Devil in Disguise (37 page)

‘I’m
still here,’ said Molly, giving Lilia’s hand a reassuring squeeze.

‘For
how long?’ asked Lilia, hopelessly. ‘And then what is to become of me?’

‘I’m
going to stay with you,’ replied Molly. ‘Seriously. You and I are a team. We
have plans, remember?’

‘You
are not going to leave me?’ asked Lilia, clutching Molly’s arm, a faint glimmer
of hope detectable in her voice.

‘Never,’
said Molly.

‘Do you
promise?’

‘I
promise. I love you, Lilia.’

The two
women embraced and then Lilia wiped her eyes.

‘Could
I have a line, please?’ asked Molly, who was feeling the vague, panicky
beginnings of cocaine withdrawal. ‘I need something for my nerves.’

Lilia
reached down the side of her chair and produced her enamel box. ‘I’ll tell you
what I am going to do with this,’ she said. ‘I am going to flush it down the
toilet.’

‘Why?’
asked Molly, alarmed. ‘What would you do that for?’

‘Because
you’ve had enough,’ said Lilia determinedly.

‘But I …
It seems such a waste,’ said Molly, flustered and feeling the need for a line
more strongly now that the supply was being removed.

‘If you
hadn’t been so drugged up, Jane wouldn’t have been so overcome with sisterly
concern. She would not have barged in here and Heathcliff would not be lying in
the next room dead.’

‘Yes,
but—’

‘Yes
but nothing,’ said Lilia, standing up. ‘Your drug-taking is to blame for all
this. Plain and simple.’ Lilia left the room, and a few moments later Molly
heard the toilet flush. Her palms felt moist and she felt suddenly irritable
and trapped.

When
Lilia returned she wore a look of triumph. ‘All gone!’ she said. ‘No more
pills, powder or-puff Welcome back to reality.’

Molly
managed a tight smile. Probably, in the long term, it was just as well. She had
only been on the stuff for a few weeks, but it was remarkable how much she had
come to enjoy it. Depend on it, even.

‘You
will be going cold turkey, my dear,’ continued Lilia. ‘Just as I will be
suffering withdrawal symptoms from the passionate love and affection Heathcliff
brought to my life, so will you from the drugs. Depression, sweating, panic
attacks, sleeplessness: we will be in perfect harmony with each other.’

Molly
said nothing.

‘Now,’
said Lilia after a pause, ‘I am going to light some candles and burn some
incense in my bedroom. I intend to spend one final night with my dear boy.’

‘Shall
I come with you?’ asked Molly.

‘No. It
is a private matter,’ replied Lilia, grandly. ‘You take a hot bath, and put
some disinfectant on that bruise on your forehead. We have spent months working
on your looks and the murderess has ruined them. Hopefully, it is just
temporary.’

‘But I
won’t be able to sleep without a pill,’ said Molly.

‘No,
you won’t. Here,’ said Lilia. She passed her pupil a pile of sheet music.
‘Study the songs. Learn the lyrics, absorb them into your very being.’

‘Yes,
Lilia,’ said Molly, meekly.

‘We
will soon be ready for the next phase of your development.’

‘What’s
that?’

‘A
public performance. I am ready to reveal to the world the remarkable creature I
have created.’

‘Jeepers,’
said Molly, feeling a surge of nervous excitement wash over her.

Lilia was true to her
word. Just three weeks after they had buried Heathcliff (in the middle of the
lawn, she had insisted), Molly was given a trial for a job singing at a
restaurant opposite the stage door of the Derngate called the Snappy Italian.
Roger had told Lilia of the vacancy after the resident entertainer, Betty
Swollocks, had eloped with a Lost Boy from
Peter Pan.
He came round to
tea one day to tell them the news. ‘An odder couple you will never see than
Betty and that pimply youth,’ he said. ‘Well, good riddance, that’s what I say.
If she thinks a nineteen-year-old pouf from Southampton is going to stay with
her for more than a fortnight, she’s got another think coming. Anyway, Luigi needs
somebody for Thursday, Friday and Saturday nights. I told him he should go
upmarket. The bingo night wasn’t to everyone’s taste. I told him about you and
he’d like to give you a trial. Am I the Angel Gabriel or not?’ Roger laughed,
pleased to be the bringer of such happy tidings.

Lilia
gasped with excitement and clasped her face. ‘Oh, darling you!’ she declared,
leaping up to kiss Roger on both cheeks. ‘This is just what I wanted.’

‘It’s
been a while since I sang in restaurants,’ Molly said uncertainly. She was
still recovering from an unpleasant few weeks of cold turkey and found it hard
to muster much enthusiasm. ‘Isn’t this a step back for me?’

‘No.
Forget your old life. This is your new life. It is the perfect place for you to
work on your performance,’ Lilia declared. ‘We have the voice, we have the
body, now we need to work on presentation. The Snappy Italian will be just the
right training ground. You shall see.’

Molly was more nervous
than she’d expected on her first night. Lilia dressed her carefully in a plain
black dress and high heels, pulled back her hair into a tight ponytail and gave
her simple but effective makeup: pale eyes, swooping black lashes and a dark
crimson mouth. Molly looked at herself in the mirror: the woman who stared back
at her was a million miles from the plump, curly-headed girl who had belted out
Broadway hits and Gilbert and Sullivan. What a strange path I’m on, she
thought, feeling the pleasurable anticipation mixed with nervous dread that
always came before a performance. I wonder where it’s leading …

‘Chop,
chop!’ urged Lilia, obviously pleased with how Molly looked. ‘It’s time.’

