Page 28 of A Snowfall of Silver

I am about to put him in his place when we are interrupted by the appearance of Nora, wrapped in a silk dressing gown covered in a swirling red and gold paisley pattern. Her hair is sticking out in all directions, but her red lipstick is perfectly applied.

“What on earth possessed Daphne to jump off a wardrobe?” she asks with a groan, sinking down beside Russ.

“It was a piano stool,” I say. “Is she badly hurt?”

“Off her feet for at least four weeks, according to the gossipy youths in the kitchen,” Nora grimaces. “No more tour for her.”

“How awful,” I say. I feel a pang of real sympathy, followed on shamefully swift wings by other, less altruistic, feelings. “What’s going to happen to her part?” I ask, trying to keep my tone neutral.

I’m obviously fooling no one. Nora arches an eyebrow and Russ snorts.

“Alma will take over the part, I suppose,” Nora says, and she stretches her arms over her head, the sleeves of her dressing gown falling back to reveal dimpled elbows and what looks to be a telephone number written on her forearm in kohl eyeliner.

“And … the understudy?” Despite my best intentions my voice squeaks on the question.

Nora gives me a tolerant smile. “You’d better ask Miss Meriden. She was arriving as I came downstairs.”

I leap to my feet, an action clearly too energetic for Nora and Russ who both groan loudly. Honestly, these theatrical types – always so dramatic.

“We’ll need to go over to the theatre for Alma’s fitting in about half an hour, Freya,” Nora murmurs. “Make sure you’re ready.” She leans back, her eyes closing.

“I will,” I say, hurrying off.

I find Miss Meriden in the dining room, sitting at the long table and talking earnestly with Alma.

“Hello,” I say cautiously. “I hope I’m not interrupting…”

“No, no,” Miss Meriden replies. “We were about to look for you.”

Del bustles in behind me with two plates in her hands.

“There you are!” Del says to me. “Did you want some breakfast?”

“I would love some,” I say, reaching out for the plate she offers which contains fried eggs, bacon and toast as well as two plump brown sausages. “Thank you,” I manage, already chewing on a piece of buttered toast.

Del laughs. “At least sit down. You’ll give yourself indigestion.” I follow her down the table where she places the other breakfast plate in front of Alma. “There you go, darling, get that in you.”

I perch in the seat beside Alma, putting my own plate in front of me and getting stuck right in.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to eat a thing,” Alma says weakly, and then, in a burst she adds, “They’re going to put me on tonight!” The look on her face is one of mingled awe, excitement, and despair.

“But that’s wonderful!” I exclaim, taking her hand in my own slightly buttery fingers and squeezing hard. I try to ignore the inevitable stab of jealousy and focus only on Alma. “It’s awful for Daphne, but such a lucky break for you. You’ll be wonderful. Mr Cantwell wouldn’t have hired you if he didn’t believe that.”

“Exactly what I said,” Miss Meriden agrees in her cool, impassive way.

“I feel sick.” Alma, who is looking a bit pale, sways in her chair.

“Don’t say that,” I chide, making inroads into the sausages. “You’ll feel much better if you eat. Midge always says one doesn’t go into battle on an empty stomach.”

“Midge?” Alma asks.

“My mother. She’s always right.” I grin at Alma. “Now eat.”

Like an encouraging mother hen, I cluck until Alma has eaten some toast and drunk some of the steaming coffee Del places before her. After a while she looks less green. Miss Meriden nods approvingly.

“There,” I say, having cleaned my own plate and polished off one of Alma’s sausages. “Everything feels better after breakfast. It’s a law of nature. Besides, this is what you wanted, isn’t it? To be on the stage.”

“Oh, it’s a dream come true. It’s not that I don’t appreciate the opportunity.” Alma plucks at the tablecloth. “I just didn’t think it would happen, at least not so soon. I’m not sure I’m ready…”