The noisy mass of chattering actors and musicians eventually settled into a rhythm one could only call organic. Nola surveyed the scene form the back of the theatre with a critical eye, as Penelope was not needed currently on stage. Blocking was almost finished and the hard work of the rehearsing to a practiced ease was progressing.

Smiling to herself, Nola instinctively touched her wrist and rubbed the bracelet and well-worn farthing. She was really enjoying watching Simon in his element. Directing a small group, he was so energetic, racing to correct choreography, singing a nuanced part to two of the players until they got it right. You could tell that was happiest here in the song and dance.

Nola looked over and saw a few of the younger chorus girls that kept giving her the eye. As she sniffed they started a fresh round of giggling. Nola suspected what they were talking about. This fact was confirmed when her reverie was broken by Adalena.

The soprano quietly walked up behind Nola and without either of the ladies turning their focus of concentration from the stage Adalena spoke.

"Don’t let it bother you, Nola-dear. Choristers will talk whether they know the truth of a thing or not. You are well aware of that. Plus, I have seen you in many other shows and productions. No one should question your position now. You deserve to be happy."

Nola turned and slowly nodded. "Yes, I do; and damn what people think. I know I have worked my way to the get here and I deserve this role. I want this role and I am so ready to show London what I have in me." The shorter brunette reached up and pulled a blonde curl from Adalena’s messy bun, and then hugged her. "Thank you."

Simon’s hands clap to get the troupe’s attention. He delivered his notes of the day quickly and efficiently. The pride in his voice was carefully restrained, though Nola suspected he was very happy with the work done this day.

"Nola, a few notes. If you could please stay back a moment."

Most of the troupe filtered out to their dinners and rest. One or two of the girls, and now one of the tenors, looked quickly at the couple left on stage. They quickly disappeard to thier dinners and gossip. Nola felt a little paranoid by that, but shook it off.

"Nola, you had a very good day today. Your voice’s timbre was very strong, though we need to practice your entrances and breathing through the vowels..." Simon looked up from his scribbles on a paper and stopped. The sight of her alone looking expectantly, drinking in his every word astounded him for a moment.

"Well this can wait till the morn-"

"Mr.Niall! Mr. Niall!" a squeaky voice emerged above them as the acoustics of the room played in the air. It seemed like the request was coming from heaven, though Nola knew much better. It was Mr. Cecil Cuthberth, the costumer for the show. His worried hovering simply drove everyone mad. He would race around the actors and actresses like a blustery windbag worried the actors would soil his precious wardrobe. You could not deny his genius on opening night, but until then he badgered, fidgeted, hovered and grated on everyone’s last nerve, especially the director, a certain Mr. Simon Niall.

"Oh, bollocks!" he swore quietly under his breath. More loudly he addressed Nola directly, "I mustn’t let him find me. I am not sure I am up to being quizzed on the perfect type of shoe a gypsy would wear. Not after such a productive day." Simon clasped her hand and electricity shot through her as she giggled and raced behind him.

They skittered stage left and dodged amongst the rabbit warren that was backstage. For a moment, they thought they were safe. Simon was smiling merrily and Nola was breathing hard, from the running and the silent laughter both. As they rested near a dressing room, Cecil’s voice cut through again, very close this time.

"Mr. Niall where are you? We simply must decide on how much I can spend on the princess’ outfit in the grand finale."

"Step lively now Nola" Simon's hand warmed hers from the cold. Momentarily, she wondered if she was sweating on her palms and she blushed like a fresh-faced schoolgirl.

The costumer and his piercing voice was almost upon them when Nola’s arm was almost yanked out of its socket. The door slammed and the surrounds were dark and dim.

"Where are----"

"Shhhh." Simon stepped in close and put his finger over her mouth to quiet it. Breathing hard trying not to look at him, she was not sure if she was going to giggle, cry from laughter or—stop breathing because he was standing so closely to her. She could smell sandalwood soap and powder from his freshly shaven skin. Her senses were flooded as the eyes adjusted to the dark interior.

The footsteps receded and the couple heard him mutter about catching the milliner for a few new pieces before they closed shop. Breathing quietly, trembling, Nola stole a glance around. Why, we are in the wardrobe storage room. How ironic. That we would be hiding in the domain of the man we were avoiding. she thought with a sigh.

"Simon, I think we are safe." Nola whispered so softly he had to lean closer to hear her. As she put her hand on the knob of the door, Simon looked into her eyes searchingly.

"Oh, dear. It is a bit stuck. The door I mean. It seems we are in a bit of a unexpected tangle."