Soldier No More

there were these two girls—and he had this car he couldn't drive, and I was teaching him . . . and we saw the whole season— Richard II, with Redgrave as Richard, and both parts of Henry IV and Henry V, with Burton as Prince Hal—and The Tempest with Redgrave as Prospero—and he was also a cracking good Hotspur in Henry IV—' he rounded on Audley '—damn it, David . . . you had these matinee tickets, and we were stuck in the middle of this schoolgirl outing, from Benenden or some such place—and Redgrave was massaging his wife's right buttock and left breast like mad on stage, and these little schoolgirls were ooh-ing and aah-ing at every squeeze in the audience alongside of us—you have to remember that!'

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Roche covertly observed the lamplight shadows twitch on Audley's face as the circumstantial tale unfolded around him, and found himself questioning why the big man continued to resist it.

'Yes . . . well—' Audley rocked on his stool as though embarrassed by the return of the memory '—we did see the Histories season at Stratford, I grant you. But I don't remember any schoolgirls wetting their pants next to me . . .

and I certainly don't see what that's got to do with Bradford's curious obsessions now, either.'

Nor do I,' said Bradford.

'But I do.' Jilly ignored him. 'They were all in the Stratford season— you're right, Davey. I only saw Richard II and The Tempest... but they were all in it—'

'Richard Burton's yummy,' said Lexy. 'I've seen him in something in the West End —and in a film. He'd be scrumptious with Elizabeth Taylor, I should think. And I wouldn't mind him tackling me in a loose scrum!'

'Shut up, Lexy 'admonished Jilly. 'Davey—she's cast the film from the Stratford season, is what you're saying —is that it?'

Stein nodded. 'That's exactly it. Quayle played Falstaff, and Badel was Pistol . . . Griffiths was Glendower . . . plus Redgrave and Burton and Jefford—coincidence just doesn't stretch so far, it has to be intention.'

'She saw the plays, of course,' said Jilly. 'And she liked what she saw.'

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'Which is not to be wondered at—it was pure magic, that season,' said Stein. 'Quite unforgettable!'

'Well—so what's all the fuss about?' Lexy looked around. 'I mean, if they're all so marvellous and magic and unforgettable—?' She zeroed in on the American. 'Mike?'

Bradford sighed. 'Maybe . . . But it doesn't work like that.'

You mean Hollywood doesn't work like that,' said Jilly. 'I mean you can't pick names out of a hat,' said Bradford heavily. 'It's who's available, and who's under contract, and who's box office—and you can't just cast a Hollywood movie straight out of Shakespeare hits from Stratford-upon-Avon, England, no matter how good the cast was—or how wet the schoolgirls' pants were. It's a crazy idea.'

'Olivier did it with Henry V and Hamlet,' countered Jilly.

'But they were Shakespeare plays—this is a goddamn epic.'

So why not make it in England?'

'Like Caesar and Cleopatra? Honey, you must be joking!'

Bradford reached for a bottle.

Stein leaned forward. 'But Miss Palfrey isn't joking.'

'The hell she isn't!' Bradford refilled his glass. 'Just a simple little old spinster lady living in seclusion with the blinds drawn to keep out the sunlight. . .' he drank deeply.

'What's she really like?' asked Jilly.

'Huh! That would be telling!'

'Tell us, Mike,' asked Lexy.

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'Sure. For five thousand bucks on account, and twenty thousand to come . . . she's a two-timing, double- crossing, obstinate, secretive, avaricious, scheming old hag, who'd make your Madame Peyrony look like Florence Nightingale, Lex honey.' Bradford drained his glass. 'Or ... to put it another way ... I haven't the faintest idea. Okay?'

'What d'you mean—you haven't the faintest idea?'

'And where does five thousand dollars—or twenty thousand—

come in?' asked Stein. 'It's what they're paying you? For what?'

'Twenty thousand doesn't come in, the way it's looking—'

Bradford nodded at Audley '—unless David there can pull the rabbit out of the hat.' The nod was converted into a slow shake of the head. 'Because you're my last hope, Old buddy.'

'Then you've got no hope, old buddy.' Audley looked down his nose at his friend. 'It's not my field, the so-called

'historical' novel.'

'Archie Forbes said you could.'

'Archie Forbes at Cambridge?' said Jilly suddenly. ' That Archie Forbes, d'you mean?'

'Yeah— that Archie Forbes—Dr Archibald Forbes of Rylands College—' Bradford gave Audley another nod '— his old tutor and drinking buddy.'