Chapter 10
Albert's Panhard & Levasson arrived in the end of the afternoon at 75th West Street, in front of the New York Post's building. As there was no parking space available, he double-parked and gave the keys to the doorman who did not need to be asked twice for finding a space to this little mechanical wonder.
Albert entered the building. Fixed to the wall, a file of copper plaques was standing before him, and he looked for the one that would indicate the gossip newspaper's floor.
15th floor…
He pressed frenetically on the calling button of the elevator that finally opened one minute later over a young woman, dressed conservatively, holding tightly her files against her.
- Mmmmmm, pretty !... – he thought, taking all his time to examine her in details.
Coming from the basement, she started, noticing the fair-haired irresistible being who was penetrating into the compartment. Dressed with a leather-tanned jacket, a casual canvas trouser, his face powdered with dust, he greeted her with half a smile. She met his azure eyes that contrasted nicely with the dusty complexion of his face and looked down, blushing. The elevator was slowly going up the fifteen floors, and for once, that slowness did not bothered her at all, absorbed by the man who was standing by her side, and who, in spite of his casual clothes, was terribly attractive. From the corner of her eye, she was observing him, taking off his leather gloves, which revealed long and groomed hands of gentleman. The atmosphere was turning electric in that exiguous space… Short-winded, she felt her heart racing, with the strange feeling of floating, of his caressing hands on her skin. She hiccoughed as he craned his head and surprised her, lost in her thoughts like if he had read through them. Scarlet, she hid herself a little bit more behind her files as she could hear him chuckling, and began to curse her too big emotionalism that had just betrayed her. The life-saving door of the elevator finally opened. The young woman emitted a shy "good bye" and ran away, leaving behind her a sweet and charming fragrance of flowers. Albert, with a sly grin, looked at her rushing away in the hall. He did not ignore the power of seduction he had over women. In other circumstances, he would have maybe invited her to dinner to admire at his ease, those dark eyes that had stared at him with interest, but time was not to frolics. He was keeping his tender words for Gosseep!
Since he could not ask the young ingénue where the journalist's office was, he spoke to a courier who was just passing by. That latter invited him to follow him in the labyrinth of corridors and led him to the office of a weasel-faced man, obviously busy on the phone. Leaning back in his chair, his feet crossed on his desk, he had not noticed Albert at first, captivated by the contents of his conversation.
- Are you sure she's his mistress? Do you have any pictures? WONDERFUL! Do you have pictures of the baby too? Listen, send me everything you have immediately. I'll prepare the article tonight and we'll print it tomorrow morning. I imagine already the front-page : "The mayor's mistress and their illegitimate son". This is the scoop of the year! I think that his reelection is going to be a little difficult! Hahaha!
- Excuse-me… - Albert interrupted him, disgusted but not surprised by the journalist's perversity. That latter looked up, stopped him with his index finger and followed his talking.
- Yes… Ok… The courier will come to you. Don't waste time. And also, don't forget to…
Beeep, beeeep !...
He turned the receiver towards him, and shook it energetically until he noticed Albert's finger pressing the switch hook. Furious, he stood up on his feet, knocking papers down in the impulse.
- Hey ?! What's wrong with you?
- Nothing, I'm very fine…
- You have such manners! I don't know what is holding me back to kick you out!
- Fear, perhaps…- answered Albert, looking him up and down from all his headlong, with such threatening gaze that it eliminated the remaining atom of bravery the tiny reporter possessed.
- All right… - said Gosseep, struggling to swallow – What… What can I do for you, mister… Mister?
- Mister William Albert Andrew, from Chicago…
- Mister Andrew?... – he moaned, stepping backward. Everything was becoming clearer and a frightened thrill ran along his tough flesh. The cold man standing in front of him wasn't there obviously to compliment him…
- I wanted to see you personally further the article you wrote about my daughter, Candice White Andrew… Do you know how much your gossip harmed her?
- Hey! Wait, wait, wait!... I only repeated her cousin's words, Mrs Withmore…
Albert had already caught him off-guard and blocked his path as he was trying to escape.
- Mrs Withmore? Well, what a surprise! And you haven't tried to check what she said?
- Well, if we did it every time, we would not have a daily but a weekly!
Furious, Albert grabbed him by his collar and raised him up, so well that he did not touch the floor anymore. The little arrogant yappy dog was not overconfident anymore…
- Listen to me, scumbag! You are going to contact your correspondent in Italy, and ask him, not to say, order him to stop all investigation and to print a denial! My daughter is not engaged neither married!
- It's… It's going to take time….
- Don't take me as a fool! It took you only few hours to spread that false rumor to the other side of the ocean, so you are no going to make me believe that it is not possible now!
- Mrs… Mrs Withmore gave me a lot of money to cover the charges…
- Take this as a first payment! – Albert answered by giving him a monumental slap that left him all stunned – I've some more in reserve if you want!...
The journalist shook energetically his head. He was feeling like a rodent, prisoner of a bird of prey's claws. He was suffocating.
- Ok, I'm going to do it immediately, but please, let me go, I can't breath! – He squealed.
Albert agreed and released his catch that fell without any elegance on the floor.
- Don't dawdle now!
- Ok, ok! – The scribbler answered as he rushed to his telephone.
- One last thing! If you want exclusivity, I can tell you that since now, Mrs Withmore is not a member of the Andrew family anymore. She is consequently disinherited. In for a penny, in for a pound! Here is an interesting article that you will be able to publish in your rag, hoping that you'll sell enough copies to pay legal fees.
- Leg… Legal fees? – He mumbled as he put the handset back.
- Yes. I count on suing you and the New York Post too. You must be used to it, mustn't you? But that time, count on me, I will rip you off to the last dollar!
Gosseep let himself fall with despondency on his armchair. The boss was not going to like that. Several times yet, he had threatened him to fire him because of some articles that had carried them into some expensive trials. That one would certainly be fatal, especially as he had acted secretly, without his chief editor's consent. His die was cast. Sighing with bitterness, he waited for the tall and firm silhouette of Albert's disappearing, then took his telephone back with a shaking hand. Better to get rid of that issue as soon as possible. He did not want to see Mr. William Andrew again anytime soon….
He had been warned but reality was beyond his fears. From his car, he could hear the earsplitting screams of his wife that sprang from the house. He put a foot on the pavement and a knot of anxiety began to mercilessly squeeze his stomach. He breathed deeply, greeted with a brief head sign his neighbors who, drawn to the racket had come out on the doorstep, and rushed into his residence. The butler welcomed him with relief.
