Dearest Cecelia,
What a marvellous time I had at the theatre on Friday afternoon! Dear Rilla was able to accompany our party. I hadn’t seen her in what must be the longest time. She’s well and having the gaiest time with her family. We have such similar taste in shoes and accessories. I simply had to admire her gorgeous patent, heeled Mary Janes and new cloche!
Oh, but Miss Evelyn Laye was wonderful in the role of Sarah. She’s fair and doe-eyed, truly the most beautiful of creatures. Bitter Sweet is not one of Mr Coward’s finest storylines but the music was enchanting nonetheless. What a memorable song is ‘I’ll See You Again’. I find myself humming it as I go about my day. Jack has resurfaced at last, appearing at my side during the matinee and inviting himself to sit with our intimate group. He has apparently been ‘boning up’ on a few things, namely our next port of call, White Owl Island. No-one knows quite what to expect, but he tells me the guardians are very particular about who is allowed to venture onto the protected heritage sites. There is an extensive conservation programme in place and we are to respect the regeneration taking place.
While on board, Jack has been commissioned to write several articles for The Review. His Editor-in-Chief feels that their New York readership would welcome a little Lemurian adventure as something of a departure from the usual restaurant and entertainment reviews. Travellers can join the cruise at any time from several capital cities around the world. The Review has agreed to pay Jack’s passage as long as he ‘comes up with the goods’, to coin his own phrase. I was finally able to show Jack the journal as I always keep it about my person, and gave him a potted version of my discoveries to date. His response was to slap me between the shoulder blades in a hearty fashion, which knocked the wind right out of me!
‘We’ll make a reporter out of you yet, Lizzy.’
Now, I don’t know why that excited me so, Cissy, but it did. The very thought of me turning out newsworthy articles and burying myself in research..
‘Hey, let’s not get carried away here, doll. I’m just yanking your chain.’
His voice broke my reverie and I felt my face flush with embarrassment. Am I terribly transparent, Cissy? I always rather envied stuffy old Charles’ writing career. Perhaps..
With Noel Coward at an end, I wandered back to my cabin to dress for dinner. Jack was chivalrous enough to accompany me and apologised for his earlier carelessness. He hadn’t realised, clearly, that I genuinely did fancy myself as a journalist and kindly offered to put in a good word for me with his Editor-in-Chief. I am to show him some of my work before we reach White Owl Island. In return for his charity, I have offered to direct him to the glass garden. As I write, I find myself singing a catchy tune from Bitter Sweet. I have heard other theatre-goers muttering of the indecency of the lyrics and its inclusion in the operetta. Poppycock, I say! The song is sung by four young dandies and I think it lends itself well to the play. We reside in much more liberal times and I applaud Noel Coward for his apparent reference to homosexuality. I will allow you to decide for yourself, dear sister, by including a verse or two for your perusal.
Pretty boys, witty boys, you may sneer
at our disintegration.
Haughty boys, naughty boys,
Dear, dear, dear!
Swooning with affectation..
and as we are the reason
for the nineties being gay,
we all wear a green carnation.
Your
Elizabeth.
