Читаем Forever Amber полностью

She had looked them over narrowly and was convinced that she was better looking than any of them. Her voice was good, she had lost her country drawl, and her figure was lovely. Everyone was agreed as to that. What other qualifications did an actress need? Few of them had so many.

Not many days later she got her opportunity.

With Michael and four other couples she was at supper in a private room on the “Folly,” a floating house of entertainment moored just above the ruined old Savoy Palace. They sat over their cheesecake and wine, cracking open raw oysters and watching the performance of a naked dancing-woman.

Amber sat on Michael’s lap; he had one arm hung over her shoulder with his hand slipped casually into the bodice of her gown. But all his attention was on the dancing-girl, and Amber, offended by his interest in the performance, got up and left him to sit down beside the one man who had his back turned while he continued to eat his supper. He was Edward Kynaston, the fabulously handsome young actor from the King’s Theatre, who had taken women’s parts before the hiring of actresses had begun.

He was very young, no more than nineteen, with skin like a girl’s, loosely waving blonde hair and blue eyes, a slender but well-proportioned body. There was nothing to mar his perfection but the sound of his voice which, from long practice of keeping it high-pitched, carried a kind of unpleasant whine. He smiled at her as she took a chair next to his.

“Edward, how d’you go about getting on the stage?”

“Why? Have you a mind to acting?”

“Don’t you think I could? I hope I’m pretty enough.” She smiled, slanting her eyes.

He looked her over thoughtfully. “You certainly are. You’re prettier than anyone we have—or anyone Davenant has, either, for the matter of that.” Davenant managed the Duke of York’s Theatre, for there were only two licensed companies (though some others continued performing), and rivalry was sharp between His Majesty’s and His Highness’s Comedians. “I suppose you think to show yourself on the boards and get some great man for a keeper.”

“Maybe I do,” she admitted. “They say there’s a mighty fine profit to be got that way.”

Her voice had a soft tone of insinuation, for Kynaston, everyone knew, had numerous admirers among the gentlemen and had received many valuable gifts from them, most of which he shrewdly turned into money and banked with a goldsmith. Among his lovers he was said to number the immensely rich Buckingham, who had already begun the ruin of the greatest fortune in England, squandering what he had as recklessly as if it came out of a bottomless well.

Kynaston did not take offense at her suggestion, but he had a kind of feminine modesty which, for all that he sold himself in the open market, lent him the appearance of dignity and virtue.

“Perhaps there is, madame. Would you like me to present you to Tom Killigrew?” Thomas Killigrew was a favourite courtier and manager of the King’s Theatre.

“Oh, would you! When?” She was excited, and a little fearful.

“Rehearsal will be over about eleven tomorrow. Come then if you like.”

Amber dressed with great care for her interview and, though it was a cold dark early-November morning with no shred of sun filtering through the heavy smoke and fog, she put on her finest gown and cloak. All morning long her stomach had been churning and the palms of her hands felt wet. In spite of her eagerness she was miserably nervous, and at the last moment such a panic of doubt swept through her that she had to bully herself into going out the door.

When she reached the theatre, however, and took off her mask the attendant gave a low whistle; she laughed and made him an impudent face, suddenly relieved.

“I’ve come to see Edward Kynaston. He’s expecting me. Can I go in?”

“You’re wasting your time, sweetheart,” he told her. “Kynaston doesn’t give a hang for the finest woman that wears a head. But go along if you will.”

The stage was just clearing and Killigrew was down in the pit talking to Kynaston and Charles Hart and one of the actresses who stood on the apron-shaped stage above them. It was dark inside, for only the candles in the chandelier that hung above the stage were lighted, and the cold seemed to bring out a strong sour smell. Orange-peelings littered the aisle and the green-cloth-covered benches were dirty with the foot-marks of the men who had stood upon them. Empty now of people and of noise there was something strangely dismal and shabby, almost sad, about it. But Amber did not notice.