- Here you are at last, sir! I'm afraid that none of us has been able to calm her down!...
- Where is she? – Asked August Withmore with a serious tone as he offered his hat.
- In the living-room, sir… But, be careful, she is violent…
As he walked along the corridor, the businessman thought that the question he had just asked was not very useful. He had only to follow the noises of breakages mixed with his spouse's vociferations that echoed in the whole house. The servants, astonished, had gathered before the living-room entrance and were observing, tetanized, their mistress raging against the furniture. Fear and misunderstanding were read in their gaze. As he arrived, they parted to free the path. He lowered his head when entering the room to avoid a projectile that came to crash itself against the wall behind him. The inside looked like a battlefield. He could not believe that only one person could have put such a mess. He looked sadly at the upside down furniture and the pieces that littered the floor.
- Raaaah! What are you doing here? You did not have a meeting tonight? – She roared when seeing him, foaming to the mouth and all disheveled. At that time, she reminded him those witches from the fairytales of his childhood who had terrorized him, and he blemished at this thought. Calmly, he answered:
- I had to leave when I was informed you were not feeling well…
- Who told you that? It's one of your stupid servants, isn't it? He's lying, they are all lying! I'm very fine!
- It does not seem like it…
- Are you against me, too? You are all against me! – She screamed, hysterical, taking one of the surviving vases and smashing it on the floor.
- Calm down, come on! – He cried out as he stepped back – What happened to have you in such a state?
- It's my uncle!... Uncle Albert! He… He has dared!
- What has he done to put you in such a fury?
- He… He was here in the end of the afternoon to coldly tell me that he was banishing me from the family and that he was cutting me out of his will! Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee !
She was stamping the floor with rage while squealing like a stuck pig. It was frightening. The poor husband waited for her to calm down and tried to reason her.
- Why does this mean so much to you? You did not like him anyway and you hate most members of your family!
- You are really more stupid than I thought! – She retorted, disdainful, rolling her eyes towards the ceiling.
He tensed up as he heard those words and held himself back, jaws tensed, from slapping her. It was not the first time she was spitting to him all her contempt, and he could not bear it anymore.
- Can't you understand what the name of Andrew means in the country? – She went further – We are a very respected and influent family here. Being chased from it, it's becoming a nobody, a pariah that no one would accept to welcome in society. They are going to avoid me like plague!
- You're still August Withmore's wife. It means something, don't forget.
- Indeed! – She moaned with a tremolo – a parvenu who made his fortune thanks to the war! There is more honorable lineage!
- You are not so choosy when it's about spending my money! – He retorted dryly, offended – But tell me, "Your majesty", what crime have you committed to have your uncle punishing you that way?
- It's… It's because of that minx, that Candy!
- Again? When are you going to stop being after that girl? She obsesses you!
- Are you saying that I am crazy?
- Unfortunately, I don't have to do it. I just have to listen to you talking, to watch you acting in an irresponsible way to notice that your hate for that poor girl has made you lose your mind! You don't have any notion of limits!...
- You too are defending her? – She asked, threatening, coming closer.
- I am not defending anyone… - he said, moving back. The baleful way she looked at him was not boding well - Why don't you leave her alone? She's living so far from you, in her middle of nowhere of Illinois. What more do you want?
With reddened and bulging eyes, lips trembling, she answered with a strange voice, dark, that coagulated his blood.
- I want… I want… I want this goody-goody, who stole everything precious I had, suffers the worst evils! I want to ruin her life, to make it miserable, consumed by the misfortune, and to have her living in disgrace!
- My Goodness, Eliza! – Shrieked her husband, a drop of sweat dripping from his forehead – Don't you realize that what you are whishing so ardently could turn against you, and that this pitiful existence to which you are aspiring for her, could become yours?
She shook vigorously her head.
- It will never happen!
- How can you be so sure? Look at where your tricks have driven you? You don't have a family anymore!
As an answer, she began to stare at him with a hallucinated gaze and he quickly understood that he was in danger. He stepped back and bumped against a dresser. With a brusque movement, she grabbed him by his throat and began to press, press…
- It would be enough to – she said, with dilated pupils and clenched teeth, a Machiavellian rictus on her lips – something happens… An accident, for example…
- You are crazy! Let me go! – He managed to articulate while trying to extricate himself. But Eliza, prompted by the rage that increased her forces, pressed harder and harder. His vision began to become blurred. He emitted a weak rattle, agonizing, and felt that he was losing consciousness, when some powerful arms took him and freed him from the insane taking of his wife. The air penetrated immediately his lungs and he let himself heavily fall on the floor, painfully recovering a normal breath. In a semi-haze, he distinguished his wife on the floor, maintained by two servants who were trying to prevent her from moving. She was screaming like a possessed, tapping her feet and spitting to anyone who would listen, insults able to make blush a trooper. His butler had rushed towards him and holding him by the arm, helped him to get up.
- How do you feel, sir?
August Withmore, stupefied, looked with consternation at the depressing sight before his eyes. When recovering his mind, he turned towards his servant and told him:
- Walter, could you please contact the Bellevue hospital and ask them to send here an ambulance with two of their strongest male nurses?
- The Bellevue hospital? But it is a psychiatric hospital!
The knowing gaze that his master sent back to him put an end to his interrogations and he turned around, painfully dissimulating a pout of satisfaction…
The count Contarini's assistant presented himself, at dawn, on the platform of Venice train-station, his heart full of hope. The day before, he had searched Terry in the whole city, had come to the port from which one's could embark for abroad every day, until taking the initiative to contact the Duke of Grandchester in London. No trace of him… His last hope lied in the inspector, who, according to the ticket-seller, officiated in the train likely to have transported Terry. The station agent remembered the young man. He had seen him leaving at daybreak, without any specific direction.
- He wanted to go to the North, nothing more - he had told Roberto – My colleague in the train will be able to better enlighten you.
Roberto started as he heard the train arriving at the station, that very one that Terry had taken the day before. When the locomotive stopped, he got up into a wagon and began to look for the inspector. He finally found him, busy helping an old lady to come on board.
- Excuse-me, sir, I would need some information.
- Of course, sir. How can I help you?
- Well, a friend of mine took that train yesterday morning and I would like to find him because he left something of value in my home. He is English and travels a lot. He's a man with a nice figure, around 25 years old, rather tall in terms of height, brown-haired with pale blue eyes.
The inspector touched his chin with a thoughtful look, then answered:
- Yesterday, a British young man who looks like your description was there… He went with a theater troupe on its way to Verona...
