far more sophisticated than the clothes she normally wore, but she was glad she had chosen it when the front door of the Baileys’ substantial foursquare Georgian house opened to her knock and she saw how glamorously the other female guests were dressed.
‘You made it—I’m so glad!’ Helen Bailey said warmly as she took her coat and led the way up an attractive flight of stairs to what was obviously a spare bedroom, gesturing to Kirsty to make use of the dressing table and full-length mirror as she hung her coat in the spacious cupboard. ‘Simon tells me he’s got high hopes of your Hero,’ she added with a smile, breaking off to excuse herself as the doorbell pealed again. ‘Can you find your own way down?’ she asked hesitantly. ‘Or.…’
‘I’ll be fine,’ Kirsty assured her, not wanting to admit that without her hostess’s supportive presence she felt more like hiding herself away in the bedroom than going back downstairs. She hadn’t felt so alien and unsure of herself since secondary school. Her initial euphoric delight at getting the role had worn off during the night and she had woken up this morning seized with the conviction that she simply wasn’t up to the role of Hero, and never, ever would be.
There was a crowd of people milling about in the hall when she went downstairs, and she was just hesitating on the stairs when Cherry suddenly pounced on her, her eyebrows rising a little as she studied her slowly.
‘Wow, that’s some dress,’ she pronounced at last. ‘And not exactly chain-store either!’
It was impossible for Kirsty to be offended by her frank manner, and she explained lightly that it had been given to her.
‘Lucky you—which reminds me, another piece of luck for you. Simon asked me to enquire about lodgings for you, and I think I’ve found you some, but come and meet the others first, we’ll talk about it later.’
She plunged into the crowd, leaving Kirsty no option but to follow her, hoping that she had indeed found her somewhere to stay. Pleasant though the hotel was, it was proving a drain on her resources that she could ill afford.
She was introduced to so many people in such quick succession that she was convinced she would never remember their names. However, she did have an excellent memory for faces, and she just prayed that when she did meet them again at rehearsals they would reintroduce themselves.
‘Come and meet Clive Richmond, who’s playing Borachio,’ Cherry instructed. ‘But be warned—he’s something of a flirt.’
‘Who, me?’ Clive expostulated in mock-hurt accents. ‘Don’t listen to her, Kirsty, it’s all lies!’
They exchanged cheerful banter for several minutes, the sensation of being the only outsider at the party gradually leaving her as Kirsty joined in the conversation, and then allowed Cherry to detach her from Clive in order to introduce her to some of the others.
‘Exhausting, but necessary,’ she whispered to Kirsty at one point. ‘At least when you go home you’ll be able to say you’ve spoken to everyone.… Oh yes, and before I forget—about your lodgings. They’re with Mrs Cummings. She’s a widow—lives alone in a large old semi about a mile away from the theatre. She’s just had the upstairs converted into two self-contained bedsits. One of them she’s going to let to her niece who works in York, but she’s offered to let you have the other if you want it. The rent is very reasonable. She doesn’t provide meals, but I’ve seen the flat—there’s a marvellous purpose-built kitchen affair that can be partitioned off from the rest of the room. Shall I tell her you’re interested?’
‘Please. It sounds great!’
‘Well, now that that’s settled and you’ve met almost everyone, I suggest we give our feet a rest and find something to eat and drink,’ Cherry suggested practically. ‘Helen always puts on a superb spread. She and Simon make a good couple, don’t they?’
Agreeing, Kirsty followed her through the crowd. Cherry seemed to know her way round, and half an hour later, her plate filled with all manner of tempting bites, Kirsty sank gratefully into a chair next to Cherry, listening to her chattering about the other guests.
It was apparent that she knew most of them quite well; her comments were shrewd and funny, but never deliberately malicious. Only when Clive was mentioned did her voice change slightly. A flirt, she had called him, and although she would bear her warning in mind, Kirsty resolved to reserve judgment until she knew him a little better, because initially she had quite liked him.
‘Here comes our leading lady and her husband,’ Cherry announced suddenly. ‘She’s just finished filming a new series for television—Simon was jolly lucky to get her.’
