Rhiannon (16 page)

Rhiannon forced a smile, ‘I wish you could stay, at least until we find Mair.'

‘Rhi, Mair is with her mother. She's no longer your responsibility and certainly no concern of
mine
.'

Rhiannon, realizing she'd touched a nerve, decided to try a different tack. ‘I can understand you not being interested in what happens to Mair, she's not related to you, but what about me? I can't believe you don't want to be here for my first night!'

‘Rhiannon, you're acting like a spoilt child. I know it's a hard lesson to learn, but in show business you have to look out for number one. That's what I intend to do. I suggest you do the same. It's time to grow up!'

Florrie's outburst left Rhiannon speechless. She was on her own and from now on she had to learn to live with it.

Florrie's hands went to the gold locket around her neck. She unclipped it and handed it to Rhiannon. ‘This is for you. It was your grandmother's. She gave it to me when I first left for France. I know she'd want you to have it.'

‘It's beautiful. Thank you.'

‘Whenever I touched it I could almost feel my mother willing me to succeed. I hope it brings you as much luck as it did me.'

‘Will I ever see you again?'

‘Who knows? I certainly hope so. In the meantime I expect you to write frequently. I shall watch your career with interest – do well! Remember, success breeds success and with it the freedom to choose your own destiny. A word of warning. Stay away from Gus Davenport.
I'm not at all sure I approve of the sudden and, to my mind, unhealthy interest he's been showing you of late.'

Rhiannon felt her colour rise.

‘Florrie, old gal, it's time we boarded. Rhiannon, I'm afraid this is it.' Walter's arms reached out to her. ‘It's been a joy having you with us these past months. I'm gonna miss you.' He squeezed her to him, then quickly stood back and, raising his handkerchief, lightly blew his nose.

There was no such show of emotion from Florrie. She simply brushed Rhiannon's cheek with a small kiss before turning and, taking Walter's arm, headed for the gangplank.

Armed with her new fashionable valise, a parting gift from Walter, Rhiannon entered the boarding house.

‘Miss Hughes – Rhiannon, welcome.' Mrs Gordon smiled warmly. ‘If you'd care to follow me, I'll show you to your room.' She didn't wait for an answer; she simply turned and headed down the hall.

Rhiannon followed Mrs Gordon, a smart, if somewhat primly dressed, middle-aged woman, down the hall and up a flight of stairs, taking in the strange surroundings that, for the time being at least, were to be her home ... home? – Perhaps not. Home would always be the colliery house in Ponty where she'd lived with her dear father.

‘I trust your aunt and Mr Cahill got away safely?'

‘Yes, thank you.' Rhiannon swallowed hard, determined not to give way to tears. What good would her crying do? No amount of crying would change the fact that her aunt had left and, with still no sign of Mair's return, she was on her own.

‘Here we are. We've put you in the room next to Clara Boxall. She's a good girl, that one. She'll set you straight on the rules of the house,' Mrs Gordon said, as she unlocked the bedroom door.

Rhiannon entered the light, airy and surprisingly spacious room. The furnishings consisted of a large double bed, wardrobe, dressing-table, sofa and writing-desk. While not being as sumptuous as her bedroom at the Angel Hotel, it felt somehow more inviting, and not as . . . impersonal.

‘I'll leave you to settle in. You'll find your own set of keys on the dressing-table. Later, I shall introduce you to my sister, Mavis. Since I have my wardrobe duties at the theatre, Mavis usually deals with the day-to-day running of this place. So if there's anything you need, she's the one to ask. I'm sure you'll find her amiable.'

It was Saturday afternoon and Rhiannon stared into the long dressing-room mirror. The reflection of the girl staring back at her was almost unrecognizable. Mrs Gordon had surpassed herself – Rhiannon's costume with its high choker neckline, tight figure-hugging bodice, long straight skirt, an elaborate ruffled bustle and train was a dream of white organza. Rhiannon's hair was tied back in a fashionable chignon and, with a wide-brimmed matching hat and gloves, Mrs Gordon had created a look of such innocent beauty that it quite took your breath away.

‘Five minutes to curtain-up,' Percy called.

Rhiannon felt a buzz of nervous excitement. During the week rehearsals had gone extremely well. Now all she had to do was focus on her performance. She heard her aunt's advice repeated over and over in her mind's ear:

‘The audience has to believe in you. When you sing, imagine your first love sitting up in the gallery waving at you. You have to pull the audience closer to you, let them feel your innocence and vulnerability, make them ...
believe
,' her aunt had advised. ‘Play it right and you'll have the audience eating out of the palm of your hand. Trust me; it's a feeling like no other.'