- Verona?
- Yes. There is a theater festival there presently…
- Are you sure of what you're saying? Was it really this young man?
- Listen… I cannot be categorical, but I can assure you that at such early hour, this train usually carries people who are going to work instead of tourists. And yesterday morning, that man and the troupe were the only English people travelling!
Roberto held himself from screaming of joy. All these efforts, all these exhausting hours looking for the Duke of Grandchester's son were at last rewarded. He was about to find him and to reveal him the dark conspiracy in which he was a victim. Armed with the telegrams the count had exchanged with Albert and George, he would be able to give him the substantive evidence that everything in what he had believed was only the fruit of a Machiavellian plan hatched by an hateful person, some Elisa Withmore. He was eager to tell him that news and to see happiness and relief shine on his face. Whole trembling with emotion, he spoke to the inspector, busy adjusting his cap.
- Would you mind to sell me a ticket for Verona, please?
This morning, Candy was strolling unhurriedly in Verona that was little by little coming alive, still dazed by the heat of the night. The young woman had not known any rainy day since the beginning of her trip in Europe, which contrasted with the wetter summers of Indiana. Here, a blazing heat could wake you up at the first hours of the day, and she still had difficulties to get used to it. She accelerated her pace as she crossed the Garibaldi Bridge to join as fast as possible the shadow of the antic city narrow streets. The shops were beginning to open, the windows' curtains had been lifted up and the stalls settled out on the pavement, offering appetizing and colored goods to the customers. Candy loved all those smells, those colors that excited big gourmand stomach. She had a little weakness for Italian cold cuts with their inimitable color and filled with flavors that attracted her like a bug on a honeypot. Dried sausage, pancetta, mortadella, and Parma ham did not have any secret for her anymore; a real gustatory discovery that she wanted to extend upon her return to America, thanks to the stocks she intended to take in her luggage...
Looking up, she surprised a talk between two neighbors. Their blaring voices echoed from a balcony to another one, capturing the walkers' curiosity. Further, a woman was hanging her washing on a line under her window while another one, singing, was watering her geraniums whose vivid red, mixed with the green of the leaves, looked like as if it was paying tribute to the colors of the country. The entertaining sight of this dairy life was making Candy happy. Hopping, she avoided the postman's bicycle who had just stopped in front of the flower shop and she thought back about the night she had passed with Patty at reading the letters she had brought back from the club, and about the wise advises she had given to her for the answers. Patty always found the right words to calm distresses, perhaps because, by having experimented them, she was able to easily understand people's feelings.
Candy was not outdone about this aspect, but she had a lot more difficulties to express what she felt. In her letters, and notably those devoted to Terry, though she knew she would never send them, she had always remained demure, evasive, distant, like if sharing genuinely her emotions could weaken her, make her vulnerable. She had always been told to be strong, to hold her head high, to face the event whatever the cost, to move forward and not fall, at the risk of being later unable to recover. She was always in action and would run away from this painful nostalgia that left her few breathing space. This is why she could see herself in the letters she read. Heartaches are always heartaches, no matter their origin. So becoming their confidant, automatically brought her back to her own wounds and she did not like that reminder of memories filled with emotions and regrets. Nevertheless, she performed her task carefully, aware of what it meant for the addressee of her answer, imagining her feverishness on the opening and the further comfort it would bring. She knew that another pile of letters was waiting for her at the club, and she fastened her pace as she heard the nearby Santa Maria Matricolare cathedral's bell suffusing its ten strikes. She arrived a little breathless before the trattoria Giulieta and greeted with a joyful smile, the waiter dressed with a white shirt and a black vest, who gratified her with a booming "Ciao, bella!". Blushing with embarrassment, she walked through the restaurant's room and rushed to the floor where she was warmly welcomed by Isabella who was about to hand out the mail. In the middle of the table had been placed a still steaming coffee pot and little cookies. Candy had already had breakfast but accepted without grimacing a cookie that Donatella was offering to her.
- I cooked them. I think you'll like them – the elder of the club whispered to her.
- Donatella greatly contributes to the maintenance of our curves… - said with irony the nurse Francesca, as she shameless crunched into a cookie – But we cannot blame her, they are so good!
- Try to be reasonable, ladies, if you want to fit into your pretty dresses tomorrow night… - spoke the brown-haired Isabella, a mischievous smile on the corner of her lips. Before their interrogative gaze, she followed, waving an envelope above her head – The city hall has just sent the tickets for the Romeo and Juliet premiere.
- Romeo and Juliet? How original!... – chuckled Maria, a little sarcastic – It's the same, every year!
- Come on, Verona would not be Verona anymore without a Romeo and Juliet performance! – Made notice Donatella, raising her eyes heavenwards, like if Maria had said an outrageous nonsense.
- Well… - grumbled that latter, hurt – But I keep on thinking that the festival organizers could change of theme…
- You know well that it makes come the tourists! – Outdid Francesca – And without tourists…
- No letters! – Cried out Isabella, straining on enthusiasm to relax the atmosphere, feeling that storm was about to break. It was not an easy task to preserve a perfect harmony between all these women with a very strong personality. An insignificant topic could suddenly excite the minds and a beautiful argument could burst but fortunately stop just as quickly as it had happened.
- An English troupe is playing that year – she added innocently, looking closer at the tickets – The Sidney Wilde troupe…
- Have you ever seen that play, Candy? – Asked Donatella who had noticed the frozen expression of the young woman.
- Yes, I have, long time ago. In Broadway…
- Broadway! – Cried out Francesca, starry-eyed – How I'd like to go to New York one day and visit that mythical place!
- I'd like to see Rudolph Valentino for real – added Isabella with fluttering eyes, her hands reunited against her chest – He's so handsome!
- Talking about good-looking guys, I'm curious to see the face of the one who will play Romeo this year… - chuckled Francesca – I hope he will be more handsome than the one we had last year who was chubby and who lisped.
- It can't be worse this year – said Isabella, laughing – The poor guy had been booed off the stage! It was pathetic!
- Houlala, yes!- Exclaimed Maria, bursting out laughing. She had plainly retrieved her good mood – We really felt sorry for him! I hope the audience will be more indulgent this year.
- You don't say anything, Candy… Will you come with us tomorrow night? – Asked Isabella, noticing her strange mutism. That latter, avoiding their gaze, stuttered:
- Well… I've so many things to do. Moreover, there is my friend, Patty. We usually spend our evenings together…
- Didn't you talk to us about that attractive doctor who has a crush for her? – Said Maria who did not understand the young blonde hesitations – You have an opportunity to offer him to take care of your friend.
