George Birkitt didn’t show quite the same smooth tact in his dealings with the actor he was replacing.
‘Hello, Charles. Long time, no see,’ he murmured after getting himself a coffee.
‘Hello.’
‘Rather strange circumstances for a meeting.’
‘Yes.’
‘I was very undecided when my agent told me about the offer. .’
‘Oh.’
‘Well, it is second billing, no two ways about that. I mean, God knows, I’m the last person in the world to worry about that sort of thing, but there does come a point in your career where you have to think about it. I mean, with Fly-Buttons up there in the ratings, I do have to be a bit careful.’ He lowered his voice. ‘I tell you, Charles, it was only after I heard that they’d signed up Micky Banks that I agreed to do it. Of course, it is still second billing, but second billing to Micky Banks is no disgrace at this stage in my career.’
‘No, I suppose not,’ said Charles.
Peter Hickton was up from Taunton and keen to start working his cast as hard as ever. Now that the two main parts had been recast, there really was going to be a lot to do, and the company waved goodbye to their hopes of a cushy fortnight.
The director clapped his hands. ‘O.K., loves. Now, as you all know, we’ve got a big job on, and we’re going to have to work every hour there is to get The Hooded Owl up to the standard I know it can reach.’
This was very familiar to those who had worked with Peter before; he said it before every production, regardless of how complex or simple it was, and regardless of the length of rehearsal allocated.
‘Now what I want to do is go through the blocking today, so that Micky and George can start to feel the shape of the production. Tomorrow we’ll get down to Act One in detail, and then on Wednesday we’ll — ’
‘Um, sorry, old boy. .’
Peter Hickton looked to the source of the interruption. It was Michael Banks.
‘Yes?’
‘Sorry, can’t do Wednesday.’
‘What?’
‘Can’t do Wednesday. Got to do some Pro-Celebrity Golf thing for the BBC. Didn’t the agent mention it?’
Peter Hickton looked round to Paul Lexington, who shook his head.
‘Oh, I’m so sorry. The agent’s an awful duffer when it comes to dates. Got the same thing the following Wednesday too.’
‘Oh.’ But Peter Hickton was only slowed down for a moment. ‘Never mind. If we work hard over the weekend, we can — ’
‘Ah. Sorry, old boy, going away for the weekend.’
‘Oh.’
‘Going to stay with some chums in Chichester. Can’t really put it off, been in the diary for ages. Sorry, this show came up so suddenly, there are a few dates we’ll have to work round.’
‘Yes’ said Peter Hickton. ‘Yes, of course.’
Under normal circumstances, understudies would be expected to attend all the rehearsals to familiarise themselves with the production, but, because Alex and Charles knew the play so well, they were given a dispensation to take most of the first week off, which would save both them and their replacements the embarrassment of the early stumbling rehearsals while the newcomers were trying to memorise the lines. The two understudies were asked to come back on the Friday afternoon, when there was going to be a complete run of the play for the producers and Malcolm Harris.
When he arrived at the rehearsal room on the Friday, Charles found the author in a state of extreme annoyance.
‘What’s up, Malcolm?’
‘Have you seen this?’ He pointed to a printed handout on a table. It read:
THE VARIETY THEATRE
PAUL LEXINGTON PRODUCTIONS
in association with
BOBBY ANSCOMBE
presents
MICHAEL BANKS GEORGE BIRKITT
in
THE HOODED OWL
There was more writing beneath this, but it was printed too small to be legible.
‘I see,’ said Charles.
‘It’s a bit much. My name might just as well not be on it,’ objected the author.
‘Hmm. You see, what’s happened is that this is a big design for a poster. They’ve economised by reducing it for the handout. Your name’d be legible on the big poster.’
‘That’s a fat lot of good. No, I’m really annoyed about this. I think these handouts should be withdrawn. I mean, look at the size of Paul’s name — it’s as big as Michael Banks’s, for God’s sake.’
‘Producer’s perk. He decides what the poster looks like.’
‘Well. I’m furious. Who should I complain to about it?’
‘Under normal circumstances,’ said Charles gently, ‘you’d go to your agent and get him to complain to the management.’
‘Ah,’ said Malcolm Harris, realising, perhaps for the first time, the folly of the contract he had signed with Paul Lexington.
‘Good news about getting Michael Banks, isn’t it?’ said Charles, to cheer up the hangdog author.
It had the desired effect. Malcolm Harris brightened immediately.
‘Yes, it’s wonderful. From the moment I first thought of the play, I thought he’d be ideal for the part. Though, of course, I never dared hope. .’
The run-through started. Charles could not judge George Birkitt’s performance, he was too close to the part to be objective, but there was no doubt that Michael Banks was going to be very strong as the father. In his first scene he established an unshakeable authority, which, Charles knew, was bound to strengthen the total collapse of the character in the second act. Alex Household had been excellent in the part, but, in retrospect, he seemed to have been giving an actor’s interpretation of a man fifteen years older than himself. Michael Banks actually seemed to be that man.
But, after the first scene, the performance weakened. The power of the acting remained, but its flow was constantly interrupted. The actor just did not know the lines and, though he could manage the exchanges of dialogue quite well, every time he came to a big speech, he would dry.
‘Sorry, old boy. Sorry, loves. Prompt,’ he would say. The Stage Manager would give him the line, he’d be all right for a couple more sentences, then, ‘Sorry, it’s gone again.’
The play tottered on like this for a quarter of an hour. Charles was sitting at the back of the hall with Malcolm Harris, and kept feeling the author tense as another of his speeches was chopped up and destroyed. Eventually, Michael Banks just stopped, looked out at the director, and said, ‘Look, sorry, Peter old boy, I’d better use the book. Not getting anywhere like this.’
‘I did want to do this run without books.’
‘So did I, dear boy, so did I,’ said the star lugubriously, and got a good laugh from the cast. He had managed to endear himself to all of them within the week, and they shared his agony as he groped for the lines.
‘We open in less than a fortnight,’ Peter Hickton continued to argue.
‘Don’t think I don’t know it. But, honestly, I think we’ll just be wasting time if I go on like this.’
‘You’ve got to come off the book sometime.’
‘I will, I will, love. I promise. Look, don’t worry about it. I’m usually pretty good on lines. Once, when I was in rep. I learned lago in three days. So it will come, just hasn’t come yet. So I think for this run I’d better press on with the book.’
Michael Banks’s charm didn’t prevent him from being forceful, and Peter Hickton had to concede defeat. The play continued. With the support of the printed lines, Michael Banks’s performance regained the stature it had shown in the first scene and left no doubt that he was going to add a new excellence to The Hooded Owl. Charles found he was watching much of the play as if seeing it for the first time.
Towards the end of the second act, the door beside him opened and a woman slipped in to the back of the hall. She was in her forties, smartly dressed in white trousers, eau-de-nil silk shirt and long camel-coloured cardigan. Very well-preserved. She flashed a well-crowned smile at Charles.