Read Online Drury Lane Darling by Joan Smith - Free Book Online Page A

the flirtation was soon dispatched. His charges had other matters on what they chose to call their minds. Nigel firmly refused to discuss Fleur with Pamela. He held the floor, “trying an idea for the play” out on them.
    “I envisage a hero with a surfeit of hubris, and a heroine chockfull of altruism to knock the stuffing out of him—philosophically speaking I mean.”
    “Could you translate that into English?” Pamela asked.
    “In simple words that even you could understand, what I have in mind is a confrontation between a man of specious good and a woman of intrinsic merit, who is spurned by society for some reason or other.”
    “Another simpering, put-upon heroine and a villain for her to tame into a hero,” Breslau said wearily. “At least we aren’t to be treated to autobiography, the other failing of amateurs. Try for a little originality, Nigel, and a little heart. Fleur aims her arrows south of the neck.”
    “Eh? You make it dammed hard.” He scowled. “The heroine has to be good.”
    “Good, but not necessarily perfect. And remember, if you’re writing for Fleur, make it a comedy.”
    “Damme, she’s told me to make it a tragedy. That’s what she wants to do next.”
    “What she wants is fifty guineas a performance. I told her I know half a dozen fine actresses who’d be happy to work for half that.”
    “And she knows the half dozen you have in mind—Rose Flanders, that’s who. Rose ain’t one, two, three with Fleur.”
    “Couldn’t you work out some compromise?” Pamela suggested. “I mean a serious play with some comedic scenes.”
    “Oil and water don’t mix. Every playwright worth his salt knows that,” Nigel told her.
    “Does Shakespeare know it?” she demanded hotly.
    “Hamlet don’t exactly have them rolling in the aisles,” Nigel riposted.
    “What about the grave-diggers’ scene? Just write about life, Nigel,” she urged. “Everybody’s life has some good times and some bad. Fleur’s own life certainly has.”
    “When I want help from an amateur, I’ll let you know, Pam,” Nigel said haughtily, and walked to the grate to stand with his hand artistically braced on his brow to aid inspiration. He found that the other hand on his waist, pushing back his jacket, added a certain something to the pose.
    Pamela gave him a derisive look. Breslau had begun to wonder if it was Miss Comstock’s involvement with Nigel that held her back from responding to his advances. She appeared quite concerned at his offering for Fleur. He gave her a laughing look. “You’ll not bring him up to scratch by nagging, Miss Comstock.”
    “I should hope not indeed!”
    It seemed she had no interest whatsoever in Nigel, so that couldn’t account for her behavior. His eyes rested on her newly arranged hair, and the rather plain gown. Her shawl had been cast aside, revealing an enchantingly lithe figure. “I was beginning to wonder if you hadn’t changed your mind when you dared to appear in front of Nigel in such a dashing new style. This isn’t the spinster who was scowling at us when we arrived.”
    “There’s no reason I must look a quiz in front of all the other gentlemen just because I don’t want Nigel to think I’m pretty,” she answered. Her tone was far from flirtatious. It had an angry buzz to it.
    “You’re regretting the young blade with Fleur, the one who got away?”
    Pamela called to enquire of Nigel who the gentleman was. He lifted his head from his hand a moment to reply, “I didn’t see any strange men there.”
    Even when she described him in vigorous detail, Nigel didn’t recall seeing him. “Fleur is the only one he spoke to, then he left,” she said. “I think he came just to see her. What do you think, Nigel?”
    “I think I’ll open with a duel.”
    Pamela scowled at Breslau. “You’ve created a monster,” she charged. “Bad as Nigel was before, I can see his head is going to be swollen to a pumpkin before this play is