Candy became sullen, fuming inwardly for being unable to disappear behind the rows of shelves that separated the working room from the archives. She regretted her confidences to the club members after having surprised Patty in the doctor's arms. Now, she did not have any excuse to escape from that evening while the only thought about watching a Romeo and Juliet performance was unbearable to her. Too many painful memories were raising back the surface, memories she had buried in the bottom of her memory and that, shaken, could come back to life like in the beginning. She could see her again, sitting, feverish, in that Broadway theater room. It meant so much to her: all those months waiting to see Terry again and admire him on stage, in the role he had always dreamed of and so often talked about with her during their holidays in Scotland.
For them both, that moment was turning a new page of their life, a life they were going to share freely. Yet, in the train for New York, as she handed out her one-way ticket to the inspector, she was convinced that she would not have to buy a return one. She knew that as soon as she would meet Terry, she could never leave him… But, as he moved on stage, radiant in his wonderful costume of Romeo, her heart had ceased beating and her breath had stopped. With her eyes full of tears, she watched him playing, but her mind was absent, absorbed by the atrocious news she had just learnt during the intermission: Suzanna's accident. Her whole life had collapsed in a fraction of second. Her hopes and certitudes had been swept by the terrible reality: the sacrifice that the young actress had made to save Terry, the one she loved, she loved more than anything else in the world, and that fate was about to tear away from her! She could not believe it but she had reconcile herself to take the decision of leaving, of giving his freedom back to him, to have him able to take care of that girl without feeling guilty all along his life. She wanted so much to prevent him from suffering! In the following, everything had linked up quickly: their reencounter on the snowy roof of the hospital, his surprise and his silence as he brought the young infirm back to her bedroom, his cry of despair as she said her farewells to him and his hands… his hands around her waist that held her in her runaway, that grasped her until smothering her, his burning tears that slid along her neck, and his voice, so fragile, vacillating, that murmured to her words strained with sobs. Oh God! How could she suffer the ordeal to see this play again? No, they could not inflict that torture on her!...
Trying to hold her tears, she stammered a categorical refusal that disconcerted her friends.
- What's happening to you, sweetheart? – Asked Donatella, worried by the shattered features of the young American – You look strange… Like if you were about to cry. Is it this play which moves you so much?
- Yes, it is… - lied Candy with a very little voice.
- I grant you that this is not a very happy story – added Maria with a pout – Those two lovebirds to which we become fond of during two hours and who end by killing themselves. This is rather grim!
- You are not wrong… - chuckled Isabella, trying to dissimulate her laugh behind her envelope – But let's not forget that it remains a big privilege to have that opportunity in such surroundings as the arenas.
- Two thousands years of history! – Nodded proudly Francesca.
Candy remained tetanized, lost before this assembly of gazes on her.
- I do not ignore the exceptional opportunity you are offering to me and I'm very grateful to you but I…
- Don't worry, Candy, we are not going to force you to come if you don't want to…. – Maria gently interrupted her with a comforting hand over hers.
- Of course, Candy! – Added Isabella with a benevolent smile – Listen, you have time to think about it. This is not an obligation at all!
- Hey, girls, the clock is ticking, and I've to go before noon… - made notice Francesca.
Candy let discreetly out a sigh of relief and relaxed.
- Oops! – Cried out Isabella as she looked at the clock above the sideboard behind her – It's almost eleven o'clock! Let's hurry up!
While saying that, she waved an unsealed envelope in the collecting basket, and removed a folded paper.
- If you please, I'd like to share with you a letter that I found yesterday on the wall and that I read that morning while waiting for you. It's very special because it's a man who wrote it, a young man, to be more specific…
- A man? Mmmmmmmm… That's rare and promising!... – said Francesca, with a suggestive arching movement of her eyebrows.
- You don't know how right you are, ma dear Francesca! This is one of the most beautiful and moving letters I've ever read.
- Well, then, Isabella! – Cried out Donatella, fidgeting with impatience on her chair – What are you waiting to read it to us?
The young woman nodded with a smile, sat in front of her friends who were watching her with interest and cleared her throat. She was holding the letter between her hands, and as she was sitting with her back to the light, one's could guess through the paper the handwriting of its author. Candy's gaze turned fortuitously towards this handwriting whose fine line, refined, looked familiar to her. Perplexed, she shook her head to chase that preposterous though that was crossing her mind. But when Isabella opened her mouth and began to read the letter, she stayed petrified, her eyes wide-opened with astonishment, with the frightening feeling of having been struck by lighting…
1- Guiseppe Garibaldi was an Italian general, a politician and nationalist who played a large role in the history of Italy. He is considered as one of Italy's "fathers of the fatherland"
The taxi stopped before the Plaza Bra and Roberto's heart began to beat faster. According to the taxi driver, he should have the best chances to see the troupe rehearsing at the Arenas.
- It will be at least the place where you'll get the best information, dear sir…. – had retorted to him the driver as he wondered if it was the best place to start his search.
He passed an arm over the seat and held out a note to the driver.
- Wait for me here until I return.
The driver agreed with a nod and the butler got out the vehicle. He was feeling very nervous. His hands were clammy and his breath escaped, thrilling, from his chest, like a young man on his first date. His starry-eyed young girl's heart was showing up with all its ingenuousness. Him, who never had time for a private life, which he had sacrificed for the well being of his master, was living that moment like if it was his. He had lived vicariously the exaltation, the impatience of the young duke, then his distress and his disillusion. Now, as he was about to close that vicious circle, he was feeling a little depressed. The come-back to the daily routine would be certainly less thrilling, but he was remaining confident. The count, passably shaken by this story, would certainly leave Venice for a while to get rid of his moroseness. Usually, the "small naked women" of the Folies Bergère would have a special influence over his mood, and as a result, over his, since he would accompany him in all his trips. Refreshed by these delightful thoughts, he readjusted his suit, put some order in his sparse grey hair, and walked towards one of the half-opened doors of the amphitheater. As he entered the hemicycle, he knew that his quest was over…
Two figures were standing on the stage, an athletic curly and fair-haired one, and a slimmer one, who was moving with a natural grace he had seen before. The brightness of his aquamarine eyes shined with insolence behind the long brown locks that enveloped his face. His deep voice, with musical harmonics, let guess a controlled sensitivity, moving, that gave him this so special aura, spellbinding, able to seduce any heart and soul.
