Daughter of Deceit Read Online Free PDF Page B

spare him from ever working with this woman again.
    “Almighty God,” he cried. “Why did You not let me take Lottie Langdon?”
    “Yes, God, why didn’t You?” said my mother. “This silly Countess Maud would just have suited her.”
    Then Dolly put on one of his Garrick poses and, with the resignation of a Pontius Pilate, cried out: “I wash my hands of this affair.” And with an appropriate gesture he turned to the door.
    He did not mean it, of course, but carried away by the drama, my mother pleaded: “Don’t go. I’ll do everything … everything you want of me … even Maud.”
    And so it went on. In earlier days I might have believed it was all coming to disaster, but now I knew they were all too professional to allow that. They did not mean what they said. They were placating Fate. Theatrical people, I had discovered, were the most superstitious on earth. They did not say beforehand: “This is going to be a great success,” because if they did, Fate, being the perverse creature it was, would make sure that it wasn’t. You had been arrogant to think it was your decision. So if you said it would be a failure, Fate would jeer: “Well, it won’t be—it will be a success.”
    At last I was there in the theatre with Charlie and Robert Bouchere in a box looking down on the stage. The curtain went up on the linen draper’s shop. There was singing and dancing and suddenly the line of girls parted and there was Desiree behind the counter, looking delightful in the dress, which was neither too tight, too loose, too revealing nor plain drab.
    The audience burst into that loud applause which always greeted her when she appeared, and soon she was into “Can I help you, madam?” before she came out to dance round the stage in her inimitable way.
    Dolly came into the box in the interval. He said the audience seemed to like it and with Desiree it could not fail. She had the audience where she wanted them from the moment she appeared.
    “So you are not sorry you did not get Lottie Langdon after all,” I could not help saying.
    He gave me that quizzical look, as much as to say, you should know by now what that was all about.
    He disappeared and we settled down to enjoy the last act.
    Before the lights went down I saw that someone below in the stalls was trying to catch my attention. I felt a sudden spurt of laughter rising in me. It was Roderick Claverham. I lifted my hand and, acknowledging my recognition of him, I smiled. He returned the smile. I looked at Charlie. He was discussing the show with Robert Bouchere and had clearly not seen his son. I did not inform him that Roderick was in the theatre. I had learned a lesson. I wondered whether Roderick understood.
    Then the curtain went up and we watched Desiree through the final scene with the aristocratic bridegroom declaring: “I’d love you if you were a shopgirl still,” while Desiree responded with some of her most skilful top notes.
    It was over. The audience was wildly enthusiastic. There was Desiree, led onto the stage by the man who would love her if she were a shopgirl still. He kissed her hand and then, to the delight of the audience, her cheek. The flowers were brought and Desiree made a curtain speech.
    “Dear, dear people … you are too kind to me. I don’t deserve it!”
    “You do. You do,” from the audience.
    Holding up her hand in mock modesty, she told them that the greatest joy she could know was to play for them. “I knew you would love Maud. I did from the first moment I met her.”
    Echoes came back to me. “This stupid creature, why do I have to play such an idiot?”
    It was all part of the playacting which was her life.
    People were making for the exits. I caught one more glimpse of Roderick in the crowd. He turned to look at me and smiled. I looked towards Charlie. He had still not seen his son.
    I went to Desir6e’s dressing room with Charlie and Robert after that. Martha was rapidly helping her to change. Champagne was