‘Here it is, Rosie.’

  Carrie held out a chequebook along with a pen, and Rosemary turned and took them from her. ‘Thanks,’ she said, ‘now go get his coat, will you?’

  As Carrie moved away, Rosemary looked at the cheque, scribbled her signature on it and tore it out.

  ‘Here.’ She held it out to Douglas.

  He made no move to take it. With a faint, humourless smile, he said, ‘I told you, Rosemary, I don’t want your money. I’m not that desperate, and I hope I never will be.’

  Furious, Rosemary tore up the cheque and dropped the pieces on the carpet. ‘Well, you had your chance and now you’ve lost it,’ she said. ‘You won’t get a chance of such easy money again.’ She turned as Carrie came into the room, carrying Douglas’s coat. ‘Give him his coat,’ she said, ‘then show him out. If you want me I’ll be in my room.’ Turning, she started towards the hall.

  ‘Just one minute, Rosemary.’ Ignoring Carrie who held out his coat, he stepped across the room and came to a stop in Rosemary’s way, barring her path.

  ‘Get out of my way,’ she said in a low voice. ‘There’s nothing you can say to me now that I’d care to hear.’

  They stood glaring at one another.

  ‘You’ve just done your very best to insult me,’ Douglas said. A nervous tic had appeared in his right eyelid, causing the flesh to jerk in small, spasmodic movements. ‘So I’m going to level with you. Tell you the truth.’

  ‘Tell me the truth? What do you mean?’

  ‘I tried to get someone to put on your concert,’ he said. ‘I tried very hard. But in spite of all my efforts I couldn’t do it. And do you know why? Because no one in London is prepared to touch you.’

  Rosemary’s nostrils flared and her mouth opened in astonishment. After a moment she said in a low voice, ‘Don’t you dare say such a thing to me.’

  ‘I dare because it’s true,’ he said. ‘I tried them all. First I approached two companies who’d handled you years ago. They almost laughed in my face. You see, Rosemary, they can remember very well what the experience was like – and they’ve got the scars and the ulcers to prove it. To so many people your name spells one word: trouble. And they don’t need it. They put up with it in the past because you had something of a following and they were willing to give you a chance. They could see your potential. But that was then. Now it’s a different story.’ He gave a sigh, nodded. ‘I’ll tell you – one of them said to me – and I quote: “I’m an old man, Mr Rosti, and I can’t afford to risk shortening the few years I’ve got left.” His blood pressure was already high enough, he said. Another bout with you was something he just didn’t care to contemplate.’

  Disbelief and hatred were naked in Rosemary’s face, but she made no move to stop the flow of his words. Carrie, standing transfixed, clutched his coat in one hand, the other up to her open mouth.

  ‘Mind you,’ Douglas went on, ‘I didn’t give up easily. Oh, no. Like you, I was convinced there must be somebody out there who’d like the chance to make a buck. But no. No one seemed eager to do so. Strange, yes? You see, apart from your reputation for being a difficult lady, there is also the matter of your having been out of the business for so many years.’

  Rosemary said quickly, ‘Well, what about my album that’s just come out over there? And those reports in the newspapers? That must mean something.’

  He nodded. ‘You’re right. I asked the same question. But as they pointed out, the sales are still very small. And it was also pointed out that the original recordings were made long before your voice went – and that didn’t happen yesterday.’ He looked at her pityingly. ‘I’m sorry to say it, Rosemary, but you need to face the facts – you’re just too big a risk, in every respect – and they’re afraid of losing their shirts – apart from everything else.’ He shrugged. ‘I tried. Don’t say I didn’t.’ A moment of silence, and he added softly: ‘I feel sorry for you.’ He turned, took his coat from Carrie’s hands and moved towards the hall. ‘I’ll see myself out,’ he said.

  *

  Carrie prepared dinner for them that evening, but Rosemary remained upstairs in her bedroom, declining to eat.

  Close on eleven o’clock, Carrie stood outside Rosemary’s room and called out a goodnight to her. There was no answer. Later, in her own room she sat in bed watching a late movie on TV. The Rains Came. Myrna Loy was so brave, and Tyrone Power so handsome. Beautiful. She couldn’t concentrate, however, and in the end she got up, put on her dressing-gown and went to Rosemary’s room and gently tapped on the door. When there was no answer she softly opened the door and looked in. The bedside light was on, and in its glow she could see Rosemary, fully dressed, sprawled across the bed.