Peering over her shoulder, Kirsty caught a glimpse of the famous actress through the crowd surrounding her.
‘I’ve heard she’s isn’t all sweetness and light with the lower orders,’ Cherry warned her. ‘Oh no—and just look who she’s brought with her!’ she groaned suddenly as the crowd parted.
Craning her neck, Kirsty did, paling as she recognised the beautiful mask-like features of Beverley Travers. Of all the bad luck!
‘They went to school together,’ Cherry chattered on, blithely oblivious to Kirsty’s consternation. ‘Bosom friends and all that, although you can bet your bottom dollar it isn’t friendship that’s brought her here tonight.’ She stressed the word ‘friendship’, and grimaced slightly, but Kirsty was too dismayed by Beverley Travers’ unexpected appearance to question her further. Later she was to wish she had done, but by then it was too late. Far too late.
The Baileys’ house was a comfortable size, and the drawing room carpet had been rolled back so that people could dance. An attractive teenager Cherry referred to as ‘Jim—he helps out after school and is a fantastic scenery shifter,’ seemed to be in charge of the hi-fi. Several couples were already dancing when Clive approached Kirsty and asked her to dance with him. Cherry was already dancing and Kirsty had no hesitation in accepting his invitation. She suspected that Cherry was quite right when she described him as a ‘flirt’ and moreover that she had been tactfully advising her of that fact, nevertheless he was good company, attractive and good fun, and she enjoyed the fifteen minutes or so she spent with him, and returned to her chair and her plate of food slightly breathless, warm colour tinging her clear skin.
‘Where do you find the energy?’ Helen asked her. ‘I envy you! Still, once junior arrives safely.…’ she patted her stomach and smiled, and mindful of what she had been told Kirsty wondered if perhaps Helen ought to be resting rather than tiring herself out entertaining them all. Something of her feelings obviously showed in her face, because Helen laughed. ‘Don’t worry,’ she told her. ‘I’m not as delicate as Simon likes to pretend—I’ve always been a semi-reluctant actress. Going on stage is something I always have to psyche myself up to, and it’s the strain of that rather than any physical tiredness I have to avoid. That’s why I’m not taking part in Much Ado.
‘Oh, here’s Drew at last,’ she exclaimed suddenly, a delightful smile illuminating her features. ‘Have you known him long?’
Drew? Did Helen mean Drew Chalmers? Kirsty stared at her in appalled disbelief.
‘Drew Chalmers?’ she questioned huskily. ‘But.…’
‘You knew he was hoping to come, of course?’ Helen was frowning now, obviously perplexed by Kirsty’s attitude. ‘Of course, as Simon’s partner Drew does try to come up here as often as he can, but as you will know, he has so many other business interests.’
Drew Chalmers was Simon’s partner—of all the appalling coincidences! Kirsty swallowed and tried to conceal her dismay. Out of the corner of her eye she glimpsed the familiar male outline of him; how could she ever forget it, it was engraved on her heart, but this was the last place she had expected to see him. She could only pray that Helen would go and give her an opportunity to escape before Drew spotted her.
She was just starting to inch away when Helen raised her hand and beckoned Drew over. Kirsty felt as though she wanted the ground to open up and swallow her, but it was no use telling Helen that she was the last person Drew would want to meet socially.
She was so engrossed in her own thoughts that she didn’t hear the beginning of Helen’s next sentence, merely catching the tail-end of it, but what she did hear was enough to widen her eyes in disbelief, her mind reeling with shock.
‘You mean Drew recommended me for Hero?’ she exclaimed in a shaken voice. ‘But he’d never do that, he.…’
‘I can assure you that he did,’ Helen confirmed merrily. ‘I must admit that at first Simon had doubts—after all, you’re very young, very inexperienced, but he has a good deal of faith in Drew’s judgment—it’s always proved sound in the past, although this is the first time he’s ever actively recommended such a relative unknown—of course, he does see much more of what’s going on in the theatre through his work as a critic.’