The Greatest Showman #946 - Official Return

Renly is back in London.

This marks his second return in just four months. To be precise, it's only been five weeks since the completion of Edge of Tomorrow. However, this time, there has been no response from the Hall family.

After their last tense confrontation, a messy fallout lingered, and for a long time, the Hall family became the topic of conversation. People whispered, pretended "Renly-Hall" never existed, and made sure to assert their stance. After Renly's unexpected Oscar win, becoming the second British actor to win the Golden Man two years in a row, the Hall family quietly retreated into silence.

The ups and downs, the dramatic show of emotions—it was a nightmare for the aristocracy. "Only those vulgar upstarts would relish the spotlight," they would say. And so, when Renly returned to London, both George and Elizabeth acted as if nothing had happened, living in the same city without acknowledging it.

Arthur Hall knew better, of course. He was well-connected and had no trouble learning about Renly's whereabouts without asking. But this time, Arthur kept his own counsel, and "Renly" became a taboo topic in the Bayswater villa.

Meanwhile, Renly, now entrenched in his West End debut, maintained a low profile, focusing solely on rehearsals, with no news of his return.

That is, until today.

As Philip perused the invitation list, a familiar name jumped out at him—"Renly Hall"—in the first and most prominent position.

A slight smile tugged at the corner of Philip's mouth. He studied the name carefully, and a glimmer of satisfaction and joy shone in his eyes. Renly had done it. He had realized his dream and returned to the West End stage as an actor, fully legitimized.

Philip gently traced the name with his fingertips, a rare expression of emotion flickering across his face. But just then, the booklet slipped from his grasp. He reached down and found an off-white card resting on the table.

He picked it up, and at once, Renly's distinctive, bold handwriting greeted him.

Dear Mr. Philip Demba,

On May 18, Les Miserables will have its premiere at the Almeida Theatre. You are cordially invited to attend.

Yours sincerely,

Renly Sebastian Hall.

This was an invitation directed specifically at Philip. Unlike the printed invitations for George and Elizabeth, this was handwritten, a gesture that set it apart. It was clear that Renly had issued this invitation personally, marking the difference in both the treatment and the relationship.

Of course, this meant little to George and Elizabeth. To them, it was "a waste of time." Even if they noticed the difference, they wouldn't care. Renly, in a way, had treated Philip as a member of the Hall family, despite the awkwardness.

Renly knew it. Philip knew it. But Philip also recognized the playful, almost mischievous intent in Renly's gesture, a touch of youthful defiance.

After confirming the source of the invitation, Philip read it through again. He noted a small but significant detail: the word "premiere," not "preview" or "audition." This was the real deal—the premiere.

Over centuries, the West End had undergone tremendous changes, trying to stay modern while preserving its traditions. But the premiere—that was a historic event. It was more than just the first performance of a play; it was an event for the upper crust, a high-society occasion to see and be seen, akin to the Oscars or the opening of a personal brand.

Despite the ongoing changes in the theatre world, the premiere still held the same allure. It was where the elite gathered to judge the performance. It was the moment when the work truly entered the public eye.

But, Philip realized, he had not heard of any auditions or previews for Les Miserables in recent weeks. At least, he had not seen any reviews or comments in the major papers—The Times, The Guardian, The Independent.

Before his mind could wander further, the sound of footsteps from the restaurant signaled George's arrival.

George, who worked for Barclays managing trust funds, began every day with a reading of the Financial Times before heading to the office. This routine had been unbroken for over 20 years.

Philip swiftly organized the letters, resealed the invitations, and placed the newspapers and letters in front of George. After completing the task, he took a step back and turned to leave.

Just then, Elizabeth appeared, graceful as ever.

"Philip, arrange the car for me. I need to go to Windsor in forty-five minutes."

After confirming, Philip left the restaurant. But before he could move, he saw Elf coming downstairs.

"Miss Elf. Are you on the morning shift today?"

"Yes," Elf replied. "I had a bit of brandy last night, so I need to add hot milk to my coffee this morning."

Philip stepped aside as Elf walked toward the restaurant before heading to the kitchen. Today, the atmosphere in the house was lively.

The breakfast routine was usually quite fixed: George in the dining room, Elizabeth in her own room—noble couples slept separately. Elf, who worked late, would often have breakfast delayed by one or two hours. Arthur was rarely around, always in London.

But today, George, Elizabeth, and Elf were all gathered in the same room. Philip couldn't help but think that today's breakfast would be especially busy, particularly with the invitation letter placed in front of George.

Despite this, the most important task for Philip now was to ensure the kitchen adjusted to the unexpected situation.

At breakfast, after the usual greetings, the three sat at least six to eight meters apart. Their conversations, if any, would have to be loud, which would violate proper etiquette. So, they remained silent, each absorbed in their own thoughts.

George quickly perused the letters in front of him. As he skimmed through them, his hand froze on the azure-blue envelope. He hesitated before pulling the contents free.