‘Flora, open this door – now.’
Pepperly’s voice was low but she heard the urgency in it as she stood on the other side, watching through the peephole as he paced in the hotel corridor. He had been out there for several minutes and people walking past were throwing him wary looks as he tipped his hat to them, trying not to look as foolish as he felt. She knew that in a place like the Ritz, he couldn’t risk making a scene. She had quickly learned that out here in the big, wide world, people’s behaviour was constrained by a sense of place. Such a concept had not existed back home.
‘I know you’re in there. Open the door, please, or I’ll be forced to ask reception to lend me their master key.’
She flinched, falling back a step as he rapped his knuckles hard on the wood again.
‘Don’t think they won’t do as I ask – I’m paying for this room, remember. Now, open up.’
She stared at her side of the door, knowing she couldn’t stay hiding in here forever, that she would have to face him sooner or later. She opened up and he blinked back, the two of them regarding one another in silence as he took in the sight of her reddened eyes and pale cheeks.
He strode into the room, taking off his hat and throwing it onto the rose-pink silk sofa, then shrugging off his overcoat. ‘Two o’clock, I said,’ he began, turning to face her. ‘Everyone’s been waiting for you since two o’clock. That was three hours ago! You won’t pick up the phone and then you keep me standing out there like an eejit? . . . You’re not only being unprofessional, Flora, you’re being rude too! What’s got into you?’
‘I’m sorry, Pepper, I can’t.’
‘Can’t? Can’t what?’
She stared at him, seeing the frustration in his eyes even though he was outwardly calm. He was a man used to crises.
‘I can’t do it. I can’t be part of this.’
There was a pause.
‘I see.’ He lapsed into a thoughtful silence before nodding a little to himself. He walked over to the windows which gave onto a courtyard garden and put a hand to the taffeta curtains, looking out briefly, but she could tell he was blind to the sight of the statues and the city’s autumn colours; his focus was entirely on what was inside this room. He turned back to her, stuffing his hands into his trouser pockets. His calmness was unnerving. ‘And when you say you can’t be part of this, you mean be part of the show that has been built entirely around you? Or . . . this?’ His eyes swivelled around the sumptuous room, scented with fresh roses, the bed made in silk.
She froze under the weight of his accusing stare – it was like wearing a suit of lead.
He moved away from the window and slipped a hand inside his suit jacket to retrieve his cigarette case; it was silver, from Asprey. ‘You know, it may come as a surprise to you to hear this, but you are not the first – and nor will you be the last – star performer to get cold feet.’
Cold feet? She wasn’t sure she understood. Her feet were never cold.
‘It’s entirely normal.’ She watched as he lit up, the tip of the cigarette beginning to glow. He jogged his eyebrows at a memory. ‘I once had one young lady so terrified on her opening night that she tried to jump from the moving car on the way over.’ He glanced at his wristwatch. ‘But see here, we can go over all that at the venue. There are all sorts of . . . breathing exercises we can do. Not to mention a fresh glass of champagne to take the edge off. But we need to get your make-up done and if nothing else, the rest of the cast and the orchestra need to see you, so they’re reassured that these past six weeks of hard work haven’t been for nothing.’ He arched an eyebrow as he regarded her with paternal disappointment. ‘It’s unnerving for them all, waiting and waiting for you to show. Gilles has been stretched to his limit trying to keep their nerves settled, I can tell you.’
Her stomach lurched at the thought of all the people she would be letting down; people she had come to regard as friends. He walked over to where her coat still lay in a heap on the floor from when she’d run in. He picked it up and flicked it, easing out the wrinkles; her shoes too, lying on their side, were brought over to where she stood. ‘Come now. As they say, we must get the show on the road.’
Still Flora stared at him.
‘Come now, Flora,’ he repeated, more impatiently. ‘Put this on, and we’ll say no more about it. There’s no real harm done by you missing this afternoon. I don’t doubt the rest did you the power of good.’
