Chapter 28

He opened his eyes with the weight of the world on his eyelids. The light of day found him, still dressed from the night before, lying on the bed facing the ceiling. He drew in a sharp breath and pressed his hand on his skull. Pain was throbbing against it. He had no idea what time it was, how long was he sleeping. Last thing he remembered was speaking to Rose over the telephone. She had been at home, but not alone. He knew that much. Once their taxi had sped away from Lord Wooster's mansion, it took him one perhaps a couple of draws from the cigarette he was smoking at the stairs, to realise he should have been with her. Instead, that Graham fellow had gone with her. Christian had jumped on the next car available. It had stopped further down the road from where Rose's house was. The dark of the night had just spread, but he could tell, she wasn't going through the door alone. After that, he didn't remember how long he stood on his spot, having not taken his eyes off the lit living room windows. Battled within, whether to get closer. Knock her door. He had sensed Terrence was interested in his girlfriend. Ever since the gallery, Christian had this feeling. Rose was a beautiful woman. This wasn't the first time others were attracted to her. It wasn't the first time someone had made his feelings show for her, even. But this brooding man had been different. Despite having calmed down at the party, the way he had looked at Rose in front of Christian's painting of her - by God, he could swear - if no one else was around, he was going to throw her over his shoulder and take her with him by force. As if she belonged to him.

Christian felt a knot in his stomach. Rose was his woman. As with everything else being new in this relationship, she had brought all those new found feelings inside of him. Had he not been thrown in the deep end of troubles with the London underworld of men living in the shadows, pulling all kinds of strings to make people move how they liked...he would have acted very differently at the party. He had felt possessive of his woman in front of this stranger. How could she have invited him in the first place? Or had he sweet talked his way through? However with what had transpired a few hours back, did he have the right to fight for her still?

Wouldn't she be safer if he broke up with her? The thought made him stop breathing.

He sighed. He pushed himself off the bed in an attempt to get up. He felt like he had been in a head on collision with a train. Flashbacks of the fists and the kicks crushing his sides sprung in his mind. He sat upright, rubbed his face against his opened palms. His mind was numb. He had to put himself under the shower. His moves were heavy, as heavy as a sack full of stones. Undressed in slow motion. Every movement was a struggle. He got under the open shower, and rested his palms on the tiles. His stare turned blank, as the water dripped over the face. He had to get ready. Work through the mess. But to meet with Rose...The more he postponed it, the worse it would become. She should get away from him. Perhaps he could talk her into leaving back for the States. If he was to break up with her...

Anger filled his veins. Hell, he loved her. Rose had come to mean everything to him. Had turned his life for her. A life which he had been so stupid to see where it led. Fucking naive schmuck that he had been. Playing out his Robin Hood fantasy, just to feel morally superior, sticking two fingers to a class he never belonged. Empty people, empty heads, empty hearts. He ended siding with psychopaths like McDonald who now had him by the balls. Stealing from the rich to feed the poor...who had he been fooling? It was all about him. About him feeling good for the shit life had served him. For having been abandoned by a father who never wanted him. A none other than a well-known Duke. How could have been so stupid? Tending his own ego. He passed his hand over the steamed up mirror, stared at his face looking blurred through the wet mist. His blue eyes had darkened. A storm had broken into them. Self-hate bubbled. Like a lightning, his fist landed hard on the mirror. Where he stared at his face, now stood his broken reflection. He kept looking, staying silent. He should break up with her. If he wanted her to be safe...

He continued getting ready to meet Sir Witt. They had arranged this meeting when he spoke to him briefly at the party. His opinion of the exhibition opening was very important, being the director of the Council of Arts. He would introduce him to potential buyers. More rich folk wanting a piece of the new hot artist. Closed the door, leaving the smeared mirror pieces behind. Scarlet red tears run on his hands from cuts on his knuckles. His wasn't a world for her. Deathly silence spread in his mind. There was nothing more to think of.

Marion Lewis was a woman easily bored. She was used of jumping from one excitement to the next, addicted to the thrill of the new, the dangerous, whether that was a new car, a new hobby, a new drug, a new beau. Then she would get infatuated down to her bones with whatever or whomever had managed to draw her interest. Right now, no other was coming close to that definition of the new who got her blood running intoxicated and warm inside her veins than Terrence Graham.

