William Maugham - Theatre

‘I was going down to Sandwich to play golf. Would it bore you awfully to go? I expect the play’s rotten, but you’d be able to tell if it was worth while letting her read the part. Tom’ll go with you.’

Julia’s heart was beating nineteen to the dozen.

‘Of course I’ll go.’

She phoned to Tom and asked him to come round and have a snack before they went to the theatre. He arrived before she was ready.

‘Am I late or were you early?’ she said, when she came into the drawing-room.

She saw that he had been waiting impatiently. He was nervous and eager.

‘They’re going to ring up sharp at eight,’ he said. ‘I hate getting to a play after it’s begun.’

His agitation told her all she wanted to know. She lingered a little over the cocktails.

‘What is the name of this actress we’re going to see tonight?’ she asked.

‘Avice Crichton. I’m awfully anxious to know what you think about her. I think she’s a find. She knows you’re coming tonight. She’s frightfully nervous, but I told her she needn’t be. You know what these Sunday night plays are; scratch rehearsals and all that; I said you’d quite understand and you’d make allowances.’

All through dinner he kept looking at his watch. Julia acted the woman of the world. She talked of one thing and another and noticed that he listened with distraction. As soon as he could he brought the conversation back to Avice Crichton.

‘Of course I haven’t said anything to her about it, but I believe she’d be all right for Honor.’ He had read Nowadays, as he read, before they were produced, all Julia’s plays. ‘She looks the part all right, I’m sure of that. She’s had a struggle and of course it would be a wonderful chance for her. She admires you tremendously and she’s terribly anxious to get into a play with you.’

‘That’s understandable. It means the chance of a year’s run and a lot of managers seeing her.’

‘She’s the right colour, she’s very fair; she’d be a good contrast to you.’

‘What with platinum and peroxide there’s no lack of blondes on the stage.’

‘But hers is natural.’

‘Is it? I had a long letter from Roger this morning. He seems to be having quite a good time in Vienna.’

Tom’s interest subsided. He looked at his watch. When the coffee came Julia said it was undrinkable. She said she must have some more made.

‘Oh, Julia, it isn’t worth while. We shall be awfully late.’

‘I don’t suppose it matters if we miss the first few minutes.’

His voice was anguished.

‘I promised we wouldn’t be late. She’s got a very good scene almost at the beginning.’

‘I’m sorry, but I can’t go without my coffee.’

While they waited for it she maintained a bright flow of conversation. He scarcely answered. He looked anxiously at the door. And when the coffee came she drank it with maddening deliberation. By the time they got in the car he was in a state of cold fury and he stared silently in front of him with a sulky pout on his mouth. Julia was not dissatisfied with herself. They reached the theatre two minutes before the curtain rose and as Julia appeared there was a burst of clapping from the audience. Julia, apologizing to the people she disturbed, threaded her way to her seat in the middle of the stalls. Her faint smile acknowledged the applause that greeted her beautifully-timed entrance, but her downcast eyes modestly disclaimed that it could have any connexion with her.

The curtain went up and after a short scene two girls came in, one very pretty and young, the other much older and plain. In a minute Julia turned to Tom and whispered:

‘Which is Avice Crichton, the young one or the old one?’

‘The young one.’

‘Oh, of course, you said she was fair, didn’t you?’

She gave his face a glance. He had lost his sulky look; a happy smile played on his lips. Julia turned her attention to the stage. Avice Crichton was very pretty, no one could deny that, with lovely golden hair, fine blue eyes and a little straight nose; but it was a type that Julia did not care for.

‘Insipid,’ she said to herself. ‘Chorus-girly.’

She watched her performance for a few minutes. She watched intently, then she leant back in her stall with a little sigh.

‘She can’t act for toffee,’ she decided. When the curtain fell Tom turned to her eagerly. He had completely got over his bad temper. ‘What do you think of her?’

‘She’s as pretty as a picture.’

‘I know that. But her acting. Don’t you think she’s good?’

‘Yes, clever.’

‘I wish you’d come round and tell her that yourself. It would buck her up tremendously.’

‘I?’

He did not realize what he was asking her to do. It was unheard-of that she, Julia Lambert, should go behind and congratulate a small-part actress.

‘I promised I’d take you round after the second act. Be a sport, Julia. It’ll please her so much.’

(‘The fool. The blasted fool. All right, I’ll go through with it.’) ‘Of course if you think it’ll mean anything to her, I’ll come with pleasure.’

After the second act they went through the iron door and Tom led her to Avice Crichton’s dressing-room. She was sharing it with the plain girl with whom she had made her first entrance. Tom effected the introductions. She held out a limp hand in a slightly affected manner.

‘I’m so glad to meet you, Miss Lambert. Excuse this dressing-room, won’t you? But it was no good trying to make it look nice just for one night.’

She was not in the least nervous. Indeed, she seemed self-assured.

(‘Hard as nails. And with an eye to the main chance. Doing the colonel’s daughter on me.’)

‘It’s awfully nice of you to come round I’m afraid it’s not much of a play, but when one’s starting like I am one has to put up with what one can get. I was rather doubtful about it when they sent it me to read, but I took a fancy to the part.’

‘You play it charmingly,’ said Julia.

‘It’s awfully nice of you to say so. I wish we could have had a few more rehearsals. I particularly wanted to show you what I could do.’

‘Well, you know, I’ve been connected with the profession a good many years. I always think, if one has talent one can’t help showing it. Don’t you?’

‘I know what you mean. Of course I want a lot more experience, I know that, but it’s only a chance I want really. I know I can act. If I could only get a part that I could really get my teeth into.’

She waited a little in order to let Julia say that she had in her new play just the part that would suit her, but Julia continued to look at her smilingly. Julia was grimly amused to find herself treated like a curate’s wife to whom the squire’s lady was being very kind.

‘Have you been on the stage long?’ she said at last. ‘It seems funny I should never have heard of you.’

‘Well, I was in revue for a while, but I felt I was just wasting my time. I was out on tour all last season. I don’t want to leave London again if I can help it.’

‘The theatrical profession’s terribly overcrowded,’ said Julia.

‘Oh, I know. It seems almost hopeless unless you’ve got influence or something. I hear you’re putting a new play on soon.’

‘Yes.’

Julia continued to smile with an almost intolerable sweetness.

‘If there’s a part for me in it, I’d most awfully like to play with you. I’m so sorry Mr Gosselyn couldn’t come tonight.’

‘I’ll tell him about you.’

‘D’you really think there’s a chance for me?’ Through her self-assurance, through the country-house manner she assumed in order to impress Julia, there pierced an anxious eagerness. ‘If you’d put in a word for me it would help so much.’