Page 65 of A Snowfall of Silver

Perhaps she is feeling the same, because she leans back against the pillows and closes her eyes for a moment. “I suppose they all think I didn’t turn up today because of that stupid fight last night?”

I nod, because we are telling each other the truth. “Yes, I think most people do. Was it because of that?” She doesn’t answer and I take a deep breath. “I know you think Kit and I…” I flounder here, because the truth is I’m not at all sure about Kit and I.

Viola rolls her eyes. “This is certainly not about Kit and you,” she says, making me feel about two inches tall. “It’s not even about Kit. I guess I thought he was so besotted he’d hang around for me. I couldn’t imagine he’d turn me down.” She pauses, bewilderment in her face. “But he’s right, you know; there’s nothing between us any more. Perhaps there was once, but I made the choice to end it. I went after someone more useful to my career.” She pauses. “That didn’t end well either, but I’d do the same again. I have to. There’s nothing more important to me than the work. Nothing.”

She leans forward, and her eyes are wide, willing me to understand. I nod. She slumps back on her pillows again, the spark gone, the weary look returning.

“Russ said I was naive about how things worked in this industry,” I say. “He said I’d get a reputation, if I wasn’t careful. With men, I mean.”

She shoots me a thin smile. “Russ was presumably saying that after you turned him down.” She takes my silence as assent. “God, he’s predictable. Not that he’s exactly wrong. Navigating this industry as a woman is an obstacle course. It’s a very fine balance. Men can be useful, but they can also want more than you’re prepared to give.”

I think about this for a moment. Then I say, “So … this evening, were you really feeling ill?”

Viola hesitates and then she seems to make a decision. As if we’ve already spilled so much, let each other see so much, that there’s no need to hold back now.

“Something happens to me,” she says carefully. She closes her eyes. “I don’t know how to explain it. It used to happen to my grandmother as well. She would say, ‘I’m just having a funny spell.’ It happened this morning. I woke up and everything was just … grey. And heavy. And the thought of doing anything, I mean anything – brushing my teeth or walking downstairs or going outside – it seemed impossible. Completely exhausting. It’s like a huge dark cloud descends on me and I feel … nothing. When it happens, I can’t get out of bed. There’s nothing I can do, except wait for it to pass.”

“That sounds … hard,” I finish lamely, kicking myself for coming out with something so paltry.

Viola nods. “It is hard. It’s hard to have a reputation as a flake when all I care about is the work. When all I want to do is to be able to do my job.” Her hands clench in fists at her sides.

“Have you told anyone?” I ask.

She laughs mirthlessly. “Oh, they’d all love that, wouldn’t they? Can you imagine how Dan would react? Or Russ? Your little friend Alma, who would kill for my parts – they’d be spreading it round that I was mad. No one would work with me. Better to be considered a temperamental starlet, that’s what they expect me to be – though if I was a man, no doubt it would be a sign of genius.” Her voice is hard, bitter. I can understand why.

“Kit knows,” she says at last. “You and Kit. The only ones.”

“Did the fight with Kit,” I hesitate, unsure how to phrase my question, “cause the … um … spell?”

Viola makes a noise of impatience. “Nothing causes it,” she says. “I wish it did. I wish there was some rhyme or reason to it, but there isn’t. If anything the fight with Kit was part of it. Sometimes I know the crash is coming because I feel the high beforehand.”

I remember how Viola looked last night, glittering with energy. I think I see. At least some of it.

We sit silently for a moment, just looking at each other. It’s strange. We don’t like each other very much, but I know what it has cost her to be honest with me, in exchange for my own vulnerability. For once, between us, there is no acting, nothing but our real selves, stripped bare.

“I hope you feel better,” I say at last. “I’ll leave you to rest.”

I get to my feet and move towards the door.

“Goodnight,” Viola says.

“Goodnight,” I reply. “And thank you.”

“For what?”

“For telling me the truth.”

I slip back into my own room. Alma is still out and I slump on to my bed in relief. Relief at being alone. I press my hand to my chest, almost too afraid to think about what has happened, to sift through it, because I know how much it will hurt.

Whenever I have imagined my first night onstage – and I have imagined it many, many, many times – it never ended this way. It never ended with this feeling of hopelessness, of being lost and alone. It never ended with me, curled up under the sheets, crying as though I was never going to be able to stop.

Part Five

London, again

December, 1931

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE