William Maugham: Theatre

‘Julia.’

She turned round and Tom, his face all smiles, caught her up. She had not seen him since her return from France. He was very smart in a neat grey suit and a brown hat. He was tanned by the sun.

‘I thought you were away.’

‘I came back on Monday. I didn’t ring up because I knew you were busy with the final rehearsals. I’m coming tonight; Michael gave me a stall.’

‘Oh, I’m glad.’

It was plain that he was delighted to see her. His face was eager and his eyes shone. She was pleased to discover that the sight of him excited no emotion in her. She wondered as they went on talking what there was in him that had ever so deeply affected her.

‘What on earth are you wandering about like this for?’

‘I’ve been for a stroll. I was just going in to tea.’

‘Come and have tea with me.’

His flat was just round the corner. Indeed he had caught sight of her just as he was going down the mews to get to it.

‘How is it you’re back so early?’

‘Oh, there’s nothing much on at the office just now. You know, one of our partners died a couple of months ago, and I’m getting a bigger share. It means I shall be able to keep on the flat after all. Michael was jolly decent about it, he said I could stay on rent free till things got better. I hated the idea of turning out. Do come. I’d love to make you a cup of tea.’

He rattled on so vivaciously that Julia was amused. You would never have thought to listen to him that there had ever been anything between them. He seemed perfectly unembarrassed.

‘All right. But I can only stay a minute.’

‘O.K.’

They turned into the mews and she preceded him up the narrow staircase.

‘You toddle along to the sitting-room and I’ll put the water on to boil.’

She went in and sat down. She looked round the room that had been the scene of so many emotions for her. Nothing was changed. Her photograph stood in its old place, but on the chimney piece was a large photograph also of Avice Crichton. On it was written for Tom from Avice. Julia took everything in. The room might have been a set in which she had once acted; it was vaguely familiar, but no longer meant anything to her. The love that had consumed her then, the jealousy she had stifled, the ecstasy of surrender, it had no more reality than one of the innumerable parts she had played in the past. She relished her indifference. Tom came in, with the tea-cloth she had given him, and neatly set out the tea-service which she had also given him. She did not know why the thought of his casually using still all her little presents made her inclined to laugh. Then he came in with the tea and they drank it sitting side by side on the sofa. He told her more about his improved circumstances. In his pleasant, friendly way he acknowledged that it was owing to the work that through her he had been able to bring the firm that he had secured a larger share in the profits. He told her of the holiday from which he had just returned. It was quite clear to Julia that he had no inkling how much he had made her suffer. That too made her now inclined to laugh.

‘I hear you’re going to have an enormous success tonight.’

‘It would be nice, wouldn’t it?’

‘Avice says that both you and Michael have been awfully good to her. Take care she doesn’t romp away with the play.’

He said it chaffingly, but Julia wondered whether Avice had told him that this was what she expected to do.

‘Are you engaged to her?’

‘No. She wants her freedom. She says an engagement would interfere with her career.’

‘With her what?’ The words slipped out of Julia’s mouth before she could stop them, but she immediately recovered herself. ‘Yes, I see what she means of course.’

‘Naturally, I don’t want to stand in her way. I mean, supposing after tonight she got a big offer for America I can quite see that she ought to be perfectly free to accept.’

Her career! Julia smiled quietly to herself.

‘You know, I do think you’re a brick, the way you’ve behaved to her.’

‘Why?’

‘Oh well, you know what women are!’

As he said this he slipped his arm round her waist and kissed her. She laughed outright.

‘What an absurd little thing you are.’

‘How about a bit of love?’

‘Don’t be so silly.’

‘What is there silly about it? Don’t you think we’ve been divorced long enough?’

‘I’m all for irrevocable divorce. And what about Avice?’

‘Oh, she’s different. Come on.’

‘Has it slipped your memory that I’ve got a first night tonight?’

‘There’s plenty of time.’

He put both arms round her and kissed her softly. She looked at him with mocking eyes. Suddenly she made up her mind.

‘All right.’

They got up and went into the bedroom. She took off her hat and slipped out of her dress. He held her in his arms as he had held her so often before. He kissed her closed eyes and the little breasts of which she was so proud. She gave him her body to do what he wanted with but her spirit held aloof. She returned his kisses out of amiability, but she caught herself thinking of the part she was going to play that night. She seemed to be two persons, the mistress in her lover’s embrace, and the actress who already saw in her mind’s eye the vast vague dark audience and heard the shouts of applause as she stepped on to the stage. When, a little later, they lay side by side, he with his arm round her neck, she forgot about him so completely that she was quite surprised when he broke a long silence.

‘Don’t you care for me any more?’

She gave him a little hug.

‘Of course, darling. I dote on you.’

‘You’re so strange today.’

She realized that he was disappointed. Poor little thing, she didn’t want to hurt his feelings. He was very sweet really.

‘With the first night before me I’m not really myself today. You mustn’t mind.’

When she came to the conclusion, quite definitely now, that she no longer cared two straws for him she could not help feeling a great pity for him. She stroked his cheek gently.

‘Sweetie pie. (I wonder if Michael remembered to have tea sent along to the queues. It doesn’t cost much and they do appreciate it so enormously.) You know, I really must get up. Miss Phillips is coming at six. Evie will be in a state, she won’t be able to think what’s happened to me.’

She chattered brightly while she dressed. She was conscious, although she did not look at him, that Tom was vaguely uneasy. She put her hat on, then she took his face in both her hands and gave him a friendly kiss.

‘Good-bye, my lamb. Have a good time tonight.’

‘Best of luck.’

He smiled with some awkwardness. She perceived that he did not quite know what to make of her. Julia slipped out of the flat, and if she had not been England’s leading actress, and a woman of hard on fifty, she would have hopped on one leg all the way down Stanhope Place till she got to her house. She was as pleased as punch. She let herself in with her latchkey and closed the front door behind her.

‘I dare say there’s something in what Roger said. Love isn’t worth all the fuss they make about it.’

FOUR hours later it was all over. The play went well from the beginning; the audience, notwithstanding the season, a fashionable one, were pleased after the holidays to find themselves once more in a playhouse, and were ready to be amused. It was an auspicious beginning for the theatrical season. There had been great applause after each act and at the end a dozen curtain calls; Julia took two by herself, and even she was startled by the warmth of her reception. She had made the little halting speech, prepared beforehand, which the occasion demanded. There had been a final call of the entire company and then the orchestra had struck up the National Anthem. Julia, pleased, excited and happy, went to her dressing-room. She had never felt more sure of herself. She had never acted with greater brilliance, variety and resource. The play ended with a long tirade in which Julia, as the retired harlot, castigated the flippancy, the uselessness, the immorality of the idle set into which her marriage had brought her. It was two pages long, and there was not another actress in England who could have held the attention of the audience while she delivered it. With her exquisite timing, with the modulation of her beautiful voice, with her command of the gamut of emotions, she had succeeded by a miracle of technique in making it a thrilling, almost spectacular climax to the play. A violent action could not have been more exciting nor an unexpected denouement more surprising. The whole cast had been excellent with the exception of Avice Crichton. Julia hummed in an undertone as she went into her dressing-room.