  ‘Oh, Rosie…’

  She hurried in, aware as she did so of the smell of whisky that hung in the air. At the bedside she stood looking down at the unconscious figure. Seeing Rosemary lying there, her makeup scarred by her tears, Carrie felt rising within her a strange little feeling of elation. She was needed. She really was. Here. Now. She didn’t have to make excuses for herself, ever.

  ‘Come on, Rosie.’ Murmuring softly, she set to work, undoing the buttons, the zippers, getting Rosemary ready for bed.

  *

  To avoid being disturbed the next morning, Rosemary had disconnected her bedside telephone extension and turned off her cellphone. When Carrie entered to tell her that Kurt was on the line she turned her face away.

  ‘I don’t want to talk to anyone,’ she said.

  ‘Okay.’ Carrie retreated to tell Kurt that Rosemary wasn’t feeling too well just now. Going on into the kitchen, she made coffee. When it was ready she carried it on a tray to Rosemary’s room and went in. Rosemary gave no acknowledgement of her presence, but lay there, her eyes closed.

  ‘Rosie, I’ve brought you some coffee and some cookies,’ Carrie said. ‘Please – you must have something.’

  ‘I don’t want anything. Take it away.’

  ‘Rosie, you must eat. It’s three o’clock. You haven’t eaten anything all day. Come on – it’ll make you feel better.’

  ‘Nothing can make me feel better.’

  After a pause, Carrie said: ‘Kurt wanted to talk to you about one of your songs.’

  ‘I don’t care any more.’ Rosemary opened her eyes and looked up at Carrie. ‘Don’t you understand? It’s over. You were there yesterday. You heard what Douglas said. I’m through. Everything is.’

  ‘Oh – Rosie, that’s not true.’

  ‘For Christ’s sake!’ Rosemary said. ‘D’you need a ton of bricks to fall on you? Get it into your head. It’s over. Douglas I can fight. But I can’t take on every producer in London. Don’t talk to me about arrangements and songs. There’s not going to be any. There’s not going to be any show. Not this year, next year – never!’

  ‘But – but can’t you get another manager?’ Carrie said. ‘Maybe a different guy could do better.’

  ‘No.’ Rosemary turned her face away. ‘Let’s not talk about it any more.’

  For a moment Carrie remained there, gazing down at her. Then, with a sigh, she left the room.

  In the kitchen, she placed a dish of cat-food on the floor, then opened the door and called, ‘Kitty… Here, Kitty.’ Seconds later the cat brushed past her legs and began to eat. ‘Oh, you Kitty, you,’ Carrie murmured. ‘I wish it were as easy to give everybody what they wanted.’

  *

  A light rain had begun to fall. Carrie looked out at the heavy sky. The day was perfectly in keeping with the mood that prevailed in the house. Grey. Everything was grey. It was as if life had come to a standstill; everything that mattered so much had been taken away. All those plans, all those hopes – they counted for nothing.

  The rain began to fall more heavily, and she stayed at the window, watching as the raindrops fell with increasing force, bouncing off the flagstones in the yard. The cat had finished his meal and begun to wash himself. He had no inclination to venture out in such weather. Suddenly, Carrie straightened, a gleam in her eye. Turning, she hurried away. In another minute she was leaning over Rosemary’s bed.

  ‘Rosie…’

  Rosemary opened her eyes, frowning. ‘Yes? What is it?’

  ‘How much would it cost to put on your concert?’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘How much would it cost?’

  ‘How would I know?’

  ‘Can we find out?’

  ‘I don’t know. Why are you asking?’

  Carrie hesitated for a second. ‘I have an idea.’

  ‘Fine. Go tell somebody else.’

  ‘Rosie, listen to me, please.’ Carrie sat on the edge of the bed. ‘And don’t yell at me.’

  ‘Oh, God…’ Rosemary dragged herself up against the pillows. ‘Okay, I promise not to yell. Now tell me quickly, then leave me alone.’

  Carrie took a deep breath. ‘Couldn’t we put your show on?’

  ‘We? Us?’

  ‘Yes. Why not?’

  Rosemary stared into space for a moment then shook her head. ‘No, of course not. That’s crazy.’

