Resonance Read Free Page B

back, fixing the cabs and helping with the driving.’
    At that, the man seemed to abruptly lose interest, and he turned without another word and walked away. There was a brief moment of light as he let himself into the corridor that led to Mr Simmons’ office; then the door closed softly behind him, and all was shadow once more.
    Joe hunched his shoulders, trying to rid himself of a discomfort he couldn’t quite define. ‘Well,’ he said. ‘He was a queer duck.’
    ‘There’s rumours of an impresario,’ said Tina distantly. ‘Come to fund a run of extravaganzas. I wonder if that was him.’
    She didn’t look too happy at the possibility. Joe couldn’t say he disagreed.

    A S ALWAYS, ONCE work was done, Joe waited outside the theatre for Tina. Night was falling, the air already snapping with cold when she appeared like sunshine within the foyer. He held the door and she hurried out, pulling her shawl tight against the weather.
    ‘Well?’ he said. ‘How’s Her Majesty?’
    She grimaced. ‘She didn’t get the part.’
    ‘I told you. She’s too old.’
    ‘Joe! Miss Ursula is a wonderful artiste. Why shouldn’t she play Ophelia? Mr Irving is over forty and he’s still allowed to play Hamlet!’
    Joe snorted. ‘Miss Ursula is a touch more than over forty ,Tina.’ Tina glowered, all pink-cheeked and angry within the frame of her blue bonnet, and Joe couldn’t help but smile. He tried to imagine her playing Ophelia and just couldn’t manage it. He couldn’t picture Tina going prettily mad, strewing flowers and such – she’d more likely clatter Hamlet over the head with a frying pan.
    ‘Hey,’ Tina said, ‘isn’t that the out-of-work magician you were telling me about?’ She pointed over Joe’s shoulder. ‘Gosh, he looks awful lost, poor lad. He looks awful hungry.’
    Jesus, she got that same look on her face every time she saw a stray cat. Joe knew where this was leading. ‘Here, let me carry that for you.’ He took Tina’s workbasket, purposely blocking her view of the American, who was loitering forlornly in the backstage alley, his bag at his feet. ‘Come on, Tina. It’s getting dark.’
    Joe began herding Tina down the street with a hand on her elbow. This was a risky move when it came to Miss Martina Kelly. She’d been raised by fruit-stall shawlies, and could be fierce as a fishmonger when she wanted to be. She wasn’t too keen on being herded around.
    Sure enough, Tina dug her heels in, looked at Joe’s hand, looked at his face, raised her eyebrows.
    Joe released her elbow.
    ‘Tina, he’s a complete stranger .’
    Tina’s mouth tweaked up in amusement. She patted Joe’s arm. ‘Let’s buy him a bag of chestnuts,’ she said.

    ‘E HRICH W EISS,’ SAID the American, smiling a broad showman’s smile and tipping his hat. ‘You can call me Harry – everyone does.’
    ‘Martina Kelly. You can call me Tina. This is Joseph Gosling.’
    The American offered his hand. Unsmiling, Joe shifted the workbasket, as if it were more than he could manage to carry it and his lunch-pail and shake hands at the same time. The showman’s smile never flickered as the American returned his hand, unshaken, to his pocket.
    ‘Heavy load you have there,’ he said dryly.
    Tina was looking him up and down with her usual smiling curiosity. ‘Where you from, Harry?’
    ‘Oh, here and there,’ he said, clearly amused at her frank survey of his clothes. ‘I travel a bit. But mostly I live in New York with my family.’ He eyed Tina with an appreciation of which Joe did not even remotely approve, and Joe flatly cut in to the conversation.
    ‘You Hungarian, Harry?’
    The American looked surprised.
    ‘Your accent,’ said Joe. ‘It sounds Hungarian.’
    ‘Why, that’s amazing! My parents are Hungarian. My brothers and I are American, of course, but Mama and Papa … well, we speak hardly any English at home.’ He spread his hands, perhaps in indulgence at his parents’ immigrant ways. We speak