A Class Apart (6 page)

Ellamarie and Bob had known one another for over two years, occasionally working together, and frequently bumping into one another in the close-knit community of London’s West End theatres. Ellamarie hadn’t known at first, but Bob had fallen in love with her almost the first time he had laid eyes on her.

He had no ready explanation for the strength and immediacy of his feelings. Of course, Ellamarie was a beautiful woman, but as a director he spent a great deal of time with beautiful women. For some reason she held an attraction for him that he had never felt for anyone else. He was as surprised by his feelings as he was mystified, but try as he might, he could not deny them. In all the years of his marriage he had never strayed, had never felt the need or the inclination. He was comfortable with his wife, and happy too, and coupled with the excitement and drive of his work, he had always assumed his life to be fulfilled. But from the moment that Ellamarie Goold had walked into his life, all that had changed.

He was sitting in the old Church Hall where the rehearsals for
Twelfth Night
were entering their second week, watching Ellamarie make her entrance with ‘Feste’.

He had surprised everyone by asking to see this particular part of the scene, but he had done it only to satisfy Ellamarie. He knew she would be angry if she didn’t rehearse something that morning.

He watched her with a critical eye. It was her first professional role in Shakespeare, and she had thrown herself into it body and soul – once she had come to terms with not playing Viola. Bob smiled to himself as he watched her prepare for her first exit of the scene, and was impressed by how readily the required blush came to her cheeks.

She lifted her head. “Peace, you rogue, no more o’ that. Here comes my lady: make your excuse wisely, you were best,” and she swept from the stage.

“Hold it! Hold it there!” Bob called, before she was fully gone. He walked over to them, knowing he was being watched closely by the rest of the cast.

“I think, Ellamarie,” he said, as he reached them, “perhaps you could smile a little more as you prepare to leave. No, not with your mouth, just your eyes, a touch flirtatious, you know. And Geoffrey, watch her go, and keep watching her until she has cleared the stage altogether, then clasp your hands together.”

Ellamarie was looking at him, but he avoided her eyes.

“I thought,” said Geoffrey, unwittingly helping him out, “that as Maria leaves, perhaps I could take a couple of steps after her, wait for her to go, then turn back for my next line.”

Bob thought about this. “Try it,” he said, “and don’t forget, really camp it up. Maybe slope the steps.” He gave an illustration of what he wanted, making everyone laugh, then stood back again to watch. “Take it from ‘Many a good hanging prevents a bad marriage.’” He was still looking at Geoffrey.

Maria and the Clown rehearsed to the point of Maria’s exit again, and this time Bob let her go and allowed the scene to continue up to the point of Maria’s re-entry, when he nodded towards the stage manager who, taking her cue perfectly, yelled “Lunch!”

Ellamarie picked up her bag and stormed into the ladies’ room. Dammit! Why hadn’t Bob given her the chance to go further? Surely he had seen how ready she was to do more. More than anyone else, he knew how important it was for her to prove herself. Not only to the others, but to herself too. The sly glances and whispers of her fellow actors had not passed her by, and she was determined to prove to them that she was right for the part. That there was no question of perks for the director’s mistress. She knew she could successfully discard her American accent, and had, but even that had not persuaded Maureen Woodley that Ellamarie Goold should be in the cast. As far as Maureen Woodley was concerned,
no
American should ever touch Shakespeare. It was an insult to the Bard. And coupled with the fact that the American had only got the part because she was getting laid by the director, the whole thing was an outrage.

Stalking past the basins she slammed the door to a cubicle and locked it. She must calm down before she faced him. If they had a fight over lunch everyone would know, and she would not give that bitch Maureen Woodley the pleasure of seeing her upset.

By the time she had counted to ten at least five times she was ready to leave. She turned to pull the chain, then stopped as the outside door opened and she heard someone saying her name.

“Just the very sight of Ellamarie Goold makes my blood boil. She doesn’t pick up on the verse lines, she flaunts herself across the stage as if she were the only one on it, then has the cheek to hover on the side whilst the rest of us are playing. God, she makes me sick!” There was no mistaking the husky tones of Maureen Woodley. “Did you see her actually prompt Richard this morning?”

