CHAPTER 37: THIS ONE IS OURS
The Beaton Residence
Buoyed by Garland, Thomas circulated among Cecil's guests, dancing, talking, and listening. He listened more than he talked. He did not have much to say on the subjects of art or fashion or theatre. He had never heard of Edith Sitwell and her megaphone-delivered poems that were all the rage among Cecil's Cambridge friends. He was not full of droll stories. But the guests to whom he listened attentively and addressed thoughtful questions declared him a lovely man and exceedingly clever.
Several of the men Thomas met had invested considerable energy into cultivating eccentric personalities. Some even wore rouge and lipstick. Thomas was determined not to judge anyone by appearance but was amused by these eccentrics who all looked alike. In fact, he had mistaken one of them for Cecil. The young man was polite about the mistake.
"I'm Boy. Boy Le Bas. You're not the first to confuse me with Cecil."
"I beg your pardon, Boy. The difference is obvious now that I see your face." (It was not obvious, but Thomas did not want to embarrass the young man.) With some back and forth, Thomas discovered that Boy expected to launch a career as an artist. He said his work was inspired by Cézanne. Thomas seized the opportunity; at last he could show that he was not a complete ignoramus. "You're a cubist then?"
"Heavens no!" Boy chuckled and shook his head as he walked away. "A cubist ... in 1926 ... a cubist!"
Thomas sighed. Perhaps he truly was a rube. He glanced about for Cooper and Novello and realized that he had lost track of them. He circled the room and found Cooper standing alone on the balcony. "May I join you, Glads?" He called her Glads now, and she called him Thoms.
Cooper nodded. "I needed a respite."
Thomas gazed at the street and noticed a lone figure leaning against a lamppost. He realized it was Novello. "Again?" he asked quietly.
"You know?"
"Yes, it happened earlier today."
"Don't worry, Thoms. He'll be up here in no time, cheerier than ever," reassured Cooper. "It's been a difficult week for him."
Thomas was alarmed. "Because of me?"
"Certainly not. He's enjoyed showing you his London."
"What then?"
"Parties and nightclubs can be difficult for him. He used to go out almost every night with Bobbie, but these spells became too frequent. Now, he prefers get-togethers at his flat. He orders food from the Savoy and entertains all night. When he must, he takes sanctuary in his room, and Bobbie makes some excuse. Sooner or later, he recovers, and he's all smiles again and playing requests at the piano." Cooper patted Thomas' arm. "So you see, Thoms, it has nothing to do with you."
Thomas understood about the need to take sanctuary in one's room. "He didn't have to take me out every night. He didn't have to take me out at all."
"He's been having a wonderful time, Thoms, honestly. He loves making plans for you and sharing your excitement. He would have had these spells anyway."
"They're not spells, Glads."
Cooper took Thomas' arm and steered him back into the room. "He's coming back. Let's not embarrass him by watching. Let's have a dance."
Thomas and Cooper waltzed in stride with the other couples. "It's a relief to dance with someone who isn't trying to impress me," Cooper remarked. "Ivor and I have never had the same attitude towards our fans. We've had more than one row about it. Ivor would let his fans tear him to shreds if they were so inclined. I prefer to keep them at a respectable distance, except at the box office."
Thomas had witnessed a swarm of Cecil's guests' engulfing Cooper earlier like a plague of locusts. "Then why did you come with us tonight?"
"As a favour to Ivor. He knew Cecil would welcome me," she whispered. "And I could never bring myself to say no to Ivor."
"You mean Cecil wouldn't have welcomed Ivor?" Thomas whispered back. He couldn't imagine being immune to Novello's charms.
"Cecil doesn't approve of Ivor. He's a bit of a prude in spite of his own inclinations."
The music stopped, and Cooper excused herself. "I must go, Thoms. I won't have the luxury of sleeping late tomorrow. I promised Joan and John a picnic before I leave for the theatre." It was difficult for Thomas to remember that Cooper was a divorcée with two children.
