Poppy was flushed and excited as she came off stage. Never, not in her most wishful moments, had she ever expected such an ovation. And it’s because of Anthony! What a performer! And blowing that kiss, that was the final flourish. The audience would read so much into that, not realizing that he is the ultimate professional and knows what they want!
She could still hear the house chanting, and the next act, the juggler, was refusing to go on until they had quietened down. Bradshaw was dashing around rearranging the acts. He followed Poppy to the dressing room and asked the Terry Sisters to go on after the juggler, and then he would put Anthony Marino on after them, just before the final act, Bill Baloney.
Ena objected vehemently. ‘We’re booked for next to the top,’ she said. ‘Why should we change?’
‘It’s just for tonight,’ Bradshaw wheedled. ‘This is Marino’s final performance. Next week we’ll be back to normal, I promise. If I put him on before you, they’ll be shouting out for Poppy and we’ll never get you on. We’ll overrun.’
‘Just for tonight?’ Ronny asked. She too was annoyed at the change-round, though she saw the sense of it.
‘Just for tonight. You know you’ll please them.’ He cracked his face into a thin smile. ‘Give them a bit of sauce,’ he said. ‘You know, tease them a bit, a few wiggles. You know what they like. Then you’re a complete contrast to Marino.’
Poppy slunk to her chair by the mirror and watched as Ena and Ronny made final adjustments to their headdresses, looked at themselves in the mirror, then walked out of the room. Neither of them spoke to her and she felt disappointed. But then, she thought, they have to concentrate on their own act, not bother about me.
There was a knock on the open door and Anthony stood there. ‘Well, Miss Mazzini,’ he crowed jubilantly. ‘Did we knock them cold?’
She jumped up and running to the door she flung her arms round him. ‘Thank you,’ she cried. ‘Thank you, thank you, thank you!’
‘Miss Mazzini.’ The stage door keeper interrupted them. ‘Here’s a gen’leman to see you. Mr Charles Chandler with friends. Did I do right bringing ’em?’
‘Oh!’ she said, and Anthony backed away as Charlie and behind him two other men came up along the corridor.
‘Charlie! Oh, how wonderful to see you.’ Her face was wreathed in smiles. ‘No, Anthony – please don’t go for a moment. I want you to meet Charlie. I’ve told you about him.’
‘Indeed. How do you do?’ Anthony said formally, and stretched out his hand to Charlie. ‘Very nice to meet you, Chandler. As Miss Mazzini says, she has spoken of you.’ He turned to Poppy. ‘I’m on next. I must go.’ He gave her a smile, which didn’t quite reach his eyes. ‘Goodbye.’
‘Anthony!’ she said. ‘Will I see you before you leave—?’ But he was gone, giving a final wave of his hand as he walked down the corridor.
‘My word, Poppy!’ At her invitation, Charlie and his friends followed her into the dressing room. He put his arm round her. ‘What a star! I had no idea.’ He kissed her cheek. ‘I told my friends here – this is Bertie Fletcher, and Roger Doyle – I told them we were going to see some talent tonight, and . . .’
‘. . . my word, we have.’ Roger Doyle took her hand and kissed it. ‘Charmed, I’m sure.’
Bertie Fletcher, whom she thought seemed a little worse for drink, also leaned over her hand, but she drew it away before it reached his wet lips. ‘Beautiful,’ he slurred. ‘Ab-sholu-shly beautiful!’
‘But who’s the fellow on the piano?’ Charlie mockingly frowned at her. ‘You didn’t tell me about him!’ He put his finger under her chin and looked into her eyes. ‘Don’t tell me that you don’t love me any more, Poppy? That you’ve found somebody else?’
‘Don’t be silly, Charlie.’ Embarrassed in front of his friends, she turned her head away. ‘That’s Anthony Marino. It’s his final night at the show so he very kindly played for me. The song is his. He’s a songwriter as well as a pianist, and he’s a friend.’
‘Ooh!’ Bertie sighed. ‘Sing a song of sixpence!’