As Rhiannon made her way to the wings she heard Percy's whispered call, ‘Break a leg, Rhi.'

From the wings Rhiannon watched the comedian, Tom O'Reilly. He had the audience shrieking with laughter. She knew from what she had heard during rehearsals that he was nearing the end of his act. Her time was almost here ... she watched the comedian make an elaborate bow, then, waving to the audience, he left the stage to spontaneous applause.

‘Great crowd today!' Tom O'Reilly announced to everyone in earshot.

As the applause subsided Rhiannon had a crisis of confidence. Tom O'Reilly had gone down so well. The butterflies in Rhiannon stomach started doing somersaults. How could she, a complete novice, be expected to follow that?

She watched Gus at the table on the side of the stage and, as he raised his gavel, she knew it was too late to back out now.

‘My lords, ladies and gentlemen! Just as the comedy genius of Tom O'Reilly had you in shrieks of laughter, the next act, I'm sure, will bring you to the brink of tears. Please believe me when I say that this young lady is destined for greater things. Now put your hands together for a star in the making ... Rhiannon!'

Encouraged by Gus, the audience's applause was so loud that
Rhiannon struggled to hear the overture to her song.

‘You're on,' the prompter whispered.

As Rhiannon walked on stage the audience, as if totally spellbound by her appearance, fell silent. This slightly unnerved her, but with the overture to her song nearly at an end, she, as rehearsed, made her way to the mark at centre stage and, turning to face the audience, beamed a smile. Then, lifting her face towards the gallery audience, the highest point of the auditorium, and, with a sea of faces staring down on her in anticipation, she began her song.

As soon as she started to sing, her confidence began to grow and all her doubts and fears disappeared. She sang with such heart-felt emotion that within seconds she had the audience hanging on her every word. With the first verse completed Rhiannon beckoned with her hand, and the audience, singing very quietly, joined in the chorus –
the boy I love is up in the gallery
– and when the song reached the part –
there he is, can't you see, waving of his handkerchief –
everyone in the auditorium took out a handkerchief and waved it furiously at her. She smiled. She had them! Her aunt had been right; there was no other feeling like it!

Once again she focused on the gallery, it was then she thought she spotted a familiar face. She did a double take: it was Frank – Frank Lewis. Rhiannon's heart missed a beat. At long last Frank was here!

With her eyes fixed firmly on Frank who, like all the rest, was smiling and frantically waving his handkerchief, she began the second verse.

When Rhiannon ended the song with the well-rehearsed touch of melodrama, the audience erupted; their applause, whistles and stamping feet seemed to last for ages. Rhiannon glanced towards the orchestra pit, awaiting Adam's signal. He smiled then, a slight nod of his head told her it was time to make her exit. Raising herself up from her curtsy Rhiannon blew a kiss to the audience and sauntered off stage.

As usual most of the girls in the dressing-room congratulated her on a job well done. Rhiannon's spirits were high, feeling good about her performance, made even better to think that Frank had been there to see it.

As Rhiannon changed into her street clothes Sally Webber came up to her.

‘I don't know whose idea it was to choose that particular song but, if I were you, I'd be prepared for a backlash from Marie Lloyd.' Sally Webber sniggered.

‘I don't understand. Why would Marie Lloyd concern herself with me?'

‘She's the one who made “The boy I love” famous. I'd not wish to be in your shoes when she gets to hear about it. Her sister's due to appear here tonight, she's sure to tell her.'

‘It's just a song. I'm sure that neither my aunt nor, for that matter, Adam, would have let me sing it if they thought I'd upset anyone.'

‘We'll see.' Sally sneered. Glancing into the mirror, she made a final adjustment to the street-urchin cap on her head and headed for the door.

‘Don't let her get to you, I think Nellie Powers sang it long before Marie Lloyd and I'm sure Adam would have asked permission before he let you sing it,‘ Clara offered. ‘Sally Webber's just out to steal your thunder. You were great and she knows it.'

At that moment Percy poked his head around the door. ‘Rhi, there's a lad asking for you at the stage door, he says he's a friend.'

‘Yes, thanks Percy. Could you please ask him to wait? I'll be there in five minutes.'

‘What's this then, Rhi? Have you been hiding a secret admirer?' Clara teased.

