Half Moon Street by Anne Perry Page B

in the amazing knowledge that she was not alone. Other women felt the same hunger, disillusion, sense of having betrayed their dreams and that some part of life was a disappointment they had not known how to deal with, only to deny.
    Should such things be said? Was there something indecent in the exposure of feelings so intimate? To know it herself was one thing, to realize that others also knew was quite different. It was being naked publicly rather than privately.
    Usually when she visited the theatre with Joshua she looked at him often, wishing to share the laughter or the tragedy with him. It was a great part of her pleasure. Tonight she wished to remain alone. She was afraid of what she would see in his face, and even more what he would see in hers. She was not yet ready to be quite so close, perhaps she never would be. There must be some privacy in even the deepest love, some secrets left, some things one did not wish to know. It was part of respect, the room to be oneself, a wholeness.
    When the tragedy was complete and the final curtain descended, Caroline found there were tears on her cheeks and her voice was choked in her throat. She sat motionless, staring at the folds of the curtains. The last bows had been taken again and again, flowers presented, the applause had died away.
    “Are you all right?” Pitt asked softly, close to her elbow.
    She turned and smiled at him, and blinked, feeling the tears roll down her face. She was glad it was he who had asked, not Joshua. Just at the moment she felt remote from theatre people, actors who could look at this professionally, as an art. It was too real for that, too much the stuff of life.
    “Yes . . . yes, thank you, Thomas. Of course I am. It was just . . . very moving.”
    He smiled. He did not say anything else, but she could see in his eyes that he understood the thoughts it raised as well, the questions and the confusions that would live on long after tonight.
    “Superb,” Joshua breathed out, his face glowing. “I swear she’s never been better! Even Bernhardt could not have exceeded this. Caroline—Thomas—we must go backstage to tell her. I couldn’t miss this opportunity. Come!” Without waiting for a reply he moved towards the door of the box, so consumed in his enthusiasm it never occurred to him either of the others could think differently.
    Caroline glanced at Pitt.
    Pitt shrugged very slightly, smiling.
    Together they followed after Joshua’s already retreating figure. He led them unhesitatingly through a door marked PRIVATE and along a bare passage, down a flight of steps lit only by a single gas bracket, and through another door onto a landing off of which were several dressing rooms, each marked with someone’s name. The one with CECILY ANTRIM on it was half open, and the sound of voices came from inside quite clearly.
    Joshua knocked, then went in, Caroline and Pitt on his heels.
    Cecily was standing by the mirrors and a table spread with grease-paints and powders. She was still wearing the gown from the last act, and her hair was quite obviously her own and not a wig. She was very tall for a woman—Joshua’s height—and as slender as a wand, even though at this distance it was possible to see that she was in her early forties, not thirties as she had appeared on stage. Caroline needed only a glance to know she was one of those women to whom age is irrelevant. Her beauty was in her bones, her magnificent eyes, and above all the fire inside her.
    “Joshua! Darling!” she said with delight, spreading her arms wide to embrace him.
    He walked forward and hugged her, kissing her on both cheeks.
    “You have excelled even yourself !” he said ardently. “You made us feel everything and care passionately. And now we have no choice but to think . . .”
    She pulled back, her arms still around his neck. Her smile was radiant. “Really? You mean that? You think we may succeed?”
    “Of course,” he responded. “When have I ever lied to you?