Devil in Disguise (40 page)

‘Er,
no. First time. I’ll be back in a tick.’ Simon went to get the drinks but the
bar was far more crowded now, and no amount of pushing or shoving seemed to
help. By the time he returned to Roger the two-minute bell was ringing, and
they were both anxious to find their seats.

‘Thanks
for this,’ said Roger, taking his drink. ‘Listen, meet me after the show,
outside the front. All right?’

Simon
agreed and the pair separated.

As he
made his way to his seat in the stalls, Simon felt a sudden rush of nervous
excitement. How extraordinary. On the very night he was to see Molly in the
flesh for the first time in eight years, he had bumped into an old cruising
chum he hadn’t heard hide or hair from in almost a decade. You might almost
think it was meant to be, he thought.

Just
then an excited buzz filled the auditorium, and people craned their necks to
look up at the royal box. A small red-haired old lady wearing a glittering gown
and a modest tiara was taking her seat. She waved regally in all directions,
then the house lights went down and darkness fell.

Simon
didn’t recognise her face. Maybe minor royalty, he thought. Never mind that,
though: the show was about to begin.

Unusually
there was no opening act and no interval. Mia Delvard would sing her most
famous songs for forty incredible minutes — and then the show would be over.
The purity and intensity of Mia’s performances were what her fans adored. They
had no need of a warm-up act: they were hot for Mia.

Seven
or eight musicians made their way into the pit and soft pink lights came gently
up on the stage. The atmosphere was tense with anticipation. Then a lone figure
emerged from the shadows and the audience erupted into rapturous applause.
Before Mia had sung a note, she received a standing ovation. She stood centre
stage, slender and beautiful in a figure-hugging dress and high heels, and
gazed out at them all, as if she were slightly distracted by a buzzing fly.
Eventually she managed a half-nod. When the applause finally subsided, the
first chords of ‘Spring Will Be A Little Late This Year’ floated up from the
pit. The audience were on the edge of their seats, the desperation to hear her
almost tangible. Then she opened her mouth and sang.

Hers
was the most extraordinary voice anyone had ever heard: clear and pure but
cracked and world-weary too. It caused a collective intake of breath from the
audience, sending them in two completely opposite directions: up into a
blissful state of rapture at its effortless beauty, yet simultaneously to the
depths of human despair and disillusionment. Here was a singer as sweet as
strawberries dipped in honey, but as sad as a stillborn baby and as bitter as
a mouthful of Campari for breakfast.

She’s
stupendous! thought Simon. He’d heard her voice on CD thousands of times, but
to see her in the flesh and to hear her live sent goose-bumps up and down his
spine. When she finished her first song, he joined in the riotous applause,
hollering and cheering from the back, almost swooning with delight at her
bitter-sweet singing. The high notes of their college days were long gone, he
noted, but her husky, soulful new singing, not to mention the fabulous figure
and the long, straight red hair, were entrancing. No wonder she was a star. She
was truly special.

Mia
never spoke between songs, simply nodded her mild appreciation of the fans’
enthusiasm. Occasionally she would look towards the upper circle, slowly down
to the balcony, then the stalls. Finally she would drop her head and rest her
gaze on the stage just in front of her feet. This constituted a bow.

The
nearest Mia got to singing a happy song was her rendition of ‘What A Difference
A Day Makes’, but even this was performed at a funereal pace, the sun and
flowers given far less emphasis than the rain. After that brief declaration of
happiness rediscovered, she retreated to bleaker territory, wowing her public
with ‘Goodbye, Little Dream, Goodbye’, ‘One Less Bell To Answer’ and ‘The
Party’s Over’. The last two songs of her set were a dark and deathly rendition
of ‘Falling In Love Again’ and finally the inevitable ‘Losing My Mind’, sung
so convincingly that everyone was in tears of sympathy and concern.

After a
stunned, magical silence, the audience was on its feet, roaring its love and
approval as she left the stage. She returned a few moments later to sing ‘Maybe
This Time’, but even then they wouldn’t let her go. There were five minutes of
tumultuous, foot-stamping applause before Mia returned to screams of delight.

For her
second encore, Mia sang her world-famous signature song, ‘Daniel And Simon’, a
bleak, bluesy number that reached a peak of emotion when she sang of how Molly
was done wrong. It brought the house down, as it always did, and afterwards she
was showered with long-stemmed deep-red roses, thrown from the adoring
multitudes up in the gods. She placed her microphone on the stand, made her
graceful bow once again, but this time continued downwards and swept the roses
up into her arms, burying her face in the blooms, then rolled her head
backwards as if the heady scent was overpowering her. As the wild applause and
shouts of her public reached a crescendo, Mia Delvard managed a wan smile. It
was only momentary, and not wide enough to reveal her perfect white teeth, but
it sent them into deafening, almost hysterical heights of rapture. Such a smile
was like a snowdrop in spring, the first glimmer of the sun at dawn. It gave
the audience hope. If Mia Delvard could be happy then maybe they could too, one
day.

Then,
to the astonishment of all, Mia went back to her microphone and spoke into it,
her voice low and husky. ‘Thank you. Thank you so much. You are amazing.’ She
blinked her smoky eyes at the audience, who fell in love with her all over
again. They hardly dared to breathe in case it stopped this unheard-of
happening — Mia speaking to her public. ‘Tonight is a very special night — the
last night of my world tour. I’ve visited fifteen countries and travelled many
thousands of miles, but that journey is nothing compared to the one I’ve come
on in the last eight years. It would not have been possible without you.’ She
blew kisses to the audience, who laughed and applauded lightly. ‘This is the
last time I shall be on stage for some time. I’m going to withdraw from the
spotlight for a while …‘ There were cries of ‘No!’ but Mia hushed them with a
wave of her hand. ‘Not forever, just long enough for me to regain my strength
and renew my spirit. I’m sure you will allow me that. And so goodbye for now.
But this is
au revoir
and not
adieu.’

