‘What was it — some tart stamp on your foot…?’
‘I don’t think you’ve met my wife, Frances.’
‘Wife? Dear, oh dear. Never knew you were married…’
‘Lovely to meet you though, Frances…’
‘Lovely, Frances darling. Such a pretty name…’
‘But Charles, I thought you were in this show…’
‘But obviously the leg put you out. You know what it was, O’Rourke, someone wished him luck. You know, the old theatrical saying — break a leg…’
‘Break a leg! Oh, that’s too divine…’
‘Going to be a marvellous show tonight, isn’t it, Charles…?
‘Well, of course you’d know, wouldn’t you? I mean, you’ve been working with him. Such a clever boy, isn’t he, Christopher…?’
‘Clever? More than clever. That boy is an Al, thumping great star. If the national press don’t all agree about that in the morning, I’m a Swedish au pair girl…’
‘Oh, but they will. He is such a big star. I think he’s really brought stardom back into the business. We’ve had all those dreary little actors with Northern accents who spend all their time saying how they’re just like ordinary people…’
‘But stars shouldn’t be like ordinary people. Stars should be larger than life…’
‘And Christopher Milton is… so big. We were reading an interview with him in one of the Sundays…’
‘By some American girl, Suzanne somebody… very good it was..’
‘Oh, super. And you’ve been working with him, Charles. That must have been wonderful…’
‘Yes, but wonderful.
It was very strange seeing a show he had been with for so long from out front, but perhaps less strange with Lumpkin! than it would have been with anything else. It had changed so much since he last saw it that it was like seeing a new show. The cast must have been working every hour there was since Brighton. And they did well. The first-night sparkle was there and they were all giving of their best.
The show had gained in consistency of style. Wally Wilson had also been working away like mad and, for all the part he played in the final product, Oliver Goldsmith might as well have taken his name off the credits. Charles reflected that in the whole case there had only been one murder — that of She Stoops to Conquer.
The changes had involved more cuts and now Tony Lumpkin’s part totally overshadowed all the others. In less skilled hands than those of Christopher Milton it would have overbalanced the show, but the star was at his brilliant best. He leapt about the stage, singing and dancing whole new numbers with amazing precision and that perfect timing which had so struck Charles at the early rehearsals in the Welsh Dragon Club. The show would be a personal triumph. It was bound to be if it succeeded at all, because no other member of the cast got a look in.
At the interval there was a buzz of satisfaction in the audience. Charles, who was feeling tired and achey after his bruises, couldn’t face the rush for the bar and sat quietly with Frances. Greatly daring, like a schoolboy on his first date, he put his hand on hers and squeezed it. She returned the pressure, which made him feel ridiculously cheerful. Their hands interlocked and he felt the familiar kitchen-knife scar on her thumb.
He looked at the busy stalls. He could see Kevin McMahon in the middle of a congratulatory throng, smiling with satisfaction. Gwyneth, David Meldrum’s assistant, was coming up the aisle towards him. They were like creatures from a previous existence.
Gwyneth stopped by his seat to ask how he was. He told her, but she hung around, for the first time in their acquaintance seeming to want a conversation. He asked a few idle questions about the company and production details. Running out of things to say, he asked, ‘Who’s the new stage manager?’
‘New one? Why, it’s still Spike.’
‘Still Spike?’
‘Yes, of course. He’s in charge in the fly gallery tonight.’
A familiar cold trickle of anticipation crept into Charles as the lights dimmed for the second act.
It continued to go well. The audience, enlivened by their gins and tonics, seemed more relaxed and receptive. The show was building up to the climax of the Chase Scene. The profusion of comic business meant that no one was aware of the butchery that the plot had undergone. The audience exploded with laughter time and again. Only Charles Paris was silent.
The Chase Scene arrived and the audience roared. Charles held his breath when it came to the Star Trap moment, but the machinery of the King’s Theatre delivered its burden safely on stage at the correct time and gained an enormous laugh.
But the respite for Charles was only temporary. He knew what was happening behind the scenes. While doubles onstage continued their interweaving and dancing, the real Tony Lumpkin climbed to the gallery where he would have the Kirby wire attached to the corset he was already wearing. The audience laughed away at the action onstage while Charles fought with the nausea of horror.
Bang on cue, Christopher Milton appeared. He descended slowly from the heavens and his appearance gathered the round of applause that always attends spectacular stage effects.
The pace of his descent suddenly accelerated. The applause died as if it had been switched off. No longer was the star coming down at a controlled speed; he was free-falling. The real panic in his eyes and the jerking of his arms and legs communicated his fear to the audience. For about twenty feet he fell and then sharply the wire was taken up again and he came to rest bobbing about five feet above the stage.
There was a long pause while Charles could feel the agony of the corset cutting under the star’s arms. Then Christopher Milton pulled a Lionel Wilkins face and said, ‘I beg yours?’ The house erupted into laughter and applause.
And that was how the rest of the show went. Everything that should have got laughs did, every song was applauded to the echo and Christopher Milton could do no wrong. At the end there were twelve curtain calls and the audience was still shouting for more when the curtain came down for the last time.
Afterwards Charles, who was the least showbiz-conscious person in his profession, felt he had to go round backstage. There was an enormous melee of people outside the stage door.
He met one of the stage management struggling out against the crowd (no doubt sent by thirsty actors to stock up with drinks before the pubs closed). She recognised him. ‘How are you? Wasn’t it marvellous tonight?’
‘Great. Barbara, where’s Spike?’
‘Well, that’s strange. I don’t know. He was in the gallery and then there was that cock-up in the Chase Scene. Did you notice it?’
‘I think the whole audience noticed it.’
‘Oh no. Apparently most of them thought it was deliberate. Anyway, Spike went off straight after that. It was very strange, he said something about some things you can’t beat and that he was leaving and wouldn’t be coming back. And he went. Amazing, isn’t it? He always was a funny bloke.’
‘Yes,’ said Charles. ‘He was.’
At that moment the stage door crowd surged forward and Charles and Frances found themselves swept into the theatre. Standing in the green room (he had been mobbed before he could even get to his dressing-room) was Christopher Milton. He was smiling, radiant, happy, as the world milled around him and everyone said how marvellous he was.
He saw Charles and reached out a hand to wave across the throng. ‘Hello. Are you better? What did you think of it?’
‘Bloody fantastic,’ said Charles. And he meant it.
