One Summer's Night

by One Summer's Night (retail) (epub)

  Jonathan and Kelsey turned to watch Peony crossing the lawn holding up a scrap of white material and what looked like delicate wings. She appeared to be surrounded by her own, cool micro-climate. Kelsey groaned inwardly, feeling every bit as grimy and frazzled as Peony looked poised and immaculate, but she still managed something approaching a friendly smile.

  Jonathan didn’t wait for Peony to get over to them, instead he waved once in her direction and walked off towards the orchard gate, not even realising he hadn’t said goodbye to Kelsey. He was lost in his own brooding thoughts.

  Kelsey helplessly watched his back as he made his way out onto the street. She knew Peony’s eyes were fixed upon her so she couldn’t call out to him.

  ‘I have to follow Jonny to the show,’ Peony was saying in the exact same accent as Jonathan, but it sounded brash coming from her perfect rosebud mouth. ‘This is your tableau costume. The alterations girl is in the kitchens if it needs letting out.’

  With that, she handed the wisp of white to Kelsey and floated past her in pursuit of her leading man.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  ‘Is there no play, to ease the anguish of a torturing hour?’

  (A Midsummer Night’s Dream)

  Kelsey hadn’t really understood what a stoic she was, but each evening she’d retreat to her little sanctuary, eating sandwiches or salad that she had little appetite for, alone up on the terrace, and feel amazed that she’d survived the two set-up days where she’d been in Jonathan’s presence, or the days she’d spent waiting to be back in his presence, without dying away entirely.

  Maybe losing her dad as a teenager had toughened her up without her really noticing, she mused. Resilience was a wonderful quality for a woman to have. Kelsey thought about her mum and Mirren and Norma, and all the other women she’d ever met, even Peony. She didn’t know a single one who wasn’t fortified with reserves of quiet strength and patience, and thank goodness for it, the things they’d all been through. She told herself it was this resilience that would see her through to Jonathan and Peony’s departure.

  Another thought intruded upon those pensive, exhausted moments up on the twilit terrace; that there was still time to take Mirren’s advice. It might do her bruised ego good to land gorgeous Will Greville before he headed off for Hollywood stardom. But, no matter how flirtatious and sexy he was, there was one serious impediment to surrendering to his flattery: namely, that although she fancied him in the abstract, and she did really like him in spite of his brazen cockiness, all her affection was directed elsewhere, at a man bound up in a long-term love affair, a man who was living, working, and seeing the world with another woman. Yes. Resilience is a wonderful quality in a woman.

  * * *

  The last day of the season arrived. Kelsey had only one tour group booked in for that morning; twelve French-Canadian theatre fans in town on the dramatic pilgrimage of a lifetime, and it was hard to get through her usual spiel without her throat tightening with emotion. She couldn’t help reflecting on her time in Stratford. She’d worked so hard all summer and learned so much. As she led her final group into the cool, silent church, she caught a glimpse of Myrtle and her own group leaving at the chancel door and the two exchanged a sad, knowing smile.

  The end of the summer season hung in the cooling air with a strange melancholy. Across town, each company was packing away props, scenery, and costumes, some being loaded onto lorries for the next stage of their tour in faraway countries, while some were on their way to storage. Kelsey marvelled at the thought of all of the season’s expended energy, the passion and power of all those performances, each gesture and phrase played to perfection under bright spotlights: they were all over for the summer. The playhouses fell dark once more.

  At noon, Kelsey gathered her tour group about her on the steps of the main theatre, their coach’s engine already running noisily by the kerb. She held the sunflower casually over her shoulder, her summer staff of office. It had come to feel so familiar in her hand.

  This is going to be hard. She took a deep breath.

  ‘My friends, it’s been my honour to be your guide today. Thank you for listening so attentively. I really hope you enjoyed your visit to Stratford. Before you go, I want to say a few words.’

  The group was silent, some tipping their heads to one side in polite assent, others smiling warmly. Kelsey pressed on, looking into each face in turn as she spoke.

