CHAPTER ELEVEN Sarah lived in a two-room flat on Church Street, off Edgware Road. It was a nice area with lots of small shops and restaurants that sold food I had never seen before. “Many of the people here are French,” she said. “They mind their own business.” She made tea and served some cakes that weren’t at all sweet. She talked about what Huff had been saying, and added that Valentine was worried about how much money the group was making. “Is Gil paying you?” I asked. “Yes, he pays my salary, but the theater gives him an allowance for wardrobe upkeep,” Sarah answered. “I don’t know how good he is with money, though. Mr. Campbell just about manages everything, I think.” Mr. Campbell was a lot stronger than Gilbert Pell. Gil was about my age, maybe a year or two older, but he seemed tired. He was really talented once he got into the performance, but as soon as it was over he would go into a funk, and more than once I thought he was drinking before we went on.
