Somewhere I'll Find You (Capital Theatre #1)(5)

“That won't be necessary.” Suddenly he seemed impatient, glancing about the room like a leopard in a cage. One of his elegant hands lifted in a gesture for Julia to leave with him. “Come, Mrs. Wentworth. I'll give you a tour of the theater.”

None of the others seemed to find that surprising. The portly older man in the corner gave Julia an encouraging smile as she passed. A pretty young girl with curly brown hair and vivid sea-green eyes approached her at the doorway. “That was the best Mathilda I've ever seen,” the girl said.

Julia smiled in thanks, heartened by the remark. But Logan Scott's opinion was the one that meant life and death, and so far he hadn't volunteered a single word.

“You've had little, if any training,” he remarked, taking her through a maze of administrative offices.

“No,” Julia said quietly.

“And not much experience.”

“I've done some touring around the provinces with a traveling company. Most recently I've worked at the Daly Theatre in the Strand.”

“The Daly,” he repeated, sounding far from impressed. “You deserve better than that.”

“I hope I do, sir.”

He paused and showed her the theater library, filled with shelves of books on costume, scenery, and acting technique, as well as innumerable copies of different plays. Pausing at one stack of paper, he selected a worn edition of Much Ado About Nothing, and handed it to her. Clutching the copy tightly, Julia followed him from the room.

“What I ask from the actors in my company is that they strive for the most naturalistic style possible,” Scott remarked. “I can't abide the posturing and studied manners I've seen in the majority of London theaters. Most actors are overtrained fools who substitute extravagant gestures and pauses for real acting.”

Filled with an admiration that bordered on awe, Julia nodded in agreement. “They say you've revolutionized the stage in England and Europe—” she began, but he interrupted her sardonically.

“I don't like to be flattered, Mrs. Wentworth. It only serves to inflate my opinion of myself, and that's a dangerous thing. I'm already too arrogant by far.”

A surprised laugh escaped her. “I'm sure that's not true.”

“Wait until you know me better.”

A bubble of hope rose in her chest. “Will I?” she dared to ask, and he smiled. Strange, how a man could smile and seem so warm, and yet there was still something unreachable about him.

“Perhaps,” he replied. “You have great potential as an actress, Mrs. Wentworth. You wouldn't be a bad addition to the company.”

They reached the theater, walking past the rear drop and side wings. Julia accompanied Scott to the footlights at the edge of the stage, and stared out at the auditorium. It was dim and handsome, seating approximately fifteen hundred people, with tiers of side boxes that rose to dizzying heights. Julia had never been inside the place before. It was a gorgeous theater, painted white, salmon, and forest-green. The walls were lined with columns that were covered in gold and inlaid with green glass, while the interiors of the boxes were lined with rich flowered paper.

The stage itself was built on a slant, so that the actors in back were elevated a few inches higher than the ones in front. Standing on the scarred floor, Julia could almost imagine what it was like to play to an assembly of a thousand people or more.

“There are matters that need to be discussed,” Scott remarked abruptly. “Your salary, the number of performances required, the demands I make of the players…rehearsals, for example. I insist that all actors and actresses be present for every rehearsal, no matter how well they know their parts. You may run your personal life in any manner you wish, but if anyone misses a rehearsal or a performance, they take the risk of being fined or even dismissed. The same goes for drunkenness, tardiness, pregnancy, affairs with the other players, or anything else that interferes with the theater schedule.”

“I understand,” Julia said, a faint blush rising in her cheeks.

“I have a particular system for managing the company,” he continued. “If you have a grievance, there is a proper time and place for airing it—you'll be informed of the particular channels later. I never receive calls at my home concerning theater business. I place a high value on my privacy.”

“Naturally,” Julia said, her heart beginning to beat fast with excitement. The way he was talking, it sounded as if he was planning to hire her.

“There is something else that must be made clear,” Scott said. “Beyond any artistic merits it may possess, the Capital is a business enterprise. I make all my decisions according to the need to bring in a profit—and I've made no secret of it. If I decide to hire you, it is because you will bring money to the theater. All of the players, including myself, understand that we're here because of our profitability.”

Julia stiffened, all her hopes draining suddenly. Was he suggesting that he wanted her to become a prostitute to further the good of the theater?

“I have no desire to pimp for anyone,” Scott murmured in amusement, apparently reading her thoughts. “I'm only pointing out that one of your responsibilities—as well as mine and everyone else's—is to attract sponsors for each new season. You can use your talent and charm to accomplish that. There's no need to sleep with anyone…unless you wish to, of course.”