  ‘You have been my last ever tour group. I arrived here at the beginning of summer without really understanding the importance of this job. I didn’t appreciate how privileged I was to be your host in this wonderful place. Visitors have been making their way here for near-on three hundred years to see the place where Shakespeare was born, to trace his footsteps through the streets, to visit his school, or put flowers by his grave. I hadn’t understood how important these things are to people, not really. But everyone understands the language of love, and loss, and hope, and we look to Shakespeare to find expression of those things. We come to this town looking for ourselves, and we leave here enriched, having found the home of so many of our deepest feelings. I certainly have. I hope you found everything you were looking for, dear friends, and I hope you carry these memories with you wherever you go.’ Kelsey knew she had to stop before the floods came. ‘So, I’ll let Shakespeare have the last words. They’re from Julius Caesar who said, fare thee well, the elements be kind to thee and make thy spirits all of comfort. Fare thee well.’

  Standing on the street, ringed round by men and women whom she would never meet again, Kelsey placed one hand on her stomach and another behind her back and took a long, low bow to resounding applause.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  ‘Most auspicious star’

  (The Tempest)

  Kelsey wandered alone to the agency office, the rustling bag in her hand crammed with her name badge, the neckerchief, and the dreaded gilets. She grasped a large posy of irises and roses in shades of lilac and purple and tall spikes of Cotswold lavender. At last, she’d had a reason to walk into the florist’s shop in the posh shopping arcade. She’d handwritten the note right there by the cash register.

  Dear Norma, thank you for taking a chance on me. You gave me the start I needed. I will be forever grateful, with love, K x

  Making her way towards the office she saw ghosts of her summer at every step along the busy streets. Pressing the door buzzer she noticed for the first time the ‘To Let’ sign in the windows up above her.

  ‘Come up, dearie, I’ve been waiting for you.’ Norma’s voice crackled through the speaker.

  Kelsey picked her way carefully up the stairs which were cluttered with black sacks of shredded paper. The landing was piled high with dusty travel guides ready for delivery to the charity shop. Norma was kneeling barefoot on her office floor surrounded by lever-arch files and folders, diaries and ledgers. A noisy shredding machine whirred as she fed it from a tall pile of papers.

  Norma’s satin jumpsuit wasn’t the only thing that was purple; her eyes were circled with dark rings. She’d been weeping. She looked up as Kelsey walked in. For a second, Kelsey was taken aback. She’d never seen Norma without make-up, or without her high heels. When she stood up to greet her, Kelsey was amazed at how tiny she was, but also by how young she looked without the thick layer of foundation and harsh red blusher. Norma smoothed down her red bob, which was just as bright as ever, and reached out to kiss Kelsey.

  ‘Sweetheart, are those for me? Oh, they are glorious, thank you, darling. Coffee? Yes, of course, it’s time for a cuppa.’ Norma was off, chattering ten to the dozen as always. ‘I’m glad you’ve popped in, my dear. Sit down, sit down.’ She poured filter coffee from a glass pot adding milk and sugar without even asking if that was how Kelsey took it, which it was. ‘Here you are. Don’t worry about a coaster, they’ve been packed.’ Norma settled herself behind her desk. ‘I have a proposition for you, my dear. You see the thing is, I’m leaving next week and I haven’t found a tenant for the off
ice yet. And the truth is I didn’t want to find one, not just anyone. I’ve owned this building for twenty years and it was my mother’s before that. I have no intention of letting it go quite yet. That’s why I think you should take it.’

  With that, Norma nodded her head decisively, sat back, and interlaced her fingers, waiting for Kelsey’s reaction in total silence. Kelsey put the cup down on the window ledge beside her, waiting for Norma to start up again, but for once she said nothing.

  ‘I’m sorry, Norma. What are you saying exactly? I don’t need an office.’

  ‘No. But many little birdies about town told me you do need a studio.’ Norma’s eyes gleamed as she leaned forward, drumming her sharp red fingernails upon a document on the desk.

  It had only taken ten minutes. Kelsey found herself out on the street again in a bewildered shellshock. The tiny peppercorn of a rent had been agreed, and fixed for six months before it would increase to market value in order to allow Kelsey time to establish her photography business, and the lease had been signed. Her tenancy began on the third of September, Norma’s wedding day. Kelsey was already reaching for her phone as she left Norma’s office, desperate to tell her mum the bewildering, exciting news. Mari would be over the moon for her. Norma waved her off down the stairs, her eyes twinkling as she called out, ‘And we’ll talk about the ticket barge in the autumn, darling!’