“Mmm,” Eliamarie heard Ann Hollier answer.

“But how dare she prompt Richard Coulthard, of all people!”

“Well, he did forget his lines,” Ann pointed out.

“But it’s not her job to prompt.”

“No, I suppose not. Where shall we go for lunch?”

“And then did you hear her discussing pauses with Nicholas Gough earlier? Anyone would think she was an authority on Shakespeare the way she carries on.”

“Maybe she is,” said Ann.

Ellamarie’s blood had run cold when she first heard Maureen bitching about her, but now she was trying to stop herself from laughing. Shit, Maureen Woodley sure was stupid. Couldn’t she see what a bore she was being? Ann Hollier was big news in the theatre, what the hell did she care about what Maureen Woodley thought?

“Just let her try prompting me,” Maureen continued, her strangled voice indicating that she was applying her orange lipstick, “she’ll have a nice treat in store for her if she does.”

With that Ellamarie pulled open the cubicle door and stalked out. She had the satisfaction of seeing an orange line snake towards Maureen’s nose, before she flung her bag across her shoulders and trilled: “Well, Maureen, I sure do love treats, so my book’ll be at the ready,” and she started to turn away. “Oh, but I’m forgetting,” she stopped and smiled, making sure she caught Maureen’s eye in the mirror before she looked pointedly at the script that was lying on the wash basin, “you’re not off your book yet, are you? Oh well, some you win. Treats later maybe,” and with that she threw the two women a beaming smile, and sailed out of the room, but not before she saw the answering gleam in Ann Hollier’s eye.

Everything about London and its turbulent past set Ellamarie’s romantic soul into motion, and though Bob laughed as they walked towards the Tower of London, he grudgingly admitted that yes, it affected him too. They were wrapped in woolly hats and scarves to keep out the cold, and once out of sight of the rehearsal rooms, Ellamarie slipped her arm through his. Bob always felt uncomfortable when she did this, afraid that he might see someone he knew, or more importantly someone who knew his wife. It was an unnecessary fear, because he often walked along like this with actresses, but he supposed that his guilt was the reason for his discomfort. He didn’t pull away, he knew Ellamarie would be hurt if he did.

“So you see,” she was saying, “I’m worried about them all.”

“They’re grown women, darling,” he answered, “I’m sure they can look after themselves.”

“Oh sure they can, but it still doesn’t stop me from worrying. I saw Ashley yesterday, for lunch. You should have seen her. She looks awful. What beats me is how he could have done it to her?”

Bob shrugged. “I’m sure he had his reasons.”

“Don’t take his part,” Ellamarie objected. “I won’t allow it. He’s a bastard son-of-a-bitch and that’s all there is to it. And someone’s got to do something about Kate. I mean, it’s not natural to be so long without a man.”

“She’s out with a different man almost every night, from what I can gather,” said Bob.

“But she doesn’t sleep with them.”

“Not everyone is as insatiable as you, darling.”

She laughed. “That’s because not everyone has you.”

He squeezed her hand. “I thought Jenneen was fixing Kate up with this chap, Joseph?”

“Joel. She is. But who’s going to fix someone for Jenneen?”

“Ellamarie, stop it. Next thing I know you’ll be running some kind of dating agency.”

“Well, I want everyone to be as happy as I am,” she said, pulling him to a stop and turning him to face her.

“You, my darling, are having an affair with a married man.”

Her smile disappeared. “Don’t remind me.”

They walked in silence for a while, watching the people passing, and looking up at the ancient City buildings that surrounded them. Ellamarie wished her father could be with them now, he would just love to hear her talk about the Tower, and all she had learned about the people who had lived and died there. She felt sad whenever she thought of him, so far away in Wyoming, still believing that she would go back home to him one day, when she knew she never would.

She shook herself. “Was your weekend good?” she asked Bob.

“OK.”

He could feel her eyes on him and grinned. “I missed you,” he whispered, turning to look at her. “Did you miss me?”

