to exhaustion might also cloud critical judgement, so that comments would be made on the effort that had gone into the show rather than on its quality.)
Because of the star’s absence, his understudy took on the role. Alex Household performed this function punctiliously, making no comment, but demonstrating a fluency with the lines which contrasted significantly with Michael Banks’s constant breaks for prompts.
And yet, even though Alex gave a performance quite as good as any he had given in Taunton, he was not as good as Banks. The artifice showed. Charles was aware of it, all the rest of the cast were aware of it. And the petulant set of Alex Household’s mouth showed that he was aware of it too.
Malcolm Harris, whose school had Games on Wednesday afternoons, had managed to get away to see the rehearsal. When Peter Hickton was finally persuaded to stop for the day, at about seven, Charles Paris walked with the author to the pub round the corner.
Malcolm Harris was aggrieved. ‘A complete waste of my time, coming to that rehearsal, with Michael Banks not even there.’
‘Didn’t anyone tell you he wouldn’t be?’
‘No.’
Oh dear. Another black mark against Paul Lexington, both as management and agent.
But not as black as the mark that the ensuing conversation was to put against the producer’s name.
‘I wouldn’t mind,’ said Malcolm Harris, ‘but it does cost a lot, all this toing and froing up to London.’
‘I suppose Paul hasn’t mentioned anything like expenses?’
‘No chance.’
‘No. Few producers would, unless pressed by their client’s agent.’
‘I wouldn’t mind, but I am pretty hard-up at the moment. Teachers aren’t paid a fortune, as you know.’
‘No. Still, you must have had some royalties from Taunton.’
‘No.’
‘No?’
‘I did ask Paul about that. He said he couldn’t pay me.’
‘Couldn’t pay you?’
‘No.’
Charles could just picture Paul Lexington saying it, his plausible face earnestly puckered as he explained the situation to his gullible client.
Malcolm Harris brightened. ‘No, but he offered me a very good deal.’
‘Oh yes?’ Charles couldn’t keep the cynicism out of his voice. But the author did not appear to notice it. ‘He said that he couldn’t pay me because he had to maintain his cash flow for the London opening, but what he would do was to let me regard what he owed me as a stake in the show.’ He grinned with triumph.
‘So you become an investor?’
‘Exactly. I’m now on a percentage, with the Taunton money as my stake. So, when the play starts making a lot, I get this extra money on top of my royalty!’
And if it doesn’t make any money, thought Charles, you don’t even get what’s owing to you.
‘And you accepted the deal just like that?’
‘Oh yes, of course. I mean, it’s a good deal. And, anyway, I didn’t have any alternative.’
‘Did he offer you any alternative?’
‘Yes, he said, if I insisted on having my Taunton money, he wouldn’t be able to afford to bring the show in.’
It was all horribly predictable. Once again Charles was astonished how easily Malcolm would fall for the oldest cons in the business. And once again, his estimate of Paul Lexington’s integrity dropped a few notches.
‘By the way,’ asked the author, ‘has Micky Banks learnt the lines yet?’
‘Well. .’ replied Charles Paris evasively.
To his surprise, when they got to the pub, he found Valerie Cass sitting there over a large gin. She waved effusively and he couldn’t pretend he hadn’t seen her. ‘Charles darling, how lovely to see you.’
‘Yes, er. . terrific. You know Malcolm, don’t you?’
‘Of course. We met in Taunton.’
‘Did we?’
‘Yes. I’m Valerie Cass. Though you might not think it, I’m Lesley-Jane’s mother.’
‘Why shouldn’t I think it?’ asked Malcolm Harris innocently. He was not skilled in the art of complimenting ladies.
Nor, as Charles had come to realise to his cost, was he skilled in buying rounds of drinks. Resigning himself, Charles asked, ‘Get you another one, Valerie?’
‘Oh, just a teensy gin. Thank you, Charles.’
‘Malcolm?’
‘Half of lager, please.’
While he was getting the drinks, Alex Household came in to the pub, looking harassed. ‘Tomato juice, Alex?’
‘Whisky, please.’
‘Make that another large Bell’s, please. So you’re hooked on the stimulants now, are you?’
‘God knows I need something, Charles.’
‘Hmm. Look who’s over there. The mother.’
‘Oh Lord. I can’t face her.’
‘Come on.’
Reluctantly, Alex followed Charles to the table and sat down. He and Valerie looked at each other as cordially as two people who loathe each other can.
‘So where’s my baby?’ asked Lesley-Jane’s mother.
‘Don’t know,’ said Charles. ‘She said she had to rush off after rehearsal.’
Valerie looked piqued. ‘Oh, from what she said, I gathered she usually came round here.’
‘Quite often. Not tonight.’
‘You don’t know where she is, Alex?’ she asked sweetly. And then, with a touch of venom, ‘Or are you no longer the right person to ask?’
Alex spoke without emotion. ‘As far as I know, she has gone out to dinner.’
‘Oh, has she? Then we’ve both been stood up.’
‘So it would appear.’
‘Do you know who we’ve been stood up by?’
‘The version I heard was that Lesley-Jane was going out to dinner with Michael Banks “to go through his lines”.’
‘Oh,’ said Valerie Cass. And then, with a different intonation, ‘Oh.’ The news gave rise to mixed emotions in her. She was glad her daughter had stood up Alex Household. She was impressed that her daughter was out with someone of the eminence of Michael Banks. But at the same time, she was nettled that her daughter hadn’t told her she was going out, and the sexual jealousy, which was so much part of their relationship, was irritated by the news. She responded by testing her own sexual magnetism on Charles. ‘Had you thought about eating?’
‘Me? Eating? Oh, I’m not much of an eater. Had a pie at lunch. That does me for the day.’
‘Oh.’
‘Tell me, Alex,’ said Malcolm Harris suddenly, ‘how is Micky Banks doing on the lines?’
‘Well. .’ Alex Household pursed his lips sarcastically. And, whereas Charles had left it at that, Michael Banks’s understudy proceeded to tell the author just how much of a massacre the star was making of his play.
It was just the two of them left in the pub. Valerie Cass had left rather petulantly as soon as she had finished her gin, and Malcolm Harris, breathing imprecations against Michael Banks, had gone soon after (without, of course, buying a round). Charles and Alex drank a lot, but Charles didn’t feel the relaxation he normally experienced when getting quietly pissed with a fellow actor. Alex was too jumpy, too neurotic, too dangerous.
Towards the end of the evening, indiscreet with the unaccustomed alcohol, he suddenly said, ‘I don’t think I can take it much longer.’
‘Take what?’ asked Charles.
