Whispers of a Lesser God Read online

  Dorothy smiled and realised that this was the first time she had heard Duncan air his views. But then, he was only two years older than her, and back then he had been just as naive as she had. They had both been too young to grasp the full force of the fantastic adventure unfolding around them.

  “I didn’t know that you were so sentimental, Duncan. Tell me more, tell me more.”

  “What can I say? You never had any competition, because you had none. You never had to look over your shoulder, because nobody could imitate you. Nobody could sing like a bird, growl like a tiger and throw words out of their mouth in pitches and notes that reached down into the soul and shot up into the heart like you could, Daphne. Nobody could ever touch that voice. Your voice, Daphne!”

  Despite herself, Dorothy was warming to Duncan. Because this was a Duncan that she had never known before, and the eloquent and almost poetic way in which he had expressed himself was moving and deeply emotional. All this time, the girl had been listening to their exchange intently, glancing between them as if trying to absorb everything that was being said. Dorothy noticed that she was still clutching the leather bag in her lap, and wondered what it could contain for her to guard it so closely. Dorothy now realised that she was enjoying this unexpected visit, and was becoming intrigued and strangely animated by the situation.

  “Well, what have you been up to, Duncan? Are you still working, or are you retired like me?”

  “I’ve never had the chance to retire completely. Photography went flat, ’cause the expertise is no longer needed. Anybody can take good photos now, thanks to the ever-changing technology. Been dabbling in talent management over the past few years. Again, the competition is too much. Like swings and roundabouts all the time. I’ve had a few successes, but more losses. What can I say?”

  Dorothy was listening to Duncan with guarded interest, as he carried on speaking frankly.

  “I managed Darren Delaney, the latest boy-wonder pop star, for while. Until he was unceremoniously poached from me by Guiding Light Management. Cheeky buggers didn’t even credit me with discovering the arrogant, ungrateful little brat. I can tell you, I was bloody furious when I found out that he’d jumped ship without even telling me. How about you, Daphne? What’s new?”

  “Not much. But since you’ve been frank with me, Duncan, I think you should know that it has not been easy for me, especially from the beginning. Yes, I know the story that’s been told time after time for my fans: my mother forced me to have singing lessons five days a week, three hours a day from the age of eight. But as you know, that was part of the whole publicity stunt. I really honed my voice when Mum was carted off to the loony bin. Enter Auntie Liz and Uncle Ray. They were a comedy act that used to perform all over the country. Pontins, Butlins, caravan sites – most of the good old British seaside resorts, every summer season. They sort of adopted me, as part of their act. The house was shut up and away we went. I honed my voice singing above the sound of Wurlitzer organs, trying to rise above the sound of Hammond organs and negotiate loud electric guitars whose players left a lot to be desired regarding talent. I didn’t know that a talent scout had been following me up and down the country for two seasons. Enter Brenda Brown. She approached me and introduced me to Valerie Dees. All the rest is history.”

  Dorothy then noticed that both Duncan and Caroline were sitting on the sofa with their mouths wide open, looking and listening intently. They then looked at each other and Duncan said, “Wow!”

  Dorothy burst out laughing at their reaction, realising that she had never told anybody this story before. “You see, Duncan, I never really had a normal childhood. Flying all over the country, just to sing for my supper. Living in a caravan. Sleeping through the night, while Uncle Ray was driving, then waking up in a different town week after week. Auntie Liz and Uncle Ray were okay, but the money was never good. Entertaining was all they ever knew. And indirectly, they helped make me what I am.”

  “This is a story all by itself, Daphne. Why did you keep all this from me when we were working together? You could write a book about your life. This is absolutely fantastic.”

  Dorothy put on her huge, circular glasses, smiled, looked at Duncan suspiciously and said, “I wonder who you have in mind as my book’s promoter, Duncan? Besides, I don’t think Dorothy Dodd would really appreciate it. Too many sad and painful memories.”

