“Well, you’ve got to know one day … seeing you’re a part of it all … so listen, love, and I’ll tell you how it all came about.”

We were lying on her bed. She was wearing a pale blue negligee. I was fully dressed, for it was half past ten in the morning. I had been up for several hours; she had not yet risen. It was at this time of day when she was most communicative. I think it was because she was not entirely awake.

“What’s your real name?” I asked.

“Can you keep a secret?”

“Oh yes,” I assured her with delight. “I love secrets.”

“Well, it was Daisy. Mrs. Crimp hit on the right one as far as the Daisy is concerned. I didn’t think it suited me, love. Do I look like a Daisy?”

“Well, you could. It’s a nice flower.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Daisy Tremaston.”

“I think it sounds rather nice, and when people knew it was yours, it would sound even better.”

She kissed the tip of my nose. “You say nice things, love. And what’s particularly nice about them is that you mean them. No. I thought for the stage I’d need a special name … a name that would stick in people’s memories. That’s important. It’s the package that’s important. Always remember that. You could be a real genius on the stage … you could be a knockout … but if the package isn’t right, well then, it’s going to be a lot harder. I can tell you, love, to get on in my business, you need all you can lay your hands on … talent … staying power … a push here and there in the right direction at the right time by the right people.”

“And package?” I reminded her.

“That’s it.” She laughed with appreciation. That was another of her gifts: she made people feel that their most ordinary remarks were very clever.

“Desiree. It’s got something, hasn’t it, love? It means ‘Desired.’ It’s a hint to everyone who hears it. Here, this lady is special. Tell them you’re desired and they’ll, be halfway to believing it, and with a bit of talent you’re halfway there, and with a bit of luck you can clinch it. So I was Desiree for the stage and I kept to it. Well, you have to go all out for it. Otherwise there’s a muddle!”

“So you’re not Daisy anymore.”

“It’s all shut away in the realms of yesterday. That was the title of one of my first songs. Rather good, eh?” She started to sing. I loved to hear her sing.

When the song about memories being shut away in the realms of yesterday was over, I guided the conversation to where I wanted it to go.

“Did Dolly help you choose Desir6e?”

“Dolly! Not him! He’d be against it. He thinks it’s not quite good class. That’s Dolly all over. I don’t always go along with him, though I must say he has a good eye for spotting the winner. No. This was before Dolly’s day. This was in my struggling days. I could tell you some stories.”

I nestled down to hear them, but there were none forthcoming. It was just a figure of speech. Something happened to her when she talked of the past. I could feel the shutters coming down in her mind. She did tell me once that she had begun life in a Cornish village.

“Tell me about Cornwall,” I had demanded.

I waited breathlessly, for when I broached the subject she seemed inclined to talk of something else.

“Oh,” she said in rather a dreaming voice. “It wasn’t right for me. I used to dream of coming to London even when I was a little one. I liked it when people came to the inn in the village. It was an out-of-the-way place, but now and then someone would come down from the big cities. There was one man from London. I used to get him to talk about the theatres. I knew then that one day I was going to London. I was going to be in the theatre.”

She was silent, and I was afraid that she would start to talk of something else.

“It was all shut in,” she said slowly. “That’s how I felt … shut in. All Sunday-go-to-meetings … if you know what I mean.”

“Yes, yes, I know.”

“Too many gossiping old women … men, too. There was nothing else to do but look for sin. It was the only excitement they had. You wouldn’t believe how much sin they found in that little old village by the moor.”

“The moor must have been lovely.”

“It was bleak and you should have heard how the wind could blow across those moors. It was lonely … no people about. I was tired of all that by the time I was six. And then when I started to know what I wanted, there was no holding me back. I hated the cottage … cramped and dark. Prayers morning, noon and night, and church twice on a Sunday. I liked the singing, though. Specially the carols. ‘Away in a Manger,’ ‘Hark! the Herald Angels Sing.’ I discovered I had a voice. Gran’fer said I’d have to watch. I was vainglorious. I had to remember all gifts came from God. They were to tempt you to vanity … and look out for yourself when Judgement Day came if you gave way to it. It was no credit to you.”

It was the first time I had heard of Gran’fer and I wanted to hear more.

“Did he live with you?”

“He’d say I lived with him. They looked after me when my mother died.”

I said rather tentatively: “And your father, too?”

I waited uneasily. I sensed that the subject of fathers was one I had to approach cautiously. I had never been able to discover anything about mine except that he was a fine man—a father I could be proud of.

“Oh, he wasn’t around,” she said lightly. “You should have seen that cottage—windows that let in hardly any light—cob walls —that’s a sort of clay. If you’ve seen one you’ve seen the lot. Two rooms up, two down. You’re lucky, Noelle, to live in a house like this in the heart of London. What wouldn’t I have given for that when I was your age!”

“But you got it later.”

“Ah yes. I got it, didn’t I? And you, my angel, I got you.”

“This is better than Gran’fer’s old cottage. Why did you call him Gran’fer?”

“It’s their way of talking down there. He was always Gran’fer, like all the other grandfathers. That way of talking was no good for the London stage. I can tell you, I had to get away, love. If you’d been there you would have seen why.”

It was as though she were making excuses for herself.

