THIS TAKES SOME EXPLAINING.
‘Well,’ said Molly, taking a deep breath and gazing at herself in the dressing room mirror.
‘Well,’ I said.
She unbuttoned and peeled off her gloves. ‘Would you mind, Stephen?’ she asked, keeping her back to me, rather coquettishly, I thought. I didn’t quite understand for a moment what I was being asked to mind.
‘I’m sorry, I—’
‘One can’t afford to bring one’s dresser with one everywhere,’ she said, holding up her hair. ‘Just gently,’ she said, ‘if you would, from the top.’
‘Ah,’ I said. ‘Of course.’
I gently unzipped the dress, then turned around and faced the wall.
‘Oh, don’t be so English,’ Molly said, in a ruffling of disrobing. ‘I’m sure you’ve seen it all before, young man like you.’
I had indeed seen women in states of undress before, but – as all of us can perhaps testify – each and every time is rather different. I turned around as Molly was bending over to remove her shoes, leaning for support against the dressing table. She was clearly a woman who was more than happy in a state of half-undress, which on this occasion consisted of a pale silk slip, a black brassière, black girdle and stockings.
‘Would you mind hanging this for me?’ She handed me the dress.
‘Of course, miss,’ I said, mustering all my theatrical nonchalance, and hanging the dress on her dressing rail.
‘Oh, come on. Do call me Molly. And do be a dear and open the champagne, would you?’
‘Erm …’
‘I’m dying for a drink, Stephen.’
‘Of course,’ I said, opening the champagne and pouring her a glass, while Molly rearranged her hair before the mirror.
‘Wonderful!’ she said, taking a sip of her champagne and turning and fixing me with a stare. ‘You are going to join me, Stephen, aren’t you?’
‘I don’t think so, no,’ I said.
‘Oh, but I never drink alone,’ she said, pouring me a glass and handing it to me.
‘No, thank you,’ I said.
‘It’s terribly bad luck, drinking alone.’ She raised her glass to me. ‘Cheers.’
Matters were rather running away with me, I felt.
‘Cheers,’ I said.
She turned around now in her seat to face me and crossed her legs slowly in front of her.
‘Now, would you pass me my blouse and suit?’ She nodded towards the clothes on the rail. There were several blouses and suits to choose from.
‘Which one?’ I asked.
She came over and stood close by me. I could feel the warmth of her body next to mine.
‘Mmm,’ she said, skimming her hand across the clothes. ‘Which one? What do you think?’
‘I’m not sure,’ I said.
‘I think,’ she said, reaching forward, ‘I’ll have … this.’
I watched, a little later, as she slowly buttoned her blouse, put on a dark, sober suit, smoothed it down all around her, and picked out a pair of matching shoes from a large selection underneath the hanging rail.
‘Well,’ she said, finishing her glass of champagne and gesturing for me to fill it up again. ‘What do you think?’
‘Very … smart,’ I said.
‘Smart? Really?’
‘Yes, very stylish,’ I said.
‘Good.’ She poured me a second glass of champagne. ‘Tell me, do you find me attractive, Stephen?’
‘I’ve only just met you, miss,’ I said.
‘I feel we’ve got to know each other rather well though, don’t you?’
In the years I worked with Morley, out of a sense of duty, I often found myself in rather difficult and compromising situations. Also, during those years I did other things, shall we say, of an even more difficult and compromising nature, which meant that I was often on the lookout for the elderly, the infirm and young mothers with children to help across the road, in order to assuage my guilty conscience.
‘I like you,’ said Molly. ‘I like you very much.’
‘Well, thank you,’ I said.
‘You have that beaten look that people so admire and that is so hard to achieve.’
‘Again, I am quite flattered,’ I said.
She laughed. ‘I think we’re very similar, Stephen Sefton.’
‘I don’t know about that.’
‘Here’s to us!’ she said.
We sat in silence for a moment, then Molly turned to the mirror and began first to remove and then to reapply her make-up, using little brushes in tiny pots.
‘You’re clearly not used to being around theatre people,’ she said.
‘No,’ I agreed.
‘Actors, musicians. We tend to be very uninhibited, you see,’ she said.
‘Yes, of course,’ I said. ‘I see.’
‘The opposite of the English, really.’
‘Indeed,’ I agreed.
‘Do you smoke, Sefton?’ She turned back towards me, her dark eyeshadow and mascaraed lashes giving her a sleepy, languorous look, as if she were a femme fatale now relaxing after a long day’s work.
I lit us both cigarettes and Molly half closed her eyes, champagne flute in one hand, cigarette in the other. She breathed deeply.
‘Audiences these days only listen with their eyes,’ she said. ‘Can you believe I once sang Norina in Don Pasquale?’
I knew nothing about Norina in Don Pasquale and was now myself growing rather tired, so wasn’t quite sure if the correct answer was yes or no.
‘And Adina in L’Elisir d’Amore. Nannetta in Falstaff.’
‘I can believe it, madam,’ I hazarded a guess.
‘Thank you. You’re very kind, Stephen.’
We spoke about her various roles for a while, or rather she spoke about her roles and I listened, and eventually, after another glass of champagne she asked, ‘People often ask me the secret of how I maintain my figure, Stephen. For a woman of my age.’
‘Do they?’
‘Two words,’ she said. ‘Actually, three words. Four. Cigarettes. Champagne—’
‘Very good,’ I said.
‘And Gayelord Hauser. Have you heard of him?’
‘I don’t think so,’ I said. I was pretty sure I’d have remembered the name Gayelord Hauser.
‘Wonderful diet. You should try it.’
There came another knock at the door. Giacomo again peered round the door.
‘Are you finished?’ asked Giacomo.
Molly looked at me and then looked at the champagne bottle, held it up, shook it. ‘We seem to have finished it off. Unless you would like some more, Stephen?’
‘I think—’
‘Come on,’ said Giacomo. ‘That’s enough.’
I left them together and made my way to the hotel.