Whispers of a Lesser God Page 3

  A young girl’s heart is like a butterfly

  She flutters and flies, bobs and glides

  She rides the wind, darts and dives

  Her life is short; her spirit turns shy

  And the moment she lands, she fades and dies

  Her flight is long, across barren land

  Trying to find her perfect man

  She flies across seas of pain

  Through biting cold and pouring rain

  But all she sees is dust and rust

  She has never known love and trust…

  It was as if magic had descended upon the room. Dorothy’s voice complemented every bar, every mood of each song. And the piano complemented her every word, every beautiful tempest of something that defied description. They ran through song after song in perfect harmony and Duncan looked and listened in awe. He knew that Daphne Devine was back, big time. But this Daphne’s voice was even better than he had remembered it, from all those years ago. It was if the piano had lifted it to an even higher level. He had become completely mesmerised, and he knew that his gamble had paid off.

  Eventually Dorothy signalled to the girl that she had experienced enough and walked closer to her and put her hands on her shoulders. They were bonded and wedded in a sublime understanding.

  Duncan was the first to speak, and his words summed up everything. “Well, ladies, I can see you two are hitting it off very well. And I think that the process which I have been planning can be moved forward, if we all agree? I did not tell Caroline this, of course, because we came here to see you, Daphne, not knowing what to expect. And I did not want to try and give her hope, when I couldn’t put Stage One in front of Stage Two. Hope you understand where I’m coming from. Right… The only good thing that came out of my debacle with Darren Delaney was that I made a few good contacts. Just around the corner from my office there is a small recording studio. Small, but state of the art. I took Darren there and the owner, Roger, decided that it was okay to do a few samples of songs and some mixing. Everything was going well when Darren suddenly dumped everything and left us in the lurch. I had got quite friendly with Roger and he was thoroughly disgusted by the way I had been treated. He is a bit of a geek and obsessed with his work, and he let me know that he was completely open to new talent if I could find it. And, of course, I agreed.

  “Since quitting the bottle ten years ago and dumping Jack Daniel’s, Johnnie Walker and Jim Beam in the rubbish bin for good, I seem to have a new lease of life. Hunger, passion and seeing a project through to the end has been my goal. I think meeting Lou a few years ago helped me. And, of course, I don’t want to make the same mistakes I made with Helen, and I don’t think that Lou would stand for it anyway. If something falls through, I just try something else, is my ethic. And this is where you come into it, Daphne. I would like you and Caroline to meet with Roger and try out recording these songs. Roger has got everything in his studio and he’s always well up on the latest technology.”

  Although Dorothy already had an inkling of where all this was leading, she had a few questions of her own. And Duncan seemed well prepared for this as well.

  “I’m sold, Duncan. I like everything you’ve said, and I believe you’re sincere. But how on earth can I ever replace my backing band? Doug Parker on tenor sax, Len Clifford on drums, Mick Walker on double bass, Frankie Maloney on Hammond organ. And, of course, Betty Johnson.”

  She looked over towards the girl and her glasses sparkled and shone under the living-room light. “We’ve already got Caroline to replace Beany Williams on piano. That’s if she agrees, of course.”

  Duncan laughed, leaned back on the sofa and said, “They’re all dead and buried, Daphne. Remember even Mick Walker was twenty-three years older than you, and he was the baby of the group by at least ten years. Ha ha ha!”

  “Then where do we start, Duncan? Where are we going to rummage up a good backing band, just like that? Really good professional musicians are not ten a penny; you know that.”

