Rhiannon (9 page)

April 1909

 

Florrie Grayson felt pleased with herself. During the past weeks things had worked out far better than she could have hoped.

When Florrie had explained her predicament to Mrs Gordon, the theatre housekeeper, that lady had willingly offered to speak to each of the girls, to see where they could be best put to use. Mrs Gordon wasn't married but in the theatre housekeepers were always given the title of Mrs as a mark of respect.

From the very first it was obvious to all that Rhiannon was a natural. She proved to be a hard worker, willing to take on any job; no task was too large or small and, with her willingness to help, she soon became popular with every member of the company. Mair, on the other hand, had to be pushed. She hated being backstage. She much preferred being on show, in front of house, which made her well suited to sell programmes.

Florrie soon found out that Tom O'Reilly, the Irish comedian, was a former teacher. With the offer of a few guineas, she soon persuaded him help Mair with her reading, writing and arithmetic a few hours every weekday afternoon. Of course Mair protested. The very first afternoon, in an attempt to avoid the inevitable, she decided to go missing, only to be found hiding in a theatre skip, a large wicker basket where stage costumes were stored. When Florrie threatened to send her to Saint Joseph's, the local convent's boarding school, Mair soon saw sense and backed down.

Since the girls were both occupied for most of the day the only time Florrie saw either of them was when they occasionally popped into her dressing-room, or when they shared a carriage back to the Angel Hotel late at night. Yes, all in all it had worked out well.

Rhiannon had been working backstage for two weeks, helping out wherever she was needed. Some days she would work for the wardrobe, fitting and altering costumes; another day she might be working with props: helping with the furniture and scenery to ensure every prop was in place for each performance. More recently she had begun to run errands for Adam Fletcher, the show's producer and theatre company director. He was a man in his early fifties, highly respected for his experience and expertise by everyone in the theatre.

For some reason Rhiannon and Adam Fletcher instantly hit it off. Although he was a lot older than Rhiannon she liked and admired him; he was a perfectionist and she was sure that given the chance she could learn a lot from him.

‘He may be a hard taskmaster, but he certainly knows his stuff. But then, having worked almost every theatre in the country and produced many successful shows, I'd expect nothing less,' Dave, the stage manager had offered.

One day Adam Fletcher pulled her to one side. ‘Rhiannon, as we are about to begin rehearsals. I thought that if you can assure me you'll sit quietly I'd allow you to join me while I take each artist through their paces.'

‘Thank you, Mr Fletcher, I'd like that very much. I'll be as quiet as a chapel congregation in prayer, I promise.'

‘Good. You'll soon find out that I don't suffer fools gladly. But your obvious excitement at being involved with every aspect of the theatre shows a genuine eagerness to learn. I like that. And by the way, you can drop the Mr Fletcher, my name's Adam.'

As she took her place next to him she couldn't help notice his growing agitation.

‘Where's the bloody chairman? If he's not here in two minutes I'll have to start without him,' he said, as he ran an impatient hand through his fair hair.

‘I'm here,' Gus called as he approached from the back of the stalls.

‘Must you always cut it so fine?' Adam asked.

‘Keep your hair on. I'm here now.' Gus smiled.

Since that first night at the stage door Rhiannon had seen Gus Davenport many times backstage. She secretly longed to approach him, but knew that it wasn't her place. Sometimes he threw her a wink and a smile as he passed by. She did wonder whether he might be
flirting with her but soon scolded herself for having such silly thoughts; it was, after all, just wishful thinking on her part. She still considered him to be the most handsome man she'd ever seen. Just standing this close to him made her heart beat faster and, as she met his stare, she hoped he couldn't read her thoughts.

‘Come on, Adam, what's the delay? Are you going to officially introduce me to this young beauty, or maybe it's your intention to keep her all to yourself?'

Adam shook his head. ‘Gus, you really are such a predictable arsehole.' He turned to Rhiannon. ‘Sorry for the language. This young lady is Rhiannon Hughes.' He threw Gus a warning look. ‘Miss Florrie Grayson's—'

Gus interrupted him. ‘Niece, yes I know.'

‘Rhiannon, this is Gerald
Gus
Davenport, our chairman and general nuisance to every young girl or, for that matter, any woman with a pulse.'

Gus Davenport held out his hand. ‘Don't you pay any attention to this slanderous old bugger. Jealousy can be such a terrible thing.'

Rhiannon blushed and her hand visibly shook.

‘Rhiannon, what sort of a name is that? It's a bit of a mouthful,' Gus teased.

‘It's an old Welsh name. It translates as “divine” or “princess”,' Adam offered.

Gus smiled and made an elaborate bow, ‘Your Majesty, honoured to meet you, I'm sure.'

Although she was still blushing, the way this man was making fun of her name annoyed her. ‘My name's Rhiannon Hughes and I'll trust you not to make fun of it!' she snapped.

‘Gus, will you stop teasing her and take your place in the wings. If it's all right with you, I'd like to get this rehearsal under way.'

‘All right, let's do it ... let's get this show under way,' Gus said, as he marched off to take his place in the wings.

Within just a week of sitting with Adam during rehearsals and watching two shows every night from the back of the auditorium, Rhiannon, eager to prove the producer's faith in her, managed to learn each act word perfect – making her an obvious choice to stand in when the prompter fell ill.

‘If you think you're up to it, then the job's yours, but you have to make sure to stand way back in the wings and stay out of sight of the audience at all times. And to be aware that, with the artists dashing on
and off stage, the wings can be a hectic place,' Adam said.

Rhiannon had jumped at the chance.

 

Rhiannon stood in the wings enthralled as she watched Dave, the stage manager, go through his checklist for the first show.

‘Good luck, Rhi!' Percy called from backstage.

