Page 58 of The Love Letter
‘So, did you know my grandfather well?’ she asked when William had pushed the bowl away and ordered another whisky.
‘Yes, many, many years ago, before he became – and I mean quite literally – James Harrison.’
‘What do you mean, “quite literally”?’
‘Well, as I’m sure you know, “James Harrison” was his stage name. When I met him, he was as “Oirish” as they come. Hailed from West Cork somewhere – called Michael O’Connell when I first knew him.’
Zoe regarded him in astonishment. ‘Are you sure you’re thinking of the same actor? I know he was fond of Ireland, talked about it being a beautiful place, especially towards the end of his life, but I had no idea he actuallywasIrish. And it’s never mentioned in any of his biographies. I thought he was born in Dorset, and I certainly never heard a hint of an Irish accent in his voice.’
‘Aha! Well, there you are. Just shows what a talented actor he was. He had the most brilliant gift for mimicry – could do any accent or voice one suggested. In fact, that’s how he began his career – as an impersonator in music halls. Surprised you didn’t know, being so close to him, but without a doubt, you’re descended from Irish blood.’
‘Goodness! So, tell me, where did you first meet my grandfather?’
‘At the Hackney Empire. I was only nine at the time. Michael was twenty-two and in his first professional job.’
‘You were nine?’ marvelled Zoe.
‘For my sins, yes. Born in a prop basket, that’s me,’ William said with a smile. ‘My mama was in variety too and seemed to have mislaid my papa. So she took me to the theatre when she worked, and I’d sleep in a drawer in her dressing room. When I got bigger, I used to do odd jobs for the performers – bring in food, take messages, and fetch and carry for a few bob. That’s how I met Michael, except, like everyone else, I used to call him “Siam”. His first job was playing the genie of the lamp in the Empire pantomime. He’d shaved his head and darkened his skin, and he looked just like some pictures I’d seen of the King of Siam, with his pantaloons and headdress. The nickname stuck, as I’m sure you know.’
‘Yes.’ Zoe nodded, her supper forgotten as she listened to him.
‘Of course, he was desperate to get into proper theatre, but we all have to start somewhere. Even in those days he had charisma. All the young dancing girls used to queue up to go out with him. Must have been that Irish charm, even if by then he spoke with a plum in his mouth. One had to, in those days, you see, although he used to entertain us all with his Irish ballads.’ William chuckled.
Zoe watched William carefully as he drained another glass. He’d had three double whiskies since he joined her. And he was recalling seventy-year-old memories. There was every chance he had James confused with someone else. She picked at her cooling casserole as his roast beef arrived.
‘Are you saying he was a ladies’ man?’
‘Indeed he was. But he always dumped them with such charm that they ended up loving him anyway. Then one day, halfway through the season, he suddenly upped and left. After two or three days, when he hadn’t appeared for the performance, I was sent round to his lodgings to find out if he was ill, or had simply imbibed too much juice. All his belongings were still there but, m’dear, your grandfather was not.’
‘Really? Did he ever come back?’
‘Yes, but it was over six months later. I popped round quite a bit to his lodgings to see if he’d returned. He’d always been generous with sweets and the odd few coppers if I ran errands for him. Then one day, my knock was answered. He opened the door with a smart new haircut and an expensive suit to boot. I remember him telling me it was from Savile Row. He looked like a real gentleman. Always was a handsome sod.’ William chuckled again.
‘Wow. This is some story. I had no idea. He never mentioned anything to me. Did you ask him where he’d been?’
‘Of course I did. I was fascinated. Your grandfather told me he’d been doing some lucrative acting work and that’s all he’d say. He told me he was coming back to the Empire to continue his act, that it had all been arranged. And when he did, the management didn’t bat an eyelid. It was like he’d never been away.’
‘Have you ever told anyone else about this?’ she asked.
‘Absolutely not, m’dear. He warned me not to. Michael was my friend. He trusted me when I was a young ’un and I trusted him. Anyway, I haven’t got to the most interesting bit yet.’ William’s rheumy eyes were alight with the thrill of entertaining his captive audience. ‘Shall we order coffee and wander through to the bar and the comfy seats? My backside has gone positively numb on these hard chairs.’
The two of them found a comfortable banquette in the corner of the bar. William heaved a contented sigh and lit up an untipped cigarette.
‘Anyway,’ he continued, ‘one day, a couple of weeks after he’d come back, he called me into his dressing room. He handed me two shillings and a letter and asked me if I’d run an errand for him. He sent me off to stand in front of Swan and Edgar – the department store by Piccadilly Circus, don’t you know? And he told me to wait there until a young woman dressed in pink came along and asked me if I had the time.’
‘And did you?’
‘Of course I did! In those days, for two shillings, I’d have gone to the moon!’
‘And the woman came?’
‘Oh yes. In her lovely clothes, with her clipped vowels. I knew immediately she was a lady. And I mean areallady.’
‘Was it just the once?’
‘No. Over those few months, I met her ten, maybe fifteen times. I’d hand her an envelope.’
‘And did she give you anything?’
