Devil in Disguise (10 page)

‘God,
that’s awful. Poor Lilia!’

‘Poor
me!’ retorted Roger. ‘I had tickets for Ronan Keating that night, and I had to
bloody work. Your cab’s here.’

It was almost midnight
when Molly alighted outside Kit-Kat Cottage. She hadn’t needed to keep the
driver awake by talking: he’d talked to her non-stop for the entire twenty
minutes. ‘I was going to be an actor myself, years ago, but it’s no life, is
it?’ were his parting words.

The
lights were on at the cottage, and Molly fancied nothing more than the promised
nightcap so she hung her cardigan over her bedroom-door knob and knocked gently
on the lounge door. There was a hurried rustling within, followed by a long
pause. She knocked again, and said, ‘It’s Molly. Shall I come in?’

‘Ah!
Molly!’
Lilia’s muffled voice exclaimed, as if she had been expecting someone
called Nelly. ‘Do come in, my dear!’

Molly
opened the door and stepped inside. She glanced towards the alcove, but Joey’s
chair was empty. Then she registered the hot fug in the room. Despite the
sultry evening, the gas fire was on full blast. The dog was lying on the
hearthrug, panting, and Lilia sat smiling in her armchair, looking a little
flushed.

‘Sorry
to bother you, Lilia,’ Molly began, fanning herself with one hand as she spoke,
and wondering if perhaps she should have gone straight to her room.

‘Not at
all, my dear!’ said Lilia. ‘Back from your triumphant first night? Come in, sit
down and let us toast your success.’ A bottle of brandy and two glasses stood
ready on the table. ‘Please pour us each a drink.’

Molly
went to the table obediently and uncorked the bottle.

‘How
did it go?’ asked Lilia.

‘Oh,
you know. Fine. I did my best.’

‘Good.
I hope for your sake that was the case,’ said Lilia. ‘Beware the
Northampton
Gazette.
They can make or break a career.’

Molly
handed her a glass of brandy and sat down opposite. Her landlady’s stockings,
she noticed with surprise, were rolled down round her ankles. ‘I’m ever so
bored with
The Mikado,
to be honest. I’m much rather hear about you.
Tell me about your singing career, Lilia,’ she said earnestly. ‘Please?’

‘Oh.’
Lilia looked away. ‘You cannot really want to know. It was such a long time
ago.’

‘I’d be
interested. Really,’ said Molly. ‘I bet it’s fascinating.’

Lilia
looked bashfully at Molly. She exhaled through her nose, seeming to contemplate
the wisdom of telling her story. Finally she spoke. Molly sat back, cradling
her brandy glass and listening intently.

‘I was
the great singer, Lilia Delvard,’ the old lady began. ‘The Céline Dion of my
day, only not as horsy. Here. Look. This is me. ‘Lilia stood up and reached for
a framed photograph from the many on the shelf. She showed Molly a
black-and-white picture of her barely recognisable younger self.

‘Beautiful!’
said Molly, admiringly. ‘Foxy lady!’

‘This
was 1950, I think, at the Café de Paris.’

‘Did
you perform there?’

‘Well,
I wasn’t cleaning the toilets. I was a star,’ Lilia said matter-of-factly.

Molly
studied the photograph. A young, elegantly dressed woman stood with her back to
the camera, her neck bejewelled and her head turning, almost as an
afterthought, towards the lens and her limpid eyes inviting, as if beckoning
someone to follow her to the adjoining boudoir.

‘My
image was rather
femme fatale,’
Lilia explained. ‘I was German and the
war was not long over. I could hardly pass myself off as Julie Andrews.’ Both
women laughed lightly at the image. ‘I went the other way. I wasn’t Miss
Squeaky Clean, like dear Julie. I get a Christmas card from her every year
still. Just can’t seem to shake her off. I became the German Temptress, sultry
and moody and difficult to predict. If anyone dared to talk during my set, I
would stop singing and stare until they were embarrassed into silence. It was
said that I was the only person in London who could shut Princess Margaret up.’