Rhiannon turned and smiled. ‘Thanks.'

The SM raised his head from his desk situated in the wings at the end of the stage – out of view from the auditorium. ‘You've come highly recommended by the producer himself. So I'm sure you'll do fine.'

Rhiannon took her place next to Dave. Her job as prompter was to hold cue cards and be ready to prompt the artists if they forgot their lines – be it a joke, a conjuring trick or a song. She, rightly, felt pleased with herself at being trusted with such an important position. If she continued to work hard then maybe one day she would achieve her dream – to follow in her Aunt Florrie's footsteps.

On Dave's signal, Rhiannon saw Percy head for the dressing-rooms to inform the cast that it was just five minutes to curtain up. On cue the orchestra in the pit in front of the stage began to play the overture. As the music played and the auditorium lights began to dim, the intensity of Rhiannon's emotions caused her to catch her breath as goose bumps invaded her flesh.

The Empire Belles were lined up in the wings, ready to open the show.

‘Percy, give the chairman another call, will you?'

Within minutes Rhiannon watched Gus Davenport squeeze past the dancers. As he did so he gave each girl a token peck on the cheek.

‘It's about bloody time. Must you always cut it so fine?' Dave asked.

‘I'd have come a lot sooner if I'd known this young beauty was here with you.' He stared down at Rhiannon, his gaze burning her large brown eyes. ‘Greetings, Majesty.' He gave another of his elaborate bows.

‘My name's Rhiannon!' she snapped.

‘Temper temper, Princess Rhi,' he mocked.

‘Rhi will do. And I'll thank you to not to make fun of me.'

Behind him one of the Empire Belles called out, ‘You seem to have met your match with that one, Gus.' The rest of the troupe laughed.

Gus moved closer to Rhiannon, his face almost touching hers. She could feel his warm breath. ‘I'm sorry. I really didn't mean to upset
you,' he whispered. ‘When you get to know me better, you'll realize I like to tease, it's what I do. Friends?' He took her hand in his and, raising it gently, kissed her palm.

She caught her breath. Luckily at that precise moment she heard the music reach a climax and, as the curtain rose to rapturous applause, he released her hand. He walked on to the stage to take his position at the chairman's table and proceeded to address the audience. ‘My lords, ladies and gentlemen... .'

Rhiannon looked on in awe. This man oozed so much confidence; he was so elegant and so ... handsome. She was overcome by the same feelings that had been stirred in her dreams. She felt her colour rise while at the same time, strangely, she broke out in a cold sweat.

 

Mair, with only a few programmes left and her moneybag practically bursting with coins, made her way across the foyer to the pass door that led backstage.

If Mair had to do a job, then she was quite happy selling programmes before the show. She liked being front of house, it gave her a chance to mingle with the audience, from
hoi polloi
in the stalls and dress circle to the ruffians in the gods. Most had a kind word for her and all were suitably impressed when she boasted that ‘The Great Florrie Grayson' was her aunt, telling herself that there was no harm in a little white lie.

Now that her job was done Mair eagerly made her way back to the chorus girls' dressing-room. She enjoyed helping them with their costumes and make-up, especially when they dressed her up and painted her face. They were all a lot older than she was and their chitchat was always lively, if somewhat near the knuckle.

‘Mair, is that you?'

Somewhat startled, Mair turned sharply. She stared at the woman dressed in all her finery, her face partly obscured by her stylish, large-brimmed hat. She watched as the woman threw back her head and, flicking her hair away from her shoulders, smiled.

‘Mair it's me, you daft ha'peth.'

Mair's mouth gaped in astonishment. ‘Mam?' She couldn't believe her eyes. ‘What are you doing here?'

‘I could ask you the same bloody question.'

‘I'm here with Rhiannon. D-Dai's d-dead,' Mair stammered, still in shock at seeing her mother.

‘I know. Poor sod.' Nellie glanced down at the theatre programmes
in Mair's hand. ‘That still don't explain how you come to be working in Cardiff.'

‘I'm not working really. I'm just helping out, like,' Mair offered.

‘Helping who? Some bloody fella, no doubt. Who've you picked up with?' Nellie snapped.

‘No. It's nothing like that, Mam. I'm here with Rhi. Her aunt is Florrie Grayson, the star of the show.'

Nellie pondered for a while. ‘Of course. Florrie was Dai's first wife's sister. Well I never. I can't believe, having seen her name up in lights for nights, that I didn't make the connection. Florrie Grayson, Dai's sister-in-law. Well I never,' she repeated.

‘How are you doing, Mam? Are you still with your fancy man?'

‘Less of your cheek! Though, if you must know, Harry Stone and me are still together and doing very well, thank you.' It would seem, not as good as you, eh? Nellie whispered under her breath, as she considered the options open to her regarding Florrie Grayson.

‘Tell me, Mair. Where in Cardiff are you staying?'

‘Walter, Florrie, Rhiannon and me, are all staying at the Angel Hotel. Rhi and me have got this huge room all to ourselves. It's lovely.'

‘The Angel is it... ?' Nellie's mind was working overtime. ‘Look, I've got to get a move on. I've arranged to meet some “friends” in the Theatre Bar.'

‘Will you come and see me again, Mam?'

‘I might, you never know. Then again I might not.' With that she was gone.

For a while Mair stood as if glued to the spot. Against all the odds she had come face to face with her mother. There had been no hugs, no tears, in fact no show of emotion at all. Although it saddened Mair to admit it, her mother obviously would rather be with her fancy man and his friends than with her own daughter. On the way backstage Mair struggled to hold back tears; she told herself she was better off without Nellie, but the hurt she felt just wouldn't go away. She decided not to mention meeting up with Nellie to anyone, especially not Rhiannon. She could do without Miss Popular's pity, thank you very much.