Sister's Trio Squad

Chapter 17

Chapter 17

There was instant pandemonium as everyone tried to get out of the room simultaneously and Nancy found herself trapped in a corner with an elbow in her face and someone's foot treading heavily on hers. Her hair would be ruined and she would look a fright before she even started! Lashing out wildly, she managed to free herself, earning a few curses in the process. The girl in the red satin and black taffeta was elbowing her way ruthlessly back through the crowd, clutching a piece of stiff white card.

'I gorrit! Nine. Me lucky number. 'Aven't yer got yours yet? Gerra move on or yer'll be last an' that's as bad as bein' first! If yer first they forget about yer and if they're fed up by then!' yer last

By the time Nancy had pushed through the crowd she had no option but to accept the last piece of card with the number seventeen on it.

The girl sucked in her breath. 'Ah, now that's a real shame.'

'Seventeen is my lucky number!' Nancy rejoined dogmati cally. I'm Irish and isn't the seventeenth of March Saint Patrick's Day, so for me it's good luck! And, like you said, by the time they get to me they'll have forgotten the early acts and I'll make sure they don't get fed up with me!'

The girl pulled a wry face at her before disappearing along the corridor.

Nancy wasn't as confident as she had sounded. She sat down on a three-legged stool that comprised the only furniture in the room and patted her hair. She looked pale; she should have borrowed some rouge. With all those lights on her she might look like a corpse. She got out her lipstick and dotted two spots on each cheek then rubbed it in, leaning closer to the mirror to observe the effect. Then she retouched her lips and fiddled with the corsage. Would it have looked better on the other shoulder? Was the flower attached to the headband a little over decorative? Butterflies were dancing maniacally in her stomach.

She got up and began to pace up and down, but as the room was so small that didn't help. She could hear the bursts of cheering and clapping that came from the end of the corridor, but where was everyone? No one had come back to the dressing room yet, was there somewhere else you had to wait? Oh, this was the worst part, this terrible waiting with your stomach in knots and your hands shak ing, the palms damp and sticky. If she didn't do something she would lose her nerve completely and run out.

With her bag held tightly under her arm she walked along the corridor, clasping the piece of card with her number on it. She didn't even know how they judged who was to be the winner! Ahead of her the subterranean gloom of the tunnel opened into a wide space where small groups of people stood in silence. So that's where they were, waiting and watching the progress of the competition. It was cold in the wings and it smelled musty. Piece of painted wood, depicting various scenes, stood propped against the far wall. A few tables and chairs were half covered by grubby dustsheets, as were other indistinguish able objects. Nancy craned her head forward. Now she could see the stage. A brilliantly lit expanse of infinite vastness. The act now performing was a troupe of acro bats, got up as gypsies, and she watched their twisting, tumbling and somersaulting antics with mounting panic. 'Yer on next, luv!'

The girl in red was standing beside her.

Now that the time had arrived, nausea swept over her and she clapped a hand to her mouth.

'Oh, gerron with it! It's not that bad, yer'll ger, over it. 'Ere, give us yer bag, I'll mind it.'

The acrobats pushed past her and she heard her name and number announced. She stood rooted to the spot, she couldn't move!

'Miss Nancy O'Maxwell!' The voice out there thun

dered again.

'Go on. Move yerself!'

Suddenly she was out on the stage. The lights were blinding and she couldn't see anyone at all, but she could hear them. She wanted to die, she wished the ground would open and swallow her.

'Will you get on with it then, or is it struck dumb ye are?' someone shouted from somewhere high above her. It was a voice thick with the brogue - a man's voice and

she remembered her Pa.

Nancy stepped forward. Struck dumb she certainly wasn't! She walked to the front of the stage and nodded to the conductor. Dimly she could see the faces of the people occupying the first row of seats. The band had to com pete with the restless and rather noisy audience and she realized that if she were waiting for quiet she would wait all night.

She had a little difficulty at first, then her voice gathered strength and she felt the blood coursing through her veins.

This was what she wanted. This was the fulfilment of a hundred dreams. Tonight she would win! Her name would be on the Programme as a 'new star'. Her clear, vibrant voice rose above the diminishing noise. They were listening to her! To her! She went into the second verse exultantly. Her expression animated, her eyes sparkling.

'For the beauty of your love,

I will bless the Heavens above, My sweet, my wild Irish rose.'

The last haunting notes hung in the air for a second and then the whole theatre was silent. Then came the applause. It was clamorous. They were applauding her! She could have laughed and cried at the same time. Oh, it was so wonderful. Her heart was racing madly, her eyes and cheeks bright with excitement. She dropped a deep curtsey, then blew them a kiss and flung her arms wide as though to embrace them all. Oh, seventeen was her lucky number! 'God Bless you, Saint Patrick!' she whispered.