She seemed to think about this for a minute. “A bit,” she admitted.

He raised his eyebrows. “Just a bit?” He sounded more Scots than he usually did.

She nodded.

A fire engine screamed past, and like everyone else they stopped to watch it go by.

“So how did the rehearsals measure up this morning?” she asked him, when they were walking again.

“Good. Yes, good. There’s still a great deal of work to do, but I think we’re getting there. I’ve decided that we won’t rehearse this afternoon.”

“You mean you’re giving us the afternoon off, sir?”

He chuckled. “Certainly not! No, I thought this afternoon, as the whole cast plus stand-ins are with us today, we might have a group discussion. Do some analysis.”

“Sounds heavy.”

“No one ever said Shakespeare was light.”

“I was kidding. Tell you what, why don’t we start now? Give me, the poor American, a fighting chance.”

He looked at her, and though she was laughing at herself, he could see that she was serious. “OK,” he said, “I want to take a look at the four different types of love in the play. Orsino, who is in love with love. Olivia who falls in love at first sight. Viola who has a secret love . . .”

“I think it would be truer to say Viola suffers a secret love.” Her voice was meaningful.

She saw his eyes flicker towards her, but he made no comment. “And Malvolio . . .” he went on.

“. . . is in love with himself,” she finished.

“Precisely. And it is those four themes that I want to discuss this afternoon.”

“I see.” She seemed to go off into a world of her own, and Bob let her be. He needed to think about the interview he was doing later on the BBC, when he would be quizzed about his adaptation of
Twelfth Night.
He hated doing the promotion ritual for his productions. Actors, he felt, were better suited. But he had once made the mistake of being a lively interviewee, and ever since he had been pestered to do more. The BBC had offered to come to the rehearsal rooms, but Bob didn’t trust Maureen Woodley. It would be like her to point the interviewer at Ellamarie and whisper something damning in his ear. There was quite enough attention focused upon them as it was, without television taking up the cause.

He felt Ellamarie’s eyes upon him and turned to look at her. She smiled, and he lifted his hand to stroke her face.

“Where were you?” She always felt uneasy if he went into deep thought when he was with her. She was scared that he was thinking about their illicit life together, that it was all an error on his part. She needed constant reassurance from him. And Bob knew it.

“Oh, I was on an island somewhere,” he grinned.

She seemed to relax. “When is it?”

“
Desert Island Discs
?” He was relieved that she had unwittingly given credence to his story. “Friday next. And you? Where were you?”

“Me. I was somewhere, long, long ago. In a fine dress, and with many riches. Handmaidens and fools fawning at my feet. And a lover at my side, speaking true love with his eyes, and offering his heart to me.”

“And did you take it?”

“Yes.”

Ellamarie felt her heart turn over as his humorous blue eyes creased at the corners. “But you already have mine.”

She reached up and smoothed her fingers over his beard. “No, not all of it, only a part of it. In my dream you offered it all.”

He pulled her closer and brushed his lips against her hair. “I know you don’t believe it,” he whispered, “but here and now, my heart is yours, completely. There is no need of a flight through time to find it.”

“I wish I could believe you. Bob. Oh, I wish I could believe you.”

He hugged her, then turned with his arm about her, to walk on.

“Are you sure you’re not hungry?” he asked.

“Sure.”

“How about some coffee somewhere?”

“No thanks. I’m happy just walking.”

Tower Bridge was raised, so they stood at the side and watched the ship come through.

“How big was the bit?” he said, turning to face her.

She looked confused.

“The bit that you missed me?” he explained.

A light began to shine in her eyes. “Enormous.”

He pulled her into his arms. “Good, I’m glad. I want you to miss me.” He squeezed her tightly. “God, you feel so good. Even through all this,” and he plucked at her sheepskin coat.

She unbuttoned her coat, inviting him to slide his hands inside, and rested her head on his shoulder.

“What did you do at the weekend?” he asked. “When you were missing me so much.”

“Where shall I begin? So many parties, so many people to see, things to do. And the men. Hell, it’s difficult being so popular.”