The Rapunzel Dilemma Read online

  Contents

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Jennifer Kloester loves to escape into a good book. She began writing her own stories in primary school and was living in the jungle in Papua New Guinea when she discovered Georgette Heyer’s wonderful historical romances. Those books took her to London, Paris and New York and inspired her to write her own novels. Jennifer puts books right up there with breathing, family and chocolate. She is the author of two books on Georgette Heyer: Georgette Heyer’s Regency World and Georgette Heyer: Biography of a Bestseller, and young adult novel, The Cinderella Moment, a companion novel to The Rapunzel Dilemma.

  www.jenniferkloester.com

  ALSO BY JENNIFER KLOESTER

  Georgette Heyer’s Regency World

  Georgette Heyer: Biography of a Bestseller

  The Cinderella Moment

  For Colin McPhillamy,

  cousin, friend and brilliant actor,

  without whom this book would never have been written.

  And for Great-Aunt Alice,

  who at 98 still beats me at Scrabble.

  CHAPTER 1

  Lily knew the moment she heard it. The note of disdain in Marshall Drake’s voice was unmistakeable. ‘Are you ready, Miss de Tourney?’

  He knows. She felt her stomach jolt as the words cancelled out every other thought.

  She tried to remember the opening line of her first monologue but her mind was blank and, for one horrible, heart-stopping moment, she was sure her audition was over before it had even begun.

  ‘Get a grip!’ Lily whispered to herself as she moved to the centre of the stage.

  ‘Please perform the Shakespeare first and the modern piece second.’ The Director’s voice was smooth and so neutral that Lily decided she must have imagined that note of derision.

  See, he’s not hostile. You’re just nervous. She thought of the months she’d spent preparing for this second chance. Don’t worry, you’re totally ready for this. Pinning a smile to her face, she forced herself to meet Marshall Drake’s gaze before nodding politely to the two women sitting on either side of him.

  She could hardly believe that the woman on his right was actually Arathula Dane. Arathula Dane! The legendary actor, Academy Award–winner, star of at least a dozen movies and twice as many successful Broadway and West End plays. Lily had seen her act on stage but it was nothing compared to seeing her up close. She knew that Arathula Dane had presence, but she hadn’t known it was practically tangible.

  And it wasn’t just her sumptuous red-velvet kaftan (years ago the famous French couturier, Antoine Vidal, had designated that particular shade ‘Arathula red’), or her gleaming black skin, or the mane of thick, dark hair that drew your gaze to her arresting face and held it there. No, Arathula Dane had that indefinable something – that x-factor Lily had so often heard about but never actually encountered in person . . . until now.

  By contrast, the woman to her left seemed faded and un-interesting. She had pale-blue eyes under a mop of wispy grey hair and wore a yellow dress draped with scarves in varying shades of pink. Her thin-lipped mouth looked as if a smile would break it in two.

  Not that any of the judges were smiling. They stared at Lily, their faces impassive, and her heart sank even further.

  They all know, she thought and felt the panic rise again.

  Taking a deep breath, she averted her eyes and stared past them into the stalls. She thought of last June’s summer school and how often she’d imagined herself standing on this very stage as the audience rose to give her a standing ovation. She gazed out over the dimly lit rows of plush crimson seats and felt her confidence return. She could do this.

  A door at the side of the theatre opened and Lily watched in dismay as a group of Academy students filed into the theatre and dropped into the seats a couple of rows from the front. They stared up at her in silence and Lily could feel their hostility roll towards her like a wave. The thought repeated in her head: They all know.

  Of course they know, she chided herself. Everybody knows. But it doesn’t matter so long as you show them you’ve got what it takes to –

  ‘Whenever you’re ready.’ The Director’s voice, crisp and cool, cut across her thoughts.

  Lily nodded, shook out her long, blonde hair, took several deep breaths and began.

  ‘Think not I love him, though I ask for him;

  ’Tis but a peevish boy; yet he talks well.’

  As she spoke the first word, Lily felt herself relax. By the time she’d said the second line, she’d forgotten her surroundings, her audience and her audition. She was no longer sixteen-year-old Lily de Tourney, auditioning for a place at the London Drama Academy. She was Phoebe, a lovelorn shepherdess, wondering how to get the attention of the handsome young man she’d just met in the Forest of Arden:

  ‘I’ll write to him a very taunting letter,

  And thou shalt bear it. Wilt thou, Silvius?’

  The speech ended and Lily, still in character, stood waiting for the reply. But it was Marshall Drake, not Silvius, who spoke. ‘Thank you. Please perform your second piece.’

  Lily came back to the present with a jolt. The Director was frowning at her, the pink-scarf woman was looking at her watch, while Arathula Dane stared straight ahead with nothing in her face to tell Lily what she’d thought of the performance.

  Lily risked a glance at the stalls but all she saw were the students in the second row stifling their laughter.

  She felt sick.

  ‘Your second piece?’ There was definitely a note of irritation in the Director’s voice.