With
that, she smiled again at her audience and walked slowly into the wings,
managing a final wave before the curtain came down and the house lights went
up. Still the applause continued, even after some people had made their way out
of the theatre. A few sobs were audible.

Simon
was almost the last person to stop clapping. He suddenly realised he was
exhausted. He sat down and wiped his cheeks, which were streaked with tears.
How he longed to see Molly and congratulate her on her amazing success and her
stunning talent. He wanted to apologise for the terrible thing he had done and
the pain he had caused her, make everything all right between them. But he
couldn’t. Had Molly Douglas not become Mia Delvard, it would have been a lot
easier to approach her. Now he had left it too late. They could never be
friends again.

He got
up to leave the theatre and shuffled out in the wake of the last few audience
members.

‘There
you are!’ said an impatient voice, as he emerged from the stalls.

Simon
looked up and saw his old pal waiting for him. He was in such a daze from the
performance that he’d forgotten they were meeting.

‘I
thought you’d disappeared into the Gents like you used to,’ Roger said.

‘Hardly,’
said Simon. ‘Not in my condition.’ His once-hectic sex life had dwindled to a
standstill a couple of years previously. ‘I don’t feel the need, these days. I
rather like the way life dovetails itself together. Just when you become less
likely to pull, your desire to conjugate correspondingly decreases. It’s one of
nature’s little marvels, don’t you think?’

‘If you
say so,’ said Roger. He took Simon’s arm as euphoric punters swirled around
them, saying what a marvellous night it had been. They went out through the
foyer towards Great Marlborough Street. ‘Anyway, I stopped all that when I
moved to Northampton. Some of us grow up, you know. Did you enjoy the show?’

Simon
lit a cigarette. ‘I was blown away. She’s amazing. And fancy meeting up with
you. It’s been a really weird night.’

‘Can I
have one of your snouts?’ asked Roger. ‘I’ve given up but I could just go a
Marlboro right now.’

‘Here
you are.’ Simon handed the packet to him. ‘The lighter’s inside.’

Roger
lit a cigarette and blew out the smoke contemplatively. Then he turned to Simon
with a smile. ‘Hold tight, love. Your night is about to become even stranger.
I’ve got tickets for a very select after-show party. And I mean
very
select.
A private room at the Ritz. Mia will be there. You’re coming with me,
girlfriend!’

‘Oh,
no, I couldn’t,’ said Simon, flustered. As much as he longed to see Molly
again, he couldn’t face her — not the way he was now. Not with everyone around
her clamouring for her attention. It wouldn’t be what he wanted at all. ‘I have
to go home.’

‘Come
on,’ said Roger. ‘Don’t be a misery. There’s a free bar. You said you loved the
gig. Wouldn’t you like to meet the star? I can introduce you.’

Simon’s
mouth twitched. ‘I can’t, really.’ He was just puzzling over how on earth Roger
could have tickets to Molly’s exclusive after-show party when the pain hit. He
moaned as it gathered and ripped through him with such force that he clutched
his stomach and bent forward involuntarily, his face distorted with agony.

‘Simon!’
said Roger, clutching his friend to steady him. ‘Are you okay? What’s wrong?’
He supported Simon as his weight fell on him. ‘It’s all right, mate. I’ve got
you. Take it easy.’

After a
full minute of torture, the pain at last ebbed away, leaving Simon sweating and
panting. He pulled himself upright and let go of Roger. ‘I’m fine, thank you.
There’s no need to fuss.’

There
was an excited buzz from the people around them, and Simon realised that they
had ended up in the crowd outside the stage door, which had opened, causing the
ripples of excitement. The crowd of a hundred or so was about eight deep and,
with his stoop, Simon couldn’t see over their heads.

‘She’s
coming!’ several people shouted. There was a flurry of flash bulbs and applause
and cries of ‘Bravo!’

Roger
ignored the activity behind him, focused only on Simon. ‘You don’t look well at
all,’ he said. ‘When did these pains start?’

‘Don’t
fuss, Roger, I’m fine.’

Just
then, the crowd began shouting and shoving. Mia Delvard had emerged from the
stage door, her burly bouncers making a path for her from the theatre to the
road where a blacked-out Bentley awaited her. Surrounded by her entourage, her
face shielded by huge dark glasses, head bowed as if she were just a commuter
homeward bound, Mia moved quickly through the throng as people cried her name
or clapped their hands, lit by the flashes of cameras and the lights from
mobile phones that filmed her. Simon caught a glimpse of red hair and a whiff
of jasmine perfume as she passed within a few feet of him. Then she was blocked
from view by her hangers-on and squealing fans as she climbed into the waiting
car.

‘Look
at the colour of you. Something’s seriously wrong. Have you seen a doctor?’
said Roger.

‘Have
you?
You’re not exactly pork-sausage pink yourself,’ snapped Simon. He watched
the Bentley glide down the road, carrying Molly away from him. The crowd began
to disperse. Just then another, stronger wave of pain engulfed him and this
time knocked him off his feet.

Roger
caught him just before he hit the pavement. ‘That’s it,’ he said. ‘Something’s
very wrong here.’

Simon
could hardly hear anything above the agony that had him in its clutches. Is
this it? he wondered. Am I actually dying, at long last? Here on the pavement
where Molly just trod? The pain grew and grew until there was nothing else in
the world.

He
heard the distant sound of Roger’s voice. He was saying, ‘Yes, emergency
services? I need an ambulance as soon as possible …‘