After the Cabaret Read Online Free PDF Page A

you took up astrology, Briggs,” said Pym. “Then you could put on a fringed shawl and earrings and tell us all our fortunes.” The doorbell rang downstairs. We ignored it.
    â€˜â€œGood idea,” said Julia Montrose. Well, we all knew what she wanted an astrologer to tell her. Sir Peveril was running a branch of the intelligence services at the time. She was his secretary, and his lover. She hoped he would abandon his wife and children, who were living in the country, and marry her. But at that time Sir Peveril was not thinking of making any changes in his private life. His work was making too many demands on him. Or so he said.
    â€˜Julia was sitting, tidily, on her cushion, blonde hair in a roll at the back. Pym was lying down, a bit drunk, looking as ever like an Italian angel, with his perfect golden skin, smooth dark hair, large eyes with the long lashes – oh, everybody fell in love with Adrian Pym, though he never fell in love with anyone.
    â€˜And he said, in a Romanian-gypsy accent, “I see you, my dear, wife of a handsome man in his fifties, with a brood of tall sons about you, ruling over wide, rolling acres in the West.” When I say he sounded like a Romanian gypsy, he did. He had an uncanny ear for accents, a gift for languages, a nasty tongue, also. Julia winced, for he was telling her what she most wanted – and that meant he knew.
    â€˜At this point the doorbell rang again, for a long time. The caller had stuck their thumb on it. “Hell,” said Briggs and, “Loomie, you’re a cad,” said Julia to Pym.
    â€˜â€œWorse than that, dear, much worse,” he said.
    â€˜Then the bell stopped ringing and a voice came yelling up through the darkness from the silent street. “Pym – Briggs – Julia – somebody! Let me in!” It was a woman’s voice.
    â€˜â€œWho’s that?” Briggs remarked, without much interest.
    â€˜I knew. “It’s Sally Bowles,” I said.
    â€˜â€œShit!” exclaimed Pym. “Keep down, everyone. Pretend to be out.”
    â€˜The voice came again. “I know you’re in. I can hear the music. Let me in. Don’t be rotten. Loomie – let me in.”
    â€˜â€œShe’ll wake up the whole street,” Briggs said. He stood up.
    â€˜â€No,” Pym protested.
    â€˜â€œSally! Shut up! I’m coming down,” Briggs said, over the parapet. “My God! What have you got on?”
    â€˜â€œIt’s my uniform,” she shouted back. “Open the door.”
    â€˜â€œJust stop yelling,” he called. “She’s wearing a maid’s uniform,” he told us, as he went to the trap-door.
    â€˜As I followed Briggs down the ladder I heard Pym suggest, “Perhaps she thinks we’re having a fancy-dress party.” And there at the door Sally was indeed dressed as a maid in a black dress, black stockings and a white frilled apron. In her hand she carried what had evidently been a maid’s starched white cap. She came in and Briggs shut the door quickly so the light could not escape.
    â€˜When we got upstairs, Briggs said, “Hello, Sally. Nice to see you. Sorry about having to ask you to leave. We’re overcrowded here as it is. Tell me one thing, why are you dressed like that?”
    â€˜â€œI’m a maid,” Sally explained. “I’ve just slipped out to see you.” Then she came to the point: “I wondered if there was any news of Theo.”
    â€˜â€œWell, Sally,” he said, “quite honestly, even if I knew, I’m not supposed to say.”
    â€˜â€œI love him. He’s the only man I’ve ever really loved,” said Sally, emotionally.
    â€˜â€œOh, crikey,” Briggs said. “Well, since you ask me, I actually don’t know where he is.”
    â€˜This was not enough for Sally. Soon she was on the roof, her uniform, especially the apron, much the worse for