Rhiannon by Carole Llewellyn Page A

be hungry and didn’t want your tummies rumbling during her performance.’ The girl laughed. ‘Now then, after the show someone will come to take you backstage, so just stay put and enjoy the rest of the show.’
    As the girls tucked into their cheese sandwiches they noticed that most of the men had vacated their seats, while the ladies remained with trays in place, enjoying some snack or other. A loud bell signalled five minutes to curtain up and at the same time an army of usherettes proceeded to remove the trays and discarded rubbish.
    The Empire Belles opened the second half with an energetic dance with tap routine and elaborate twirls to the fast-tempo music. It was very exciting to watch and ended with each girl falling to the floor in the splits.
    Gus Davenport strode on to the stage clapping his hands, encouraging the audience to give even more applause. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, our very own Empire Belles!’
    As the dancers bowed and left the stage the audience became silent.
    â€˜At last ladies and gentleman, the moment you’ve all been waiting for. Like the can-can, this lady has travelled ‘All the way from Paris, France’. Please give a big Cardiff welcome home to the delightful and delectable Miss Florrie Grayson!’ As he returned to his place at the side of the stage he blew a kiss to the audience and for a moment Rhiannon could pretend it was just for her.
    Florrie Grayson glided onto the stage to great applause, many in the audience leapt to their feet, clapping and cheering. She was dressed in a pale gold-and-blue elegant silk gown, nipped tightly at the waist with a long straight skirt that fishtailed at the bottom. There could be no mistaking what a striking-looking woman she was: a bit plumper in the face than Rhiannon remembered, but with a stage presence to be admired.
    With an appreciative smile and a gesture of her hands, like a true professional, she quietened the audience. Then she gave a nod to the conductor, the orchestra began and Florrie burst into song.
    Her rendition of ‘I’ll be your sweetheart’ had all the men in the audience swooning and every woman wanting to be her. She sang four songs ending with ‘My mother’s eyes’ which brought the house down. She had encore after encore, which only stopped when the curtain fell for the last time and the house lights went up.
    â€˜Wasn’t she great, Rhi? Don’t you wish you could sing like that?’
    â€˜Yes, if only,’ Rhi answered. The way she felt, just seeing her aunt
and all the other acts, she knew she’d found her dream: one day to be on stage herself, wooing the audience.
    As the audience shuffled out of the auditorium Rhiannon and Mair stayed in their seats.
    â€˜Excuse me, miss.’ A young fair-haired lad addressed Rhiannon. ‘Would I be right in thinking that you’re Miss Hughes?’
    â€˜Yes, that’s right,’ she answered warily.
    â€˜I’m Percy. I work as call-boy backstage. Miss Grayson requested that I should come to escort you to her dressing-room.’
    â€˜Hello, Percy. I’m Mair. We’re sisters,’ Mair offered.
    â€˜Hello, miss.’
    As Rhiannon bent down to retrieve her suitcase she tried to stay positive. Whatever the outcome of the meeting with Aunt Florrie, it was going to be nice to see her mother’s sister again.
    â€˜I’ll take the suitcase, miss. Now if you’d both like to like to follow me.’
    They followed Percy up the aisle to the back of the stalls, across the glittering foyer and out onto the foggy streets and into the cold evening air. Then they sharply turned down a narrow alleyway. It was getting dark and Rhi wondered if she should so readily follow this stranger.
    And, as if echoing her doubts, Mair asked, ‘Where’s he taking us, Rhi?’
    Percy must have heard her, for he answered, ‘This is the quickest way to the stage door. Look, it’s dead