  ‘Is it?’

  ‘To put up the money to hire a theatre? Pay for all the publicity and the hire of an orchestra? It’d cost a fortune. It would break me.’

  ‘Only if you’re a flop, and we know you won’t be.’

  ‘Do we?’

  ‘Yes, of course we do. They don’t know it – those producers, those people – because they don’t know you. But I do. We do.’

  After a moment Rosemary gave the smallest nod.

  ‘Listen,’ Carrie said, ‘– let me make some enquiries.’ She was already up and moving to the door. ‘I’ll make some calls, see what I can find out.’

  She was back in forty-five minutes. In her hand she carried a notepad on which she had jotted down some figures. Rosemary looked at the eagerness in her face and said: ‘Yes? Well?’

  ‘Well, I called a few people,’ Carrie said, ‘and I got something to go on.’ She indicated her notes. ‘They’re only rough figures – but we can get a pretty good idea.’

  ‘Go on,’ Rosemary said.

  ‘Wait a minute…’ Carrie made last-minute calculations on the pad and passed it over.

  Rosemary gazed at the figures, her eyes wide. ‘Jesus,’ she said, ‘I can’t come up with that kind of money.’ She threw the pad aside. ‘Forget it, sweetie.’

  ‘But you’d get it all back,’ Carrie said. ‘And more besides.’

  ‘Listen,’ Rosemary said, ‘things are not going so well as it is. I’ve had to sell a lot of my stocks and bonds even to get this far. D’you realise what Kurt costs? And he’s just a part of it.’ She shook her head. ‘I don’t want to have to start looking around for a job. Can you see me working the checkout at Wallmart?’

  Carrie looked away to stare at the rain that drummed against the window pane.

  ‘I’ve got some money, Rosie,’ she said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘What my mother left me. I’ve never touched any of it. I’ve never needed to. And I reckon it could be enough – for what we want.’

  Rosemary frowned. ‘What are you telling me, Carrie? You saying you want to stake me?’

  ‘Well – yes.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Let’s say I want to – invest it. And I’m investing it in you.’

  ‘You’d lend me your cash so that I can hire my own theatre or concert hall or whatever?’

  Carrie nodded. ‘Or whatever.’

  ‘But – suppose it all goes down the drain…? What if I’m a flop?’

  ‘That’s a chance I’ll take,’ Carrie said. ‘But I don’t think you will be.’

  She turned back to the rain-washed window. The thought went through her head: What if the show did turn out to be a flop? But so what? They’d be no worse off. She and Rosemary would still be together, and that was really all that mattered.

  ‘Rosie,’ she said, turning back to her, ‘we have to do it. We have to try.’

  ‘Oh, Carrie,’ Rosemary said, ‘are you sure about this?’

  ‘Yes, I am.’

  After a moment Rosemary nodded. ‘Yes,’ she breathed, a little excitement now coming into her voice. ‘Yes, we can do it. We don’t have to depend on those others. To hell with them all. Useless bastards. You wait and see, they’ll all be clamouring in the end.’ Her hand came out, rested on Carrie’s shoulder. ‘You know what?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’m hungry.’

  They laughed together for a moment, then Rosemary said: ‘I must call Kurt.’ She moved to pick up the phone, stopped and gave a groan.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Carrie said.

  ‘Douglas will have told Kurt about what happened – about our fight. What if Kurt wants to back out?’

  ‘Why would he want to do that?’ Carrie said. ‘Kurt’s a professional man. His agreement is with you, not with Douglas. I’m certain he won’t let your spat with Douglas get in the way. He’s too smart for that.’

  Rosemary nodded. ‘Well – I hope you’re right.’

  ‘I’m sure I am.’ Carrie turned and started towards the door. ‘Listen, you get dressed and call Kurt, and I’ll fix us something to eat.’ She started away.

  ‘Honey –’

  Carrie came to a stop, turned in the doorway. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Are you sure about this?’ Rosemary said. ‘I mean – it’s your money. It’s going to be a risk. A big risk. You might suddenly need it yourself.’

  Carrie gave a little shrug. ‘Rosie, I was just saving it for a rainy day.’ She smiled, indicating the dismal view from the window. ‘And let’s face it – they don’t come much rainier.’

