by Lisa Dyer
SASKIA: It’s your birthday party for God’s sake. I mean, do you want to get a reputation for being...weird?
MADELINE: Okay, I know, I know but those are the rules.
SASKIA: And where has this whole stupid idea come from? I’ve never heard you even mention this... this...ritual before.
MADELINE: My grandmother.
SASKIA: Oh right, and does the old crone divine tea leaves on the side.
MADELINE: She’s my grandmother.
SASKIA: Okay, okay, don’t get all angsty on me. Next you’ll be trying to tell me it only works if you’re a virgin.
Madeline coloured slightly. Saskia immediately realized the meaning and was agog.
SASKIA: Oh, shut up! You are so not a virgin.
MADELINE Ssh...
She gestured to the door and the unseen bodyguard.
Saskia lowered her voice.
SASKIA: But I saw you with Julian, at Tiger’s birthday party.
MADELINE: Nothing happened. I just let him cop a feel and told him I was saving myself.
SASKIA: And he was okay with that?
MADELINE: Of course.
Saskia glanced at her friend with a skeptical eye.
SASKIA: Yeah, right.
MADELINE: Well, believe me, don’t believe me, I don’t care.
SASKIA: I believe you, it’s just, this thing you’re doing. Mads, you know, you only get one chance at a twenty-first birthday party.
MADELINE: Look, don’t worry, it’s all under control. All I’ve only got to do is smile and nod my head. Besides, everyone will be too busy dancing and having a good time and trying to cop off behind the curtains to worry about what I’m doing. Nobody goes to a party to talk to the host. It’s just for a few hours. I plan to slip away and come here. I have food and music waiting. Look…
She went to her walk-in closet and opened the door. Inside was a trolley laid out with food and drink.
SASKIA: You do know that Oscar Fermount is mad about you? He’s loaded. Well, his dad is and in about half an hour he’ll be down stairs waiting for you.
MADELINE: My dad’s loaded, big deal.
SASKIA: Right, so instead of, you know, having a bit of a snog with the totally fit Oscar, you’re going to come up here and carry out some bizarre black magic?
MADELINE: For the last time, yes and it’s not black magic, okay?
SASKIA: Fine, okay, whatever.
MADELINE And you’re not to breath a word.
The friend crossed her chest in a less than convincing way.
MADELINE: Now, help me on with this dress. It weighs a ton.
Madeline dropped her robe and stepped into the dress and waited patiently for Saskia to lace it up.
Back in the ballroom:
The man circled Madeline who neither sees nor hears him. It is as if he is a ghost, a chorus for the viewer.
MAN: ’Course, you believe that load of old crap about seeing her future husband, you’ll believe anything but, she does, so...
One after another, well-heeled young men approached Madeline and are rebuffed with a slight smile.
MAN: She’s not moved from this spot, all evenin’. More than one geezers chanced his arm and been met with a calm and steady gaze and a polite smile that says it all. I reckon, in her head, she’s somewhere else entirely.
Dreamlike sequence:
Madeline’s bedroom lit by the full moon, which shines in through the window, and casts a silvery glow. Madeline - looking more ethereal than ever - lies on her bed, her eyes closed but fixed heavenward. The room is full of fine foods laid on silver platters.
A YOUNG MAN, seen only in shadow, steals into her chamber, and kneels beside her bed, takes her hand, and kisses it softly. She opens her eyes and sees her future husband.
Back in the ballroom:
Madeline sighed and dropped her gaze to the ground.
MAN: I don’t think her heart is really in it.
He took another glass of bubbly and surveyed the scene.
MAN: Still, good party. Boss really knows how to push a boat out.
He raised his glass to his unseen audience.
MAN: Cheers!
The man circles the dance floor.
MAN: There’s the boss. Big Mo. A man not to be messed with.
Big Mo was not big at all. He was a slightly built with the look of a spiv about him. He was sat at a long table, surrounded by flunkies and sycophants who hang on his every word, and laugh at his every observation.
MAN: Don’t be fooled by appearances. You think he got all this by being Mr. Nice Guy? Nah, he got it by selling the junkies on the sink estates just what they wanted. He thought big, imported on a wide scale. Now, o’course, he’s legit, or so he would have you believe but this little lot didn’t come from no clean money. Been busted a few times; been to nick, bounced back. They can’t prove nuffin’ now, much as the local filth would want to. Funny thing is, their boss lives just down the road, next manor over. Who’d have thought, ey, a pig and a drug lord sharing a private road. Funny old world.
***
A flashy sports car cruised silently to a stop in a lay-by. Its lights were already off in anticipation.
Porphyro is a tall, handsome young man of twenty with a slightly mocking expression as one used to getting his own way. He is casually but expensively dressed. With a languid air reserved for those whose self-confidence knows no bound, Porphyro gets out of the car and lit a cigarette. He took several long, drags before grinding the butt into the ground with the heel of his shoe. Then he crossed the road, climbed the low fence, and disappeared into the trees.