  Duncan laughed again, pulled a notebook from his jacket pocket, waved it at her and said, “I came well prepared for that as well, Daphne. For the past couple of years I’ve been scouting for any potential musicians that I can put on my books. I’ve underlined the ones with real talent and have kept all of their names and phone numbers. I have even found a very gifted young backing vocalist, Lorraine Lester from Birmingham. She stood out from the others, and not just because she’s very talented. She’s got that X factor, that ease, that quiet confidence and casual demeanour that Betty Johnson had. I’ve got Steve Edwards with his tenor sax, who has to be heard to be believed. I have Michael Harvey on double bass, Dave Martell on drums and Danny Duval on keyboards. The main reason that I’ve kept these people at the top of my list is that they are all very jazz orientated. They all love, live and breathe jazz. All they really need is a good female jazz singer to front them, and I’m sure they would all be very pleased indeed if Daphne Devine was that singer.”

  Dorothy was deep in thought. She was weighing up and absorbing everything Duncan had said. “You must have planned all of this very carefully, Duncan. Every song is a peach, an absolute gem.”

  She then looked over to Caroline, who was still sitting on the piano stool, looking apprehensive and rubbing her beautiful hands, then bending her fingers back and pulling them.

  “I have a question for you, dear. Did you ask Duncan if he had, or knew, maybe, one of the latest young female singers or upcoming starlets to whom he could pitch your work? And, of course, have you not considered trying to sing them yourself? You certainly know your piano skills.”

  The girl suddenly looked embarrassed and began to blush and fidget. Duncan came to her aid, and Dorothy wondered if he had come with well-rehearsed answers to everything she might ask.

  “Ha ha ha! I’ll answer that one for you, Caroline. She’s a great fan of yours, Daphne. She has your whole collection of LPs and copies, all vinyl, and the copies are in pristine condition, never played. And she told me right from the get-go that she cannot sing. Can’t even do a rendition of Knees Up, Mother Brown. And none of these babies are for any of the scantily dressed bimbos whose talents lie more in wiggling their bums and doing lavatorial dance routines which are meant to be erotic but bear little relevance to their bloody singing talents. All of these babies are crafted and designed for a classy, female jazz singer. This is manna from heaven for jazz songs.”

  Duncan could see by the look on Dorothy’s face that she was ready for action, when she said, “Okay, Duncan, where do we go from here? I’ll let you do all of the planning. It’ll be probably be like going back to school. I’m well out of touch with everything now. So let’s move forward, then.”

  “Lovely! Now all I have to do is make a few phone calls, tell Roger about my plans and book the recording studio. Then strike up the band, who are raring to go. So let’s go, go, go!”

  That night they talked late into the night, reflecting on old times, old friends and the many ups and downs of a lost, but fantastic, period. Duncan appeared to have maintained an intimate knowledge of what had happened to most of the good people, as if his mind had been trapped in a time warp. He cherished every reflection, every memory, as if it was a latent obsession that needed to be exercised and polished up. Dorothy was sad to hear about the tragic demises of most of her original band, when Duncan went into the details, as if he was reading from a diary. He had grown into a wise, thoughtful, but tough old man. Dorothy actually liked this new Duncan, without even contemplating that she had grown older herself. Caroline could not have any input into any of this. She could only sit there and listen in awe and wonderment. It was like listening to a living legend being casually interviewed by a canny and congenial host with whom she was very familiar.

  It was late into the night before Dorothy looked up at the clock and realised that it was after midnight, and that the last train back to London had
left over an hour ago. She said merrily, “Good heavens, look at the time.” And without even thinking, without even being aware of it, she voiced Duncan’s previous pun. “You’ve missed the last train from Ghost Town! You’ll both have to stay here tonight and catch it sometime tomorrow.”

  And they all burst out laughing together.

  The next morning Dorothy had a spring in her step, flying around the kitchen, preparing breakfast and making tea. Just after nine o’clock, Caroline appeared at the kitchen door and asked if she could help. Dorothy was surprised to see her up so early, but she had finished already.

  “No, that’s okay, gal, just go and sit down and help yourself. Tea’s already on the brew.”

  She became aware of the girl’s awkward demeanour and decided that it was time to put her at ease once and for all. She peered at her through her glasses and gave her the Daphne Devine smile; the beaming smile that was part of her persona, from the holiday camps through to the big concerts later on.