  “Come on, Daphne, it wasn’t all bad. I’m sure millions of young girls wish they had been born with a talent like yours. That’s one of the reasons Valerie Dees was so frustrated with you, among others.”

  “Well, what were some of the other reasons Valerie Dees was so frustrated with me, Duncan? Pray tell.”

  “Oh, come on, Daphne, don’t try to play the innocent victim with me. You know that I know better than anybody about your escapades, outrageous behaviour and being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Knowing full well the gutter press was hunting you down all over the West End, just waiting for you to drop a clanger, so they could blow it out of all proportion in their rag.”

  Dorothy was intrigued and fascinated by this remark, because Duncan was acting like a Duncan that she had never known. A feisty, offensive and brutally honest Duncan.

  She smiled, lay back on the sofa and stretched both arms across the back of it. Her eyes appeared to be magnified by her glasses, and Caroline was still eyeing them both with open awe.

  “Well, come on, Duncan, I’m waiting for you to elaborate on your pious opinions about me.”

  “Well, where do I begin? I could not really have pious opinions back then, ’cause both of us were still only kids. But I’ve grown old and begun to see things from a different perspective, over the years.”

  “Carry on, Duncan, I’m listening. Please tell me what you really, really thought of me.”

  “I know you thought I was a bit of a lackey for Valerie Dees, but she was indirectly trying to protect you and your image. I felt I owed some loyalty to her, and to you, of course.”

  “Well, well. So you and Valerie were trying to look after me, really. Carry on, tell me more.”

  “Well, you going around every sordid nightclub in the West End with Betty Johnson, getting drunk and causing havoc, was a gift, an absolute peach for the gutter press. The two of you doing stripteases while paralytic, in the worst possible clubs, knowing full well that the cameras were pointed at you like a bloody firing squad, was not a good idea, Daphne.”

  “So you think it was okay to turn up with Valerie Dees at any club I was in and drag me out, like a good little boy? Ah, Duncan. I was twenty-one at the time. I’d already been at the top for three years. I think I deserved a little fun, don’t you? The things the young stars get up to these days…”

  “But that was a different time and generation, Daphne. Etiquette, role models and general good conduct were still regarded highly in those days. And what you were doing was totally out of line with your image of a classy, mysterious jazz singer whose gifts had been carefully crafted and honed to appeal to a wide audience. It was working so damned well even Harry Moss couldn’t believe it.”

  “Well, the male pop groups and rock bands were getting away with worse things than I was doing in the early ’60s, Duncan, as you know. Did you not make a pretty penny from doing some photo shoots that were thrown your way from such groups, if I remember well? Or am I mistaken?”

  “No, you’re not mistaken. The money was not pouring into my bank account like it was into yours, Daphne. I needed money badly. Most of that stuff was staged, theatrical, pretentious bullshit, and absolutely ridiculous. Just to promote those groups’ image to youngsters. I bloody well hated it!”

  “Well, that didn’t stop you taking the cash, did it, Duncan? What a peculiar high horse you’re sitting on, lecturing me about my conduct, while you were getting cash dangled under your nose to promote a particular image which you found revolting. Is that not what one would call a hypoc
rite?”

  “Maybe I was. I’d just moved in with Helen and both of us had not taken account of bills – rent, water, electric and food. She put up with a lot in those days. We were both young and she was almost paranoid about me meeting other women, because of the nature of my work.”

  “Well, that’s understandable, although she was always very pleasant with me. I did not sense any feeling of jealousy or resentment towards me regarding the fact that we spent a lot of time together. How is she now? You were really lucky meeting Helen, considering the nature of the business we were in.”

  “She left me about ten years ago. I can’t blame her… I put her through hell for ten years before she left. I know it’s no use being wise in hindsight. When she finally left, that was my wake-up call because I knew that she was not coming back this time. But I was a complete wreck by then.”

  “What happened, Duncan? You must have really pushed her over the top, if she had suffered whatever you were doing for ten years.”