She took a step back, seeing how his eyes narrowed at the refusal. ‘I’m sorry, Pepper, it’s not that my feet are cold.’
Slowly he lowered his arms, the hem of the coat puddling on the carpet like a matador’s cape as he stared at her for a moment, before turning away in anger. She saw him catch sight of the suitcase on the bed and he whirled back to face her, seeing that this was, indeed, no joke. She really was leaving.
‘I have to go back,’ she confirmed. ‘I’m needed at home.’
He rolled his eyes in exasperation as he walked over towards the ashtray on the table and flicked in his cigarette ash. ‘Yes, yes, I’m aware – your father is convalescing, it’s a difficult time. Even so, this is not the time to take a trip home! We have a thousand people coming to see you tonight! It’s a sell-out!’
‘I know—’
‘And you also know the trade press are reviewing you. Not just you – the dancers, the musicians, all the people who have helped put this together. No-show equals no show. You’re putting all their livelihoods at risk. Many of them have families. You aren’t the only person with problems, Flora.’
‘I know, but things have changed. I can’t go on stage for you – not tonight or any night. I’m truly sorry.’
‘You’re sorry?’ His eyes were cold now. ‘Oh, I’m afraid I’m going to need a fuller explanation than that, Flora. If you want me to go back to the great Casino de Paris and tell them this is off, a few hours before curtain up, then I’m going to need something more than homesickness as an explanation!’
Her mouth opened but still the words stalled in her throat. How could she tell him what she’d done? The whole, awful story – how it had led her here and was now driving her from here too?
She watched him as he took a deep drag of his cigarette, impatient and irritated.
‘It’s a private matter. Nothing to do with my father.’ She swallowed nervously, scarcely able to hold his gaze. ‘I’m grateful for all you’ve done for me, but I have no choice – I’ve got to go back. If I could do anything to change it, I would. Of course I would.’
‘You would if you could . . .’ he muttered, flicking more ash into the ashtray. He straightened up with a sigh and stared at her for several long moments, reading the micro-expressions running over her face. ‘Well,’ he said finally, throwing a hand up in the air. ‘Then if your mind is set, I suppose there’s nothing more I can do. We’ll just settle up the money you owe me and you can be on your way.’
She watched as he stubbed out the cigarette and walked over to the chaise, picking up his coat and smoothing lint off the shoulders.
‘Money?’
‘Yes. You need to repay me the money from the advance and I’ll get my accountant to send you an invoice detailing all your food and drink expenses, the clothes, this place . . . The jewels were only ever on loan, so as long as they’re returned you won’t be liable for them.’
Flora stared at him, seeing how he pinched the top of his hat into precise folds and placed it neatly atop his head. Her heart had begun to pound, her blood rushing in her ears. ‘What do you mean, repay the advance?’ Much of it had already been spent – getting her father home from the hospital in the private ambulance, buying a wheelchair for him to get about, paying the hospital and doctor’s bills, his medications . . .
‘As per the contract you signed, all costs were to be netted off against profits. Now, obviously, with no show there’ll be no income stream, much less any profits – we’ll have to refund the ticket sales – but in the event you pull out for any reason, you bear all reasonable expenses incurred to this point. Theoretically I could sue you for breach of contract too, especially at this late stage, but I’m not a malicious man.’ He lifted his hat courteously and headed for the door. ‘Twenty-eight days’ notice is standard for payment, just so you know.’
Twenty-eight days? To repay a hundred-pound debt?
‘Pepper!’ she cried as he put a hand to the doorknob. Her heart felt like it might leap from her chest. All colour seemed to have drained from the room.
He turned back to her. ‘Yes, Flora?’ He stared at her coolly but she saw the fire in his eyes. In the space of mere minutes, everything between them had changed, and there was a look there now that she had never seen before. They both knew that she had absolutely no way of reimbursing his costs.
‘You know I can’t afford to pay you back.’