  “I’m really just a working-class gal, as you can see. And I’m happy being that way. Could never understand people who changed when they made good. Yes, be grateful, but remember who you really are. The trappings of fame and fortune are very nice, of course, but you can kiss goodbye to your privacy. Being as young as you at the time, it was very difficult for me to handle the hassle.”

  The girl just smiled and sat down at the breakfast bar, while Dorothy poured tea into two mugs.

  “It was kind of you to let us stay here last night. I don’t know what we would have done otherwise.”

  “Well, I am sorry that you saw the dark side of me, gal. I simply don’t get visitors. And, of course, I was shocked when I saw that it was Duncan, at night in the pouring rain. You do understand, dear?”

  “Of course, it must have been a shock to you. Duncan and Louise have been very kind to me. All the way down here on the train he was giving me pep talks and wondering how you might welcome us, or not. I think he was more nervous than I was. I had asked him if it was not more realistic to phone you, but he said that you probably wouldn’t have spoken to him, and that you’d just put the phone down.”

  “Well, he knows me, and although we differ on some things, he was right about me putting the phone down. We did not part company as well as we could have done, and although I regret it, I was not up to trying to press my opinions at the time, because I felt let down and used.”

  “That’s understandable. Five years in the limelight, without any let-up, and especially being that young and being put under that pressure. The mind boggles, how you did it for that long alone.”

  “Being surrounded by people and feeling so lonely and powerless is not a desirable place to be, darling. But I understand young girls trying to make it in the industry. Because ‘The grass is always greener on the other side of the fence’ could not be a more ironic cliché for a young girl in particular. I think I owe a lot of my stamina at that time to the time I spent being carted up and down the country to perform for a week at a holiday camp or caravan site, and then travel from east coast to west to do it all again. Sometimes, dear, I can still hear Wurlitzer organs ringing in my ears in my dreams. I can still feel myself being rocked to sleep in the back of a smelly van.”

  Dorothy noticed that the girl was hanging on every word she said, nodding and smiling sweetly.

  “Well, the bed was really comfortable and the room is so cosy and colourful. I really like violet and lavender; they are my favourite colours. And the room is so bright, and those beautiful pictures!”

  “My mother designed and decorated my room, gal. Before she went bananas and left me alone. I’ve never changed it. I used to dream about being back in my bed, when I was sleeping in the back of a van. Where do you hail from, gal? I like your accent. You’re not from the Thames Estuary, dear.”

  Dorothy should have noticed the way the girl tried to deftly avoid the question. But she also tried to give the impression that it was not all that important and moved on before Dorothy could ponder the quick switch.

  “I come from Hull, but I’m currently living in Watford. Can’t afford the rent in London. So, I’ve slept in Daphne Devine’s bed and looked at myself in her dressing-table mirror!”

  “No, gal. You’ve slept in young Dorothy Dodd’s bed, before she transformed into Daphne Devine. And you’ve seen yourself in Dorothy Dodd’s mirror, or Dotty, as her mother used to call her.”

  Caroline found this amusing. Here she was in the house of a very famous woman, of whom she was an ardent fan. She had slept in her bed, was enjoying a cup of tea made by her, and was simply too wooed by this woman to feel star-struck by her. The whole situation was too good to be true. But she had to remind herself of the dual reason why she was here. She had managed to bring Daphne and Duncan together. And although things were going perhaps too smoothly, complacency and overconfidence could lead her to drop her guard. The unforeseen had happened to her. She had begun to feel deep affection for both of them.

  Just then Duncan appeared at the kitchen door. He paused before speaking, not wanting to interrupt their conversation. When Dorothy noticed him, she saw that he had changed back into her father’s old clothes that she had given him. They were far too big for him, and baggy; he kept having to pull the trousers up. She eyed him suspiciously and wondered if he had been eavesdropping on their conversation. He was probably hoping that they were getting on well and getting to know each other.

