Lucy Lane and the Lieutenant

‘No, I’m sure I don’t,’ she said, aware that others had stopped to listen. ‘I got along quite nicely for a number of years without you.’

‘There you are then,’ he said, wiping his hands on his trousers and looking about him in an agitated way. ‘I wish you luck. Now I must get on. Things to do.’

‘Yes, of course. I won’t keep you.’ She halted and half turned. ‘Do you mind telling me who is to play Portia?’

‘Coral Gibbons. She is ideal for the part. I should have seen it sooner.’

She could only stare at him, all her dreams of the future suddenly dissolving around her. At length, she said, ‘Yes, yes, she is. I see. Thank you for your time, Mr Portas. And now if you will excuse me, I am needed elsewhere.’

Lucy had to be alone. She felt suddenly numb with misery, disappointment and a growing anger. She had not realised until then how very much she had depended on playing Portia. If her replacement had been an inconsequential supporting player going on thirty-five and losing her looks, she wouldn’t be so angry.

But Coral! Her closest friend! She was lovely, a perfect replacement, and Lucy had no doubt she would be a resounding success.

With the witnesses to her downfall slinking into the shadows, Lucy swept towards the exit with her head high, only to come face to face with Coral as she was about to leave by the stage door.

For one vivid instant the air between them shivered with tense friction.

‘Lucy—oh, Lucy...’

‘What have you done? Can you not see...?’

Lucy’s voice was lifeless. It was as though Coral had taken something precious from her, some secret treasure she had hoarded and which was now revealed, something which had given her life and a recognition of her own value.

But if Coral was disconcerted by Lucy’s abrupt manner, she hid it quickly under a mask of sympathy. ‘Lucy!’ she murmured, taking her friend’s hand and drawing her away from the curious gaze of a stagehand. ‘You have seen Mr Portas.’

‘Yes,’ Lucy replied, trying without success to hide her resentment for the full, rounded curves, the lovely blond hair falling about the small, fascinating face. ‘Just now. He—he told me that the part of Portia is no longer mine.’

‘I’m sorry, love. No one could have been more surprised than me when he offered me the part. I was tempted to tell him where to go—but I couldn’t, not really. Please don’t be angry with me, Lucy.’

Lucy sighed, shaking her head dejectedly. ‘I’m not angry with you, Coral. Getting angry accomplishes nothing. But I can’t pretend that I’m not disappointed.’

Coral shook her head as though in dismay at her own gullibility. ‘I can’t blame you. I would be livid had it happened to me.’

Coral said the words quietly, sincerely, and Lucy felt a tugging inside and knew she mustn’t give in to her disappointment and simmering anger against the unfairness of it all. She smiled. There was a new radiance about her friend, a glow to her creamy complexion and a sparkle in her vivid hazel eyes. Her abundant blond hair tumbling about her shoulders and glistening with gold highlights, she looked absolutely stunning in a gown of pale blue taffeta with narrow silver stripes. Never had Lucy envied another woman as much as she did Coral at that moment. But she was not bitter that her friend was to play Portia. If the part had to go to someone else, Lucy was glad it was her.

‘I wouldn’t have wanted you to turn it down, Coral. Of course you had to take it and I wish you every success. You are perfect for the part and it’s about time you had a major role to play.’ What Lucy said was true, for ever since Coral’s appearance in a minor role two years ago, she had been a favourite with the public, one of the most popular supporting players in the Portas Theatre.

‘Thank you for saying that. It’s more than I deserve from you. I would never hurt you deliberately, you know that. I value our friendship too much. What will you do now?’

Lucy shrugged. ‘I’ll look around. Trail the theatres. Someone might take me on.’

‘I do hope so. What happened, Lucy?’ Coral asked, upset and deeply concerned for her friend. ‘I can’t for the life of me understand what went wrong.’

‘I don’t know, Coral. I’ve been so busy trying to make ends meet. Aunt Dora hasn’t been well of late—I’m going to have to move out of my home and go to live with her. At least it will lessen the cost.’

‘Have you seen Jack?’

Lucy shook her head, suddenly realising she hadn’t seen him since the night of the party. Perhaps Nathan’s arrival had something to do with it. ‘I’m sure he’s busy—and he knows I have rehearsals—had rehearsals,’ she corrected herself. She smiled bitterly. ‘I think he’s finally given up on me. Goodbye, Coral. I must go.’

