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‘I like Miss Jones too,’ she offered, but went unheard as the two men began flourishing sheets of notes at each other. Maude marched up, ducked under the stage manager’s arm and bobbed up between them. ‘Gentlemen.’ They fell silent. ‘I liked Miss Jones best.’
‘That’s three of us then, Guv’nor,’ Howard was unwise enough to say.
Eden eyed him coldly. ‘Have I said or done anything to give you the impression that this theatre was run as a democracy, Mr Howard?’ he enquired.
‘No, sir.’
‘Lady Maude?’
‘No, Mr Hurst.’ She smiled sweetly at him. ‘But you did say we would discuss this. And I would like my luncheon.’
Eden pulled out a chair for Maude. ‘Let us eat, then. And discuss.’
She smiled again as she sat and he had to fight not to smile back. As if he needed any other cue than the gathering heaviness in his groin when he had seen her that morning, her face solemn and a little sad, her chin propped on one cupped hand. Kissing her again had not done a damn thing to stop him wanting her. It had been a thoroughly bad idea, one he had justified to himself at the time and which he now saw as simple self-indulgence. In fact, to call it an idea was crediting himself with an illusion of decision-making when he had to accept the fact that, as far as Maude Templeton was concerned, he simply could not think straight.
They were all sitting waiting politely for him to speak, passing the food around amongst themselves in silence. Maude was even—God help him!—placing food on his plate and buttering his bread for him as if he was her father, or her husband or something.
‘Thank you,’ he said curtly, wanting to snub her. Clear brown eyes met his for an instant and then the corners crinkled into a smile. Now she was feeling indulgent with his megrims, no doubt! Why wasn’t she reacting to what happened last night? He had kissed her, in the street. Down an alley like a whore, he flagellated himself mentally. She should either be angry with him, or bashful, or flirtatious this morning, but, no, Lady Maude Templeton was none of those things. That kiss appeared to have made no impression whatsoever.
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Well, it had on him. Damn it, he felt like a seventeen-year-old in the throes of his first infatuation. ‘Pass the Stilton,’ he said, perversely choosing the platter furthest from him. It was duly passed, he cut his cheese, then looked up. The three of them were regarding him solemnly, like children waiting for grace to be said. His sense of humour, like a cat twitching its tail, came to life.
‘Lady Maude,’ Eden said politely, his face perfectly straight, ‘perhaps you would be so good as to give us your impressions of Miss Jones?’
‘Me?’ As he had hoped, she was somewhat discomposed by being asked to start.
‘Ladies first.’ She shot him a glance that told him she knew he was playing with her and unfolded her notes.
‘Her voice projected well, she moved gracefully, she responded well to Mr Gates and her timing of the comic lines was perfect. She also looks young enough to play the ingénue for some time to come, unlike Miss Lewis. Oh, yes, and she was the first to go on, you barked at her, and she did not lose her nerve.’
‘You base your assessment on the fact that she is not terrified of me?’
‘Well, it helps, I should imagine,’ Maude replied. ‘Awe and respect are doubtless essential, but terror would be a handicap and you make Miss Lewis’s knees knock.’
Eden swept the table with a glance, vowing to sack whichever of the others betrayed so much as a glimmer of a smile. Howard had his mouth full of pie and Gates, an actor to his toes, projected nothing but earnest attention. Awe and respect indeed! Little cat.
‘Well, do either of you have any comments to make on the stability of Miss Lewis’s knees?’ he enquired dangerously and was answered by hastily shaken heads. ‘I’ll take them both, Jones and Lewis, on a month’s trial. Satisfied?’
All three nodded and Maude smiled; not, he noticed, a smug feminine smile of triumph, just one of approval. ‘What a good idea.’
They finished the meal more comfortably, Howard and Gates relaxing enough to exchange gossip about colleagues at Drury Lane. Maude, he noticed, had fallen silent again. Eden looked up and caught her watching him, uncertainty in her eyes.
‘Mr Hurst, might I have a word with you? In your office?’
Ah, so here came the recriminations for last night. Knowing perfectly well he had no grounds on which to defend himself, Eden followed Maude’s straight back down the corridor. He did not want her to leave, he realised. If he had driven her away, it was going to leave something perilously like a gap in his life. Which was ridiculous. It implied a weakness, an unfulfilled need, and he had neither of those things.
‘Maude.’ He waited until she was seated, then went round to take his own chair. It felt as though he was taking refuge behind a barrier.
‘I was thinking about the charity event I have volunteered to organise for the committee,’ she said, extracting even more notes from the bundle of sheets in her hands. ‘Eden?’
‘I’m sorry, a moment’s inattention.’ A charity event? Not tearful distress, not angry recriminations?
‘We’ve had a ball, and a garden party, but I wanted to do something different this year. And I thought we could hold it here, in the theatre.’
‘A charity performance, you mean?’ Eden pulled himself together and reached for a pen and paper.
‘Not exactly. I wanted to rearrange the stalls and the galleries, set tables out for dining and the acts would all be amateur ones, from members of the audience. I would encourage people to dress up as their favourite characters as well. We’d need a string band and a pianist to accompany those people who wanted to sing and to provide interval music, of course…’
