“Excuse me, mate.”
The cloth before Layton depicted Trafalgar Square. His hand was moving fast, giving a vivid sheen to the water that filled the fountain. Still shaken by his discovery of the other night, he was painting in a trance and hadn’t heard anyone enter the scene shop. Now, he turned to see a skinny, middle-aged man.
“How can I help you?” Layton asked.
“Can you tell me where the pot is? I was on me way to use the one at the main entrance, but that clot of a theatre manager told me the help has to use the one backstage. Can you believe the cheek of that wanker?”
Layton smiled and wiped his hands with a rag. “Yes, yes I can. Let me show you where the convenience is located.”
“You’re a good bloke, you are.” The man shook his head ruefully. “Think I got the tandoori trots from me spicy curry. I’m about to explode, if ya get my meaning.”
“I had a case of it myself a few weeks back. We British have a delicate constitution.”
The man laughed. “That we do, mate.”
“So, are you a new act?” Layton asked as he led him down the narrow brick corridor.
“Nah, I’m a Pathé projectionist. I show the flickers in the first half of the bill.”
Layton stopped, wonder on his face. “You don’t say! What an incredible invention. I love all the acts, but the flickers are my favorite. They’re bloody amazing.”
“Harry Aubrey’s the name. I was showing ’em at the Hippodrome. Just got assigned to the Grand yesterday.”
“Here we are,” said Layton, pointing to the loo.
“I’ll be out after I make a deposit. Don’t go away. We can chat a bit,” Aubrey said, bolting through the door. A few minutes later, he emerged, looking very relieved.
“So you was sayin’ how incredible the flickers are. Let me tell ya something. One day, they’ll have whole big theatres just to show moving pictures—no music hall.”
“I’ve heard that,” Layton said.
“Well, you best believe it, mate. Tonight, I’m showing The Temptation of St. Anthony and one about the assassination of the Grand Duke Sergius in Russia—not the real assassination, but what they call a ‘reenactment.’”
“All on that little strip of celluloid.” Wonder sounded in Layton’s voice.
Aubrey gave him a cheeky grin. “If it weren’t for you, I’d be wandering around with a load in my drawers. Come on up fifteen minutes before my turn, and I’ll show you how the whole caboodle works.”
• • •
“That’s right, just thread the film through there, then down under here. Give a bit of slack. There, you got the hang of it. All the pictures are on one reel.”
Layton was so excited to learn to run the projector that he barely thought about the skeleton that was fifty feet away in the gallery wall.
Down on the stage, the baritone, George Robey, was finishing up his rendition of “Keep the Fires Alight.” The flickers were next on the bill. Aubrey switched off the overhead light and placed his finger on the projector’s toggle switch. The orchestra struck up an introduction.
“And ’ere we go,” Aubrey said softly.
A beam of white light shot out of the varnished wood box, and Aubrey started turning the crank. On the screen below, Satan tempted St. Anthony with the beautiful Sirens. “You take over, Frank,” Aubrey whispered, and Layton began cranking in complete synch. It was like he was a magician, producing moving images with light.
Grinning from ear to ear, Layton kept up the steady cranking through a Swiss tobogganing scene, a warehouse fire, a clown trick, and finally the duke’s assassination.
While he was cranking away, the audience below oohed and aahed at the various scenes; the tobogganing scene in particular was exciting, because the camera had been mounted in the sled, giving them the illusion of being in the driver’s seat. Layton wondered if Ronald had been to the flickers; he imagined his son absolutely loving them. Layton had noticed that British society had become less staid and attended the music hall performances now, which wasn’t so before the disaster. Edwina and he never went; music halls were considered common by Lord Litton. But maybe Ronald had been to one.
Before he went to prison, Layton had always read his son stories at bedtime. With Ronald sitting in his lap in the bed, together, they turned the pages of the book, admiring the wonderful illustrations. Ronald would point his little finger at a picture of a knight and expand on the story, explaining that the great warrior had already slain four dragons and one witch and was the bravest man in all of England. Every night, a story would be read, and sometimes it was hard to keep up the supply of books.
One night, on a whim, Layton found a book of paintings in his library and asked Ronald to explain what was going on in a picture. For a painting by Sir Alfred Munnings of a little girl and boy pushing a punt along some reeds in a river, Ronald concocted a marvelous story of why they were there—the children wanted to gorge themselves on sweets out of sight of their nanny. For Layton, this form of storytelling was far more enjoyable, and it became a ritual for the two of them. It delighted Layton that his son was so imaginative for being only four years old. Yes, the flickers would definitely excite Ronald’s vivid imagination. Layton wished he could sit next to him in the darkened theatre and just enjoy his reactions at the magical glimmering images up on the cloth.
“Well done, Frank, me boy,” Aubrey crowed when the reel reached its end. “Did you enjoy that?”
“Yes, I did,” exclaimed Layton.
“Come up anytime and be my assistant. You’re always welcome. One night, I’ll show you how to run the flickers backward. It’s funny as hell to see.”
Layton immediately thought Ronald would find that sidesplitting.
There was the sound of feet on the stair outside, and the projection room door swung open, revealing Cissie. “They told me I’d find you up here,” she said.
“Just teaching ’im all about the flickers, Mrs. Mapes,” Aubrey said jovially, taking the reel off the projector and stowing it safely in its container.
Cissie smiled at Layton. “This chappie does love the flickers.”
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I got me a little crumpet waiting for a slap and tickle. See ya tomorrow, Frank.” Aubrey put the reel in a cupboard, locked the padlock, and hurriedly pulled on his jacket. “Do me a favor—turn off the light and lock up.”
Cissie rolled her eyes as Aubrey hurried out, then stepped into the tiny booth to stand beside Layton. “She’s probably a cow, but they’re all the same in the dark, eh?”
Music sounded for the next turn; the applause in the gallery erupted around them. Cissie peeked out the window and gave Layton a wry smile. “Laura Bennett, the Yankee Country Girl. Pretty little trick, but not the best of voices.”
“So why’d you hire her?”
“I saw potential, Frank. Someone who could turn out to be a star. I’m very good at seeing potential—at finding good things in people.”
“That’s an admirable talent.” Layton looked straight into Cissie’s eyes, which were just inches from his. She was a magnet, drawing him in, and it felt wonderful. He desperately wanted to feel love for someone, to let go of the emotions his present masquerade forced him to keep in check. Over the last five years, he’d lived in a wasteland of stifled emotions. And now, this odd woman—so different from the world he was used to—had won his heart with her kindness, brashness, and raucous humor.
“Do you see any potential in me, Mrs. Mapes?” Layton asked in a low, tentative voice.
“A great deal, Mr. Owen,” purred Cissie. “Potential for great happiness—in my life.”
Music piped up from the orchestra for the duet act onstage, but neither Layton nor Cissie paid attention. Everything had left their minds except their feelings for each other. Layton leaned over and gave her a long, slow kiss. Then he locked the door of the small, cramped room from the inside and switched off the light.