‘Yes, doubles for me. People my height, dressed in the same costume. So that I can disappear behind one tree and appear behind another, come out of trap doors, Really make it into a silent film sequence.’
‘But it works very well like this and — ’
‘I told you to shut up. That’s how we’re going to do it. The whole thing will have to be replotted.’
‘But we haven’t got time.’
‘We’ll make time.’
‘Look, it’s a tight rehearsal schedule — ’
‘Sod the rehearsal schedule. We can reblock this tomorrow afternoon.’
‘We’re meant to be doing the Young Marlow/Kate scenes tomorrow.’
‘You can do those on Friday.’
‘No,’ Mark Spelthorne’s voice drawled out. ‘I can’t do Friday. I’m released for the day. Doing a pilot of a radio series.’
‘You’re contracted here.’
‘Agent cleared the release, Christopher old boy.’
‘I don’t care what your sodding agent’s done. You’re contracted here.’
‘Listen, it’s a pilot of my own show.’
‘Your own show. Huh.’ The laugh was loaded with scorn. ‘A pilot for your own show. I wouldn’t bother. Don’t do it. It’ll save you disappointment when they turn the idea down.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean that you’ll never have a show of your own. You haven’t got it in you. Adequate, you are. The word adequate was invented to describe people like you.’
‘What the hell do you mean?’ Mark had risen sharply, as if he were about to strike his antagonist. Christopher Milton looked at him with contempt.
There was a long pause. Then Mark Spelthorne backed away. He muttered, ‘Bloody prima donna’ in an unsuccessful tone of defiance, and walked out of the room.
A long silence followed. Everyone except Christopher Milton looked horribly embarrassed. But they all waited for him to speak first.
When he did, it was as if the argument had never happened, as if he had just been thinking. ‘We’ll reblock this Chase Scene tomorrow afternoon.’
‘Yes,’ agreed David Meldrum. ‘Fine.’
Charles was glad when the rehearsals were over that day. The atmosphere was uncomfortable, although Christopher Milton seemed oblivious of it.
By chance, Charles found himself leaving at the same time as the star. They walked out of the Welsh Dragon Club in silence. Charles felt ill at ease, as though he were about to be asked to take sides, to say what he thought of Mark Spelthorne.
But that was not at all what happened. As they emerged from the Club, Christopher Milton was suddenly surrounded by small boys from the tower blocks opposite. One of them must have seen the star go in earlier in the day and spread the word. They were a rough lot, of various colours and degrees of scruffiness. They all clamoured up to Christopher Milton with scraps of paper for autographs.
As the kids moved in, a stocky figure in a dark suit detached himself from a parked Rolls Corniche and moved forward as if anticipating trouble. A gesture from Christopher Milton stopped him and he moved back to lean against the metallic brown flank of the car.
‘All right, all right. Who’s first?’ The voice was instantly that of Lionel Wilkins.
It was exactly what the audience wanted. They all howled with laughter and clamoured even louder for autographs. ‘All right, all right. Give me a pen,’ whined Lionel Wilkins. A biro was thrust into his hands. He dropped it with a distinctive Wilkins gesture. The audience howled again.
‘All right. You first. What’s your name?’
‘Mahendra Patel.’
The timing was immaculate. An eyebrow shot up, the mouth dropped open and Lionel Wilkins said, ‘I beg yours?’
The catch-phrase produced screams of delight and the little crowd jostled and shouted as their hero signed all the grubby comics, pages torn out of school books, and cigarette packets they thrust at him. He was punctilious about getting every name right and signed nearly thirty, by the time he had supplied sisters and cousins (and a few imaginary sisters and cousins to be sold at school for profit).
Eventually, they were all done. With a few more Lionel Wilkins lines and a demonstration of the Lionel Wilkins walk, Christopher Milton edged towards the back door of the Corniche. The driver opened it smartly and the star was inside. The electric window came down and the cabaret continued. The car started, the kids shouted louder, Christopher Milton waved, called out, ‘Cheerio, Charles, see you tomorrow,’ and the car drew away.
Charles had felt awkward during the autograph session. He didn’t want to sneak off quietly, nor to come too much into the centre of things in case it looked as if he wanted to be asked for his signature too. But now Christopher Milton had drawn attention to him by mentioning his name, he felt the focus of a dozen pairs of questioning eyes.
He made a vague wave in their direction and started to turn, hoping something wouldn’t happen.
It did. Two little Indian boys, Mahendra Patel and a younger brother, came towards him. ‘May I have your autograph?’ asked the elder in perfect Cockney.
‘Oh, you don’t want it.’ He tried to laugh it off, but the lolly wrapper which had been thrust forward was not withdrawn. Blushing furiously, he signed. The other boys stood and stared. With an ineffectual cheery wave, he gave the paper to Mahendra. Then he turned and hurried away. But not fast enough to avoid hearing the little Cockney voice say, ‘No, it isn’t him.’
He drank rather more than he should have done that evening at his depressing local in Westbourne Grove. He felt emotionally raw, on the edge of depression for the first time since the rehearsals had started. And, as he knew from experience, when he felt in that mood, things got out of proportion.
The afternoon’s flare-up had left a nasty taste. It cast doubt on the whole atmosphere of the show. Charles realised the fragility of what he had taken to be such a good company spirit. Maybe he had condemned himself to nine months of unnecessary unpleasantness.
But after the third large Bell’s he felt more able to analyse what had happened at the rehearsal. All Christopher Milton had done was to be rude to David Meldrum and Mark Spelthorne in a good cause — he had only been thinking of improving the show. And David Meldrum’s passivity positively invited rudeness. So did the affectations of that little tit Mark Spelthorne. In fact, all Christopher Milton had done was to express the opinions held by most of the cast. In fact, he had shown pretty good judgement in his choice of butts.
Having rationalised that, Charles felt better. He went and got another large Bell’s.
The next day Christopher Milton was all over the Sun newspaper. ‘It’s Nightshirt Week in the Sun!’ said the front page and the centre-spread was a large photograph of the star in a long Dickensian nightshirt and drooping nightcap, holding a candle. He wore the familiar Lionel Wilkins expression of appalled surprise.
When it comes to nightwear, Christopher Milton, better known as Lionel Wilkins, says a nightshirt’s the answer — so long as it’s a long one. ‘Otherwise you get very cold round the… round the… um, er… round the middle of the night. It’s no fun waking up in December with your nightie round your neck.’ 34-year-old Christopher is currently rehearsing a big new musical, Lumpkin! which opens in the West End late November. ‘The part I’m playing’s a bit different from Lionel Wilkins. Tony Lumpkin’s a chap who likes making trouble for everyone — oh yes, he’s always getting the girls into trouble — Ooh, that’s not what I meant. I beg yours!’ With lovable Christopher Milton around, Lumpkin! should be a show worth seeing.
Lovable Christopher Milton’s behaviour at rehearsals became more erratic. There were more breaks in the flow, more orders to David Meldrum to shut up, more long pauses while he worked out how a comic effect should be achieved. It was intolerable behaviour on the part of a professional actor, and yet Charles could forgive it, because he was gaining an increasing respect for the man’s theatrical instinct. Christopher Milton was always right, he knew what would work for an audience. And, given David Humdrum’s total lack of this quality, Lumpkin! needed some inspiration.
But it wasn’t popular with the rest of the cast, because Christopher Milton’s comic instinct was only applied to his own part. The rest of the action was hurried through and substantial cuts were suggested. Only occasionally