‘You
sang for Princess Margaret?’ asked a breathless Molly.

‘She
was one of my biggest fans.’

‘What
did you sing?’

‘Bitter
ballads, mostly. “Moon Over Alabama”. Brecht, of course, Kurt Weill. “I’m A
Stranger Here Myself’, “September Song”.
“Cuando Vuelva A Tu Lado”
was
about as upbeat as I was allowed to get. My signature song was “The Man That
Got Away”.’

‘I love
it!’ said Molly, enthralled, looking from Lilia to the photo and back again.
‘You’ve still got the twinkle in your eye, ‘she said sincerely. ‘Wow. What an
amazing thing to have done! Did you make any recordings?’

‘That
is a sore point!’ Lilia chuckled at the memory. “‘Fever” was to be my hit song,
but Peggy Lee came to see me one night and the next thing I knew she had
released it.’

‘Really?
Did she know you were going to do it?’

‘I told
her myself over martinis at Goldenhurst. We were staying at Nod’s for the
weekend.’

‘What a
bitch!’ said Molly, indignantly.

‘Eartha
Kitt was the worst. You only had to hum a tune in the lift and she’d nick it.’

‘No!’
said Molly.

‘As for
Sarah Vaughan!’

‘What
did she do?’

‘We
shared a dressing room once and I had hiccups. Half an hour later she goes on
stage and starts all this scat singing!’

‘She
was famous for her scat singing.’

‘After
that she was,’ Lilia muttered. ‘I invented it. I was the first. It still
rankles.’

There
was a slightly awkward silence. Molly handed the framed picture back to Lilia,
who took it, and said, ‘Shall we have another brandy?’

‘Yes,
please.’ Molly got up to do the refills.

After a
moment’s thought, Lilia said, ‘I’ve just had a wonderful idea. How about I
throw a little after-show supper for you and the rest of the cast on Thursday
night?’

‘Oh,
Lilia, that’s so sweet of you. But I wouldn’t want you to go to the trouble—’

‘Not at
all, my dear. Just a few little nibbles and some
Cava.
To tell you the
truth, I’d love it.

‘Well,
I’m sure they’d all be delighted to meet you.’

‘I
remember Peter McDonald when he was on
Dixon of Dock Green.
And
The
Butler
was my favourite show.’

‘He’s a
really lovely man.’

‘Then I
hope he will accept the invitation. Leave everything to me.’

‘It’s
very kind of you, Lilia. We’re all far away from home and it’s our last week.
It would be great to have a bit of a get-together.’

‘Then
it is settled. Thursday night is open house at Kit-Kat Cottage. Here’s to you,’
said Lilia. They clinked glasses and smiled at each other.

It must have been about
three in the morning when Molly was woken by a light tapping on her door.

She sat
up and turned on the bedside light. The tapping came again.

‘Hello?’
said Molly. ‘Who is it?’

‘It’s
Lilia. May I come in?’ Her voice sounded shaky and weak.

Before
Molly could answer, she saw the doorknob turn. Lilia, in a faded pink
calf-length nightgown with bluebells jauntily dotted all over it, came silently
in and shut the door behind her. ‘Forgive me,’ she said. ‘When Joey wets the
bed, I sleep in this room.’ With that, she moved determinedly towards the bed,
lifted up the blanket and hopped in before Molly had said a word. Then she
turned on her side so that she was facing Molly and pulled the blanket up round
her shoulders. ‘Turn the light out, Molly, dear,’ she whispered. ‘I am one
tired old lady.’

Molly
was speechless. In her semi-conscious state she did not have the strength to
express her discomfort, so she dutifully flicked the switch and lay down,
staring into the darkness and trying to come to terms with the unexpected
presence in her bed.