Back in the ballroom:
Madeline is engaged in a silent dance with a young would be suitor.
Meanwhile outside, Porphyro crept out of the bushes, glanced around and ran across the garden to the same back door the man had used. Slowly, he turned the handle, careful not to make a sound, gently pulled it open and with a last look around to make sure that he hadn’t been seen, he slipped inside
Quick as a flash and Porphyro is running along the mezzanine floor
The man looks up, catches a glance of a shadowy figure.
MAN: That’s Porphyro, son of aforementioned police chief. I ask ya, what a bleedin’ name, ey? If the boss knew he was here...well, let’s just say, there’d be hell to pay. Can you imagine, I mean, what are those two thinking of. It don’t bear thinking about but think about it I have to cos my lady has sworn me to secrecy and, as much as I respect Big Mo, I love her more. So, if the boss knew I’d left the back door open on purpose...
He paused and left the boss’s revenge to the imagination.
The man slipped through the curtained door, to reappear at the top of the stairs by the mezzanine.
MAN: Course, like everything, not everyone in this place is against him. Madeline’s great-grandmother Angela dotes on the bloke like one of her own.
He turned, alerted by a noise in the corridor.
MAN: And, speak o’ the devil, here she comes now.
Angela, the formidable matriarch of the family, shambles along the mezzanine, her ancient body stooped and shaken with disease.
Porphyro, equally alerted by someone coming, had slid himself behind one to the ornate pillars.
Angela’s progress is slow. Porphyro smiled to himself and, as Angela drew level with the pillar, he grabbed her by the hand, and nearly shocked her to death.
She saw who it was, squeezed his hand and looked fearfully over her shoulder.
ANGELA: What are you doing here?
Porphyro kissed her face and she smiled at him, brushing his hand with her own but her happiness at the sight of him did not last long.
ANGELA: Talk about walkin’ straight into the lion’s den.
PORPHYRO: You think I care? I don’t care. Let them find me.
ANGELA: Don’t care was made to care.
And with that she pulled him away from the pillar and along the mezzanine floor, hugging the dark shadows as they went.
Porphyro tried to crane his neck to see below but the elderly lady, through frail with age, maintained an iron grip on the lad.
ANGELA: Brand is ’ere.
Porphyro pulled back. This piece of information has stunned him.
PORPHYRO: I thought he was still banged up.
ANGELA: Released ’im yesterday.
She continued to drag Porphyro along and he let her with an affectionate smile.
ANGELA: And, he’s had too much drink, which is bad news for you because right now he’s bendin’ Big Mo’s ear about you and your father.
She opened a door off the mezzanine floor and entered the room beyond.
ANGELA: He’s got a right hump on and the more he drinks the more painful your last moments are gonna be. What he ain’t gonna to do to you, my lad, ain’t worth thinking about.
Porphyro looked down the corridor and saw, standing at the end, hands folded in front of him, feet set firmly apart, the man who nodded once in acknowledgement and was rewarded with a nod from the interloper who then disappeared into Angela’s room.
The bedroom was lightly furnished, the furnishings being old, treasured. Black and white photographs of parents and children taken on special days, adorned the walls, little gee-gaws presented by excited grandchildren are dotted around; all loved in equal measure despite the evident vulgarity.
The exertion of hurrying had made Angela breathless and she leant on the back of a chair, her breath laboured.
Porphyro, was oblivious, agitated and determined to continue his mission had lost him his manner as he paced the room.
PORPHYRO: Angela, where’s Madeline?
When Angela didn’t respond, he turned and was and was momentarily back footed by Angela’s condition.
ANGELA: In the drawer; me inhaler.
Porphyro rushed to retrieves the inhaler before guiding Angela onto the chair. Porphyro crouched at her feet, his soft features full of concern for this elderly woman who, with a single call to her son, could destroy him.
ANGELA: You’ll be the death of me, you and ’er.
PORPHYRO: Then let me get you both away from here.
Angela half laughed at the idea. She absent-mindedly stroked his hair.
ANGELA: Do you really love ’er?
PORPHYRO: I would die for her.
ANGELA: Die you might if Brand finds you here. I have heard that he intends to ask Big Mo for her hand before the night is out.
PORPHYRO: But....
ANGELA: It’s okay, Madeline found out. That’s a loyal bodyguard she has there.
Porphyro’s rueful smile told her all she needed to know.
ANGELA: I’m guessing that’s how you managed to get into this nest of vipers tonight. Well, I’m not sayin’ a word but I will tell you this. Madeline’s got it into her head to carry out the ritual of St Agnes Eve. You heard of it?
Porphyro frowned and wondered where this was going.
ANGELA: Well, best I tell you. St Agnes Eve, when all good girls, I take it my girl is still good?
Porphyro grinned and nodded his head.