  Ignoring the nausea in the pit of her stomach, Lily said, ‘Yes, I’m going to perform Emily Webb’s final speech from Thornton Wilder’s Our Town.’

  There was no mistaking the collective gasp that rose up from the group in the stalls – it practically hit Lily in the face. She shook it off, drew a calming breath and said, ‘It’s just before dawn in Grover’s Corners and up in the graveyard –’

  ‘Just a moment, please.’ The Director cut her off.

  ‘Sir?’ Lily stared at him, bewildered.

  ‘I understand that you attended one of the Academy’s summer schools this year?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘That would be the two-week intensive in June and early July?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘And during that time you were cast as Emily Webb in the Academy’s production of Our Town?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Ah.’ Marshall Drake pursed his lips, steepled his fingers and tapped them slowly against his bearded chin. ‘Then I�
�m afraid I must inform you that Academy rules prevent you from performing at an audition any role for which you have been trained while at the Academy.’

  Lily’s heart skipped a beat.

  ‘I assume you have another piece you can perform for us?’

  ‘I – uh –’ Lily tried to think. Of course she had another piece – she had a dozen of them, all memorised and worked on for months. Trouble was, right now she couldn’t think of a single one.

  She stood there, staring at the three judges, trying to remember. But the only speeches that came to mind were Lady Macbeth’s, Ophelia’s or Portia’s – all from Shakespeare and therefore impossible, given that she’d just done Phoebe’s speech from As You Like It. Her second piece had to be modern.

  Think, girl, think!

  Lily looked desperately round the stage, struggling for inspiration, but her mind was blank. She could hardly believe it; she’d spent months preparing for this audition and in about two seconds it would be over. Instead of ending in the long-dreamed-of place at the London Drama Academy, it would be a disastrous, humiliating, epic fail.

  Lily felt the tears threaten to spill down her cheeks. She bit her lip, closed her eyes and desperately willed the tears away.

  ‘Do you know Shaw?’

  Lily’s eyes flew open. She knew the voice instantly, but then there was barely a person on the planet who wouldn’t have recog-nised those rich, mellow tones with the slight accent on the vowels. It made you think of delicious things like melted chocolate or whipped cream or Christmas. It was a shock to hear it so close.

  Lily turned to Arathula Dane and managed to gasp, ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘George. Bernard. Shaw. Do you know his plays?’

  ‘Uh – yes. Yes, I do.’

  ‘Then perhaps you could give us something from Pygmalion?’

  Lily hesitated. Pygmalion wouldn’t have been her first choice but it was better than nothing. Now that she’d been prompted, she could already think of a couple of monologues.

  ‘Yes, I can do that,’ she said.

  Ten minutes later her audition was over and Lily stood silently in the centre of the stage wondering whether she should simply exit into the wings or wait to be dismissed. Down in the stalls she could hear people whispering and occasional snorts of suppressed laughter. She wondered who the students were. Probably second or third years come to see how the latest wannabe actor performed in her audition.

  Badly, if their reaction was anything to go by. Okay, so she’d got through Eliza’s speech all right and she’d thrown everything she had into Alfred Doolittle’s monologue on happiness, but she didn’t think they’d been well received.

  But even if she’d blitzed her audition, Lily doubted it would be enough.

  No, the odds had been against her from the moment she’d set foot on stage. For weeks she’d told herself that if she could just get this second chance it would be all she’d need. How she got that chance wouldn’t matter – not if she were good enough.

  Now, looking at the judges’ unsmiling faces Lily decided she’d been wrong. Wrong to think it wouldn’t matter how she got here, wrong to think no one would know, and wrong to believe she had the talent to get into the best acting school in London.

  Because Lily was certain she’d failed.

  A moment later the Director seemed to confirm her suspicion. Gathering up the sheaf of papers in front of him, he pushed back his chair and nodded to his colleagues before turning to Lily and saying tersely, ‘Thank you, Miss de Tourney. You may go.’

  CHAPTER 2

  Lily made her way disconsolately to the Green Room, where she was met by the school secretary. Mrs Wilson was a plump, matronly woman with a sunny smile and an irrepressibly cheerful manner – the last sort of person Lily felt like talking to after her audition.

  ‘There you are, dear, and how did it go? Now, don’t look so glum. I’m sure it wasn’t as bad as you think.’

  ‘I’m pretty sure it was worse,’ sighed Lily.

  ‘Well, there’s no point thinking negative thoughts, is there? Just think how lucky you are.’ Mrs Wilson smiled.

  ‘Lucky?’ echoed Lily.

  ‘Yes, indeed. Usually candidates have to wait weeks to hear about a place but you’ll find out this weekend.’

  ‘I will?’

  ‘Classes start on Monday so I expect the Director will call your parents in New York tomorrow.’

  Butterflies swirled in Lily’s stomach. ‘My dad’s not in New York. Right now we’re living with my grandmother in Paris.’

  ‘That’s all right, dear. It’s just as easy to phone Paris as New York.’