Cooper took her leave of Cecil and found Novello and kissed him goodnight. Thomas escorted her around the corner to her car. "Tell me, Thoms, how is it that Tallulah's play is good enough for a visit from The Butler, and mine isn't?"
"Ivor says you dislike publicity stunts. I can't say that I blame you."
"Bobbie says that your little stunt has secured you a private tour of the Savoy tomorrow. Visit my show as The Butler, and perhaps you'll be invited to tour Brown's as well."
"I'd love to see your play, Glads. I don't care about the publicity."
"I know, Thoms. But the publicity would be good for both of us. You tell Bobbie that I want you to come as The Butler tomorrow night. He'll make all the arrangements. You don't mind, do you Thoms?"
Thomas smiled. "I can't turn down a personal invitation from the beautiful Gladys Cooper."
They found Cooper's chauffeur, a Belgian named Gurney, playing cards with Morgan on the bonnet of Novello's car by the light of a streetlamp. Gurney jumped when he saw Cooper. "Omygawd, time to go!"
When Thomas returned to the drawing room, he thought it would be polite to ask the host to dance. He tapped Cecil on the shoulder and was relieved to find that it truly was Cecil and not Boy or one of the other look-alike eccentrics. Cecil accepted Thomas' invitation, and Thomas found Cecil to be light on his feet.
"There's something about you that's familiar, Thomas. Do you live in London?"
"No. I'm from the North. That's where I met Ivor."
"Is this your first time in London?"
"No, I usually come during the season with my employer, but Ivor has introduced me to people I would never meet in my occupation. I met Noël Coward my first night here."
"You seem like a decent sort, Thomas. You should be careful of the Ivor, Noël naughty set."
"Oh?" Thomas reminded himself that, at Cecil's age, he had been quick to judge and even quicker to vocalize his judgments.
Cecil continued his caveat. "They can be very nice, but they can be cheap and horrid."
"They've been very nice to me, Cecil. You should know that Ivor speaks well of you and your talent. He doesn't like to see you fritter away in ... what is it ... cement?"
Cecil winced. "Yes, cement. I'm working for a friend of my father's. Father insisted. I'm afraid I've offended you, Thomas. I was only trying to be friendly."
"Castigation isn't particularly friendly," advised Thomas evenly.
"I didn't mean to sound harsh." Suddenly Cecil pulled away. "I know why you're familiar. Wait here!" Cecil disappeared.
When Cecil returned, he held a newspaper under his arm and was carrying an immense scrapbook. He set the scrapbook on the cocktail table and opened it. "Here you are!" He pointed to a clipped newspaper photo – the tango photo of Thomas and Novello. "You're The Butler!"
Several guests gathered around the scrapbook, and someone removed the needle from the record that had been playing. Novello approached calmly as Cecil opened that morning's newspaper. "Here you are again!" Cecil set the paper on the table opened to a picture of Thomas kissing Bankhead's hand. "You don't sound Russian to me!" he accused.
"He was only 17 when he came to England. He's lost his accent," advised Novello lightly. "But he remembers his Russian. Don't you, darling?"
Thomas tried to match Novello's untroubled demeanour. "Da."
"Who here knows Russian?" asked Cecil.
As others shook their heads, Garland responded from the sofa, "Fortunately for me, I do. Diaghilev's English is terrible."
Cecil turned from Garland to Thomas. "Go ahead. Say something in Russian," he demanded.
Thomas looked at Novello who smiled confidently and gave the slightest of nods. Thomas took a deep breath and released it with the most Russian sounding gibberish he could concoct.
All heads turned to Garland. Garland appeared shocked. "Thomas, such language! You mustn't insult our host!"
Thomas sighed. He spoke some contrite nonsense syllables.
Again, all heads turned to Garland. "Thomas apologizes. He lost his head. He didn't appreciate being challenged. Now, gentlemen, perhaps we should give our Russian friend some breathing space. Let's have another record. Thomas, you owe me a dance."