That brief half hour when they glided on the dance floor was enough to make her head spin and it wasn't all down to the alcohol she had consumed. She tried to recall from the men who passed from her life, whether she had met anyone that felt to her more contradictory than this man. She had felt the strength of his hold of her, the confidence of his dance moves, but at the same time, he was restrained, his stare would turn distant when they spun around. He flirted with her, gave her his best smiles but he wasn't like the others who acted like overexcited puppies over her. It was all a facade with him, this face of the jeune premier, the matinee idol, the gentle man. Passion reigned behind his eyes, a self-destructive one. She had sensed the danger. It took one to know one. And that was what had made her tingle down to her fingertips when she had found that they would stage Hamlet at the Royal Haymarket. She hadn't earned her daredevil accolades without a just cause. She was certain that a relationship even a short one with Terrence Graham would prove to be just that. A devilish thrilling roller coaster.

The chauffeur stopped the car outside the Theatre Royal in Haymarket. Her black Mary Janes were as polished as the rest of her when she stepped outside the parked Rolls. Not even a hair was out of place. She wore a poppy red silk dress with dropped waist and pleated skirt that matched her painted lips perfectly. She was already smiling when she entered the theatre. Normally the theatre concierge would stop members of the public right at the door, preventing them from coming in the theatre but she came closer, greeted him by his name, fluttered her doe-eyed eyelashes and asked if she could go in. There was someone she wanted to surprise. Not that she waited for his answer. She continued walking as if she was at her home. Mr. Norman rushed behind her. He already knew Marion, but he knew her father, Edward Lewis, the permanent secretary to the HM Treasury, and his wife even better. They were big theatre goers and their donations for the Haymarket theatre have been more than generous over the years.

Terry, despite the late hour he had entered his room in Claridge's, he was at the theatre bright and early in the morning. The inside of the theatre was already a hive of activity. They would open on Wednesday July the 1st. Two weeks for stage setting, rehearsals, publicity, VIP invitations. There were a lot to be done. Although because of his injury, he wasn't going to be on the stage, he wasn't going to be away from his troupe. Especially the way things had turned out. If Candy had been single, the plans would have been completely different but in the current case, he had to find things to spend his time with. He felt at home in the theatre, relaxed, focused. Even if it meant to help out setting up the stage. Hard manual work wasn't beneath him. But Robert didn't want to even hear it. He wouldn't risk further injury on his most famous young actor. Terry could sit and act as his assistant. The moment he saw him come in the theatre, wearing just some flannel dark trousers, a cotton shirt and suspenders, his cane missing, he fussed. Terry had turned his sleeves up, ready for action but he came against a stern look and a talking from Hathaway. Stop acting foolish and help him out with orders. Meanwhile he sent a guy to the pub where Terry had forgot his cane the evening before to fetch it and bring it back. Sometimes, he felt it was like looking after a toddler with Terry.

That's how Marion found both men. Standing at the corridor at the stalls, looking at the work taking place on the stage. Terry had shoved his hands inside his pockets while listening to Robert commending about the staging of the set. The actual stage area of the Haymarket theatre was slightly different in size from their theatre in Broadway and some adjustments needed to be done. Barrymore had taken the day off for some sightseeing. Last time he had been in London was twenty five years ago. A lot had changed from his days as a fine arts student. Back then he too had his life dedicated to bohemianism and nocturnal activities a young man of his age would follow. Most of the rest of the troupe were there.

The two men turned to the clickety clack of a woman's heeled footsteps followed by the quick thud sound of a man's shoes rushing right after her. The surprise was evident on both Terry's and Robert's faces, though Terry knew the woman.

"What's this?" Robert asked with his surprise fast turning into annoyance. His orders were clear not to let any non-troupe people in the theatre.

"I'm really sorry Mr. Hathaway!" Mr. Norman hurried by Marion who kept looking at Terry who was silent. If he had been happy to see her, he certainly was hiding it well. "This is -" he started saying, patting the moistness off his forehead with his handkerchief.

"I'm Marion Lewis." The young woman said. Her voice sounded as if the words caressed her throat on their way out. Breathy, sultry. Robert dry coughed.

"It's the daughter of Sir. Lewis, the secretary to the Treasury, Mr. Hathaway." The concierge followed her introduction, making it obvious of the reason he let her pass.

"Oh, I see!" Robert exclaimed, his lips stretched in a nervous smile. "And to what we owe the pleasure of your visit Miss Lewis?" He said while he held her hand in a gentle handshake.

"Please call me Marion. No need for formalities." She replied, flashing a wide smile, turning her eyes to Terry who hadn't taken part in that brief conversation. Thoughts run behind his eyes.

"Marion is here to see me..." Terry's deep voice finally was heard. There, he was wondering behind the controlled smile, she thought and felt happy. She liked to have men guessing.