As she walked back into the wings she stumbled, her eyes still dazzled by the lights on stage.

'I know "break a leg" is the usual good luck message, but there's no need to take it literally.'

She couldn't see the man, but his grip was strong and

his voice was warm and humorous. Thanks. I'm still so dazzled and . . .

'I know, it's like wine, isn't it? Sweet and heady."

She still couldn't see him clearly, but he was tall and quite well built, that much she could discern. 'What hap pens now?"

"They announce the winner.'

She turned back towards the stage. It must be her! It had to be, they had loved her, they were still clapping and shouting!

A man in an evening suit had stepped into the centre of the stage and was shouting something. She took a step forward, but a strong hand held her back. As she turned to shake it off, the girl in red shoved her bag into her hands.

'It's me! It's me! I told yer nine was me lucky number!'

The figures around her moved like ghosts and merged into an obscure mass. Surely, surely it couldn't be... There must be some mistake? Not her, that painted, overdressed, common. . it must be a mistake. Again Nancy felt sick, but this time with despair.

Everyone was drifting away, some with heads down, others trying to laugh and joke. She turned away. Her throat felt dry and raw.

'Miss O'Maxwell!'

She stopped, wondering if she had heard her name or was that just another part of this whole nightmare? 'Miss O'Maxwell? Don't go, I want to talk to you.'

She turned her head. She still couldn't see him clearly.

'What is there to talk about?"

'You.'

'Me? I didn't win, it's her in the red skirt you want.' 'No thanks. I see a dozen like her every day.'

'Who are you anyway?'

He stepped into the light and now she could see him clearly. He was tall and broad shouldered. His hair was dark, as were his eyes - eyes that were smiling at her. He was immaculately dressed in an evening suit and the stiff, white shirt and bow tie made his skin look even swarthier. He smiled, revealing strong, white teeth. He was a strikingly handsome man. Dazed as she was, that fact registered in her mind.

'I'm Edward Vinetti. I'm a theatrical agent.

'Oh.' She was too numb to think of anything else to say.

'Don't be disappointed, you do have talent.' Feelings were beginning to return. 'But not enough to win.'

'Look around you. What do you see? A small provincial theatre with run of the mill acts.'

'So?'

He looked down at her. She was beautiful, with those large hazel eyes, clear skin and that flaming hair, set off by the green crêpe dress, and she did have talent, he wasn't just flattering her. A talent he wasn't prepared to see ruined. 'How old are you?'

Disappointment was now a dull ache. Her eyes had a hard glint in them. She'd heard of men like him. 'I'm twenty-one, why?'

'Is this your first public appearance?" Her chin jerked up. If he took her for a simple fool then

she'd soon put him straight on that matter. 'No! I've sung in public before! I've even sung at a Castle!' 'In Ireland?' There was just a faint hint of laughter in his voice.

'Yes! And if you've quite finished with this ... this inqui

sition, I'm going home. My sisters are waiting for me.'

You have sisters? Are they as talented and as beauti ful?" She heard Michael Feehey's mocking voice: 'The Sisters

O'Maxwell are leaving Clonmel!' 'Get out of my way!'

'I see you've got the temper that goes with the hair.' She pushed past him but he caught her arm again.

'Will you just listen to me, Miss Nancy O'Maxwell?' 'No! And if you don't let go of me I'll scream blue murder, so I will!'

'Do you want to waste your time in places like this? Do you? The Music Hall is finished! The Stage Musical is the thing of the future, or Musical Comedy as some call it, and eventually it will be the Cinema Musical. Anyone who makes it to the top won't just be seen by a few hundred people in small places like this, but by thousands right across the country and in America, too! Now, will you listen to me?" 'I've been warned about men like you, Mr. Vinetti! Do you think I'm some ignorant little fool straight off the boat I who'll believe everything you tell her? Well, I'm not, so you can take your fancy promises and ...

'I get the gist of your meaning and I don't think you're a fool far from it! I think you've got brains behind that pretty face. Brains and ambition and talent. I'm not what you think I am, I am a theatrical agent a respected one and I occasionally come North to look for girls like

you.. 'Oh, I bet you do! Let go of me!'

You see, you've forgotten all about losing this second

rate contest already, haven't you?' She had. She'd completely forgotten it.

And that's what a true professional does. Forgets the bad breaks and looks forward. I think you've got the guts to keep on looking forward, but I could be wrong. So, you're free to go, to whine and moan and give up. See!" He released her.

She took a few steps forward then stopped. What if he was speaking the truth? What if she turned down this chance? She turned back. 'I've never been a coward. That's something you can't be when you've been through four years of war and besides, I promised someone I'd make him proud of me!'

Just my luck, you're married?' he joked. 'No. It was my father. He... he was killed.'

Vinetti continued to gaze at her steadily and quite sud denly she felt she could trust him. It was as though she'd known him all her life.