  Kelsey just caught the words as the door closed behind her.

  ‘The what?’ she’d shouted back, incredulously, but Norma was shredding paperwork again, her machine devouring documents noisily. Kelsey could just make out a satisfied cackle over the racket.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  ‘Lord, what fools these mortals be’

  (A Midsummer Night’s Dream)

  ‘I’m coming to you live from Stratford-upon-Avon, reporting on a spectacular night of music and drama, industry schmoozing and celebration. Everybody who’s anybody is here this evening. This year’s theme is Pretty Follies, and industry insiders tell me it’s going to be the biggest night in the theatre calendar…’

  Careful to avoid being caught by the rolling news cameras, Kelsey squeezed through the gates and down the red carpet. The news anchors and autograph hunters assembling in the street paid her no attention although she looked every bit as glamorous as the starlets expected to arrive as dusk fell over the town. She was giving her silvery maxi dress its second ever outing and wearing subtle shimmering make-up that gave her a soft, dewy complexion and rosy-pink cheeks. Not bad at all, she’d told herself as she caught sight of her reflection in the shop windows on her way to the gala.

  The first of the dignitaries were arriving. Crate loads of champagne flutes were still being unloaded from a lorry and carried in through the back of the house to the kitchens which had been taken over just for the night. There was a buzz of excitement and activity.

  The box-office staff from the main theatre were standing at the gates, dressed from head to foot in black, ticking names off the list of invited guests. This was strictly an industry party, a grand showcase for the town and its theatrical achievements, and one last chance in the year for companies to steal the latest hot stage actors before they became famous on the screen.

  Kelsey had her favourite old camera in her hands already. She’d been given an ID badge on a lanyard at the dress rehearsal and she flashed it at the staff who wordlessly let her pass, taking up her first position just inside the gates to get shots of the guests as they arrived. The long grass of the orchard all around her was ablaze with hundreds of tiny iridescent lights in the shape of dragonflies supported on thin sticks shoved into the earth so their glowing wings seemed to sway and dip gently in the breeze. They would look wonderful in the dying light in a few hours’ time. Clearly, the professional event scene-setters had been on site all morning adding glamorous finishing touches.

  The Mayoress pulled up in a black limousine and the artistic directors from every major theatre in the country were lining up in black cars ready to make their entrances. Just arriving was the party from the tourist board and some MPs in black tie. Kelsey framed and focused shot after shot. Some of the guests smiled or waved as they walked past the camera; others, mainly the celebrities in their couture gowns or actors in dark shades and various quirky styles of relaxed tuxedo, spotted, then patently ignored, the star-struck Kelsey. They were happy, however, to slow their pace and turn their best side towards the lens as they passed.

  Kelsey could hear jaunty medieval music playing over a PA system. First pipes, then a drum and something else, a lute maybe? Then the sounds of women’s voices intertwined with them like mystic chanting and spread across the gardens. She grew suddenly aware of a presence by her side.

  ‘Don’t stop. I’ll talk to you as you work,’ an excited voice whispered in her ear.

  ‘Mirren!’ Kelsey let her camera fall on its strap around her neck as she threw her arms around her best friend. ‘You’re a sight for sore eyes. Are you all right? When did you get here?’

  ‘A couple of hours ago. I’ve been working the room, well, working the garden. And I tried my little white fairy costume on. It doesn’t leave much to the imagination, does it? Even by my standards.’

  ‘I know.’ Kelsey grimaced. ‘Mine is so skimpy, I’m glad it’s only a quickie pose then curtain-up again or I might freeze to death. They are lovely though, aren’t they?’ Kelsey took a quick glance at Mirren’s red sequined dress and matching heels before raising the camera to her eye and turning back to the ever-increasing crowds meandering past. ‘God, Mirren, you look amazing.’

  A waiter joined them at the other side of the gates proffering tall glasses of champagne on a silver tray to each new arrival. He was wearing emerald-green velvet breeches and stockings with a black satin sash tied tight around his waist and a short bolero-style jacket, also in green velvet, over a bare muscular chest. Mirren eyed him as she replied.

  ‘You did say I might meet Benedict Cumberbatch so I thought I’d better get a new frock. Is Bene on the guest list tonight, by any chance?’

  ‘I’ve no idea, sorry.’

