Full Dark House(50)

‘For better or worse, yes.’ Helena opened the window behind her chair and lit a cigarette, waving the smoke out. The management had asked the company to reduce their daytime smoking because the new auditorium upholstery absorbed the smell. Nobody had bothered to point out to them that the whole of the city stank of burning varnish and brick dust. ‘We’ve got a cast of real troupers. Normally a deranged German sniper could burst in and machine-gun the audience, and they wouldn’t miss a line. I know many of the boys and girls from previous productions. They’ve been doing scenes in groups for a while. They’ve received musical direction and attended rehearsals with the same choreographer. Now it’s just a matter of keeping them calm.’

‘So it’s still going smoothly?’ May felt as though he should be taking notes, but wasn’t sure what to write.

‘I wouldn’t say that. The thing never fits perfectly from the outset. Steps get in the way of recitative, cues come in the wrong places and have to be rearranged. You get a lot of masking and scissoring, but nothing that can’t be worked out.’

‘Scissoring?’

‘Actors crossing each other’s paths onstage. We’re over the worst. I shout at them, but it doesn’t mean anything. By opening night we’ll be a big happy family.’

‘Then why do Mr Bryant and I feel shut out?’ asked May.

‘Because you’re outsiders, darling,’ laughed Helena. ‘You expect backstage to be a hotbed of gossip and intrigue, but this one’s not. There’s too much riding on the production for anyone to behave in an unprofessional manner.’

‘Perhaps you’re right,’ May admitted. ‘I suppose I was expecting histrionics. Highly strung actors, the usual clichés.’

‘So long as you realize that they are only clichés,’ said Helena reproachfully.

Just then the door to the artistic director’s office burst open and a tall, angular woman of about forty flew in.

‘I’m not going to work with that dreadful bitch for one more minute!’ she cried before chucking herself lengthwise onto Helena’s sofa. ‘He’s ruining my entrance. I said to him, “Darling, I wouldn’t let any man step across my entrance, let alone an old cow like you,” and he said, “I can’t see how you would know, dear, you’ve never been with a man in your life,” waving his whip at me in front of the shepherdesses. I said, “I’ve played bigger houses than this,” and he said, “Only when you were working the back passage of the Alhambra, love.” He said, “I’ve played the Duke of York’s, Her Majesty’s, the Queen’s,” and I said, “The Queen’s is an ice rink, dear, no wonder you’re so frigid.” Oh, you’re not alone, I’ll come back later.’ She threw herself back onto her feet. ‘So I’ll leave you to sort that out then, if you would.’ And she was gone in a cloud of Arpège, slamming the door behind her.

‘You were saying?’ said May gently.

‘Well, there are a few exceptions to the rule,’ Helena admitted, blanching.

‘Who was she, by the way?’

‘Valerie Marchmont. She’s playing the role of Public Opinion, God help us,’ said Helena.

Down in the foyer, Arthur Bryant knocked on the window of the box-office booth. Elspeth Wynter looked up from her booking forms and smiled vaguely. ‘Hello, Mr Bryant. A pleasure to see you again.’

‘I’m glad you feel that way,’ said Bryant, tugging his scarf straight. ‘We’re conducting interviews—’

‘Of course, I understand,’ she said hastily. ‘Can we do mine here?’

‘We’re supposed to record them at the unit.’

She looked hesitant. ‘We’re absolutely frantic, what with the schedule running behind.’

‘Perhaps I could arrange something.’ Bryant attempted a smile, liked the effect and widened it. ‘On the condition that you have a bite to eat with me.’

‘I don’t know, it’s our busiest day so far for bookings. I can’t be away from the telephone.’

‘Half an hour,’ said Bryant. ‘A bowl of soup somewhere nearby. I won’t take no for an answer.’

Elspeth was flustered. ‘All right, but it will have to be just over the road. The little Italian place in Moor Street?’

‘It’s a deal.’ He pulled on his hat and flicked the brim of it nonchalantly. May was right. Persistence paid off after all. While his partner had been out with Betty Boop, Bryant had passed a miserable evening filing reports and being covertly studied by Sidney Biddle, who appeared to have nothing better to do than watch him and surreptitiously scribble notes in a diary. Biddle’s visit to the St Martin’s Lane shoe shop had proved disappointing. Although shoes matching the prints were sold only to theatres, they went to nearly every theatre and variety hall in the country.