ANGELA: There’s summink in your favour then; if I didn’t already love you as me own. Anyway, so the story goes, tonight, provided certain things are carried out, her future husband will appear in her room where they will feast. Oh, she has it all prepared; closet full of food she has but it will only work if she sticks to the rules. No talkin’, no eatin’ and no drinkin’ before she goes to her room. And at her own party, if you please.
PORPHYRO: Angela, take me to her room.
ANGELA: I will not!
PORPHYRO: You will. I can hide and when she comes to her room and sleeps, I can set it out, as in her dream and then I shall awaken her. She will have her St Agnes Eve.
ANGELA: That I will not! I can’t believe you’d even suggest such a thing. I think you should go.
PORPHYRO: And leave her to Brand? Angela, if he lays a finger on her...
ANGELA: And you?
PORPHYRO: I love her. Why would I want to hurt her...I swear...?
ANGELA: Swear on what?
PORPHYRO: My life. I will go to Big Mo and let him do with me what he will if I so much as touch a single hair on Madeline’s head.
ANGELA: You’ll be the death of me, you and that girl of mine.
PORPHYRO: Don’t say that. We both love you.
Angela softened slightly, took his face in her gnarled hands and upturned it to hers.
ANGELA: I will help you, though I may live to regret it, in this life or the next.
***
MAN: I know what you’re thinkin’. See, though I am in the gainful employ of the boss and should, technically as the law of feuds dictates, be stitching Porphyro right up by now, I can’t. Despite his unfortunate parentage, he’s a kosher bloke and my lady loves him. I am a mere facilitator. Greasin’ the natural order of things, so to speak.
The man, maintaining a respectful and diligent distance, followed Porphyro and Angela along the corridor.
From along a passageway leading off the mezzanine came the sound of high-spirited revellers approaching. The co-conspirators froze momentarily.
ANGELA: In here. Don’t move ’til I get back.
Porphyro is shoved with little finesse into a closet and Angela, assuming the persona of doddery old woman, shuffled past the party-goers who give her not a single thought. As they moved on, she dropped the act and turned quickly back to retrieve Porphyro from the dark.
ANGELA: Quickly now, quickly.
***
Inside Madeline room, Porphyro stopped to absorb his surroundings and drink in Madeline’s private space.
ANGELA: Behind ’ere! Quickly now, she won’t be long.
Porphyro ducked behind a lattice screen. From here he had a clear view of the bed and the window. The moon was now high and the snow clouds had, for a moment, revealed it, flooding the room with an unearthly silver glow.
ANGELA: Remember, not a hair on her head.
Angela leaves.
***
In her slow descent of the stairs, Angela met with Madeline who was on her way to fulfil her St Agnes Eve vow.
ANGELA: Now my girl, I suppose you’re off to carry out this nonsense I’ve been fillin’ your ’ead with.
Madeline smiled but didn’t utter a word.
ANGELA: I see. Well, maybe you will see your future husband tonight.
Madeline held out her arm for Angela who accepted it and together they walked slowly back down the stairs. Happy that she had delivered her grandmother safely to the lower floor, Madeline kissed her on the cheek and ran back up to her room.
Porphyro had been wiling away he moments getting increasingly more concerned as to her whereabouts when Madeline entered.
Unaware of her guest, Madeline moved to the window to soak up the moonlight. Slowly she took the buds from her hair, and let them fall to the richly carpeted floor.
Next, the jewellery about her neck and wrists; each piece carefully removed and the precious gems placed in a box on her dressing table.
She snatches at the laces of her gown to loosen them and the bodice slipped down her honey tanned shoulders, the weight dropped it to the floor. Neatly, she stepped out of the collapsed heap.
Porphyro, observes all of this with expectation and growing arousal.
Madeline arranged herself under her covers and awaited the moment of truth. Sleep rushed in, drowning her in its sweet embrace.
With all now still, Porphyro peered around the screen and waited with breath bated for movement before creeping across to the bed.
Satisfied that she is deep within the arms of Hypnos, Porphyro, with swift and silent step, went to the walk-in closet and removed the trolley laden down with fine food and wine.
The noise from the ball below suddenly grows louder and Porphyro was frozen to the spot as fear gripped him. As quickly as it rose, the noise faded and he breathed once more.
At her bedside, he looked at her face, serene in t
he moonlight and bent his mouth to her ear.
PORPHYRO (whisper): Madeline! Madeline!
She did not stir.
He lifted his hand and, with the lightest of touches, stroked away the curls that have fallen upon her brow. She moved slightly; he withdrew his hand. So, sweet did she look, so at peace with this world in which she lived that he felt an overwhelming desire to protect her. Brand would not have her.
Porphyro moved around to the other side of the bed and gently climbed on. Mindful of his promise to Angela, he remained above the covers, his head near to Madeline’s.
Porphyro awoke and silently chastised himself at his stupidity at falling asleep. Madeline stirred and let out a gentle moan of pleasure. Porphyro sank back down beside her just as she sat up to take in the feast, the room and, finally, Porphyro next to her.