‘You have to go?’ Rosemary said. ‘Why don’t you stay on for dinner?’ She spoke as if the idea had just occurred to her.

  ‘Thanks – I’d like to,’ Kurt said, giving a rueful smile, ‘but I can’t, I’m sorry. I have a date.’

  Rosemary shrugged. ‘Oh, well, it was just a thought.’ All at once she felt a little defeated and frustrated. And in the absence of his interest she became suddenly aware of her ageing neck and thickening waist. She sat there for a moment, then got up from her chair. ‘Excuse me,’ she said. ‘I have to make a telephone call. I’ll be right back.’

  *

  At 8.30, with Kurt long since gone, Rosemary stood alone on the porch, looking down to where the winding drive got lost in the shrubbery. At any moment Brett Martin’s Buick would turn the corner. She looked at her watch. He was three minutes late. The tall jug of water and full ice-bucket stood ready along with the bottle of Chivas Regal and the highball glass. Her own glass she held in her hand. The house was very still. Silently she blessed Carrie’s absence. She needed these times now and again. The chilled glass against her cheek, she leaned against the doorpost, her eyes on the drive. She thought once more of Kurt as he had appeared that afternoon, suntanned, handsome – and unavailable. And she thought of Brett Martin. Well, at least there was no pretence with Brett. No formalities to be endured – at least not in the social sense. He knew what she wanted, and he supplied it, readily.

  From the drive came the distant crunch of tyres on gravel, and a moment later the car was coming towards her, then moving on past, round to the side of the house. She heard the slam of the car door, footsteps, then as she opened the screen door he came towards her, shambling slightly, shyly smiling.

  ‘I couldn’t get away from the station,’ he said as he stepped up onto the porch. ‘Urgent repair job came in.’

  ‘Never mind,’ she said. ‘You’re here now. And we’ve got plenty of time.’

  Unmarried, unsophisticated, forty-three years old, Brett Martin had first met Rosemary five years earlier when doing a repair operation on her car. He had been to her house many times since then. It was always tacitly understood that when she wanted him she would call him, and until she did he made no move to get in touch.

  Rosemary began to pour him a drink. ‘How’s your sister?’ she asked, not wanting to know, but feeling the need to be polite.

  ‘Fine. She thinks I’m going to the bar.’

  They talked desultorily while moths and other flying insects threw themselves at the screen in an effort to get at the light, and then after a few minutes Rosemary got up from her seat. ‘Shall we go in?’ she said.

  He rose and followed her inside and up the stairs and into her bedroom. A big man, he moved almost gingerly, not at home in such surroundings.

  In the soft glow of the lamp they undressed, and in the silence he wrapped his arms around her and drew her to his strong, hard nakedness. Under her hands she felt the hair that covered his chest, the curve of his back, his slightly misshapen shoulder. He was taller even than Kurt.

  *

  She awoke the next morning to find Carrie hovering over her with a tray of coffee. ‘Oh, hello, sweetie,’ she said. ‘Is it late?’

  ‘Just after nine.’

  Rosemary sighed, stretched and sat up, took the cup and murmured her thanks. ‘So, how was it, the show? Did you enjoy it?’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ Carrie’s nod was enthusiastic. ‘But I always love Andrew Lloyd Webber.’ A pause. ‘I hope I didn’t wake you when I got in.’

  ‘No way, darling. I was dead to the world.’

  ‘That’s okay, then.’ Carrie smiled. ‘I had a really nice time. I ate Chinese.’

  ‘Good. As long as you enjoyed yourself.’

  ‘Oh, I did. You should have come with me. You missed a really nice time.’

  Rosemary smiled into her coffee cup. ‘Maybe I did, darling. Maybe I did.’

  *

  After breakfast Carrie went upstairs to help Rosemary get dressed and found her sitting at her dressing table, chin in hand.

  ‘Come on, Rosie,’ Carrie said. ‘You’ll be late for your appointment with Douglas.’

  Rosemary gave a groan. ‘What the hell does it matter?’

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Carrie said. ‘What’s brought this on?’

  Rosemary turned to her with a pained expression. ‘I just got this terrible shock,’ she said.

  ‘A shock? What are you talking about?’

