Now she answered Cat with a forced smile. ‘He’s terribly busy and we agreed it’s hopeless to try to write with me being on tour. But he’s fine, I think.’
Cat made no reply to this. She thought Toby Shawe was an arrogant womaniser, but Sophy loved him and so she bit her tongue when they talked about him. It amazed her that Sophy seemed oblivious to the effect she had on men; she could have anyone she wanted with very little effort, but she seemed stuck on Toby. Even Mr Gregory was smitten, she could tell – although he was always very correct and proper with everyone. But there was a look on his face sometimes when he thought no one was observing him . . . Still, it was none of her business. She was Sophy’s friend and she’d back her to the hilt, but she wouldn’t presume to tell her what to do.
When the two girls entered the back door of the theatre everyone was helping to put the scenery in place. It was like that on tour. Although they had a stagehand, there was too much for Bart to handle by himself so everyone mucked in. They were running late and there was no time for a rehearsal once everything was crammed on to the tiny stage, but they had been acting the play for weeks so it wasn’t really necessary. Or then again, perhaps it was – in view of what happened when the play began.
The play was a work by Ibsen – ‘glorious actable stuff’, as Cat put it – with enough drama to satisfy the most fervent actors, but Sophy was on stage when all the set doors jammed, owing to the constricted space. She waited for Cat – the actress who was supposed to open the door and join her on stage – in vain, but she could hear the huffing and puffing as Bart and some others tried to force the door. In the middle of the stage there was a wardrobe. It was a bedroom scene and the wardrobe was never opened so it had no back to it; it went straight on to the rear of the stage. After a few minutes of ad libbing Sophy was just thinking they would have to bring the curtain down, when the wardrobe opened and Cat sailed out for her part. Throughout the whole of the rest of the play, Sophy and the other actors went on and off through the wardrobe, barely able to control their laughter on stage and giving free vent to it off stage.
It wasn’t until the final curtain had come down that she realised Mr Gregory had been in the theatre when he joined them backstage. He did this occasionally and always without notice. ‘To keep us on our toes,’ Cat said, and she was probably right.
He walked over to where she and Cat were watching Bart and a couple of the actors attacking the offending door with brute force. ‘You handled that’, he nodded towards the door, which suddenly gave way with a tremendous and ominous cracking sound, ‘like true professionals, if I may say so. Well done, ladies.’
He smiled at them, and not for the first time Sophy thought what a difference it made to the craggy, somewhat stern face. She dimpled at him. ‘I remember you did say to me that touring provides opportunities to learn the craft of acting like nothing else.’
‘Did I?’ His smile widened, his eyes lingering on the lovely face in front of him. ‘That was uncommonly wise of me.’
‘I don’t think Henrik Ibsen would have appreciated the laughter from the audience tonight though, do you? He might have preferred us to bring down the curtain rather than use the wardrobe.’
‘No doubt, but then he wouldn’t be the one who would have to refund the ticket money.’ Kane dragged his eyes away from the woman who haunted his dreams and tormented his days, saying to the cast in general, ‘Anyone fancy supper on me? I think you all need a glass of something and a good meal after this evening.’
He didn’t look directly at Sophy again, but he was vitally conscious of her as she bustled off with the rest of the group to change out of her costume. She had no idea in that beautiful head of hers how he felt about her. Which was good, in view of her attachment to Toby Shawe which had effectively tied his hands about presenting himself as a suitor.
That she was grateful to him was abundantly clear, and she didn’t seem to dislike him. On the contrary, he imagined she saw him as something between a kindly uncle and an exacting benefactor, and being double her age he could understand that. But he didn’t have to like it. And Shawe of all people. The man wasn’t worthy of her. He was a philanderer and shallow into the bargain, she was throwing herself away—