Coral caught her to her. They hugged tightly, emotionally. ‘Goodbye, Lucy. Take care,’ she whispered. ‘I’ll come and see you soon.’

‘Yes—yes, please do.’

* * *

Determined to find work, Lucy had gone from one theatre to another. Unfortunately none of them needed actresses at present, not even with her credentials. Angry and resentful, she had kept on looking, but it was the same at every one. Frustrated and defeated, she had turned for home.

Once inside her room she turned the key in the lock and leaned her head against the hard wood of the door frame. Not even Polly was allowed to witness the collapse of her brave façade as all her courage drained away and she sank to her knees and wept.

* * *

When Lucy called on Aunt Dora at her house in Bayswater, a basket of fruit over her arm, she found she wasn’t her only visitor that day. Nathan was standing on the doorstep, waiting to be admitted, slapping his leather gloves against his muscular thigh. His broad shoulders were squared, his jaw set in implacable determination, and even in this restrained pose he seemed to emanate the restrained power she had always sensed in him. He was looking every inch the handsome, elegant gentleman today, with his blue superfine coat and darker blue trousers, his striped blue-and-gold waistcoat and his immaculate white linen.

‘Well, well!’ she exclaimed drily, trying not to show her surprise on seeing him as her heart quickened its beat. ‘You are persistent if nothing else.’

Nathan turned his head and looked at her, a look of unconcealed admiration on his handsome face as he surveyed her jaunty yellow dress. Around her neck she had tied a matching yellow scarf, knotting it on the side, with the ends flipped over her shoulder.

‘Have you rung the bell?’ she asked.

‘Two minutes ago.’

‘Sarah must be busy. She serves my aunt’s every capacity. If you don’t wish to loiter in the street, perhaps you should come back later—or not at all,’ she said coldly.

‘It’s no bother. I’ll wait.’

‘I think you should go. She hasn’t been well. I don’t want her disturbed.’

No sooner had she spoken than the door was opened by Sarah, a pretty young woman with an open face and friendly brown eyes. ‘Good day to you, Miss Lucy. I’m sorry to have kept you waiting, but I was settling Miss Sharp in the drawing room. Please come in.’ She smiled at Nathan, flushing prettily and bobbed a curtsy. ‘She’s expecting you, sir.’

He is no doubt accustomed to this sort of feminine reaction everywhere he goes, Lucy thought irately. She looked sharply at him. ‘Do you mean to tell me you have already paid a call on Aunt Dora?’

‘I came to pay my respects yesterday. Unlike her niece she was pleased to see me and was keen for me to call on her again today.’

‘I can imagine,’ Lucy remarked drily, brushing past him into the house, leaving him to follow her or remain outside. Handing the basket to Sarah, who closed the door after Nathan, she walked towards the drawing room. ‘What are you doing here? What do you want?’

‘Now, why on earth should you think that? I am paying a social call on your aunt Dora. That is all.’

‘Why?’

‘Just because my former betrothed cut me out of her life doesn’t mean that I should stop seeing Dora. We were friends, good friends, and when I called on her she was happy to see me—unlike her niece.’

Knowing it was some ulterior motive that had brought him here and not to make idle chit-chat, Lucy glowered at him and opened the door.

Dressed in a green-brocade dressing gown over a white-muslin shift, her silver hair loosely dressed beneath a pretty lace bonnet, Aunt Dora reclined like a pale and beautiful spectre on a chaise longue, seemingly unaware of the tense, charged atmosphere that existed between the two people who had just entered the room. She had been unwell for four weeks. A persistent cough had kept her confined to her bed and all the cures and remedies applied since then had done little to remedy it.

‘Good afternoon, Aunt Dora,’ Lucy said, crossing to her aunt and hugging her warmly. She worried constantly about her aunt’s frail health and wished she could do more for her. ‘How are you feeling? A little better, I hope. I met this gentleman on the doorstep. I hope you are feeling up to visitors.’

‘Most assuredly,’ Dora protested, sitting up so that Lucy could place a cushion behind her back, the effort of doing so making her breathless. ‘Nathan was kind enough to pay me a visit yesterday. I do so enjoy his company—I always did—and he’s in London for such a short time.’