The butler, not daring to interrupt the actors, went discreetly and sat on one of the stone steps, next to the other members of the troupe who were carefully looking at the two young men playing. Roberto knew by heart that play and he was able to identify without any difficulty the first scene of act I, in which Romeo, son and heir of the Montague, confesses to his cousin Benvolio, the mad passion that animates him for the beautiful Rosaline who does not want of him…
BENVOLIO
Good morning, cousin.
ROMEO
Is it that early in the day?
BENVOLIO
It's only just now nine o'clock.
ROMEO
Oh my, time goes by slowly when you're sad.
Was that my father who left here in such a hurry?
BENVOLIO
It was. What's making you so sad and your hours
so long?
ROMEO
I don't have the thing that makes time fly.
BENVOLIO
You're in love?
ROMEO
Out.
BENVOLIO
Out of love?
ROMEO
I love someone. She doesn't love me.
BENVOLIO
It's sad. Love looks like a nice thing, but it's
actually very rough when you experience it.
ROMEO
What's sad is that love is supposed to be blind,
but it can still make you do whatever it wants.
So, where should we eat? (seeing blood) Oh my!
What fight happened here? No, don't tell me—I
know all about it. This fight has a lot to do with
hatred, but it has more to do with love. O
brawling love! O loving hate! Love that comes
from nothing! Sad happiness! Serious
foolishness! Beautiful things muddled together
into an ugly mess! Love is heavy and light, bright
and dark, hot and cold, sick and healthy, asleep
and awake—it's everything except what it is! This
is the love I feel, though no one loves me back.
Are you laughing?
BENVOLIO
No, cousin, I'm crying.
ROMEO
Good man, why are you crying?
BENVOLIO
I'm crying because of how sad you are.
ROMEO
Yes, this is what love does. My sadness sits
heavy in my chest, and you want to add your
own sadness to mine so there's even more. I have too much sadness already, and now you're
going to make me sadder by feeling sorry for
you. Here's what love is: a smoke made out of
lovers' sighs. When the smoke clears, love is a
fire burning in your lover's eyes. If you frustrate
love, you get an ocean made out of lovers' tears.
What else is love? It's a wise form of madness.
It's a sweet lozenge that you choke on.
Goodbye, cousin.
BENVOLIO
Wait. I'll come with you. If you leave me like this,
you're doing me wrong.
ROMEO
I'm not myself. I'm not here. This isn't Romeo—
he's somewhere else.
BENVOLIO
Tell me seriously, who is the one you love?
ROMEO
Seriously? You mean I should groan and tell
you?
BENVOLIO
Groan? No. But tell me seriously who it is.
ROMEO
You wouldn't tell a sick man he "seriously" has to
make his will—it would just make him worse.
Seriously, cousin, I love a woman.
BENVOLIO
I guessed that already when I guessed you were
in love.
ROMEO
Then you were right on target. The woman I love
is beautiful.
BENVOLIO
A beautiful target is the one that gets hit the
fastest.
ROMEO
Well, you're not on target there. She refuses to
be hit by Cupid's arrow. She's as clever as
Diana, and shielded by the armor of chastity. She
can't be touched by the weak and childish arrows
of love. She won't listen to words of love, or let
you look at her with loving eyes, or open her lap
to receive gifts of gold. She's rich in beauty, but
she's also poor, because when she dies her
beauty will be destroyed with her.
At the foot of the stage, a little man was starting on each line and beating time with his arms, staring at the actors, grinning sometimes, smiling often. He looked satisfied of what he was seeing as much as Roberto, who, fascinated, savored Terry's modern way of playing. The rightness of his performance enhanced the richness of the text, rejuvenated it from three centuries of classic tradition and brought some originality to the contemporary nature of the evoked words.
In another life, Terry might have crossed Shakespeare's path – thought the butler, so convinced he was to have never seen such Romeo in his whole life. The scene was going on, and the young hero kept on opening his heart about his sad fate, as miserable as some despaired young man who, two days before, was wandering in the streets of Verona…
BENVOLIO
So she's made a vow to be a virgin forever?
ROMEO
Yes she has, and by keeping celibate, she wastes her beauty. If you starve yourself of sex
you can't ever have children, and so your beauty
is lost to future generations. She's too beautiful
and too wise to deserve heaven's blessing by
making me despair. She's sworn off love, and
that promise has left me alive but dead, living
only to talk about it now.
BENVOLIO
Take my advice. Don't think about her.
ROMEO
Teach me to forget to think!
BENVOLIO
Do it by letting your eyes wander freely. Look at
other beautiful girls.
ROMEO
That will only make me think more about how
beautiful she is. Beautiful women like to wear
black masks over their faces—those black masks
only make us think about how beautiful they are
underneath. A man who goes blind can't forget
the precious eyesight he lost. Show me a really
beautiful girl. Her beauty is like a note telling me
where I can see someone even more beautiful.
Goodbye. You can't teach me to forget.
BENVOLIO
I'll show you how to forget, or else I'll die owing
you that lesson.
(They exit.)
- Bravo! Perfect! – Cried out Sidney Wilde, applauding them both – Continue like that, guys, and it will be a huge hit tomorrow night!
But the expression of satisfaction on her face quickly gave up place to irritation when speaking to his troupe, behind him.
- Capulet, Pâris, you are counting on taking root? Do you think that scene 2 is going to play by itself? Come on, come on! Move yourself a little!
The two actors stood up with a shuffle. But as one of them was letting out a yawn that he barely dissimulated, the manager exploded.
- I'm warning all of you! Hanging around trattorias until way too late at night is over! The first one I'll find tonight in a bar will go back to the hotel with the indelible printing of my foot on his ass! I want you in shape for tomorrow night! Understood Christian, or do you want me to show it to you now?
The young actor who played Pâris nodded frenetically and rushed to the stage. On the day before the performance, Sidney had to be treated cautiously. He had almost renounced, with a heavy heart, the day when Simon, the womanizer and also Romeo, had broken his leg. Then it was not time for failing so close to the goal. Playing in Verona meant a lot to him. It symbolized his success after all the lean years he had crossed, and he did not want anyone to spoil that big moment. But the untimely intervention of an unknown person put in doubt all his certitudes…
- Will you excuse my intrusion, ladies and gentlemen, but… - interrupted the butler as he raised an embarrassed finger.
- What is it?... – grumbled the director between his teeth.
- Roberto? – Cried out Terry, incredulous, as he saw him – What are you doing here?
