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Authors: Victoria Holt
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said: “All right. I don’t promise anything, mind, but I’ll have a look at the girl.”
My mother was all smiles. The headache had evaporated.
“Dolly darling,” she said. “I knew you would.”
The result was that Lisa Fennell sang for Dolly while George Garland, my mother’s pianist, accompanied her on the piano. I was there with Martha.
“It’s good to have an audience,” my mother had said.
Lisa sang “Can I help you, madam?” and it was a good imitation of my mother.
Dolly grunted and asked her to go through one of the dances, which she did.
Dolly grunted again, but he would not give a verdict immediately.
“Just saving face,” my mother whispered to me. “Well, let him. It’s going to be all right.”
Later that day Dolly sent word that Lisa Fennell could start in the chorus the following Monday. He wanted her to get a little practice in dancing in the meantime.
Lisa was in a state of bliss.
“I can’t believe it. I really can’t,” she kept saying. “To think that I am in a show with the great Desiree.”
She was not more delighted than my mother, who said: “I know you are going to succeed. You’ve got the urge. That’s what it takes.”
“And to think that if I had not been run over and nearly killed …”
“That’s life, dear,” said my mother. “Something awful happens and it turns out to be good in the end.”
Lisa settled into the chorus and it was clear that she adored my mother.
I said: “She imitates your voice … she walks as you walk, with that special swing. You’re her model … her ideal.”
“She’s stagestruck, that’s all. I’m there and she’s making her way up.”
“She’s so grateful to you. You’ve given her her chance.”
“Well, they won’t be able to say she is inexperienced after this.”
Lisa said to me one day: “I’ve been looking at lodgings. I want to get somewhere near the theatre. It’s hopeless otherwise. Everything’s so terribly expensive. But I suppose I can just about manage. Your mother has been wonderful. I feel I just can’t encroach on her hospitality anymore.”
I told my mother what she had said.
“I expect she wants her independence. People like places of their own. Dolly’s a bit of an old skinflint. He says he can’t pay fancy salaries to chorus girls. If they don’t like what they get they can always go elsewhere.”
“She did say something about lodgings being expensive.”
“She’s no trouble here, is she?”
“I don’t think so. She’s quiet and helpful and gets on well with them all.”
“Well, sound her. Tell her she can stay if she likes. There’s that room at the top … if she has any qualms. That’s never used and she could be on her own up there.”
When I told her, I saw the joy in her face.
“It’s not only having to take something I couldn’t really afford, it’s being here … near your mother … right at the heart of things …”
“My mother said you could be on your own up there.”
“I don’t know what to say. No one has ever been so good to me before. Desiree is an angel.”
“She’s a wonderful person. I believe many people have discovered that.”
When she thanked Desiree, she was told: “You’ll find a way of paying me back if you want to. Not that I want paying. I tell you, dear, it’s as much pleasure for me as it is to you to see you doing the work you’re set on. You’ll get on and I’ll be the first to congratulate you.”
“And to know that but for you it could never have happened.”
“Oh, there are always ways, dear.”
We slipped into a routine. I did not see so much of Lisa Fennell. I think she was afraid of intruding. She had the big attic room, the ceiling of which sloped on either side; and there she lived in quiet contentment. She used to sing songs from Countess Maud and often I thought it was my mother singing.
It was three months since the first night of Countess Maud, and the audiences were still flocking to see it.
My mother was all smiles. The headache had evaporated.
“Dolly darling,” she said. “I knew you would.”
The result was that Lisa Fennell sang for Dolly while George Garland, my mother’s pianist, accompanied her on the piano. I was there with Martha.
“It’s good to have an audience,” my mother had said.
Lisa sang “Can I help you, madam?” and it was a good imitation of my mother.
Dolly grunted and asked her to go through one of the dances, which she did.
Dolly grunted again, but he would not give a verdict immediately.
“Just saving face,” my mother whispered to me. “Well, let him. It’s going to be all right.”
Later that day Dolly sent word that Lisa Fennell could start in the chorus the following Monday. He wanted her to get a little practice in dancing in the meantime.
Lisa was in a state of bliss.
“I can’t believe it. I really can’t,” she kept saying. “To think that I am in a show with the great Desiree.”
She was not more delighted than my mother, who said: “I know you are going to succeed. You’ve got the urge. That’s what it takes.”
“And to think that if I had not been run over and nearly killed …”
“That’s life, dear,” said my mother. “Something awful happens and it turns out to be good in the end.”
Lisa settled into the chorus and it was clear that she adored my mother.
I said: “She imitates your voice … she walks as you walk, with that special swing. You’re her model … her ideal.”
“She’s stagestruck, that’s all. I’m there and she’s making her way up.”
“She’s so grateful to you. You’ve given her her chance.”
“Well, they won’t be able to say she is inexperienced after this.”
Lisa said to me one day: “I’ve been looking at lodgings. I want to get somewhere near the theatre. It’s hopeless otherwise. Everything’s so terribly expensive. But I suppose I can just about manage. Your mother has been wonderful. I feel I just can’t encroach on her hospitality anymore.”
I told my mother what she had said.
“I expect she wants her independence. People like places of their own. Dolly’s a bit of an old skinflint. He says he can’t pay fancy salaries to chorus girls. If they don’t like what they get they can always go elsewhere.”
“She did say something about lodgings being expensive.”
“She’s no trouble here, is she?”
“I don’t think so. She’s quiet and helpful and gets on well with them all.”
“Well, sound her. Tell her she can stay if she likes. There’s that room at the top … if she has any qualms. That’s never used and she could be on her own up there.”
When I told her, I saw the joy in her face.
“It’s not only having to take something I couldn’t really afford, it’s being here … near your mother … right at the heart of things …”
“My mother said you could be on your own up there.”
“I don’t know what to say. No one has ever been so good to me before. Desiree is an angel.”
“She’s a wonderful person. I believe many people have discovered that.”
When she thanked Desiree, she was told: “You’ll find a way of paying me back if you want to. Not that I want paying. I tell you, dear, it’s as much pleasure for me as it is to you to see you doing the work you’re set on. You’ll get on and I’ll be the first to congratulate you.”
“And to know that but for you it could never have happened.”
“Oh, there are always ways, dear.”
We slipped into a routine. I did not see so much of Lisa Fennell. I think she was afraid of intruding. She had the big attic room, the ceiling of which sloped on either side; and there she lived in quiet contentment. She used to sing songs from Countess Maud and often I thought it was my mother singing.
It was three months since the first night of Countess Maud, and the audiences were still flocking to see it.
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