Read Online Wish Her Safe at Home by Stephen Benatar - Free Book Online
Authors: Stephen Benatar
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never been one of my favourite stories and I don’t know why I’d even thought of it; Prince Charming’s palace would probably have been just as pleasing. I much preferred
Cinderella
. And shortly before the war I’d seen a rerun of
Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs
. I’d liked that, too, and told the little boy next door that someday my own prince would come; at five years old I had genuinely believed it. But Bobby was unkind. “Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the fairest of them all?” He laughed and pointed a grubby and derisive finger. “Not you, Rachel Waring, not you! Besides, you haven’t got a wicked stepmother,” he added a little more gently, as though this might actually be a matter for condolence.
Some three years later, after my father had died and all the tickling had stopped, Bobby’s words came back to me. Snow White’s father had also been dead or at any rate he hadn’t seemed to be around. And in the interim, I thought, I’d really grown much prettier. My grief had made me so. Therefore I began hopefully to chant, mainly at bedtime, the mirror incantation. Of course, this hadn’t actually been Snow White’s role—but was anyone about to nitpick?
In some ways it was almost as well that the tickling had stopped. Handsome princes didn’t usually come to maidens who were cosseted.
Not usually. But when I was much older I hesitantly went to a party at which—although I remember it better for another and not wholly unconnected reason—a group of us was choosing the person, living or dead, whom we should most like to have been. “Grace Kelly,” I answered shyly, when eventually it came round to my turn.
I then had to say why.
“Well... ” It appeared so obvious. She came from a cultured, wealthy family. She was lovely to look at. She’d had a tremendous success in Hollywood; won an Oscar; played opposite many of the best-known and most attractive actors (some of whom, it was thought, had carried on affairs with her) and now, on top of all of that, there were even rumours she might marry a prince.
Champagne and Ruritania combined. Applause; celebration. A honeysuckle path, from cot to marriage bed.
“It just isn’t fair,” I said.
They waited. Others had made their answer several times as long. I was the one with whom the game was finishing. I fought against providing anticlimax.
“You see, I’d really like to have been an actress. To play interesting roles, have interesting rehearsals, work with warmhearted and truly committed people. As often as possible, I mean, to be part of a close and caring company.”
I was talking far too quickly and I knew I’d gone quite red.
“Though I’m not sure if she’s ever actually appeared on stage.”
There was still a silence but I simply couldn’t think of anything to add.
“That’s all.”
“Well, if you’re being serious about wanting to be an actress,” someone asked, “what’s stopping you? After all you’re only twenty. You’ve still got time.” She gave a sidelong glance at those around us.
“But I don’t know any of the right people; I haven’t got connections.” I was aware they thought this very feeble.
“Connections? The ability’s no problem?”
“I don’t know.”
“We must find out,” they said. “An audition!”
“What?”
“Recite something. Anything. ‘To be or not to be: that is the question... ’”
“Don’t be silly.” I was beginning to panic.
“A poem, then.”
“No. I couldn’t.”
“Oh, don’t be shy, Rachel. We think you’re probably quite good.”
I could see they were never going to leave it. Instead they were growing more persistent. I mumbled desperately for mercy.
“Silence, silence, everybody! Rachel’s about to recite a poem.”
“No... No!”
I had a choice between rushing from the room, bursting into tears or actually doing what they wanted. I whispered, before the whole party should get to hear of it, “Will just a few lines be
Cinderella
. And shortly before the war I’d seen a rerun of
Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs
. I’d liked that, too, and told the little boy next door that someday my own prince would come; at five years old I had genuinely believed it. But Bobby was unkind. “Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the fairest of them all?” He laughed and pointed a grubby and derisive finger. “Not you, Rachel Waring, not you! Besides, you haven’t got a wicked stepmother,” he added a little more gently, as though this might actually be a matter for condolence.
Some three years later, after my father had died and all the tickling had stopped, Bobby’s words came back to me. Snow White’s father had also been dead or at any rate he hadn’t seemed to be around. And in the interim, I thought, I’d really grown much prettier. My grief had made me so. Therefore I began hopefully to chant, mainly at bedtime, the mirror incantation. Of course, this hadn’t actually been Snow White’s role—but was anyone about to nitpick?
In some ways it was almost as well that the tickling had stopped. Handsome princes didn’t usually come to maidens who were cosseted.
Not usually. But when I was much older I hesitantly went to a party at which—although I remember it better for another and not wholly unconnected reason—a group of us was choosing the person, living or dead, whom we should most like to have been. “Grace Kelly,” I answered shyly, when eventually it came round to my turn.
I then had to say why.
“Well... ” It appeared so obvious. She came from a cultured, wealthy family. She was lovely to look at. She’d had a tremendous success in Hollywood; won an Oscar; played opposite many of the best-known and most attractive actors (some of whom, it was thought, had carried on affairs with her) and now, on top of all of that, there were even rumours she might marry a prince.
Champagne and Ruritania combined. Applause; celebration. A honeysuckle path, from cot to marriage bed.
“It just isn’t fair,” I said.
They waited. Others had made their answer several times as long. I was the one with whom the game was finishing. I fought against providing anticlimax.
“You see, I’d really like to have been an actress. To play interesting roles, have interesting rehearsals, work with warmhearted and truly committed people. As often as possible, I mean, to be part of a close and caring company.”
I was talking far too quickly and I knew I’d gone quite red.
“Though I’m not sure if she’s ever actually appeared on stage.”
There was still a silence but I simply couldn’t think of anything to add.
“That’s all.”
“Well, if you’re being serious about wanting to be an actress,” someone asked, “what’s stopping you? After all you’re only twenty. You’ve still got time.” She gave a sidelong glance at those around us.
“But I don’t know any of the right people; I haven’t got connections.” I was aware they thought this very feeble.
“Connections? The ability’s no problem?”
“I don’t know.”
“We must find out,” they said. “An audition!”
“What?”
“Recite something. Anything. ‘To be or not to be: that is the question... ’”
“Don’t be silly.” I was beginning to panic.
“A poem, then.”
“No. I couldn’t.”
“Oh, don’t be shy, Rachel. We think you’re probably quite good.”
I could see they were never going to leave it. Instead they were growing more persistent. I mumbled desperately for mercy.
“Silence, silence, everybody! Rachel’s about to recite a poem.”
“No... No!”
I had a choice between rushing from the room, bursting into tears or actually doing what they wanted. I whispered, before the whole party should get to hear of it, “Will just a few lines be