The young man jumped from the platform and walked straight to the butler, holding out his hand.
- How did you find me? – He asked him more discreetly while warmly shaking his hand.
- This is one heck of a history, sir… - the butler answered with rolling eyes – You can't imagine how relieved I feel to have you in front of me!
- Come on, my friend, you did not have to worry! I'm a big boy, and as you can see, I'm fine…
- Think again, sir, this is not the reason of my visit here…
- Which reason is it, then?
The butler took him apart, and told him with an almost inaudible voice:
- I think you should sit down, sir, because what I'm about to tell you might shake you very much.
- You are getting me worried, Roberto!
- Let me insist, sir… Please, have a seat…
Terry gave a pout of disappointment and obeyed. He sat down on one of the tiers of seats, his harm casually lying on his leg that he had folded up on the side, and raised perplexed eyes towards the servant.
- Reassure me, this is not about the count Contarini? Is he fine?
- Beautifully, sir! Actually, I wanted to tell you about something of the utmost importance. It's about this "lady"…
The young man opened wide his eyes and felt his body sinking into the marble.
- I beg your pardon? – He said, swallowing with difficulty.
- Yes, this lady, the one…
Terry brushed away the topic with a quick movement.
- I see very well who you are talking about, Roberto! Something happened to her?
- Absolutely not! Don't worry! – Retorted the butler with big gestures – She nevertheless remains the reason of my presence here!
- I don't understand, I don't understand what you are talking about!...
- Sir… This lady…
- Well?
- She's not married, she's never been! It was a frame-up!
Terry now understood why the butler had so much insisted for him to sit down. Deathly pale, he mumbled:
- A frame-up?
The servant nodded. He sat down next to a speechless Terry, paralyzed by what he had just learnt, and got going on a long explanatory monologue. He told him the count Contarini's fierce will to help him, until soliciting the army to quicker contact the Andrew family. Transatlantic telephone communications were still in their infancy at that time, and telegraph was still the most secure and fastest means. This is how, after several telegram exchanges, they had learnt that Miss Candice White Andrew was not married, and was travelling with her friend, Patricia O'Brien. The person at the beginning of these unfounded rumors, seconded by a scoundrel of journalist, was known as Elisa Leagan-Withmore…
- Elisa… - murmured Terry, with clenched fists, trembling with rage – Her again! How have I been stupid enough to fall into her trap so easily?
- It seems that she knows very well your weaknesses, sir. But she's been also very fortunate…
- Fortune that I've always lacked so sorely… - he retorted with bitterness. Then, as he recovered, he asked – Where is she, now? Where is Candy?
- I don't know, sir…
Terry jumped up.
- Sorry?
- But we'll know it quickly – rushed to add the butler – We only need to visit miss O'Brien, here, at the hospital…
- At the hospital?
- Indeed, sir… They were on their way to Venice when miss O'Brien had an appendicitis crisis. As Verona was the closest town, she got surgery there.
- They are here! Candy is here! – Could not stop repeating Terry, brushing backward his hair with his hands.
- May I add that she's been here for a few days yet and she's never been to Venice…
- That hospital, do you know where it is?
- No, I don't, but the taxi waiting for us outside will drive us there…
- Let's not lose time, then!- He did, turning around to Sidney to be sure of his agreement. That latter was looking at him, immobile and mouth opened. He let his arms falling down to express his resignation as the young English, while moving away, promised him to come back as soon as possible.
- Don't worry, Sid, I'll be there for the premiere, I promise!
The director sighed with disappointment. He had just found a new Romeo and now, that one was disappearing in the nature! He could not blame him for it, as he had commanded him, the night before, to recover and move to the reconquest of his beloved one. He visibly had well followed his advises…
Well decided to keep his chin up, he turned towards the troupe and yelled:
- Bring Simon to me! On a stretcher, on a wheeling chair, whatever, but I want him on stage in less than ten minutes! And if he makes a fuss, tell him that he'll go back to England not only with a broken leg, but plastered like a mummy! Hurry up!
The noise of tires squealing on the road, immediately following with a lingering and strident honk, pulled violently Candy from her distraction. Emerging from her torpor, she realized she was right in the middle of the street and looked, stupefied, at the car driver who was harassing her with insults. Sheepishly, she rushed to join the pavement then leaned against a wall, a little apart in a lane, to try and calm down. For several minutes, she could not have a rational thinking. One only name haunted her mind, the one that had made her leave the Juliet club hastily after having understood who was the author of the letter who had so much moved Isabella.
- Terry, Terry is here! – She thought, unable to believe it – Terry is in Verona!
Her head leaning against the wall, she tried to breath deeply in order to slow down her heart beatings, which was about to burst into her chest. In vain… She was in such a state of excitement that she was losing all control over her thoughts and body. How could it be different while Terry's eloquent words were coming back to her memory, as exactly as if she was holding the letter between her hands?
" Dear Juliet,
How strange it is for me to be there before you and to write these words to you. We've been knowing so well each other however, and for so long. I remember our première in Broadway. I was so nervous, so paralyzed by the fright that I thought that nothing could come out from my mouth, and then, suddenly, as if by magic, all this anguish, all this oppression had gone because I knew you were with me, Juliet, my friend, comforting, so close that I could, even without seeing you, feel you brushing past me.
Do you remember our first encounter? I was about to be fourteen years old and I had secretly gone and see my mother who was playing in London. She had given me a collection of your creator's works, William Shakespeare, and this is how I got acquainted with you. I had immediately found you fascinating. We were almost the same age, you were just getting out from childhood but, this love, this crazy passion, violent and blind that animated you for this boy, Romeo, enthralled me. I wondered how you could be so young and feel with such intensity these feelings, feelings that I would intend only for others, convinced I was of being unable to ever feel the same.
