Page 50 of A Snowfall of Silver

“Is there more?” Eileen asks, getting to her feet and walking towards us. I rush over to my bag and pull out the carefully tied pages. Eileen takes them from me, her eyes skimming them, an occasional smile pulling at her mouth.

“This is funny,” she says. “What the narrator says here.”

“Freya had a terrific idea about staging the narrator’s scenes,” Kit says then, and I flush.

“Tell me,” Eileen says, quietly passing the pages over to Mr Cantwell to read.

I do, and then, I’m not completely sure how it happens, but the four of us are practising the scene.

“No, no, Mr Cantwell,” I break in at one point. “Wait a beat longer and then turn back – think how funny it will be for the audience. And, Eileen, you must hang back too.”

We only stop when it becomes really too cold to carry on. The sun has slipped precariously low in the sky and the four of us make our way back along the much easier path Eileen and Mr Cantwell arrived by. Kit and I walk side by side. I am still thrilled by what has just happened and I feel – in this golden moment – that everything is perfect.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

“It’s gone four already,” Mr Cantwell says, glancing at his watch. “We’ll come back to the theatre with you and speak to the troops.” He sighs. “I don’t like just kicking my heels here like this, but it doesn’t seem we have a choice.”

Over the course of the afternoon I have found I am a lot less intimidated by him. I suppose when you see someone mopping their eyes with laughter then they become a bit less daunting.

“Well, I think it’s a charming place to be stuck,” Eileen muses.

“How is Mr Pennington’s house?” I ask.

“Hubert has been a dear,” says Eileen placidly.

“Yes, because he has a great thumping crush on you,” Mr Cantwell grumbles. “I half-expected the place to be covered in Eileen Turner pictures.”

I flush at that, and Kit flashes me a wicked grin.

“You never can stand it when men prefer me,” Eileen says calmly. “Not that we have so many to fight over these days.” The two of them exchange a sparkling look that makes me absolutely long to sit them down and drag out all their stories.

At the theatre we find Russ and Alma playing cards onstage while Dan lounges, strumming an old guitar beside them.

“There you are!” Alma jumps to her feet. “We were starting to wonder if we should send out a search party for you.”

“We found an abbey up on the cliffs,” I explain, peeling off my gloves and walking over. “And we ran into Mr Cantwell and Eileen.” I don’t mention the rehearsal, or Kit’s play. It feels too precious, like the whole afternoon is a gift I can’t yet bear to share.

“You’re looking very lovely, Freya,” Russ says, glancing up.

“I don’t believe it,” I say. “Unless you have a particular taste for red noses and tangled hair.”

“But I do,” he says lightly. “You look all fresh and healthy, like a girl from the country. I can practically see you now, milking a cow on a picturesque mountainside.”

“I am a girl from the country,” I say. “I’ve milked plenty of cows, and there wasn’t a single picturesque thing about it.”

“Hello, Eileen. How are things staying with Hubert?” Dan asks. “Is he wearying you with his attentions?”

Eileen shakes her head at him. “He’s a delightful man and he’s done us all a huge service,” she says. It seems the grand dame has a bit of a soft spot for the little theatre manager. “I’d love to do something nice for him. He’s been such a good egg.”

“He is certainly as bald as one,” Russ mutters, and Dan makes a snorting sound.

“Well, why don’t we say thank you in style?” Nora’s voice chirps. She has appeared from the wings, with Viola in tow. “Viola and I have a plan.”

“What plan?” Kit asks.

“As we’re stuck here again tonight, we thought perhaps we’d have a party,” Nora says.

“A party?!” several voices echo in astonishment.