William Maugham - Theatre

‘Very good, miss.’

Evie went out and closed the door.

(‘I’m a fool. I’m a bloody fool.’)

But he had moved the table, and he was on his knees, and she was in his arms.

She sent him away a little before Miss Phillips was due, and when he was gone rang for Evie.

‘Play any good?’ asked Evie.

‘What play?’

‘The play ’e was talkin’to you abaht.’

‘He’s clever. Of course he’s young.’

Evie was looking down at the dressing-table. Julia liked everything always to be in the same place, and if a pot of grease or her eyeblack was not exactly where it should be made a scene.

‘Where’s your comb?’

He had used it to comb his hair and had carelessly placed it on the tea-table. When Evie caught sight of it she stared at it for a moment reflectively.

‘How on earth did it get there?’ cried Julia lightly.

‘I was just wondering.’

It gave Julia a nasty turn. Of course it was madness to do that sort of thing in the dressing-room. Why, there wasn’t even a key in the lock. Evie kept it. All the same the risk had given it a spice. It was fun to think that she could be so crazy. At all events they’d made a date now. Tom, she’d asked him what they called him at home and he said Thomas, she really couldn’t call him that, Tom wanted to take her to supper somewhere so that they could dance, and it happened that Michael was going up to Cambridge for a night to rehearse a series of one-act plays written by undergraduates. They would be able to spend hours together.

‘You can get back with the milk,’ he’d said.

‘And what about my performance next day?’

‘We can’t bother about that.’

She had refused to let him fetch her at the theatre, and when she got to the restaurant they had chosen he was waiting for her in the lobby. His face lit up as he saw her.

‘It was getting so late, I was afraid you weren’t coming.’

‘I’m sorry, some tiresome people came round after the play and I couldn’t get rid of them.’

But it wasn’t true. She had been as excited all the evening as a girl going to her first ball. She could not help thinking how absurd she was. But when she had taken off her theatrical make-up and made up again for supper she could not satisfy herself. She put blue on her eyelids and took it off again, she rouged her cheeks, rubbed them clean and tried another colour.

‘What are you trying to do?’ said Evie.

‘I’m trying to look twenty, you fool.’

‘If you try much longer you’ll look your age.’

She had never seen him in evening clothes before. He shone like a new pin. Though he was of no more than average height his slimness made him look tall. She was a trifle touched to see that for all his airs of the man of the world he was shy with the head waiter when it came to ordering supper. They danced and he did not dance very well, but she found his slight awkwardness rather charming. People recognized her, and she was conscious that he enjoyed the reflected glory of their glances.

A pair of young things who had been dancing came up to their table to say how do you do to her. When they had left he asked:

‘Wasn’t that Lord and Lady Dennorant?’

‘Yes. I’ve known George since he was at Eton.’

He followed them with his eyes.

‘She was Lady Cecily Laweston, wasn’t she?’

‘I’ve forgotten. Was she?’

It seemed a matter of no interest to her. A few minutes later another couple passed them.

‘Look, there’s Lady Lepard.’

‘Who’s she?’

‘Don’t you remember, they had a big party at their place in Cheshire a few weeks ago and the Prince of Wales was there. It was in the Bystander.’

Oh, that was how he got all his information. Poor sweet. He read about grand people in the papers and now and then, at a restaurant or a theatre, saw them in the flesh. Of course it was a thrill for him. Romance. If he only knew how dull they were really! This innocent passion for the persons whose photographs appear in the illustrated papers made him seem incredibly naive, and she looked at him with tender eyes.

‘Have you ever taken an actress out to supper before?’

He blushed scarlet.

‘Never.’

She hated to let him pay the bill, she had an inkling that it was costing pretty well his week’s salary, but she knew it would hurt his pride if she offered to pay it herself. She asked casually what the time was and instinctively he looked at his wrist.

‘I forgot to put on my watch.’

She gave him a searching look.

‘Have you pawned it?’

He reddened again.

‘No. I dressed in rather a hurry tonight.’

She only had to look at his tie to know that he had done no such thing. He was lying to her. She knew that he had pawned his watch in order to take her out to supper. A lump came into her throat. She could have taken him in her arms then and there and kissed his blue eyes. She adored him.

‘Let’s go,’ she said.

They drove back to his bed-sitting room in Tavistock Square.

NEXT day Julia went to Cartier’s and bought a watch to send to Tom Fennell instead of the one he had pawned, and two or three weeks later, discovering that it was his birthday, she sent him a gold cigarette-case.

‘D’you know, that’s the one thing I’ve wanted all my life.’

She wondered if there were tears in his eyes. He kissed her passionately.

Then, on one excuse and another, she sent him pearl studs and sleeve-links and waistcoat buttons. It thrilled her to make him presents.

‘It’s so awful that I can’t give you anything in return,’ he said.

‘Give me the watch you pawned to stand me a supper.’

It was a little gold watch that could not have cost more than ten pounds, but it amused her to wear it now and then.

It was not till after that night when they had first supped together that Julia confessed to herself that she had fallen in love with Tom. It came to her as a shock. But she was exhilarated.

‘I who thought I could never be in love again. Of course it can’t last. But why shouldn’t I get what fun out of it I can?’

She decided that he must come again to Stanhope Place. It was not long before an opportunity presented itself.

‘You know that young accountant of yours,’ she said to Michael. ‘Tom Fennell’s his name. I met him out at supper the other night and I’ve asked him to dinner next Sunday. We want an extra man.’

‘Oh, d’you think he’ll fit in?’

It was rather a grand party. It was on that account she had asked him. She thought it would please him to meet some of the people he had known only from their pictures. She had realized already that he was a bit of a snob. Well, that was all to the good; she could give him all the smart people he wanted. For Julia was shrewd, and she knew very well that Tom was not in love with her. To have an affair with her flattered his vanity. He was a highly-sexed young man and enjoyed sexual exercise. From hints, from stories that she had dragged out of him, she discovered that since he was seventeen he had had a great many women. He loved the act rather than the person. He looked upon it as the greatest lark in the world. And she could understand why he had so much success. There was something appealing in his slightness, his body was just skin and bone, that was why his clothes sat on him so well, and something charming in his clean freshness. His shyness and his effrontery combined to make him irresistible. It was strangely nattering for a woman to be treated as a little bit of fluff that you just tumbled on to a bed.

‘What he’s got, of course, is sex appeal.’

She knew that his good looks were due to his youth. He would grow wizened as he grew older, dried up and haggard; that charming flush on his cheeks would turn into a purple glow and his delicate skin would go lined and sallow; but the feeling that what she loved in him would endure so short a time increased her tenderness. She felt a strange compassion for him. He had the high spirits of youth, and she lapped them up as a kitten laps up milk. But he was not amusing. Though he laughed when Julia said a funny thing he never said one himself. She did not mind. She found his dullness restful. She never felt so light-hearted as in his company, and she could be brilliant enough for two.