a private hotel – was doing so well that Albert did not need to do jobs for other people. The ongoing work at Holmleigh kept him quite busy enough.
Winifred had never given a great deal of thought as to whether or not she would be able to act, when she had first joined the dramatic group. She had seen it mainly as a way of meeting other young people, and as a means of helping her to recover from the ache in her heart, still there after more than a year, whenever she thought about Arthur. Maybe, at the back of her mind, there had been the thought that she might, sooner or later, meet another young man who could come to mean as much to her as Arthur had done. But the years had gone by and this had not happened. There was, inevitably, a dearth of younger men – as the girls often complained, they were either too young or too old – and the few that joined the dramatic society, in the first instance and then in later years, had somehow never ignited that vital spark of interest in Winifred.
She had, many years ago, struck up a friendshipwith a friend of her brother. But he, like Albert, was five years younger than herself, not that that would have been of any consequence had they been truly attracted to one another. But after a couple of outings to the cinema and the music hall she had told him that she didn’t wish to go out with him again. He had not seemed bothered at all, and she had wondered then if he had only asked her out at the request of her brother who, she knew, sympathised with her predicament.
Then there had been an older man, a solicitor in the town, who had been left a widower in his early thirties. There again, though, Winifred had known that there was no way she would ever want to spend the rest of her life with him, although he had seemed rather keen that she should consider doing so.
Nowadays she did not fret about her lack of a husband. Neither did she envy her married friends. Sometimes, indeed, she felt that she, as a spinster, had the best of it. Some men were so dogmatic and domineering. She was contented – happy, even – in her own quiet way. The dramatic society that she had joined initially to ease her loneliness had proved to be a source of inspiration and motivation to her. To her amazement she had found that she could act and, to her surprise and delight, after a year or two she was playing the female lead in some of the plays they performed.
She was not, by nature, an outgoing sort ofperson, but she did not find it difficult to take on the guise and the personality of the character she was playing. Neither would she have considered herself to be beautiful; she was certainly not at all like Joan Crawford or Gloria Swanson, the film stars of the time, but she supposed she had a pleasing face and figure, which, with her warm brown hair and greenish eyes, could be used onstage to her best advantage.
Her days of playing the young heroine, alas, were well past. However, she still enjoyed acting the more mature parts, as mothers or unmarried aunts. She had played the mother in J.B. Priestley’s
An Inspector Calls
, and one of the middle-aged wives, which called for a certain amount of comedy, in
When We Are Married
, another of Priestley’s plays. That one had been their last production. He was one of their favourite playwrights, but this year they were planning to put on a play from the end of the last century.
One of Winifred’s best-loved roles, as a young woman, had been that of Gwendolen Fairfax in
The Importance of Being Earnest
. They had performed that way back in 1925 and now the producer – a different one by this time – had decided it was time to bring back Oscar Wilde’s most famous play.
Would she be able to cope with the part of Lady Bracknell, she wondered? It was widely expectedthat it would be given to Winifred, but it was not yet cut and dried. There was to be a preliminary reading of the play at the next meeting. That would be on Wednesday evening.
But before
Winifred had never given a great deal of thought as to whether or not she would be able to act, when she had first joined the dramatic group. She had seen it mainly as a way of meeting other young people, and as a means of helping her to recover from the ache in her heart, still there after more than a year, whenever she thought about Arthur. Maybe, at the back of her mind, there had been the thought that she might, sooner or later, meet another young man who could come to mean as much to her as Arthur had done. But the years had gone by and this had not happened. There was, inevitably, a dearth of younger men – as the girls often complained, they were either too young or too old – and the few that joined the dramatic society, in the first instance and then in later years, had somehow never ignited that vital spark of interest in Winifred.
She had, many years ago, struck up a friendshipwith a friend of her brother. But he, like Albert, was five years younger than herself, not that that would have been of any consequence had they been truly attracted to one another. But after a couple of outings to the cinema and the music hall she had told him that she didn’t wish to go out with him again. He had not seemed bothered at all, and she had wondered then if he had only asked her out at the request of her brother who, she knew, sympathised with her predicament.
Then there had been an older man, a solicitor in the town, who had been left a widower in his early thirties. There again, though, Winifred had known that there was no way she would ever want to spend the rest of her life with him, although he had seemed rather keen that she should consider doing so.
Nowadays she did not fret about her lack of a husband. Neither did she envy her married friends. Sometimes, indeed, she felt that she, as a spinster, had the best of it. Some men were so dogmatic and domineering. She was contented – happy, even – in her own quiet way. The dramatic society that she had joined initially to ease her loneliness had proved to be a source of inspiration and motivation to her. To her amazement she had found that she could act and, to her surprise and delight, after a year or two she was playing the female lead in some of the plays they performed.
She was not, by nature, an outgoing sort ofperson, but she did not find it difficult to take on the guise and the personality of the character she was playing. Neither would she have considered herself to be beautiful; she was certainly not at all like Joan Crawford or Gloria Swanson, the film stars of the time, but she supposed she had a pleasing face and figure, which, with her warm brown hair and greenish eyes, could be used onstage to her best advantage.
Her days of playing the young heroine, alas, were well past. However, she still enjoyed acting the more mature parts, as mothers or unmarried aunts. She had played the mother in J.B. Priestley’s
An Inspector Calls
, and one of the middle-aged wives, which called for a certain amount of comedy, in
When We Are Married
, another of Priestley’s plays. That one had been their last production. He was one of their favourite playwrights, but this year they were planning to put on a play from the end of the last century.
One of Winifred’s best-loved roles, as a young woman, had been that of Gwendolen Fairfax in
The Importance of Being Earnest
. They had performed that way back in 1925 and now the producer – a different one by this time – had decided it was time to bring back Oscar Wilde’s most famous play.
Would she be able to cope with the part of Lady Bracknell, she wondered? It was widely expectedthat it would be given to Winifred, but it was not yet cut and dried. There was to be a preliminary reading of the play at the next meeting. That would be on Wednesday evening.
But before
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