  “Well, I started a relationship with three men at the same time and they almost bloody killed me.”

  Dorothy raised her eyebrows, and her eyes appeared even bigger through her glasses. “What are you talking about, Duncan?”

  “Johnnie Walker, Jack Daniel’s and Jim Beam. I needn’t go into the details. I thought I was in control, but no. I tried to blame it on the work running dry, and everything I did started falling flat. But hitting the bottle after every disappointment and failure was not the answer. Helen put me in rehab three times and even got into debt trying to keep us afloat. I let her down time after time.”

  Dorothy felt a sudden pang of sympathy in her solar plexus. She knew that Duncan had never drunk in their five years together, and booze had been flowing all over the place. He must have been really down to hit the bottle blindly for ten years. He even used to be disgusted with Betty Johnson for her drunken and lewd behaviour. But Betty was a walking tragedy all by herself. She had been a brilliant backing singer to Daphne Devine. She could actually feel Daphne’s soul-searching and magical voice, and could pitch and roll with it like a spiritual ship, lost in the night.

  “Whatever happened to Betty Johnson in the end, Duncan? Valerie Dees must have really had a hunch that Betty and I were a good match. She was a good person, despite all of her problems. I grew very fond of Betty. We had so much fun together and she could always deliver, night after night. I sometimes wonder if she could read my mind and knew exactly when to slip and slide around my voice with her own tantalising one. Where did she go, and what did she do later?”

  “She died a long time ago. Valerie told me that she went back home to Alabama, because she could not find steady work. She did some session singing for a few big names, but she was either too drunk to turn up, or just disappeared for days on end. She either got exploited, or had problems getting paid. And you know about her problems with Gordon’s and Beefeater. She sure liked London gin. Hope she never met Johnnie Walker or Jack Daniel’s like I did. You can never really understand that problem unless it catches you like a disease.”

  “I’m so sorry to hear she’s gone. She was like a fifty-year-old child who had nobody to guide her.”

  “Valerie Dees tried, after she got sacked from the Symphony Sisters for being drunk on stage and failing to turn up at their recording sessions for the same reason. Valerie was not the hard bitch that a lot of people thought she was. Tough, businesslike and sometimes aggressive, but she had to be tough to keep the project going for five years. It was having her at the helm that made everything coordinate so well. And then out of the blue, you left the project, Daphne. Out of the blue.”

  Duncan’s last words stung Dorothy, because he had said them in a casual way. There was no sarcasm, no anger or bitterness in his voice. Not even a hint of puzzled bewilderment. It was as if he was throwing her a sublime bait and hoping she would take it.

  In an emotional voice she replied, “I just folded, Duncan. The pressure, the touring, the endless recording sessions through the whole night, night after night, day after day. Harry Moss demanding to know how we were getting on, because of endless schedules and commitments. And as you know, endless photo shoots. Having to change clothes four or five times in just one shoot. I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. You were with me for almost the whole five years. Why didn’t you try to defend me against all of the flak I was getting? Surely you must have been aware of it; surely, Duncan.”

  Duncan took a deep breath, as if he had been relieved by an answer to a burning question. “I was, Daphne, I was. But the project became so massive, so fantastic that I had to toe the line. I had to be a particular cog in the wheel to keep the project going. I was madly in love with the project, and I would have suffered anything to keep it alive. The project Daphne Devine.”

  “So I was not much more than a project to you, Duncan. And you were a cog in my wheel. You’re not all that good at being sentimental, are you? I thought you might at least try to be a little tactful.”

  Duncan quietly digested every word she had said, and the girl gazed at her, perplexed.

  “You weren’t the only one involved in the project, Daphne. A whole industry had been built up around you. People were relying on you to deliver; depending on you to blow entire audiences away with your artillery. People who were thrown back onto the pile of hopefuls when you quit.”

  Dorothy was glancing between Duncan and Caroline, and she felt awkward as she enquired, “What happened to my band when I left? They were all gifted musicians in their own right.”