‘Yes, I do appreciate it’s going to be a problem for you – but my conscience is clear. I have creditors to keep happy too, and if you’re prepared to drop me in it with them without any hesitation, I fail to see why I should grant you any special favours.’
‘But if I can’t pay you back—’
‘There’s no such thing as can’t, Flora. There’s always a way. It’s just a question of how low you have to go. When I met you, you were hocking the only valuable possession you owned. But what will you have to sell after that, eh? What do you have that men would think worth paying for?’
There was a pause as he let the implication settle in her mind.
‘I offered you a way out; I saved you from that. My business proposition threw you – and your family – a lifeline, and now here you are, living in the Paris Ritz, on the cusp of making headlines with your beauty, your talent, your sophistication. I’ve given you everything I said I would. And now you’re throwing it back in my face?’ He shrugged again.
She swallowed, hearing the truth in his words but if he only knew the horror of what other fate she faced – losing her child forever. ‘What will happen if I don’t pay you? If I can’t?’
His eyes narrowed. ‘Well, we don’t have a formal debtor’s prison system any more, but a presiding judge could still see fit to lock you up. Especially if many other livelihoods are impacted by your actions.’
Flora felt her blood run cold. If she too was locked up, Mary really could take her son anywhere in the time it could take her to get out again. She would have no way of ever finding them.
She was caught in a stalemate: stay here and lose her son, or leave here and risk her freedom.
She stared at Pepperly, knowing she had no leverage, no power, no freedom. Not unless . . . A thought came to her; a terrible one, but desperate times called for desperate measures.
‘I’m sorry to have to do this, Pepper, but if you insist on holding me to the contract, then . . .’ She swallowed as she watched a new suspicion dawn in his eyes. ‘I’ll be obliged to let people know what I saw today.’
Suspicion switched to utter shock that she would dare to blackmail him. ‘And what did you see today, Flora?’ he asked, drawing the words out slowly.
‘You and Marcel, in the office . . . It’s against the law, you know. Not to mention, a sin.’
A silence drew out and Pepperly looked confounded by her low blow – at least, until he burst out laughing. ‘Oh, Flora! How very bourgeois you are!’ he cried. ‘Is that it? I thought you had more originality than that! Are you really such a simpleton that you will only live according to the rules set out by the church and by the courts? You may be from humble stock, but you have the face of a queen! I thought you had an innate sophistication that raised you above the dumb sheep you tended!’
Her cheeks burned as he stepped towards her. For the first time in their relationship, she felt a distinct sense of threat.
‘Come now, Flora,’ he said in a low voice. ‘You should know that people in glass houses should never throw stones.’ Without breaking eye contact, he ran his finger firmly along the right side of her belly, just as Marie had all those weeks ago. ‘The body tells tales on us, even when the mouth stays shut . . . You have secrets too,’ he whispered.
Tears filled her eyes. He knew about the baby. Somehow, that . . . tiger stripe had told Marie, and she had told him.
She nodded, unable to deny it now, as a solitary tear began to slide down her cheek. ‘. . . Yes.’
He turned away, as if her emotion bothered him, crossing the room and going to stand by the window again. A silence ballooned between them, their mutual threats having failed, their secrets bristling in plain sight. He still held all the cards but neither one of them spoke for several moments.
‘. . . Do you want to tell me about it?’ he asked finally, looking back at her.
She shrugged, feeling hopeless, tears beginning to fall readily. ‘What’s to tell? My fiancé died. And I had to give up our baby . . . I h-had to give him away.’ She dropped her head in her hands, her shoulders beginning to heave as the thought of Mary disappearing with her child took root in her mind. Donald had been the only mitigating factor in their arrangement – but now he was in police custody, being questioned for murder.
‘You’ve been through a lot.’ If his words were understated, they were also kind.