‘Shut up, Bertie,’ Charlie said rudely. ‘I’m trying to have a conversation with Poppy.’ He smiled down at her and whispered, ‘But you do still love me? You haven’t had your head turned by all this adoration?’
‘Hello! What’s this? A party?’ Ena, followed by Ronny, came into the room. They were both flushed by their exertions on stage, but Poppy could tell that they were over their ill humour. Obviously they had had a receptive audience.
‘Good evening, gentlemen.’ Ronny, in her high-heeled shoes, towered over Bertie and Roger. She sat down and unfastened the straps on her shoes and kicked them under the dressing table. ‘So which of you is the shoemaker?’
‘I am.’ Charlie gave her a bow. ‘Charles Chandler at your service.’
Ronny eyed him. ‘Hmm. Will you make me a pair?’ She wiggled a foot in front of him, and then waved a finger across at Ena. ‘And a pair for my sister, of course. We always do things together.’
‘Well, not always together.’ Ena smiled seductively at Roger. ‘Some things we do separately!’
‘I’m glad to hear it.’ Roger pawed over her hand and kissed it. ‘Roger Doyle, Miss Terry. Delighted to meet you.’
‘We thought we’d go out for supper,’ Charlie announced. ‘Shall we all go? Are you ladies free?’
‘Not free,’ Ena and Ronny cried in unison. ‘But we ain’t expensive!’
Poppy was appalled as they all laughed and joked, and Ronny and Ena told the gentlemen they must go back into the theatre and wait until they were changed. She had been so looking forward to seeing Charlie and spending some time alone with him. Now the evening would be ruined.
She stepped back into the corridor as the men left, and walked towards the stage where Anthony was coming to the end of his performance and playing the final piece of music. It was his own composition and Poppy recognized it from when he had played in Hull. Tears came to her eyes, as they had then, and she wished he had played something merry to finish rather than something that touched her emotions.
He stood up and bowed and the audience, having been told that this was his final performance at Bradshaw’s, stood up and applauded heartily, though not noisily as they had previously. He bowed again and turned to come off stage. He saw Poppy watching him and held out his hand.
She shook her head; tears were running down her cheeks. She wouldn’t go on. This was his performance. Not hers. She had had her ovation. But he still stood there, and then began to clap his hands. Again he put out his hand for her to join him. The audience, sensing something, began to murmur, ‘Poppy . . . Poppy . . .’
She lifted her head and blinked away her tears, then ran lightly to join him. He took her by the hand and kissed her cheek and the audience cheered. ‘Give a bow, Poppy,’ he murmured, smiling at the audience as he spoke. ‘Now brush away your tears with your fingers. That’s it. Another bow. Back away. Wave. Throw a kiss.’ They left the stage and he squeezed her hand. ‘Always leave them wanting more.’ He gazed at her. ‘I’m going now. Have a wonderful evening with your friend Charlie. And I’ll hope to see you again in the not too distant future. Goodbye.’
‘Anthony!’ she said, but he’d turned away. ‘Thank you,’ she called. ‘For everything.’
‘So you’re the little lady who loves Charles!’ Roger put his face close to hers as they walked away from the theatre. Somehow, Charlie had been ensnared in front between Ena and Ronny, and Poppy was between Roger and Bertie. Both were hanging on to her arms. ‘Lucky old Charles.’
Why did Charlie tell them, Poppy thought. And Charles? Is that how he’s known now? ‘Where are we going?’ she called out. ‘Charlie!’
He stopped, and Ena and Ronny stopped too. ‘Darling girl,’ he said. ‘The chaps know of a bar round the corner. We can get a bite to eat there.’
‘Here!’ Ronny said. ‘Let’s swap. Charles, you walk with Poppy. We’ll walk with Roger and Bertie,’ and they obligingly swapped over so that Poppy was at the back with Charlie.
‘That’s better!’ Charlie put his arm round her waist and she took in a breath.
‘Charlie!’ she said. ‘Behave!’
‘Oh, come on!’ he laughed. ‘We’re not in dear old Hull now. Nobody here knows us and is going to tell your pa.’