  ‘I was sitting here, minding my own business – about to do my make-up, when I look up and see this terrible, godawful sight.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I caught sight of this raddled old bag staring out at me from the mirror.’ She patted her breast. ‘Jesus Christ. Gave me quite a turn, I can tell you. But the biggest shock came when I realised it was me.’

  Carrie laughed softly. ‘Oh, Rosie…’

  ‘I’ll tell you something,’ Rosemary said. ‘When I arrive back in London nobody – but nobody – is going to recognise me.’

  ‘Oh, come on, now…’

  ‘Well, just look at me! And there’s Douglas talking about me having photographs taken!’

  ‘Well, of course.’ Carrie was taking Rosemary’s dress from its hanger. ‘You haven’t had any pictures taken in years.’

  ‘I know that, but – well, how can I? I mean, look at me! Take a look.’

  Carrie peered at her. ‘Okay, I’m looking. So what’s new?’

  ‘Nothing’s new, you idiot! That’s the trouble! It’s all so fucking old!’ She turned back to her reflection. ‘Look at me. I look like some pox-ridden old hag who’s been pensioned off from the red-light district.’ She nodded. ‘Well, there’s only one thing for it – I’ll have to go under the knife.’

  ‘You mean – surgery?’

  ‘Well, yes, if you must be so crude. But we don’t call it that.’

  ‘We don’t?’

  ‘Of course not. Look at all those gals on TV and those movie stars who’ve had all the works. You don’t think they ever admit to going under the knife, do you?’ She put on a nasal, Hollywood drawl: ‘Cosmetic surgery, sir? How dare you suggest such thing!’ She laughed. ‘And ask them how come their skin looks so smooth, they tell you they owe it all to good diet, soaking in olive oil and keeping out of the sun.’

  Carrie laughed along with her, then said, ‘D’you mean that – about having something done?’

  Rosemary nodded. ‘Yes, I do. I should have done it years ago. But there just didn’t seem much point in it. After all, people weren’t exactly queuing up to look at me. But things are different now. And as I’ve never had it done before it’ll probably be all the more successful.’

  ‘Is that the way it works?’

  ‘I don’t know. But there must be a limit to the number of times you can yank all the flesh around.’ Carefully she applied lipstick, blotted her mouth with a tissue. ‘You see some of these women and nothing’s in the place where it started off,’ she said. ‘And look at the way they get those huge cheek implants. So puffed up they look like fucking chipmunks storing up for the winter. And then they get all the fillers in the lips, and the big silicone tits, and so much botox they can’t even frown any more.’ She sighed and gave a laugh. ‘Yep. Sounds like just what I need.’

  The two of them laughed together, and then Rosemary said: ‘No, but seriously, I could sure do with a little help from a good surgeon. Not too much – though. I don’t want to end up with my navel round my neck.’

  ‘Oh, stop it, Rosie,’ Carrie said, chuckling.

  ‘You think I’m joking,’ Rosemary said. ‘I’m not.’ She soothed a brush over her cheeks then touched at her hair. ‘Now – I must get on or I shall be late.’

  *

  When Rosemary had gone from the house, driving off to Manhattan, Carrie finished loading the dishwasher, then went out into the backyard.

  ‘Kitty… Here, Kitty…’

  The cat came at her call. They were good friends now. He wove about her ankles for a moment, then followed her when she started back into the house. She allowed it happily – and with a slight feeling of daring; encouraging his presence indoors wasn’t something she’d do when Rosemary was around.

  In the kitchen she got a dish of French vanilla ice cream from the freezer and added some strawberry syrup. Then, with the cat still following, she went into the den and settled herself in front of the television. She watched the screen for a few moments, then, turning, called to the cat, patting her lap. ‘Here, Kitty – come on.’

  Lightly he sprang up onto her knee, padded softly for a moment and then settled. Carrie smiled down at him, adjusted the cushion at her elbow and took a spoonful of ice cream. Focusing on the screen again, she sighed, content. One of the afternoon movies was about to begin. Smilin’ Through, she read to the accompaniment of the violins. She gave a quick, fond glance down at the cat asleep in her lap.

  ‘Oh, you’re going to love this, puss,’ she said. ‘It’s Jeanette MacDonald.’