"Oh! I had no idea...Terrence?" Robert's brows arched over his wide eyes the moment he turned to see Terry.

"We met last night at Lord Wooster's party..." She said still looking at Terry, saving him from explaining to his boss as to why she was there. "Terrence offered kindly to show me around back stage." She continued, speaking slowly, choosing her words while examining the man's thoughtful face while hearing her. "I'm fascinated by the world of theatre you see..." She added, lying of course through her teeth.

Robert didn't know what to say. This most definitely wasn't like Terry. He, never as long as he remembered him, brought any guests to show them around, even more, women like this Miss Lewis here.

"Well then Terrence, since miss Lewis is your guest, I will let you lead this young lady back stage to show her around." He said to him. Terry looked at Robert and knew. He would hear it afterwards. The Stratford Theatre manager and artistic director didn't look happy at all. Robert gave his regards to Marion and left, almost leaving a huff suspended in the air.

Terry turned to face Marion. She was looking almost sheepish. He sighed. Served him right, all that flirting the night before for Candy's eyes. Their time together in her place came to his mind. Bitter sweet it was, but he would repeat it in a heartbeat. Candy had definitely changed since their time together as teenagers and she had done so in ways he never expected but she intrigued him. For him, the attraction was still there.

"Let's go." He said to Marion and turned his back to her, making his way toward the door that led to backstage. They stopped once there were there. He showed her how the crew was preparing the cloths, the backdrop sceneries painted on fabric. The "prompt" corner on the left of the stage where the stage manager was controlling the flow of the play, keeping everything in check. The "batten", the pipe made of metal which went from one side of the theatre to the other where things were hang, like the moon at night, or the sun during days, objects that floated on the stage. She looked interested enough to what he had to say, though she didn't say much herself. He decided enough was enough. Had to get to the bottom of it. Why was she there.

"Let me show you the dressing room." He said to her. He led the way and she followed. Held the door open for her to enter. She looked around the place. It wasn't a big room. A mirror took up most of one wall, with the dressing table in front of it, being full with stage make up stuff, wigs, hats were hung on the side. Pictures of past thespians, charcoal sketches of play scenes. There was a rail with clothes, a damask red and gold leafed dressing screen was at the bottom of the room, a couple of chairs and a chaise longue for the actors to relax after the play, in a emerald green colour, though the velvet had faded in the corners. She sat there and smiled at him. He supported himself against the dressing table, looking relaxed. He dug his hands deep into his pockets and stared at her. His eyes had taken a green hue under the lights of the room.

"It is too early for a drink but there is only whiskey to offer I'm afraid." He said to her.

"Nonsense, it is never early for a dram, darling." She replied.

He poured two drinks, and gave her the one. Pulled the cigarette case from his trousers pocket. "Cigarette?" He offered her one which she took. He lit hers first and his after. They both had a sip of whiskey and a cigarette drag. She stared at him.

"Are you always so aloof?" She asked him.

Terry kept silent. Had another sip and a cigarette drag. "Are you always so forward?" He decided to reply with his own question. His stare was fixed on her face.

She leaned backwards, looking defensive. "I am with those that interest me." She replied and drunk from her whiskey.

"May I assume then, that's your reason for being here?" He asked her with his brow raised. Her direct open flirting was starting to annoy him. "Because I can assure you I'm anything but interesting." He added with a smile carrying the sarcasm of his words.

She smiled back. She was right about him. The more he backed off, the more exciting the game was becoming for her. Her blue eyes sparkled. "You let me be the judge of that, Terrence," she replied brazenly. "But don't flatter yourself much" She added before finishing her drink. She stood up. "I did genuinely want to see what the back of a theatre stage looked like." She turned and looked around her once more before turning her face back to him. "Although I have to say, I expected the dressing room to be more luxurious in a theatre with the prestige of the Royal."

Terry left her remarks about himself unanswered. Having realised that she expected for him to play a ping pong of words, he decided to just pretend he didn't listen. "Well it is what it is," he replied to her comment about the dressing room.

"When is the première for Hamlet then?" she asked having decided also to back off. She didn't want to push him far away and not be able to bring him back to the game so she would hold the conversation to typicalities too. She knew how to do small talk like no other.

"In two weeks' time." Terry replied. "But I'm not in the play." He added to inform her. Perhaps she'd cool down if she knew he wasn't one of the big names starring in the play.

