The Austen Playbook (London Celebrities #4)(67)
There was no longer much doubt.
“That there’s a very good reason why The Velvet Room is light-years better than anything else Henrietta wrote? In fact, anything that Henrietta wrote, period.”
It was almost nine o’clock and it was the first time they’d had a chance to talk since a production assistant had come running into Henrietta’s office to tell Freddy that she was late for rehearsal and Maf was breathing fire. Charlie had looked between them, obviously confused and wanting to know what was going on, but by habit not expecting Griff to fill him in.
He’d have to know soon. Everyone would have to know.
She was so tired of feeling like she was tiptoeing around all the time. “It was the letters, the ones Violet wrote. I don’t know what she was like in public, on the surface, but she poured her heart into those letters to Billy. Her personality bounces off the page. She was witty, and funny, and very acerbic.”
“In other words—all the qualities critics use to describe The Velvet Room.” Griff moved his head, stretching his neck and shoulders with a grimace. He had to be shattered. He’d spent the past few hours helping to shift rubble outside The Henry. Freddy had heard distant clattering and banging coming from the west side while she’d been on the stage, trying to look enthusiastic about kissing about the former male model who was playing Wickham. He was an insanely handsome man, basically one giant smoulder, and compared to her attraction to Griff, the chemistry between them was a damp fizz.
Maf had been firing off scene changes at them like a drill sergeant, testing their reaction time, to see if they could keep their lines straight yet.
The result hadn’t been encouraging. Dylan had been in a right strop, his head bandaged and his ego chastened; Sadie was word-perfect but increasingly sharp about anyone else’s mistakes; Ferren was still worryingly chirpy; and Maya had ended up on the verge of tears, neatly encapsulating everyone else’s reaction.
Freddy had got through by imagining being able to sleep in Griff’s arms again tonight. If he still wanted her there after this.
“The more letters you read, the more you see the similarities. You read Violet’s words, her voice, and you hear the play so clearly. I kept thinking of what Wanda said, that she didn’t think Henrietta knew about Violet and Billy. If Henrietta had written the script, it would have proved Wanda wrong on that point. Somehow, I can’t see Wanda missing a trick where the relationship dynamics were concerned with that lot. And then in one particular letter, the one I temporarily borrowed,” she added hastily, foreseeing his commentary on that, and the corners of his eyes briefly crinkled, “there are a few expressions Violet uses. She and Billy had a private, ongoing joke about old Victorian slang. She teased him with the phrase ‘got the morbs’ when he was missing her and feeling a bit down. Which is—”
“In the play.” Griff let out a low whistle. “One of the most well-known playwrights in Europe. The most decorated piece of British drama in the last century. And she may not have written a bloody word of it. It’s almost unbelievable.”
“I’ve been rereading the play.” Freddy realised she was actually wringing her hands, like a nervous old woman in a film. She should be as exhausted as Griff, but she felt hyped up and jittery, as if she’d been chewing on espresso beans for hours. She tried, unsuccessfully, to stop fidgeting. Several of his early reviews had made sarky comments on her excess of energy.
Really, he was lucky he was sexy.
“I can see why some people considered Marguerite to be a semi-autobiographical character,” she murmured. “I never understood that, but from the picture I’m building up of my grandmother now, I reckon it’s a brutally accurate portrayal of Henrietta in print. The good and the bad sides of her. If Violet started off in awe of Henrietta, she quickly saw through her—even before Grandma pinched her work and passed it off as her own.”
“Christ.” Griff shook his head. “Henrietta conned the entire British public.”
“And kept up the deception her whole life.” Freddy frowned. “I’m surprised she didn’t soften the characterisation of Marguerite before she submitted the play to producers. I’m assuming The Velvet Room debuted after Violet passed away?”
“It opened at the old Metronome about six months after Violet’s accident. And Marguerite is the play. I think it’s justified to say she’s one of the most morally complex characters in literary history. Softening her would have stripped the play of most of its impact. Henrietta may not have been a talented writer, but she was an extremely savvy actor. She would have recognised brilliance even if she couldn’t produce it herself.”
Freddy crossed one arm over to rub at her opposite shoulder, and Griff pushed away from the desk.
“Freddy—are you all right?”
She stopped moving, with her hand still on her shoulder. “Yes.”
The bed dipped a bit as he sat on the edge of the mattress. She wasn’t looking at him, but could sense him studying the part of her face he could see.
He touched the back of his finger to her cheek. “Henrietta was your idol when you were a child. Even as an adult, it’s difficult to realise that somebody you admired—”
“Was a brilliant actor, a very mediocre writer, and apparently totally lacking in scruples?” She shook her head, dropping her hands to her lap. “She died before I was born, and when I started to suspect... I felt—personally betrayed.” A little sound came from her chest. “Stupid.”