  ‘But my dad’s away. On his honeymoon. You can’t always reach him.’ Lily took a breath. ‘He’s – they’re – on a yacht, for six weeks, island-hopping in the South Pacific.’

  ‘What about your grandmother?’

  Lily looked doubtful. ‘You could leave a message, only she’s in Monaco staying at the palace for the weekend and I don’t think –’

  ‘Don’t worry.’ Mrs Wilson patted her shoulder. ‘I’m sure there’s someone else Mr Drake can call. Who’s looking after you while you’re in London?’

  ‘I’m staying with the Hallidays in Berkeley Square.’

  ‘That’s Lord and Lady Langham, isn’t it?’

  Lily nodded. ‘They’re Grandmama’s friends. She asked them to host me.’

  ‘Then I’ll make sure Mr Drake calls Lady Langham.’ The secretary beamed happily. ‘And I know I’ve got her number because she telephoned half an hour ago and asked me to give you a message.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Yes, she’s been delayed driving back from taking her son up to Oxford.’ Mrs Wilson’s permanent smile faded slightly. ‘It’s those wretched motorways. The poor lady’s probably stuck somewhere on the M4.’

  ‘And the message?’

  ‘Lady Langham asked me to order you a taxi back to Mayfair.’

  Lily nodded absently. She was wondering whether Angel’s boyfriend Nick was feeling as lost and lonely in Oxford as she was in London. She doubted it. Nick had friends at Oxford, whereas Lily knew no one in England apart from Nick and his parents. Of course, she’d made friends with some of the students at her Academy summer school, but only Brett and Gina had made it through the auditions. She’d hoped to hear from them over the summer, but after what had happened last July they hadn’t kept in touch.

  They’d probably be pleased to hear she’d failed her audition, thought Lily gloomily. And it was probably good that Lady Langham couldn’t pick her up because right now the only person Lily could even think of talking to about her audition was Angel.

  She glanced at her watch. It was almost two, which meant it would be nearly three o’clock in Paris. Angel would still be at Antoine Vidal’s salon, helping prepare for the first showing of the couturier’s new summer collection.

  Maybe it was a good thing she couldn’t call. Angel would be upset for her and totally sympathetic and Lily wasn’t sure she could stand it. When they’d said goodbye in Paris three days ago, her best friend (now half-sister – she had to remember that) had been convinced Lily would succeed. Angel and Nick had even stopped mooning over each other long enough to promise Lily they’d be in in the front row for her first Academy performance.

  They’d each been so pumped about what lay ahead – Angel learning fashion design at Vidal’s, Nick studying at Oxford and Lily destined for the London Drama Academy. Or so she’d thought. Now, she was pretty sure she’d failed and her life was effectively over. No Academy place meant that the only thing in her immediate future was school – ordinary, boring school.

  And she wouldn’t even be in New York with her friends – at least, not before Dad and his new wife, Simone, returned from their honeymoon.

  Not that living in New York would be any better than living in Paris, decided Lily, because if she’d blown her one chance to get into the LDA then she’d have no choice but to keep her promise to her dad. She almost groaned aloud
.

  By Monday she’d probably be back with Grandmama and going to high school in Paris.

  ‘And won’t that be great,’ she muttered. ‘Given how well Grandmama and I get on.’

  ‘What’s that, dear?’ asked Mrs Wilson.

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Run along, then, and get your things. I’ll go and order your taxi. One of our students will show you where to wait.’

  ‘That’s okay. I was here three months ago so I know my way –’

  ‘No, dear,’ said Mrs Wilson firmly. ‘I promised Lady Langham someone would see you safely away and I’ve already asked Charlotte. This way.’ She escorted Lily briskly down the hall.

  When they got to the locker room, Lily stopped and said, ‘I don’t suppose I’ll see you again, but –’

  ‘You never know, it might have gone better than you think.’ Mrs Wilson gave her one last hearty smile and departed.

  Lily found her locker and retrieved her duffel bag. She stood for a moment gazing wistfully around the room. Most of the lockers were adorned with photos, old play programs or brightly coloured West End theatre playbills. Only the first-year lockers were bare and Lily couldn’t help wondering how their new owners would decorate them once term began.

  Between the banks of lockers, generations of students had covered the walls with posters advertising their Academy productions. Play titles, both familiar and unfamiliar, leapt out at her, and here and there among the cast lists Lily spied the names of now world-famous actors or directors. They too had once been young and untried.

  She felt again the deep, raw hunger rise up inside her, gripping her insides and reminding her of what had brought her here.

  Only she wasn’t here – not yet. And after her audition, she probably never would be.

  Lily crossed to the sink and eyed herself in the mirror. Her mascara had smudged and her usually bright-blue eyes were dark and sad. She looked as depressed as she felt and it didn’t help that her hair had gone completely wild. She dropped her bag onto the floor, found her hairbrush and yanked it through the tangled curls.

  Simone had wanted Lily to keep her hair long for the wedding and over the summer it had grown way past her waist. She’d meant to get it cut after the ceremony but things had turned out so differently from how she’d expected that she’d never got around to it.