‘No, don't be daft. His name's Frank. His family lived next door to us up the valley. He's just a friend.'

‘Yeah, we believe you,' one of the chorus girls called, causing titters from all the others.

As Rhiannon made her way to the stage door she could hardly contain her excitement. After all this time Frank was actually here.

‘Good afternoon, miss,' the doorman said.

‘Afternoon,' Rhiannon politely answered.

Outside the stage door a small crowd had gathered.

‘Well done, Rhiannon,' one lad called out.

‘Any chance of a private showing, Rhiannon?' another quipped.

‘Leave her be,' said a stern female voice. Rhiannon looked across to see Mrs Gordon. ‘Let her pass,' the wardrobe mistress commanded. And, as if by magic, the crowd parted.

‘Thank you,' Rhiannon called.

‘That's all right. Wherever you're off to, just don't be late back,' Mrs Gordon said.

‘I won't be.'

Rhiannon spotted Frank leaning up against the wall across from the stage door. He was smoking a cigarette; he looked taller, older and more handsome than she remembered.

His eyes lit up when he saw her.

‘Frank! Oh Frank, it's so good to see you.'

‘You, too,' he gushed.

For a moment there was an awkward silence.

‘Look, there's a teashop about four doors away, I can't go far, I have to be back for the next show,' Rhiannon said.

‘That'll be just great. But where's Mair? I thought she'd be with you.'

‘It's a long story. I'll tell you over a cup of tea.'

Rhiannon dreaded having to tell him about Mair. What if he blamed her?

As was usual after a busy show at the theatre, the tearooms were extremely busy; the only unoccupied table, luckily for two, was tucked away in a dark corner. It suited Rhiannon perfectly, providing the privacy she needed to tell Frank about Mair.

Once seated, Frank immediately took charge, ordering a pot of tea for two and an assortment of dainty cakes.

‘Fancy you on the stage. I thought you were great, a real star, eh?'

‘I don't know about that. All I can tell you is that, when I'm performing on stage I'm transported to another world, a world of ... make believe.'

‘Is this world so bad, then?'

‘Yes-no – oh, I don't know. I thought that coming to Cardiff to be with Aunt Florrie would be the answer to my prayers. Now Florrie has left for America and Mair—'

At that precise moment the waitress arrived to serve their tea. They waited in silence until she'd gone.

‘What about Mair? Where is she?' Frank asked.

Taking a deep breath and lowering her voice to almost a whisper, not wanting others to hear the sordid story, she relayed the events leading to Mair's leaving with Nellie and the subsequent disappearance of both of them.

At the end Frank's face looked ashen.

‘You're right. There has to be more to it. Nellie must have had an ulterior motive. She is too selfish by far to want to care for Mair.'

‘Oh Frank. I can't explain why but I have this awful feeling that something terrible might happen to Mair unless I find her soon.'

‘Look, I've got to go home tonight, my mother's expecting me. But I'll come back next week, book into a boarding house and then I'll be here to help you find Mair.'

‘But what about your job down the pit?'

‘Well, that's just it. That's why I'm here. I came to tell you that my mother and John Jenkins the butcher are to be wed. My mam wants you and Mair to attend the wedding breakfast.'

‘Aunt Ethel and John Jenkins are to be wed? Well I never.'

‘I know. Apparently, not long after my dad died, the butcher started calling to the house with a sob story of being let down and having to make his own deliveries. Mam fell for it and not long after they started courting.'

‘Well, I think it's great news and I wouldn't miss it for the world. I'm so pleased for your mother: such a caring, lovely lady. But what about you? I know how close you were to your dad. So how do you feel about your mam being with someone else?'

‘John Jenkins is a good man. As long as he does right by her and the kids, I'm happy for them. They plan to move the family into the house next to the butcher's shop.'

‘And you?'

‘The army. That's the other reason for my being here, I came to enlist. Now that Mam no longer needs the colliery house I'm free to do as I please.'

‘But the army? Are you sure?'

‘Rhi, the day your dad gave his life to save mine, I swore I'd make something of it – to prove that his death—'

‘Frank, I never blamed you.'

‘I know. Anyways, in four weeks' time I'll be Private Frank Lewis and proudly wearing the uniform of the Volunteer Brigade of the Welsh Regiment. This next week will be my last down the pit. After Friday I'll be free to come to Cardiff. I hate to think of you having to look for Mair on your own.'

‘Well, actually ... Gus is helping me.'

‘Gus? Who's he?'