‘It’s worse than that, Pepper: I had hoped to get him back again, but the woman who’s got him—’ Her voice quavered. ‘She’s disappeared. I had a call today telling me she’s gone. That’s why I have to go back there, do you see? If I don’t find my son now, I’ll lose him forever.’ This time her voice fully cracked into a sob and she was surprised to feel him lead her over to the sofa and sit her down.
‘No, Flora. You’re wrong. Lost is lost.’
She pulled back from him in alarm. She had thought he would understand! ‘But—’
‘This isn’t a matter of time, but of resources. Money is what you need if you want to get your son back.’
Flora blinked, stunned by the simplicity of his words. Were they true?
‘Now listen – I can help you, but only if you help me.’
‘H-how?’
‘I’ve put everything on the line for this production. I had big plans for you and I’ve put my money where my mouth is. I’ll be straight with you: if this show doesn’t go ahead, then I’ll be ruined – completely financially wiped out – and my creditors might come after you instead. If they do, there’ll be nothing I can do to help you.’
Flora listened, appalled, as he spoke.
‘But,’ he continued, patting her hand, ‘if we make this thing a success, you’ll have everything you need at your disposal to find your son and get him back again. You’ll be able to hire the best private detective money can buy and there’ll be nowhere in the world that woman can hide from you.’
She blinked, trying to take in his words; to believe them when every instinct was telling her to find her child now. ‘R-really?’
‘Yes. I can help you do that, Flora, I promise. But it’s quid pro quo.’
‘Quid pro . . .?’ she faltered.
He gave a stiff smile. ‘You scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours.’
The corridor fell silent as they walked back in, eyes dragging over them – her – as if their showdown could be read on their faces. Pepperly hadn’t said a word on the journey over, staring out of the window at the raindrops wriggling down the glass. The darkening skies were grey and the city’s soundtrack had become a sluicing of wheels through puddles, far-off thunder a drumbeat to a distant storm. Flora thought of St Kilda, alone and dark and silent in the ocean, providing shelter to the fishermen but no hospitality; not any more.
‘What’s everyone standing around for?’ he barked, striding forward as people in pairs and groups jumped out of his way and fell back into their dressing rooms. The stage was now off limits as the front-of-house team made the final preparations – vacuuming, sweeping and polishing – before the doors were opened to the public and they finally had what he called ‘bums on seats’.
Flora slipped into her dressing room behind him. Estelle, in charge of her make-up, was reading a magazine on the green chaise and she jumped up with a small squeal as Flora slipped off her coat.
‘M’selle!’ she gasped. ‘You are here!’
‘Yes.’
‘But where have you been? We were so worried!’
Flora gave a wan smile; she felt completely drained. ‘Just a touch of nerves. But I’m all right now.’
Outside, a babble of voices rose along the backstage area as the news spread that the star had returned. It was go-go-go as everyone rushed to finish getting ready and begin warming up.
She sat down on the stool in front of her mirror and stared at her pale image. It was quite evident that she had been crying and she saw Estelle pause for a moment, seeing it too, before reaching for her creams. In the reflection, the sequinned bodysuit hung from a hanger on the rail; the coverage over the décolleté had been filled in a little, not as much as Flora would have liked, but it wasn’t as sparse as before. Marie had showed her this mercy, if not absolute discretion.
She closed her eyes as Estelle began applying the base for her make-up, warm fingers rubbing her skin in rhythmic strokes.
‘Some refreshment for you, M’selle Flora,’ someone said and she opened her eyes to see a waitress from the bar holding a tray and setting down a freshly poured glass of champagne.
‘Merci,’ she murmured, taking it. She knew she needed her mind to be clear and her wits sharp but, after this afternoon’s dramas, she was tense. This was the only way she had to calm herself.
She took a sip, feeling the familiar fizz of the bubbles on her tongue. Even the sensation of it was rich. She looked back at herself in the mirror again, her features already beginning to dazzle as the make-up was applied. This was the world she belonged to now – even if she was a hostage in it.