But… Who knew then that on New Year's Eve, I would be too embraced by that divine emotion which would change all my life?... Oh, if you had seen her, Juliet, in her cream-colored silk dress and her ravishing ribbon that held her long blonde curls, you too would have been dazzled by her beauty, her touching grace that issued from her! I was so troubled that, not to betray myself, I behaved like a boor, made fun about the freckles that scattered her little nose. Far from being intimidated, she riposted immediately, her nose frowning with anger and her eyes, of a deep green, magnetic, looked at me up and down with confidence. She faced me unblinking and reflected all my arrogance to my face, scolding me vivaciously as if I were a rascal. In return, I found her charming, exceptional, and fell eternally in love with her…
Since that day, each time I met her, my heart would race, my legs would tremble without being able to control them. I was so afraid she could notice it! So, I redoubled in boorishness for her not to guess my feelings. She was in all my thoughts. I wanted to be with her, to hear her voice, her laughs. Unfortunately, she would keep her distance with the unsympathetic character that I represented to her…
But sometimes, when two fates are aimed at meeting each other, there is no insurmountable pitfall… So, little by little, we learnt to know each other and her, to like me… For the first time, I felt confident with someone, until giving hints of tenderness towards her that she would welcome, looking down, blushing. I liked to see her lowering her guard that way, which gave me the crazy hope that she could feel the same for me…
I remember that end of afternoon in Scotland, when a thunder had surprised us and obliged us to come back to the manor to get shelter. I was observing her, kneeling before the fireplace, wearing my mother's dressing gown, trying to warm her members numb by the frozen rain. We were alone in that big mansion, among a deep silence that we did not dare to break, fearing to break the spell. Sitting next to her, I was looking at the flames that reflected in her eyes of a singular green, penetrating, which, as they fixed upon you, would make you forget until your name, while her pretty lips, pulpous, bowed as they spoke to me. She looked so beautiful and so fragile, that I ardently wished to take her in my arms, to hold her against me, to pass my fingers in her hair and smell the soft odor of her skin. In spite of the irresistible need that tormented me, I did not have the courage to kiss her. I feared too much her reaction, which I experimented few days later, on the edge of a lake, as I found finally the boldness to put my lips on hers. The slap she gave me in return still remains painfully fixed in my memory, without however damaging the unforgettable souvenir of that magical moment that confirmed she loved me too. Just for a moment, I had held her between my arms, and had been insured she was not lying…"
- Oh Terry, by excess of pride, I did not want to confess you on the moment, but that kiss was for me one of the most wonderful times of my life… - Thought Candy, a nostalgic smile on the corner of her lips – I haven't forgotten anything… No, I haven't forgotten the delightful contact of your lips on mines. I only have to close my eyes, and the few minutes passed against you, revive some extraordinary emotions that I have cherished all along these years away from you. It was my first kiss, Terry… What a blessing to have received it from you!...
Lost in her thoughts, she continued her walk, with a more determined pace.
" Unfortunately, such happiness could not last and because of some dishonest behaviors of an evil person, our fates went apart. With a heavy heart, I left England for America, without knowing if I would see her again. As soon as I arrived, I visited at first two people she had so often talked to me about and who had raised her. With a febrile hand, I knocked at the door, which half-opened on an old lady, wearing thick glasses, who looked at me benevolently. My heart started when discovering her along with her colleague, a very devoted nun. I had the feeling to know them since always. She had so much talked about them that their voices and their faces looked familiar to me. And when I told them that I had been in the same college as their daughter, they welcomed me with such warmth, that I knew immediately they had adopted me and understood how much in love with her I was. Later, before leaving, I went to commune with myself on her hill, that hill that looked like so much the one of Saint-Paul in which we used to meet each other. I stayed there, without moving, under the snow that was falling huge flakes, and I thought about her, for a long time. I wanted to indelibly print in my mind these places where she grew up and who had made of her the admirable being she was, full of compassion and devotion for other people, good and generous, but also combative and brave. Ah, Juliet, knowing her was like receiving a real lesson!..."
- Tears are clouding my eyes when thinking about this moment again, Terry… I could see your footprints in the snow when arriving on the top of the hill. Through the wind that lashed my face, I called several times your name, without great hope, because I guessed you were already far. You were so close and so far in the same time! Few minutes only separated us! Oh, Terry!... The cup of tea you had held between your hands was still lukewarm!... I kept it for a long time between mines to save as long as possible your warmth between my fingers, to keep you a little more with me…
"Shortly afterwards, I got hired into the Stratford Company and I got into theatre with all my might. I was free to satisfy my passion, passion she had encouraged me to cultivate when I had talked to her about, during one of our long talks on the edge of the lake, in Scotland. She believed so much in me! For her, it was obvious and I wanted so much to prove her that she was not wrong. So, I poured my heart and soul into it, for having the feeling, for few hours, to have her coming to me. But one day, against all odds, my dream became reality, and once again, fate reunited us. I still see myself, with a racing heart, holding firmly the handle of the train door while she was running behind it with her ravishing nurse uniform. She was here in America while I thought she was still in England! There was no more ocean between us! We were going to be able to meet each other! I met her gaze through which I guessed the same joy living inside her, identical to mine. I had so many things to tell her, so many things that distance prevented me from sharing with her. What a torture it was to have her so close without being able to touch her, neither hold her in my arms!
I made up for it quickly by sending her a ticket for the Romeo and Juliet premiere that was going to take place in New York. I had also enclosed a one-way train ticket because I wanted to keep her with me, to never let her go. But once again, fate wanted, with its perfidious hand, put an end to this illusory hope, through a tragic event: Suzanna's accident, this young actress, who while saving my life, had lost her leg. Eaten up with guilt, forced to obey to the requirements of this overwhelming responsibility, I was in the horrible situation to have to renounce Her while all my heart and soul refused it. Leaving her to devote myself to someone I will never love was unbearable to me! And when she joined me in New York, I did not find the courage to tell her the truth. Words tripped over my lips and could not get out. She was there, at last, before me, looking beautifully unreal, and I could not move towards her, because I had lost the right to do it! How describing with words all the horror and disgust of myself that swept over me when I discovered her on the roof of this hospital, with Suzanna who had just tried to kill herself?... I was so ashamed of me, so ashamed of having her to face that… Then, I brought Suzanna back to her bedroom. She was not heavy but looked to me as lead. Stumbling, I met her dismayed but so lucid gaze that I understood that everything was over… For my salvation, she had just done what I had been unable to do: this painful choice, this impossible choice to sacrifice this happiness that we had just approached. I wanted to yell my despair, to prevent her from leaving; I did not want her to disappear from my life forever! What a cruelty, what ignominy to separate that way, on the steps of the Jacob Hospital, on which still shined our poured tears!... Oh, Juliet, there was no worst torture to have to move my hands away from her waist and let her go… Perhaps, it would have been better to never meet since our fate was to separate… "
- Oh, Terry, you can't say that… In spite of the years away from you, I've never regretted to have known you. I've learnt so much from you. You brought me back to life while I would have never believed it possible to recover from Anthony's death. While everybody was sparing me, you did not take pity on me, you made me face my daemons and forced me to react. Without you, I would be yet lamenting on my lot in life. Terry, if I have been able to live all this time away from you, this is really because I did not want to disappoint you, because I had promised to myself to fight, in memory of all what linked us. It was our agreement, remember? Our mutual promise to never give away and to do everything to have a happy life… To do everything, yes, to keep on moving forward, without you… Many times, I almost let me go, many times I almost gave up, but then, I would think about you again, and I would see you back in that miserable itinerant theatre, in which, dead drunk, you were not even able to recite two verses one after the other. It breaks my heart when thinking about it because this sight was so pitiful and painful to look at. I knew it was because of me and I wanted to run into your arms, to comfort you, to tell you how much I loved you. But I couldn't because I knew that anytime, you would have to go back to Suzanna and take care of her. There was no room for me in your life… And then, suddenly, you recovered, and I knew you would never let yourself go again to despair, that you would keep your promise. I kept mine until today…
The old Verona had never seemed to her so long and tortuous. She thought she was wandering in a never-ending labyrinth. Troubled-minded, she suddenly did not recognize anything, though she had been walking in these streets for days. But, all of a sudden, the ringing of the San Nicolo church's bells, confirmed her that she was on the right path…
"All along those years, Juliet, you were by my side, faithful and loyal. However, I can tell you this now, though I suspect you've ever known it: that those loving verses that declaimed on stage were not for you, but for Her and Her only. It was my way to chase that sorrow that lived in me, that pain for not being with her. I wished so much being able to forget her but her memory remained printed in my flesh, both obsessing and comforting.