  *

  At the same time that Jeanette MacDonald lay dying at the altar, held in the loving arms of Brian Aherne, her wedding dress stained with her life’s blood, Rosemary was sitting in Douglas’s office drinking coffee.

  The concert, it had been decided, would take place in early spring, in March, and from the vantage point of September, Rosemary felt the time would never come. Don’t worry, Douglas said, the time would pass all too quickly. There would be so much to do. And one of the first things they must arrange was to get some new photographs.

  Rosemary shook her head. ‘No photographs,’ she said firmly. ‘Definitely no photographs.’

  Douglas spread his hands. ‘But, Rosemary, we talked about this. You know damn well we’ve got to have pictures if there’s gonna be any kind of publicity drive. We must have them.’

  ‘You heard me, Douglas,’ she said. ‘No photographs. When I get in shape again, okay, but not before.’

  ‘But Rosemary –’

  ‘No. I said no.’ Somehow he had a talent for irritating her, for rubbing her up the wrong way. Thrusting her present irritation aside, she forced herself to smile. ‘Come on, Douglas. Stop looking so bloody miserable. When I get myself fixed up you can have all the pictures you want.’

  ‘Fixed up?’

  She nodded. ‘I’ve decided to go to a health farm for a couple of weeks. It’ll probably kill me, but at least I might be fit to be seen in public again.’

  ‘Fine, and what do we do for pictures in the meantime?’

  She shrugged. ‘Use some of my old pictures.’

  ‘What? You’re joking.’

  ‘I’m not joking.’

  ‘Rosemary, listen to me,’ he said, ‘you look just fine. I don’t know what you’re worrying about. You look great. And I can get a really good photographer – a genius at lighting who –’

  ‘Stop while you’re ahead,’ she cut in. ‘Douglas, I’m a mess. And no one’s going to see me like this. When I left England all those years ago I was young and in shape. But since then I’ve been round the block a few times, and it shows. And I don’t want to go back looking like some withered old has-been.’

  ‘But the publicity –’

  ‘Let people remember me the way I was – until I’m ready.’ She forced a smile. ‘Believe me, when the time comes there’ll be a bunch of photographers waiting to get that first shot of me. I can hear them now, can’t you? “Let’s see how the old bag’s held up.” Well, they’re going to get a surprise.’

  Douglas sighed. ‘Okay – if that’s your decision…’

  ‘It is, Douglas. Trust me on this one.’ She put down her cup and got up. ‘Trust me. I know I’m right.’

  ……EIGHT

  ‘Carrie, for Christ’s sake, how many times do I have to tell you? Don’t put that fucking sugar in my coffee.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Rosie,’ Carrie murmured. ‘I forgot. Habit, I guess.’

  ‘Well, stop guessing, will you? I’m on Sweet and Low. You know that.’

  ‘Shall I get you some more?’

  ‘Forget it.’

  As Carrie left the room, Rosemary turned to Kurt and took in his expression. ‘What’s the matter?’ she said.

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Don’t worry about Carrie,’ she said. ‘She knows it’s only me.’ She turned back to the piano. ‘Come on – let’s go over the song again.’

  Kurt played the opening bars of the song and Rosemary began to sing.

  Look at my heart, broken in two.

  How could you cause me such pain?

  Tell me you love me, kiss the hurt better….

  When the song was finished she gave a little sigh, half relief and half anxiety. She was pleased with the results of Kurt’s work. Over the weeks he had taken some of her old successes and brought their musical arrangements up to date, while at the same time retaining the elements that had helped make them so popular all those years ago. But while she was delighted with his superb input she was also well aware of her own shortcomings. She sighed again and shook her head. ‘Oh, God,’ she said, ‘will I ever sound right?’

  ‘Rosemary, stop worrying,’ he said. ‘You’re getting better all the time. When the time comes we’ll be ready – both of us. And you’ll be great.’

  ‘I hope to God you’re right,’ she said.

  He nodded. ‘You wait – when the time comes.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘when the time comes.’

  Picking up his cup, Kurt drank the rest of his coffee. ‘It’s getting late,’ he said. ‘Time for me to get back.’