“I used to go out to the moor. There were a lot of old stones there … prehistoric, they said they were. I used to dance round them and sing at the top of my voice. It sounded wonderful, and there was a lovely feeling of freedom. What I loved at school was singing. It was all hymns and carols. But there were other songs I picked up as well. ‘Come to the Fair,’ ‘Early One Morning’ and ‘Barbara Allen.’ If I heard a new song I had to sing it. How I loved to dance, too! I had to be careful about that. Singing—if it was psalms and carols—was all right, but dancing was wicked … unless it was country dancing. When they danced the furry dance, which is an old Cornish dance—a custom, so they couldn’t say that was sinful—I’d be in the town dancing all through the day. I loved to dance on the moors, though. Particularly round the stones. In some lights they looked like young girls. The story was they’d been turned to stone. Someone like my Gran’fer must have seen to that. Dancing on the Sabbath, most likely. They had Sabbaths in those days. Yes, I was always dancing. People said I was pisky-mazed.”

“What’s that?”

“Piskies are the little people. They get up to all sorts of tricks in that part of the country. They’re a sort of fairy … not very good ones. They drive people mad and make them do all sorts of odd things. That’s what they call being pisky-mazed. I went to the old witch in the woods once. People down there are very superstitious. They believe things you’d never hear of in London. They were always looking out for white hares, which mean something disastrous, of course, and knackers in the mines who did evil deeds to warn those who had offended of worse to come.”

“It sounds a fascinating place. I’d love to see it.”

“Some places are fascinating to talk of but uncomfortable to be in. There was one thing I had to do. To get away from it.”

“Tell me about the witch in the woods.”

“She came from a Pillar family. People of Pillar families have special gifts because one of their ancestors once helped a mermaid who was stranded ashore to get back into the sea, and for ever after members of the family had the power to see into the future. There are lots of other wise people down there. There are seventh sons of seventh sons. They can see what’s coming. Then there are footlings, which means they were born feet first. And all these people are supposed to pass the gifts bestowed on them down through the family. So there are no shortage of these wiseacres.”

“It does sound exciting.”

She shrugged that off. “My Pillar told me that I could have a brilliant future. It would be my choice. There were two paths. How it comes back! I can hear her now. ‘There be two paths open to ‘ee, me dear. Take one and it leads to fame and fortune. Take the other and you’ll have a good quiet life … but if you do you’ll never be at peace. You’ll always be telling yourself, that’s what I should have done.’ “

“And you took the road to fame and fortune. Wasn’t that marvellous, and how clever of the Pillar to know it.”

“Well, love, it wasn’t all that profound. There was I, singing and dancing all over the place. Everyone knows what everybody else is doing down there. You can’t keep secrets. I expect I talked. ‘I’m going to London. I’m going to sing and dance on the stage.’

That sort of thing gets round. But that is what she said, and then I knew it had to be.”

“What did Gran’fer say when you went away?”

“I wasn’t there to hear, love.” She laughed. “I just have to imagine. Gone to Satan, I reckon, who was heating up the fires to make my arrival in hell especially hot.”

“You’re not frightened, are you?”

She burst out laughing. “What, me? Don’t you believe it! I reckon we’re out here to enjoy ourselves. We’re the ones who’ll get to heaven, you see … not those who go around making people’s lives a misery.”

“How did you get to London?”

“I got lifts. I worked on the way … mostly in inns. I got together a bit of money … and there I was, on to the next part of the journey. I was working in a coffee shop not far from here. People used to come in from the theatre. There was one man … a regular … who took an interest in me. I told him I wanted to go on the stage. He said he would see what he could do. I used to walk round in my spare time and look at the theatres … seeing the people’s names up there and saying, ‘I’ll be up there one day.’ “

“And you were.”

“And I was. Took a bit of time, though. This man introduced me to an agent, who didn’t look all that excited to see me and was only obliging a friend. I sang for him, and although he pretended not to be impressed, I could see the change in him. Then he looked at my legs and I did a few dances. He said he’d let me know. The result was a place at the back of the chorus. I remember it well. Mary, Quite Contrary. Awful show, but a start. I was told to get dancing lessons. I did. It wasn’t much but it was a start.”

“And that was when you met Martha.”

“That was a good day. She said, ‘You can do better than that.’ Didn’t I know it! They didn’t like my name. Too much of a mouthful, Daisy Tremaston. The agent suggested Daisy Ray. It always makes me laugh when Mrs. Crimp and the girls call me that. See how close it is, Daisy Ray? Well, it’s all right. It sort of slips off the tongue. But is it a name people remember? Then it came in a flash.

Daisy Ray … Desiree. Just that. You can get away with things like that in the profession. So I became Desiree.” “And you took the road to fame and fortune.” “Here! What are you doing, keeping me here talking? It is time I was up! Dolly will be here in a minute.”

I was regretful. The session was over, but I learned a little more from each one, although I was aware that a curtain could come down if I was too curious; and what I wanted most was to hear about my father.

I was sixteen and quite mature for my age. I had learned a good deal about theatrical life and a little of the world. There were always people coming in and out of the house; they talked continuously and if I was there I listened. Charlie Claverham and Robert Bouchere were constant visitors. They both had houses in London, and Charlie had a home in Kent, Robert one in France. They came to London on business and were devoted to my mother. She had other admirers who came and went but those two remained.