  “Most of them got session work, if they could get it. Loud electric guitars and rock music had begun to make their presence felt. Everybody was jumping on the bandwagon. Harry Moss was well behind the curve when it suddenly kicked off big time. He couldn’t stand it. Jazz was his true love, as you know. Valerie tried to get him back on course, but by that time the industry was overrun by promoters who had grabbed the baton quickly. That was probably the start of the decline of his agency.”

  “Whatever happened to Harry and Valerie, Duncan? I know that you got on well with Valerie in particular. You were about the only one who could get on well with the old boot, if I remember.”

  “That is where you and I beg to differ, Daphne. Yes, Valerie Dees was as tough as old boots, I grant you that. But she was also very, very efficient, extremely hard-working, dedicated and extremely loyal. And if you don’t mind me saying, totally devoted to the project. Project Daphne Devine.”

  “I wish you would stop referring to me as a project, Duncan. I was a jazz singer, and a pretty good one at that, if I might say so myself. I still exercise the old vocal cords and practise my voice range, every day. Even sing whole verses of some of the old songs. That’s all I have left.”

  On hearing this, Duncan grinned from ear to ear. Now was the perfect time for him to flatter and try to impress Dorothy with the true nature of his visit. He stood up and gazed into her magnified eyes, through her glasses. She stared back at him, intrigued and perplexed by his manner.

  “I’ll get to the point, Daphne, and I’ll make it as clear and brief as possible. I have a small agency, just off the Holloway Road. I dabble in different small projects and small productions. I just about make a living and that’s it. But I’m always open to anything which I think can be a success, like a new project, or of course a potential new talent. One day Caroline walks into my office unannounced and asks me if she may offer me some songs that she has written, and if I have any singers on my books who may be interested in them. Well, I said I would take a look at them, half expecting bland pop songs, or even soppy drivel. Boy, was I mistaken. What immediately jumped out at me, hit me like a sledgehammer, was that I was looking at jazz. Pure, unadulterated, irresistible, beautiful jazz. And I knew right away, without even trying to think about it, that there was only one singer who was worthy of these songs. And you guessed it – none other than Daphne Devine could put
her magic touch, her magic voice into these works of art.”

  Dorothy glanced over towards the girl and then at the leather bag sitting in her lap. She then realised that she had a pretty good idea of what the bag contained.

  Duncan looked at the girl and said, “Okay, Caroline, I think Daphne would like to take a look at your songs.”

  The girl glanced up at Dorothy, and Dorothy nodded, with a glint in her magnified eyes. Caroline fumbled with the bag, opened it and brought out a violet folder, with a picture of a red rose on the cover. It was then that Dorothy noticed that the girl had the beautiful long fingers and hands of a pianist. She stood up and handed the folder to Dorothy, and Dorothy opened it and studied the contents. She kept glancing back at Caroline, nodding and smiling with delight.

  After a while she said, “Well, Duncan, you certainly weren’t exaggerating. They are absolutely beautiful. How can anyone write songs like this? You certainly have a talent, dear.”

  Duncan could not conceal his delight on hearing this. He all but capered around the living room. “Caroline is a superb pianist and composer, Daphne. Everything she does is her work and compositions. She would love to show you what she can do on the old ivories.”

  Dorothy adjusted the belt on her dressing gown, strolled over to the grand piano and opened the lid. She then invited Caroline to sit down at the piano and opened the file to the first song. Then she took up her position close to Caroline, ready to try her voice when the piano began to sweep in.

  “Are you ready, gal? Let’s try the first one… Girl with Butterfly Wings. Let’s go!”

  With that, the girl swept into the most beautiful piano introduction that Dorothy had ever heard. Her hands swept the entire length of the keys, dancing all over them, sweeping, prodding and pressing. She glanced up at Dorothy’s face, and Dorothy knew exactly when to begin to sing.