  ‘If he is, I won’t be held responsible for my actions, Kelse.’

  ‘I’m pretty sure he’s married, Mirr. Got babies and everything.’ Kelsey hurriedly changed her film. She’d grown so practised, it took only a few seconds.

  ‘Fair-do’s,’ said Mirren with a breezy shrug, casting her eyes around the garden. ‘In that case, I’m off to see that lovely wee bullfighter with the tray over there. The bubbly is on the house, isn’t it?’ Mirren smirked, adjusting the clingy dress over her knockout hips.

  Dresses like that were made for figures like Mirren’s, tall and voluptuous. Kelsey could see the men openly gaping at her friend. Mirren was in her element as she called over her shoulder to her. ‘Toodle-pip! See you for the flashmob, or whatever it is.’

  ‘It’s a tableau vivant and I hope you’re going to take it seriously,’ Kelsey called after her, but Mirren was already on her way, swinging her long black hair behind her.

  Kelsey sighed, wishing she’d had the chance to tell Mirren about Norma’s office and her plans for September. That would have to wait. It was time to move on. The moon was already high in the sky and Polaris was clearly visible in the north. The first of the performances would be starting soon. Eager to see how everything looked after the team effort of planning, setting up, and dress rehearsals, Kelsey passed through the blue gate onto the north lawn.

  Immediately before her on the freshly mown grass was pitched a striped lilac and yellow maypole with a huge floral crown at its pinnacle bursting with gaudy dahlias and spreading stems of barley and corn. There was a pile of matching flower garland headdresses and delicate sashes available on a nearby table so partygoers could dress the part as they tried their hand at dancing with the twisting pastel coloured ribbons. A troupe of dancers in long white smocks like something from a Thomas Hardy novel stood by the maypole ready to offer a demonstration. Kelsey spent a few moments cap
turing them as they smiled for photographs.

  All around her were pop-up performances and side-show attractions, obviously hired in for the night by the gala director. Stilt-walkers, tumblers, sad-eyed Pierrots, satyrs, goddesses, and Elizabethan zanies and antics of all kinds paraded past. A wandering minstrel in a long gabardine cloak with a huge white plume in his bonnet sang a sad lament. Kelsey caught the words, ‘for bonnie sweet Robin is all my joy,’ as he walked on. Over the course of the evening Kelsey managed to catch each one of these performers for a moment or two, asking them to pose with the revellers, who were scattered across the lawns chatting in small groups, which everyone, even the most famous actors on the guest list, were happy to do, perhaps assuming the pictures were for Vanity Fair or Harper’s society pages.

  I’m actually doing it. I’m a photographer at a big event. Everyone here thinks I’m a professional, and I actually feel like one.

  Kelsey’s heart was full as she packed her manual camera away in its case and heaved out the new digital machine. Checking all its settings were correct, she set off on her way around the party again, ready to capture the rest of the action. A flurry of activity caught her eye. The catering staff dressed in pristine chefs’ whites filed out of the house in uniform ranks each transporting a silver salver to the long row of banqueting tables draped in white linens. Kelsey knew she had to capture the dishes before the crowds descended upon them.

  She shuddered at a huge jellied dish of something meaty and mosaicked in clear aspic as it dawned on her that tonight’s menu was Elizabethan-inspired. She captured the head cooks as they proudly placed their centrepiece on the table: a giant pie, its golden crust formed in the shape of an incredible peacock, its tail feathers spread in full display. A reassuring notice placed beside it read ‘summer vegetable pie’. There were several gigantic salad dishes sprinkled with bright orange edible nasturtium flowers, and countless other smaller dishes of blue-veined cheeses, poppy-seed crackers, and rich, crumbly oatcakes. She smiled to herself as she photographed a dish full of something resembling white marshmallows with stained pink tips labelled ‘maiden’s nipples’, before framing the many colourful dishes of chocolate truffles, whole walnuts and cobnuts, huge black hothouse grapes and cherry tomatoes, and sweet syllabubs in crystal glasses bejewelled with pomegranate seeds. She caught each delicacy on film; or rather, on a digital SD card, which wasn’t quite as romantic. She had to suppress a squeal of delight as she captured Dame Judy Dench picking up one of the ‘maiden’s nipples’ between her fingertips and popping it into her mouth with a naughty smile of satisfaction.