With
the faithful Geoffrey on the piano, Molly sang her selection of sultry and
bitter love songs to the largely theatrical clientele. They played two
half-hour sets, one at ten forty-five and another at midnight. Her now deep and
husky voice impressed the audience, and they whooped and cheered at the end.
The moment she finished Lilia came into the tiny dressing room and
congratulated her. ‘Excellent, my dear. Very well done. The songs are working
nicely. But it is a mistake to look too happy when taking your applause —
indifference would be more suitable. Remember, we are peddling misery here. It
is not Butlins. Try not to smile until we have had your teeth fixed. Look at
your audience as if they are low-life.’

Molly
was buzzing with adrenalin. ‘You are funny, Lilia! I had a ball out there. I
can’t believe how much I enjoyed myself’

When
Luigi came in at the end of the evening and offered her a permanent booking,
singing three nights a week, she was delighted. The money was pitiful, but that
didn’t matter. They returned home to Long Buckby in triumph.

Now Molly had something to
live for outside Kit-Kat Cottage and she adored it, from the careful
preparations, the selection of her outfit and the application of her makeup, to
stepping out into the glare of the spotlight and hearing the first tinkle of
the piano, knowing that she would open her mouth, begin to sing, and the
restaurant would fall silent to listen to her astounding voice.

Lilia
managed to secure a table at the front for herself each night as part of the
deal and sat, pen poised, taking notes and occasionally instructing Molly, in a
loud whisper, to leave her hair alone or relax her shoulders. Generally the
punters were respectful. The majority were performers or post-theatre diners,
who listened appreciatively and applauded after each song. If, as occasionally
happened, a few people talked loudly or laughed raucously, Lilia would ‘ssh’
loudly until others joined in and they were shamed into quiet.

One
night when they’d arrived back at the bungalow, after Molly had been performing
regularly at the Snappy Italian for a fortnight, Lilia suggested they settle
down for a brandy and chat. ‘Chin, chin,’ she said, raising her glass.

‘Cheers!’
Molly took a sip, then let out a deep sigh. ‘Ah! That’s better.’

Lilia
produced her pad. ‘I took some very thorough notes tonight,’ she said. ‘It’s
time for a review. You have settled in well, but that doesn’t mean you can stop
tying.’ She peered down at her scribbles, then said briskly, ‘Remember to walk
slowly when you first emerge on stage. No bounce. Your soul is full of despair,
remember. You are Our Lady of the Camellias, a tragic, wasted beauty who can
only alleviate the pain by singing.’

‘Right,’
said Molly, paying rapt attention.

‘I have
decided to change your name, too. Molly Douglas is all wrong.’

‘Not
very torch song, is it?’

‘No.
Sounds like a cleaning woman.’

‘What
do you suggest?’

‘First,
let’s get rid of Douglas. How about … for want of something better …
Delvard?’

‘Oh, I
love it!’ said Molly, excitedly. ‘Molly Delvard,’ she said, trying it out. ‘I’d
be honoured to perform under your name.’

‘Now.
The Molly part. We need to do something about that too. I suggest something a
little less chambermaid. How about … Mia?’

‘Oh.’
Molly blinked. She hadn’t expected to lose her name entirely. But she liked
Mia. ‘Yes … Mia Delvard. That’s good. I like it.’

‘Excellent.
That is settled. Next we come to your hair. It looked a little dull under the
lights, and I think we should go for some colour.’

‘I’ve
always wanted to be platinum blonde.’

‘I have
some henna in the bathroom,’ replied Lilia, ignoring Molly’s statement. ‘We
will try that on you tomorrow.’

‘So
I’ll be a redhead like you.’

‘Redheads
are more worldly wise. It was Leonard Cohen who advised me to go this colour.’

‘When
did you work with him? I love his music.’

‘We met
at the Trident Studios in 1967. We sang a duet together on his album
Songs of
Hate.
“Lilia,” he said to me, “a woman such as yourself should have hair
like fire!” The next day I bought my first tub of henna and I have never looked
back.’

‘I
can’t imagine you any other colour,’ said Molly.

‘Leonard
was right, of course.’

‘What
was the duet you sang together?’

‘A song
he wrote for me called “Lady Lilia”. A pretty ballad, it was. They didn’t put
it on the album in the end. I rather out-sang poor Leonard on the track, so the
producers cut it.’

‘How
amazing,’ said Molly.

Lilia
returned to her notes. ‘Your clothes are not suitable either. We will take a
trip to London on Tuesday and go to Chanel.’

‘Chanel
— how fabulous!’

‘As
Coco said to me once, at the Ritz in Paris, “Simplicity is the key to all
elegance.”’

‘You
knew Coco Chanel?’

‘I was
her muse for several seasons. In my modelling days.’

Molly
shook her head in amazement. ‘You’ve done everything, met everybody.’

‘I’ve
led a glamorous life, it’s true.’

Molly
was worried. ‘But isn’t Chanel terribly expensive?’

‘Yes.
No matter. I have a few pennies left from auctioning Joey’s Victoria Cross.
Chanel is the only place suitable. We will see what Jasper Conran has to offer
as well while we are in town. He is the only modern designer with taste, in my
opinion. A tight cashmere dress with a belt. All black. You must only ever wear
black. And some serious heels.’

‘Oh,
yes, yes!’ said Molly.

The trip to London passed
in a haze of excitement and pleasure. They took the train to Euston and then a
black cab to the West End, where they spent a couple of happy hours in the
Chanel boutique. Molly was astonished to find that she was now a slip of a size
eight, and that clothes she’d never have dreamt she could wear now fitted
beautifully.