‘Good for her. Mind you, it’ll end in tears.’
‘And how are you?’
‘Fine.’
‘Anything I can do for you?’
‘There are three things, actually.’
‘Name them and I’ll see if I can help.’
‘Right. First, I would like you to drive me to Taunton, so that I can catch a train back to London, in order to be at the Variety Theatre this evening for — among other things — a performance of Th e Hooded Owl.’
‘That’s possible.’
‘Second, I want you to buy blankets, food, a portable heater and some sort of stomach medicine, and come back here.’
‘Right here?’
‘Yes. Then I want you to follow instructions I will give you to a small derelict hut, where you will find a very sick man, who needs looking after.’
‘Shouldn’t I get a doctor too?’
‘No. Not for the moment. I promised him I wouldn’t involve anyone official until I’ve. . sorted something out for him.’
‘And how long am I likely to have to play Florence Nightingale? When will you have sorted this something out for him?’
‘I’ll do it tonight. Then I’ll let the emergency services know and someone will come out for him.’
‘I see. Well, that sounds a jolly way to spend a half-term. And, if I may ask, what was the third thing?’
‘To give me another chance.’
‘Oh, Charles,’ said Frances sadly, ‘I’m not so sure about that.’
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The train from Taunton was delayed. It was after the ‘half’ when Charles arrived at the Variety Theatre. The business of getting into costume and make-up and then giving his performance as the father in Malcolm Harris’s The Hooded Owl meant that details like confrontations with murderers would have to wait.
He was on stage for most of the first act, and it was only when the curtain fell for the interval that he could concentrate on anything other than the play.
As soon as he walked into the Green Room, he knew that something was wrong. Actors and actresses, who spend all their professional lives creating fictional atmospheres, do not stint themselves when real opportunities come along.
‘What’s up?’ he asked Salome Search, who was draped over a sofa doing Mrs. Siddons impressions.
‘It’s Lesley-Jane,’ the actress breathed dramatically.
‘What? What’s happened to her?’
‘She passed out in the wings after her last exit.’
‘Good God!’
‘Yes, she was in a dead faint.’
‘Where is she?’
‘She’s been taken up to her dressing room. The St. John Ambulance man’s up there with her.’
‘Do you know what it is?’
‘No. But. .’ Salome Search’s three years at R.A.D.A. had taught her that the pause before a sensational line can be extended almost infinitely. ‘There was blood in the wings.’
‘Oh, my God!’ Charles turned towards the Green Room door and the stairs to the dressing rooms.
But the doorway was blocked by the figure of Wallas Ward, holding up limp hands for attention.
‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ said the Company Manager, ‘you may already have heard that Miss Decker was taken ill at the end of the first act. It seems that she will not be well enough to proceed with the rest of the play, and so her understudy will be taking over the role. Now it’s not going to be easy for the girl, so I hope you will give her all the support you can. I will be making an announcement to the audience before the curtain rises.’
‘Is she all right?’ asked Charles desperately.
‘Yes, she’s fine. Just weak. We’ve rung for her mother who’s going to come and take her home. The St. John Ambulance man doesn’t reckon she needs to go to the hospital.’
‘What’s wrong with her? Do you know?’
The Company Manager looked embarrassed. ‘Women’s things,’ he said with distaste.
‘Is she on her own up there?’
‘No, the St. John Ambulance man’s still there. And Paul went to see what was up. Oh, and I think Malcolm Harris was one of the ones who helped her up. He may still be up there. So she’s got plenty of people.’
‘I think I’d better go up and see her.’
But before he could, the Company Manager stopped him with an admonitory ‘Incidentally, Mr. Paris. .’
‘Yes?’
‘I gather you were late for the “half” tonight.’
‘Yes. I was in a train that got delayed.’
‘Where were you coming from?’
‘Taunton.’
Wallas Ward tutted, spinster-like. ‘Mr. Paris, you should have left more time. While you are contracted for a West End show, it is very irresponsible to go such a long way. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if there were a clause in your contract forbidding that kind of journey on a performance day. Remember, you are under contract to Scenario Productions and — ’
‘I thought I was under contract to Paul Lexington Productions.’
‘No, Paul is now working through a new company.’
‘Why?’
‘That is not at the moment relevant,’ reprimanded the Company Manager. ‘I am talking about your lateness for the “half”.’
‘Yes, all right. Well, I’m very sorry. Won’t do it again. Now if you’d — ’
‘And another thing,’ Wallas Ward continued inexorably. ‘The lines in the first act were very sloppy this evening. I had a note from Malcolm Harris who was out front and was very annoyed about it. You got badly lost in the dinner party scene.’
‘Yes, that was because Lesley-Jane was giving me the wrong cues. Her lines were all over the place tonight.’
‘Yes, Malcolm Harris mentioned that, too. Presumably that was because she was unwell. But in your case, when you have every line being repeated in your ear, it’s unforgivable.’
‘But if you get the wrong cues, you have to adjust the lines to make sense of the dialogue.’
That’s as may be, but Malcolm Harris said — ’
‘Look, come on. Every author is obsessed about his lines. You don’t have to — ’
‘It is my job as Company Manager,’ said Wallas Ward primly, ‘to listen to points from everyone in the company and the author is just as important as — ’
‘I would have thought it was also important for you to keep the author informed of everything that’s going on. Do you know, on the first night, Malcolm Harris didn’t know about the cuts we’d had to make for time. He thought Micky Banks was just randomly slashing great chunks out of his script.’
‘I agree. He should have been told. And he was extremely annoyed that evening when he came round at the interval. But I pointed out to him that Mr. Banks was not making cuts himself — he was merely repeating the lines he heard in his earphone.’
‘And you said that Alex was reading from a cut script?’
‘I didn’t have time to do that. Mr. Harris rushed off in something of a paddy.’
‘I’ve got to get upstairs and see Lesley-Jane!’ hissed Charles.
Wallas Ward stepped aside with mock-deference.
But as soon as his foot was on the first step of the stairs, Charles heard the fatal summons over the loudspeaker.
‘Beginners, Act Two, please.’
He froze. It was rarely that he felt such a direct clash between his twin roles as actor and detective.
But there was no doubt which triumphed. Thirty-two years of professional conditioning left him no alternative.
He turned round and walked towards the stage.
The father was on for the whole of the second act of The Hooded Owl and never had that part of the play passed as slowly as it did that evening. Mechanically going through the motions, repeating his words, hardly aware of the small Monday night audience, hardly aware of the new girl hesitantly feeding him Lesley-Jane’s lines, he was in an agony of apprehension throughout the performance.
But he had to play his part through to the end.
The end of the play, one curtain-call, and then, sod it, he’d risk another slap on the wrist from the arch Mr. Ward. He rushed offstage and up to Lesley-Jane’s dressing room.