She shrugged away from him. ‘No-one knows you, Charlie, but there are plenty of people who know me.’
‘Oh, hoity-toity!’ He stopped walking and looked at her. ‘Not getting uppity, are we?’
‘No, of course not, but—’
‘Not thinking of your piano man, are you?’ Charlie’s eyes narrowed. ‘You said you loved me!’
She put her hand up to her mouth. ‘I do love you, Charlie.’ Her voice was full of tears. ‘You know that I do. But I didn’t think that I’d have to share you with all these others.’
He gave a self-satisfied smile. ‘Oh, Poppy! Let’s have some fun now. We can be alone later, hey? Just you and me?’
‘All right,’ she said in a low voice. ‘I just wanted to talk to you, that’s all. Find out what you’ve been doing since I saw you last.’
‘I know,’ he said, tucking her arm into his. ‘And that’s what we’ll do. We’ll talk.’ He kissed her cheek and she could smell ale on his breath. ‘And we’ll kiss a little too, shall we? And by the way, Poppy,’ he murmured. ‘It’s Charles now, not Charlie. Sounds better, don’t you think? I’ll tell you everything later, but, briefly, I’m going to set up on my own. Charles Chandler, shoemaker. That’s why I wanted to talk to the Terry Sisters. If I can get in with the stage people it will do me a lot of good, don’t you see?’
He squeezed her arm. ‘So don’t be upset if I give them some attention. It’s all in the way of business, you understand? I’m sure you can help me in that line,’ he added. ‘You must know a few people?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘I’ve only been here a week!’
The others stopped outside a building and waved for them to hurry.
‘Where are we going?’ Poppy called after them.
‘It’s a supper bar,’ Charlie told her. The others disappeared down the basement steps. ‘It’s all right,’ he added. ‘I’m sure it’s quite respectable.’
Roger and Bertie had procured a table and ordered champagne and oysters. A pianist at an upright piano was playing popular music accompanied by a violinist, and Poppy relaxed. Perhaps it was going to be all right after all. She had been anxious that the place might be seedy and undesirable, but although the lights were dim and she couldn’t see into the corners, it seemed to be respectable enough. But as they walked across to the table and she took her seat, the pianist began to play the introduction to ‘Forever True’, and then added an animated variation. The lights were turned up, and she saw that the room was full of people and the furnishings were garish.
‘Ladies and gentlemen.’ The pianist turned to the company. ‘We are honoured tonight by the presence of Miss Poppy Mazzini’ – he began to play the melody in a forceful manner – ‘and the Terry Sisters!’
The fiddle player began a jig and Ena and Ronny, with theatrical smiles, stood up and bowed from the waist, first to one side of the room and then the other. Both were wearing bustled dresses with off-the-shoulder necklines, and a froth of tulle in their hair. ‘Stand up, Poppy,’ Ena whispered between her teeth. ‘Give them a bow.’
Poppy did as she was bid, feeling very embarrassed. She had dressed simply in a pale green wool gown, which had a high-buttoned neckline and a bolero with leg-o’-mutton sleeves. In her hair she had pinned a cream rose from the bouquet Anthony had given her. She gave a shy smile and bowed her head and the pianist played the melody of ‘Forever True’ again, but he thumped the rhythm and somehow lost the soul of the music.
‘Sing for us, Poppy,’ someone shouted, but she shook her head and sat down. Someone else banged on a table. ‘Yes, sing for us. Come on, be a sport!’ A woman’s voice answered back: ‘Leave her alone! She’s been singing all night. Go and pay to hear her at Bradshaw’s!’ The pianist began to play other tunes and the waiter came over with the champagne and oysters. Poppy’s face had flushed and she bent her head to hide her discomfort. She hadn’t expected this. Charlie was still and silent and when she glanced at him he had a stony expression on his face.
‘Come along, you young star.’ Roger poured her a glass of champagne. ‘You’re going to have to get used to this kind of thing, isn’t she, ladies?’ He turned to Ronny and Ena.
‘Oh, yes,’ Ena said scathingly. ‘It happens all the time.’