  “Good morning, Duncan. I have dried your clothes in the tumble dryer. Hope you slept well?”

  “Yes, thanks. The bed sure is comfortable. It was difficult not to stay there for a while. I like your taste in decor. Everything is so bright and warm. Are the seascapes oils, or very good prints?”

  “No, they’re oils. My father done them. They’re all paintings of local scenes. I call that the box room, because it’s small and square. It was his favourite room. I decorated that one by myself. He loved the colour blue, as you’ve probably noticed. Not bad for an amateur, I think.”

  “Amateur? You sure come from a talented family, Daphne. Does the artistic streak run in the family?”

  “Yes, my mother could play several musical instruments, wind and string. But she really loved drama, opera and all of the classics; in particular Shakespeare, Byron and Wordsworth. She never got the chance to pursue her passions. I think that’s one of the reasons why she pressed me with my singing. She must have sensed something that I couldn’t, being far too young to know.”

  “Well, we sure are lucky that she did press you, because we may never have experienced Daphne Devine. Wow! The more I find out about you, the more intrigued I get. We could write a book.”

  Dorothy raised her eyebrows when she heard the word ‘we’. Or rather, they raised themselves involuntarily. She began to wonder if Duncan had taken leave of his senses or had once more become possessed by project Daphne Devine. In actual fact, Duncan had become like a man possessed, although he did not realise it. The day that Caroline had walked into his agency and offered him her songs had triggered a latent obsession that had been patiently waiting and developing like a beautiful baby in a cosmic womb. And now that baby was about to be born and take on a life of its own. Now was the time to let it all illuminate in blinding, glorious light.

  Dorothy did not escort them to the train station that afternoon. While Duncan had been enthusiastically making phone call after phone call during the morning, Dorothy had been showing Caroline around her humble abode. She even showed the girl her garden shed, where she would use a hairbrush as an imaginary microphone to sing into, when she was only six years old. Caroline found it highly amusing that the same hairbrush was kept in a drawer inside the shed and had never been removed.

  When it was time for them to leave, Dorothy felt strangely alone and isolated. And then it slowly dawned on her that she was lonely, and had been lonely and sad for many years.

  Two we
eks later, Duncan and the girl arrived at her front door again. But this time it was all hugs and kisses, instead of animosity and suspicion. Dorothy had already packed her bags, but she had invited them to stay overnight to run through some of the songs, nine in total. Duncan had become highly animated and excited like a little boy, and she was about to find out why.

  “Guess what, Daphne. We’ve got nine songs, but Caroline has just completed number ten. And I think you’ll like it.” He winked and motioned with his hand for the girl to open her bag. She delved in with her long fingers, produced a sheet of A4 paper and handed it to Dorothy.

  Dorothy let a wry smile light up her face as she read the title. Last Train from Ghost Town. She looked at Caroline and then at Duncan, letting them know that she had recognised the theme clearly.

  “Okay, gal! Sit down at the old ivories and let’s see what we can do with this baby.”

  The girl swept over to the piano stool and sat down, while Dorothy took up position by her side. She began to play, her fingers sweeping up and down the keys gracefully and with purpose. And the introduction was so beautiful, so electrifying that both Duncan and Dorothy could hardly believe what they were hearing.

  Then Daphne Devine became awake, aware and alive. Her voice entered the music like a bird soaring into the sky. The notes and long, high tones, dropping into low and deeply emotional tones, were catching the lyrics absolutely perfectly. It was if she was already familiar with the song and was just trying to perfect it. Caroline looked up at her and smiled beautifully. Dorothy acknowledged the smile with a nod and a wink. They were flying together like birds on the wing, ducking, diving, bobbing and weaving through the ether. Duncan could only stand in wonder and listen, because he simply could not believe what he was hearing. He had seen the lyrics on paper, but he could now realise the pure magic of them transformed into a beautiful song, sung by Dorothy and backed by Caroline’s almost mystical piano skills. The song came alive.