After Suzanna's death, I thought my life would change, but it was without taking into account these years imprisoned in the glass tower, in which I stayed as the onlooker of this life that I abhorred. I was feeling many difficulties to come back to reality, like emerging from a cell and being blinded by the daylight. I was free but still prisoner in my mind…
I wanted to write to her, to tell her that still loved her, that nothing had changed for me. Many times I would darken paper and many times, I would crumple and throw it. I was so afraid she could reject me that I let one year elapse. And then, very recently, she reappeared, so briefly that I had to cross the ocean to join her. But as I was finding back her track, I had the hateful surprise to discover that she was married! All my hopes, all my dreams, collapsed in a second. It was like a second death to me. I was already a lonely sheath since our breakup in New York, I was becoming a wandering phantom in the streets of Venice.
Oh, Juliet, if I had been brave enough, if I hadn't been afraid to write to her, my letter would have certainly arrived before she met that man, that man whose place should have been mine, that man I'm cursing for all what an husband can share with her!...
I've often lacked of bravery when it was about her! I'm accepting its chastisement. What could she have expected from a coward such as me? I'm just a miserable being, unworthy of the love she once had for me. I deserve her rejection, her oblivion and her indifference.
This is why I'm asking your help, Juliet, because I don't know how I will be able to play in two days without the need to plunge into my heart this dagger you are keeping for yours. I'm asking you this, as a message in a bottle, with the hypothetical hope that you could hear me. If only a second, I want to believe that in all this tragedy could loom a light that would enlighten my steps and would grant me with some peace. I'm exhausted, Juliet, I'm begging you, help me…
Terrence"
A deathly silence had spread its morbid veil in the room. Nobody dared to say a word. Finally, Donatella brought to a close to it by speaking to Candy, transfixed on her chair, with clenched fists on her knees, blood draining from her face.
- Candy… Is he talking about? Didn't you tell us you were a nurse, did you? Romeo and Juliet in New York…. Is it that story this young man is talking about?
- In any case, you never told us you were married! – Had added Maria, with a reproachful tone, while immediately biting her lips with contrition before Isabella's reproving look at her.
Candy had immediately stood up and answered with a trembling voice:
- I… I'm not married! I've never been! My God, he believes… He believes...
She had flopped onto her chair and burst into tears, shaking her head.
- I don't understand - she had mumbled, her face in the hollow of her hands – I don't understand what makes him believe that!
- Well, my dear, there is one way to know it – had launched Francesca – You need to go to meet him and ask him!
Candy had looked up with astonishment. Her gaze full of tears reflected lack of understanding.
- But I've no idea where he could be!
- Have we read the same letter, Candy? – Had retorted Isabella, waving the theater tickets – Didn't he say that he's playing tomorrow?
- And what are we playing tomorrow? – Had added Donatella, with an ironic smile.
- Romeo and Juliet… - had murmured Candy, confused. How could she explain that since a few minutes, under the emotion, she had stopped listening to what was reading Isabella, assailed with a multitude of thoughts that were crossing her mind. But only one dominated the others: Terry was in town, Terry was in Verona!
- What are you still doing here, featherbrain? – Had then cried out Maria, twisting with impatience on her chair – Why aren't you yet at the Arenas?
- Indeed, Candy! Hurry up! – Had added Francesca, almost hysterical – Quick!
Candy had stood up with a nod, drying with a vivid movement the last tears on her pretty face. When passing through the doorstep, she had turned towards her friends who were looking at her with tenderness and excitement.
- Don't be afraid, Candy – had whispered Isabella to her , guessing her anguish – Everything will be all right… Love is stronger than anything! That man loves you, he loves you madly! Run, Candy, run!
With racing heart, breathless, Candy had then walked, run across the streets of the old Verona, without realizing where she was going. And when she finally arrived to the Plaza Bra, in the middle of which stood the antic arenas, she wondered if what she was living was not a dream. It was crowded at that time of the day, and she could not prevent herself, as she walked around the monument, from looking for Terry among the people sitting at the numerous coffee shops terraces that surrounded the place. Tens of times she thought she saw him, and tens of times, nothing happened. Disappointed, she walked towards one of the entrances of the amphitheater. With a lump in her throat, deafened with the beatings of her heart hammering her eardrums, she pushed the big half-opened door and entered in the hemicycle. The stage was close to her and she could easily distinguish the actors rehearsing. Staggering, almost fainting, she moved a few steps forwards. Most people around her had their back turned to her and were watching the performance. Terry was certainly among them, he was going to turn around and see her!
But a deep and authoritative voice, violently brought her back on earth…
- May I help you, miss? – Asked a little potbellied bald-headed man. He was observing her with by big searching eyes, and she mumbled, voice shaking:
- I'm looking for Terrence… Terrence Graham… Grandchester… Well, I'm looking for Terry…
- Terry? – Said Sidney Wilde, immediately guessing whom he was dealing with, a joyful smile appearing on his plump lips – Terry is looking for you, my dear child. You've just missed him!...
End of chapter 10