  ……TWELVE

  Rosemary leaned back in the passenger seat, Carrie beside her at the wheel. They were heading for JFK Airport.

  It was a cold, crisp day, and the road before them was clear and dry. The sun, hanging low in the sky, brightened their view with its wintry warmth. That sun, Rosemary told herself – it was an omen. She shivered slightly from excitement. She was on her way.

  These last weeks had gone by like something in a dream. Looking back now, in retrospect, it all came to her as one seemingly endless jumble – all the telephone calls, letters, emails, the constant stream of people she had had to see. And somewhere, there in the midst of it all, Christmas had come and gone. Now there was nothing to think about but the present – and the future.

  She stubbed out the remains of her cigarette in the ashtray and anxiously consulted her watch. ‘Don’t fret,’ Carrie said, ‘we’re in plenty of time.’ She gave an encouraging smile.

  ‘My God,’ Rosemary said with a laugh. ‘I’m nervous now. What am I going to be like on the night?’

  *

  When they reached the airport Rosemary checked in her bags. That done, they sat together over a cup of coffee. In a few minutes Rosemary would have to take her leave of Carrie and go through Passport Control into the Departure Lounge.

  ‘Have you got everything you need?’ Carrie asked.

  ‘Yes, yes. Don’t fuss.’

  ‘You want a magazine?’

  ‘When did you ever see me read a magazine?’

  ‘You call me, okay? And write me as well.’

  Rosemary sighed. ‘All right, Mother, I won’t forget. Jesus, it looks like I’ll have plenty of time for writing too. By what I’ve heard of those health farms, there’s damn all to do between the massages and warm baths and enemas – or whatever it is they do to you there. And I shall need something to take my mind off all that grated carrot and lemon juice. I shall probably take up knitting.’ They laughed. Rosemary went on, ‘And you just make sure you get the cottage all ready for when I get there, okay? I can’t stand the thought of some dreary, dank little hole at the back of beyond in an English winter with no heating. I’ve been there, and it’s no fun.’

  ‘Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it all.’

  ‘I know you will.’

  It was time to go. Once again Rosemary checked that she had her passport safe – she was travelling under her married name, Rosemary Sanderson, so she had no fear that anyone would know of her imminent arrival in London – and then she and Carrie got up and made their way to Passport Control. At the entrance they came to a stop.

  ‘Okay – you go on back now,’ Rosemary said.

  Carrie put her arms around her and kissed her cheek. ‘I’ll see you soon.’

  Rosemary nodded. ‘Yes, and don’t be surprised if you don’t recognise me. The packet I’m paying that Harley Street surgeon, I don’t want to be able to recognise myself. Just bear in mind that next time we meet I shall be only about nineteen years old.’

  *

  As Carrie drove back along the highway it occurred to her that until next she saw Rosemary she was quite free. Free to do anything she chose. Pressing her foot harder on the accelerator, she sped on homewards. With luck she’d be in time to catch Joan Fontaine and Orson Welles in Jane Eyre.

  *

  Comfortable aboard the plane, Rosemary unbuckled her seat belt. She’d have liked a cigarette, but such civil pleasures when flying were long gone. The woman on her right tried to strike up a conversation, but she wanted nothing of it, and politely discouraged the attempt. As the woman went back to her book, Rosemary turned to gaze from the window. Below, all around, the world was spreading out like a map. She settled back, closed her eyes, and thought of what lay ahead.

  Her first engagement was with the surgeon in Harley Street. At the thought of the coming operation she felt a flutter of nervousness. But it was all arranged now, and it had to be done. To hell with it, anyway, it would be worth it. When she stepped out onto the stage of the New Irving she had to look good.

  The thought of the theatre brought a glow, dispelling for a moment her lingering apprehension. The booking of the theatre had been done through a London agent. She would have preferred a more capacious venue, and one closer to the heart of the theatre district – ideally the Palladium or the Dominium – but the New Irving was the best they could afford – and even that single Sunday night booking was costing a small fortune. And it was all thanks to Carrie, of course, that they had got this far. The money that Carrie had produced would also help pay for the orchestra and the rehearsal studio. And it would help pay for Kurt, too. Kurt… At the thought of him, Rosemary gave a little sigh. Perhaps when he saw her again – the new Rosemary – he wouldn’t play so damned hard-to-get.