  When he had gathered up his music, she followed him onto the porch and watched as he got into his car. As the vehicle rolled down the drive she closed the latch and briefly leaned back against the door. God, but she was tired.

  Entering the kitchen a moment later she found Carrie seated on a stool. Her eyes were red-rimmed.

  ‘Carrie – what the hell’s up with you?’

  The note of exasperation in Rosemary’s voice was all Carrie needed, and she put her hands to her face and began to sob.

  Rosemary raised her eyes to the ceiling. ‘Oh, for God’s sake, Carrie, what on earth’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing. It’s nothing.’ Carrie continued to cry.

  ‘Well, if it’s nothing you’re making a hell of a lot of fuss about it.’

  ‘Forget it.’ Carrie took a handkerchief from the sleeve of her sweater, and blew her nose. ‘It’s just – the way you talk to me sometimes. In there.’ She nodded in the direction of the music room. ‘When I took in your coffee.’

  ‘What? All this because of some dumb cup of coffee. All I said was that I don’t take sugar in it any more.’

  ‘It’s the way you told me. In front of him, too.’

  For a few moments Rosemary stood there, then she put her arms around Carrie and pulled her close. At the display of sympathy and affection, Carrie’s sobbing burst out anew.

  ‘Oh, sweetheart,’ Rosemary said, ‘you mustn’t take any notice. You know me by now, don’t you? And if you don’t, then who does, for God’s sake?’ She drew back and gently lifted Carrie’s chin, looking into her eyes. ‘I don’t mean it when I get mad. You know that, don’t you?’

  ‘I guess so.’ Carrie sighed, then said, ‘Everything’s changing, Rosie.’

  ‘Changing? What do you mean?

  ‘It – it’s all different – from the way it used to be.’

  Rosemary frowned. ‘But don’t you want it to change?’

  Carrie gave a little shrug. ‘I – I guess so. Oh, I don’t know.’

  ‘Oh, honey,’ Rosemary said, ‘don’t you see what all this means to me? We want it to change. That’s what we’ve been working for, the two of us. I thought it was what you wanted – as much as I do.’

  ‘Oh, I do!’ Carrie said passionately. ‘I do want it. It’s just that – I sometimes feel lately that I’m not – not needed. And I get to be afraid that – that once you’re on top again you won’t want me around any more.’ She took Rosemary’s hand, gripping it. ‘I couldn’t stand that, Rosie. You’re all I’ve got in the world. You have been ever since that day we met again – in Manhattan, after the show closed. I was so lost and so low and, and – Oh, I’ll never forget what you did for me then.’ She held Rosemary’s hand more tightly still. ‘Rosie, you’re all I’ve got. Being here with you – helping you – that’s all there is for me.’

  ‘Hey, come on now.’ Rosemary put an arm around her shoulders. ‘What absurd idea is that – that I could get to the point where I wouldn’t need you any more? God – I need you more than ever now. You think I could manage without you? You must be mad. I couldn’t even begin without you. And if I am a success I shall need you as never before.’ She smiled down into Carrie’s tear-stained face. ‘Besides, I can’t think of anybody else who’d put up with me, can you?’

  Carrie smiled now. ‘Oh, Rosie…’ She let out her breath on a deep sigh. ‘I’m just so silly. I really am.’

  ‘Look,’ Rosemary said, ‘don’t take any notice of me. I’m bound to get a bit edgy these days, and I don’t mean to take it out on you.’ She waved a derisive hand. ‘Those other idiots – they’re expendable. But not you, sweetie, not you.’

  Carrie smiled, nodded.

  ‘Okay?’ Rosemary said.

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Good. Everything’s going to be fine. Remember that.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So no more tears, okay?’

  ‘No more tears.’

  ‘Good.’ Rosemary gave a little laugh. ‘Stick with me, kid, and like the saying goes, you’ll be up to your ass in buttercups.’

  *

  Carrie, working in the hall, glanced around to see the cat slip by and into the study, and noticed at once that he was carrying something in his mouth. Setting down her duster, she followed him into the room.

  ‘What have you got there, Kitty?’ she said, standing in the doorway.

  The cat crouched low on the carpet, eyes riveted on something before it. And as Carrie watched she saw movement, a tiny shape that crept away. It was a mouse.