The excitement subsided, and Cecil put away his scrapbook. Garland grinned as he danced with Thomas. "You never stop surprising me, darling."
After his dance with Garland, Thomas continued to mingle but noticed a distinct change in attitude. Two of the guests addressed him as Highness. "Please call me Thomas," he replied graciously. "What meaning do Russian titles have now?"
Eventually, the records came around to another tango. Before Thomas could invite anyone to dance, Novello pulled him aside. "This one is ours, Thomas."
"You lead, Ivor." Novello did nothing special, nothing theatrical. He danced intimately with Thomas, who was attuned to his every movement. Thomas forgot The Butler, forgot Cecil and Boy, forgot Garland and Lucas. He enjoyed giving himself over to Novello. He enjoyed the feeling of their bodies' fusing together. He felt himself melt into a sea of utter deliciousness.
"Let's go home," Thomas whispered to Novello when the music ended.
The Lift to Ivor Novello's Flat
Thomas and Novello rode unaccompanied in the noisy lift. Novello stretched and leaned against the wall. "You and Morgan have become great friends, haven't you, Thomas?"
"He's been kind to me, Ivor, and I enjoy his company."
"Should I be jealous?" asked Novello casually.
Thomas propped his hand on the wall so that Novello was trapped in the lift's corner. "I thought you didn't believe in jealousy, Ivor."
"You misunderstand me, darling. I don't believe that others should be jealous."
Thomas chuckled and ran his fingers through Novello's luxurious hair. "That doesn't seem quite fair."
Novello tapped a finger against Thomas' chest. "Thomas, how much have you had to drink tonight?"
"A glass of champagne."
The lift arrived at the top floor, and the two men exited. Bobbie had left lights on for them. As Novello turned off a lamp, Thomas embraced him from behind and nuzzled his neck.
Novello allowed the electricity of Thomas' touch to run through him. He wanted to respond but held back. "You had one glass of champagne and nothing else?" he asked cautiously.
"Nothing else. I'm thirsty only for you, Ivor." Thomas pressed his mouth to Novello's ear. "Come to my room."
Novello closed his eyes and enjoyed the sensations Thomas was arousing in him. He gently pulled away and searched Thomas' face. "Are you certain this is what you want?"
"Yes." Thomas held Novello's head and kissed him generously on the mouth.
When Thomas allowed Novello to take a breath, he persisted, "No concern for tomorrow? No jealousy? No regrets?"
"No concern. No jealousy. No regrets," promised Thomas. "Is there always an exam beforehand?"
Novello did not answer because he was halfway to Thomas' room. Thomas laughed and strode after him. When he entered his room, he found that Novello had removed his coat and shoes and was unbuttoning his shirt.
"Why the rush, Ivor? Do you have an appointment?"
"I'm ready, Thomas, that's all. I've wanted this from the moment we met."
Thomas pulled Novello's hands away from his shirt buttons and assumed the task himself, slowly and deliberately. "Ivor, this is going to have to last me a long time. If we're going to do this, then we're going to do it my way."
"What way is that?" asked Novello as he eased Thomas out of his coat.
Thomas smiled. "The Garland Jobin way."
"What?"
"Slowly ... to make our bodies resonate."
"Slowly? Thomas, I want to please you, truly, but I'm excited. I don't think I can ..."
"Try."
Any thoughts that Novello had entertained of teaching a little something to the shy country butler quickly flew out the window. Bates had said that Thomas was no innocent, and he was right. He had no difficulty asking for what pleased him or asking what would please Novello. He knew his own body well and set out to learn Novello's. He quickly learned which gasp or grunt or groan meant do that again and which meant don't do that and which meant don't ever stop doing that. He learned what it meant when Novello hit his arms against the mattress three times.
Thomas delighted in bringing Novello to the brink and then retreating only enough to delay. Delay was his watchword. "I can't wait any longer," pleaded Novello.
Thomas grinned. "Yes, you can. It'll be worth it."
And it was.