By the time Candy was out the door of her house, it was almost time for lunch. The summer sun shone bright on a sky unblemished and clear of clouds. She should feel as light as a feather, but she wasn't. Her sleep had been troubled. Her dreaming had been vivid, uneasy. Christian's phone call in the morning did nothing to calm her down. He sounded distant, even detached in a way. Whatever he was going through, he hadn't said a word. He hadn't apologised either. Like nothing had happened the night before. Only his voice, still the same soft and deep voice she loved but it was void of its usual cheerfulness. His tone was serious when he had told her, he'd pass by her house in the evening. He could have booked a business meeting, the way he said it.

In a spur of a moment thought, to take her mind off the imminency of Christian's visit, she grabbed Terry's jacket. She would visit him in at Royal Haymarket. Already she knew from hearing Robert talking about Hamlet with John Barrymore and Christian at the Gallery. Perhaps, Terry could join her for lunch. Give himself a break. She went in her car, threw his jacket to the passenger seat and drove off. On the way to theatre, she wondered how had he spent his night after leaving her house. She brought their evening together back to her mind. Despite some awkward moments, overall she had enjoyed his company a lot, considering how they bumped into each other at Whitechapel. Still, she couldn't shake the surprise he had caused her with how measured, matured and adult he looked to her. Putting his looks aside, because his boyish characteristics had turned even more beautiful from how he had remembered him, the main change was in his personality. Terry had turned into a dependable man, strong, not wavering in difficult times. Suddenly he reminded her of her beloved Father tree. The big, ancient oak which grew alongside with her at the top of Pony's hill. She imagined any woman feeling safe next to Terry, the same feelings she got when she stood by the tree, confident calmness would sweep everything that felt anxious inside her. Everything would be ok in the end.

She thought of Susanna. That's how her life would have been. Calm in the certainty she had this man next to her. Taking care of her, being there. Her heart fluttered on the wheel. A fine mist covered her eyes. She admired him for turning out that way. Not that she wasn't certain. She had believed in Terry from the first time she saw him. But it was a matter whether he believed in himself. Especially after his break down, when he left Susanna and disappeared to a God forsaken mine town. She remembered the sorry state he was in when she saw him on that make shift stage inside a big tent. Full of drunken louts and harlots with heavily painted faces like masks. They were shouting, swearing, laughing. You could not hear the person next to you even if they shouted. The place stunk of stale ale and piss. Instinctively she had put her handkerchief over her nose and mouth. He stumbled she remembered on the stage, trying to find his balance, his eyes those of a man intoxicated to the point of fainting. Slurring his words, not knowing where he was and what he was doing. It had been so long ago and still she felt an emotional response even to the day, once the memory became alive in her mind.

She pushed her foot to the pedal. Her car sped on the London streets. She felt such gratefulness for Terry's life right that moment. She believed in God, no doubt, but the way things had turned up for Terry, the unfortunate loss of Susanna notwithstanding, it was all Terry's doing. His ascending bright career as a respectable actor, the way he had managed his life so far, despite the grief, despite fate's cruel twist which cut their relationship way short, despite even the appalling conditions of his growing up. No, everything he had become, it was all his doing. Her heart swelled with happiness. A smile flowered on her lips.

She arrived soon enough in front of the theatre building in Haymarket. Parked the car, took Terry's jacket in one hand and went in the theatre. There was no one at the concierge desk. That's fortunate, she thought. At least she wouldn't need to try to talk her way into letting her get into the theatre. She opened the door leading to the stalls area and went in.

"You won't be in the play?!" The tone of her voice went up a notch or two, buoyed by surprise. But...

"I did play the role of Hamlet in New York" Terry said with a smile, "but not here."

A knock was heard on the door. Mr. Norman came in, holding his cane.

"Mr. Graham, the boy brought your cane." He said and gave the cane to Terry. He thanked him and left.

"That's why I won't play Hamlet." He said to Marion who was looking perplexed. "I broke my left ankle; had an accident on a night out." He explained to her.

"So much for Mr. Graham not being interesting..." She said, arched her eyebrows and left a exclamation whistle. Terry burst into loud laughs.

On the corridor, Candy was approaching the door that led backstage when she met with Mr. Norman. She stopped him and asked for Terry's dressing room. She had his jacket. Funny fellow this Mr. Graham, the concierge thought to himself as he led Candy back stage. Forgets his things as it seemed everywhere. Has women lining up to see him. They arrived just in time for Candy to hear his hearty laughter. The concierge knocked on the door once more.

"Excuse me, Mr. Graham, but there is a lady here with your jacket. She wants to see you." He said.