follow the same path? No one could bring the curtain down on it and go home to something else.
What would Joshua expect her to say? What would he want? She must not look at him as if she were expecting a cue. She did not want to hurt or embarrass him. She was suddenly overwhelmed by how much she cared and how inadequate she was to match up to these people. Cecily Antrim was radiant, so absolutely certain of what she thought and felt. The power of her feeling lent an incandescence to her beauty. It was at least half the reason the entire audience had watched her.
Cecily laughed. “My dear, are you afraid to speak, in case you hurt my feelings? I assure you, I can bear it!”
Caroline found her tongue at last, and smiled back. “I’m sure you can, Miss Antrim. But it is not an easy play to sum up in a few words and be even remotely honest, and I don’t believe you are looking for an easy reply. Even if you are, the work does not deserve one—”
“Bravo!” Orlando said from the background, holding his hands up in silent applause. “Please tell us what you really think, Mrs. Fielding. Perhaps we need to hear an honest opinion from outside the profession.”
There was complete silence.
Caroline felt her throat tighten. She swallowed. They were all staring at her. She had to speak.
“I think it asks a great many questions,” she said through dry lips. “Some of the answers we may need to know, but there are others I think perhaps we don’t. There are griefs one has to live with, and the thought that they were borne in private is all that makes them endurable.”
Cecily looked startled. “Oh dear. A cry from the heart, Joshua?” Her meaning was plain, even as it was also plain she was only teasing.
Joshua blushed slightly. “By heaven, I hope not!”
Everyone else laughed, except Pitt.
Caroline felt her face flame. She should have been able to laugh too, but she could not. She felt clumsy, unsophisticated, conscious of her hands and feet as if she were a schoolgirl again. And yet she was older than anyone else here. Was that what was wrong? Another three or four years older and she could have been Cecily Antrim’s mother. For that matter, she was seventeen years older than Joshua. Standing as he was beside Cecily, he must be aware of that.
How could she retain a shred of dignity and not look ridiculous and make him ashamed of her? They must wonder why on earth he had chosen to marry a woman like her anyway, so staid by comparison with them, so unimaginative, a stranger in their world, unable even to pass a clever or witty comment, let alone behave with an air of glamour and a magic as they did.
They were waiting for her to say something. She must not let them down. She had no wit to invent. There was nothing for it but to say what she thought.
She looked straight at Cecily, as if there were no one else in the crowded room.
“I am sure as an actress you are used to speaking for many people and feeling the emotions of women quite unlike yourself.” She phrased it as a certainty, but left it half a question by her intonation.
“Ah!” Orlando said instantly. “How perceptive, Mrs. Fielding. She has you there, Mama. How often do you think of the vulnerable as well as the passionate, those afflicted with doubts or wounds that are better hidden? Perhaps they have a right to privacy?”
The man named Harris looked shocked. “What are you suggesting, Orlando? Censorship?” He said the word in the tone of voice he would have used if he had said “treason.”
“Of course not!” Cecily retorted sharply. “That’s absurd! Orlando has no more love of censorship than I have. We’ll both fight to the last breath for the freedom to speak the truth, to ask questions, to suggest new ideas or restate old ones nobody wants to hear.” She shook her head. “For God’s sake, Harris, you know better than that. One man’s blasphemy is another man’s religion. Take that far enough and we’ll end up back
What would Joshua expect her to say? What would he want? She must not look at him as if she were expecting a cue. She did not want to hurt or embarrass him. She was suddenly overwhelmed by how much she cared and how inadequate she was to match up to these people. Cecily Antrim was radiant, so absolutely certain of what she thought and felt. The power of her feeling lent an incandescence to her beauty. It was at least half the reason the entire audience had watched her.
Cecily laughed. “My dear, are you afraid to speak, in case you hurt my feelings? I assure you, I can bear it!”
Caroline found her tongue at last, and smiled back. “I’m sure you can, Miss Antrim. But it is not an easy play to sum up in a few words and be even remotely honest, and I don’t believe you are looking for an easy reply. Even if you are, the work does not deserve one—”
“Bravo!” Orlando said from the background, holding his hands up in silent applause. “Please tell us what you really think, Mrs. Fielding. Perhaps we need to hear an honest opinion from outside the profession.”
There was complete silence.
Caroline felt her throat tighten. She swallowed. They were all staring at her. She had to speak.
“I think it asks a great many questions,” she said through dry lips. “Some of the answers we may need to know, but there are others I think perhaps we don’t. There are griefs one has to live with, and the thought that they were borne in private is all that makes them endurable.”
Cecily looked startled. “Oh dear. A cry from the heart, Joshua?” Her meaning was plain, even as it was also plain she was only teasing.
Joshua blushed slightly. “By heaven, I hope not!”
Everyone else laughed, except Pitt.
Caroline felt her face flame. She should have been able to laugh too, but she could not. She felt clumsy, unsophisticated, conscious of her hands and feet as if she were a schoolgirl again. And yet she was older than anyone else here. Was that what was wrong? Another three or four years older and she could have been Cecily Antrim’s mother. For that matter, she was seventeen years older than Joshua. Standing as he was beside Cecily, he must be aware of that.
How could she retain a shred of dignity and not look ridiculous and make him ashamed of her? They must wonder why on earth he had chosen to marry a woman like her anyway, so staid by comparison with them, so unimaginative, a stranger in their world, unable even to pass a clever or witty comment, let alone behave with an air of glamour and a magic as they did.
They were waiting for her to say something. She must not let them down. She had no wit to invent. There was nothing for it but to say what she thought.
She looked straight at Cecily, as if there were no one else in the crowded room.
“I am sure as an actress you are used to speaking for many people and feeling the emotions of women quite unlike yourself.” She phrased it as a certainty, but left it half a question by her intonation.
“Ah!” Orlando said instantly. “How perceptive, Mrs. Fielding. She has you there, Mama. How often do you think of the vulnerable as well as the passionate, those afflicted with doubts or wounds that are better hidden? Perhaps they have a right to privacy?”
The man named Harris looked shocked. “What are you suggesting, Orlando? Censorship?” He said the word in the tone of voice he would have used if he had said “treason.”
“Of course not!” Cecily retorted sharply. “That’s absurd! Orlando has no more love of censorship than I have. We’ll both fight to the last breath for the freedom to speak the truth, to ask questions, to suggest new ideas or restate old ones nobody wants to hear.” She shook her head. “For God’s sake, Harris, you know better than that. One man’s blasphemy is another man’s religion. Take that far enough and we’ll end up back
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