Poppy sipped the champagne and spluttered as the bubbles went up her nose. It was the first time she had tried it, and she wasn’t sure if she liked it. At Roger’s urging she took an oyster and swallowed it, grimacing as it slid down her throat.
‘Come on, old boy,’ Roger said to Charlie. ‘Drink up. Are you not having oysters?’
‘Don’t care for ’em,’ he said sullenly, taking a drink from his glass, and Poppy guessed that he hadn’t tried them before either. Oysters were not common to the east Yorkshire coast. Mussels and shrimps were in plentiful supply and she had had them often, but she didn’t care for the slippery wet texture of the oyster.
The pianist came over to their table and, giving a short bow to the company in general, addressed Poppy. ‘I do beg your pardon, Miss Mazzini. I saw you come in and couldn’t resist playing your music.’
‘It isn’t my music,’ she said quietly. ‘It was composed by Mr Marino.’
‘Ah, yes, I realize that.’ He was a young man and wore a rather shabby black suit. ‘He’s a very talented musician and I wish I could play half as well, but you’ve made that song your own. I heard you sing it tonight at Bradshaw’s and couldn’t believe it when you came in here.’
‘Yes,’ Charlie interrupted brusquely. ‘But Miss Mazzini is now with a private party, so we’d be obliged if she wasn’t disturbed further.’
Poppy took in a breath as the pianist apologized and backed away, but she gave him a quick smile of regret, then turned to Charlie. ‘He wasn’t disturbing us,’ she said. ‘He was only—’
‘We haven’t got long,’ he said sharply. ‘We’ve to catch the last train back to London.’
‘Oh, we’ll stay the night,’ Bertie said airily. ‘We’ll find an hotel. Perhaps where you’re staying?’ he asked Ronny and Ena.
‘No.’ They and Poppy answered simultaneously. ‘Not allowed, old thing,’ Ena said. ‘Our landlady is inflexible on that.’ She smiled sweetly at him. ‘We’ve asked before – when our brother came to visit.’ She shook her head. ‘No male visitors.’
‘Mmm!’ Roger eyed them thoughtfully. ‘That’s a shame.’
‘Yes, isn’t it?’ Ronny lit a cheroot and drew on it. ‘What can we do about it?’
‘I need to get back to London,’ Charlie said, rising from his chair. ‘I’ve things to do tomorrow. I’ll walk you back, Poppy.’
Roger and Bertie objected loudly, though Ronny and Ena said nothing, but Charlie insisted on leaving there and then, so Poppy said good night and was self-conscious, yet gratified, as people at other tables clapped their hands as she passed.
‘Is it far?’ he asked as they went outside. ‘To your lodgings? Should we get a cab?’
‘Not far,’ she said. ‘But perhaps we should. Then you can go on to the train station.’ She wished that he would stay overnight as Roger and Bertie were going to do, so they could have spent Sunday together, but his face was set and she didn’t like to ask him.
Charlie put his hand up for a horse cab and when the driver stopped he handed her in. ‘Look,’ he said to her. ‘I might as well walk to the station from here. You’ll be all right with this fellow, won’t you?’
‘Oh,’ she said, surprised. ‘Yes – I suppose so.’
‘Fact is, Poppy,’ he said, ‘I can’t afford to stay the night like the other fellows. They’re very well heeled. Money no object.’ He sounded testy and irritable. ‘But they’re very well connected, which is why I put up with them.’ He leaned into the cab and kissed her cheek. ‘If you bump into them tomorrow, be nice to them, won’t you?’
‘What do you mean?’ Her voice trembled. She was unbearably disappointed with the way the evening had gone.
‘Well, I want them to help finance me in my new venture. You know!’ he said sharply. ‘I told you I was setting up on my own. If you see them, reassure them about my ambition, and tell the Terry Sisters too.’
‘Are we going or not?’ the cab driver called down. ‘I haven’t got all night!’
‘Yes,’ Charlie said hastily. ‘Goodbye, Poppy. I’ll see you again soon.’ He flashed her a smile and mouthed a kiss. ‘I promise.’