Her
hopes that sleep would envelop her swiftly and completely were unrewarded. She
was tense and stiff and her eyelids fluttered open again the moment she
instructed them to close.

Lilia’s
breathing, on the other hand, was slow and heavy.

Molly
turned on her side, facing away from her, but the movement seemed to disturb
her bedmate, and Lilia snuggled closer, snaking a sinewy arm round her waist.
With two sleepy grunts and tugs she was spooning Molly from behind and
breathing hot, decaying breath on the back of her neck.

Molly
lay rigid and uncomfortable, until at last sleep rescued her.

Molly awoke the next
morning with a dull, pulsing headache. Lilia was no longer beside her and she
was alone with her Chardonnay-and-brandy hangover. She tried her best to
revive herself under the trickle of water from the shower, then got dressed.
When she went into the kitchen Lilia was sitting at the table in her usual silk
arrangement, buttering a thin slice of toasted pumpernickel bread. ‘Good
morning, Molly!’ she said cheerfully. ‘I have a glass of water and two aspirin
ready for you.’

‘Oh,
thank you, Lilia. I think I need them.’ She wondered whether to mention the
curious incident in the night time but decided against it. Perhaps it would be
best if I just forget about it, she thought, and hope to hell that Joey doesn’t
wet the bed again.

Lilia
gazed at her wisely. ‘The trouble with brandy is it’s very difficult to stop at
one glass. Or so it would seem in your case. Anyway, it is done now.‘

Molly
glanced around the room. There was no sign of Joey or Heathcliff.

‘It is
still too early for the men,’ Lilia said, as if she had read her mind. ‘Please
sit down and I will make you coffee.’

‘No,
don’t get up. I’ll sort myself out,’ insisted Molly.

‘Really?’

‘Really.’

‘You’re
a lovely girl, Molly. Such a nice change. I had Toad of Toad Hall here last
Christmas. He thought I was his personal handmaiden,’ said Lilia, taking a bite
but continuing to talk nevertheless. ‘He had me grinding beans, stirring
coffee, spreading organic anchovy paste on gluten-free crispbread. Such a
carry-on.’

‘Goodness!’
said Molly. ‘You’ll have none of that trouble with me, I can assure you.’ She
went over to the Welsh dresser and helped herself to some muesli, then turned
to sit down.

‘While
you are up, my dear,’ said Lilia, halting her in her tracks, ‘could you pop me
a piece of bacon in the pan?’

‘Of
course.’ Molly put her bowl on the table and set about her task. She lit a ring
on the gas stove and placed the frying pan on top of it. She opened the fridge
and reached in for the bacon.

‘The
eggs are in there, too, as you’re in the vicinity. Scrambled, if you wouldn’t
mind.’ The old lady’s lips made a quick cat’s cradle of pouts and smiles,
finally selected the smile and gave it full vent.

‘Of
course I don’t mind,’ Molly said, glad to help. It must be nice for Lilia to
have someone to do things for her for a change, and if frying a bit of bacon
and scrambling some eggs made her happy, she was glad to do it. ‘So I take it
Toad was a bit of a pain. Some actors are like that, you know. Really
precious.’

‘Mmm.’
Lilia looked mournful. ‘Poor Toad of Toad Hall. He went down with food
poisoning on the Tuesday. He was Toad of the khazi for the rest of the week …
He must have got it from some kebab he ate between shows.’

Molly
laughed. ‘Poor Toad!’

‘Indeed,’
said Lilia, joining in the laughter. ‘Missed his press night. Terrible
business. But you look very well. Hung-over, but well.’

‘I’ll
feel better once I’ve had my muesli,’ said Molly, feeling a little nauseated by
the smell of bacon. She mixed the eggs and heated some butter in a pan, lifted
it off the gas and swirled it round. She boiled some water to make a fresh pot
of tea and put a plate under the grill to warm. When the bacon and eggs were
done, she served Lilia from the right-hand side like a proper waitress and
finally sat down to her own neglected breakfast.