Covent Garden in the Snow

by Jules Wake

  I took a solitary lunch wandering aimlessly around Covent Garden, indifferent to the scent of winter in the air and the cherry pickers putting up Christmas lights and huge swathes of fake giant mistletoe and huge silver baubles the size of demolition balls.

  On my return to the opera house, the moment I stepped over the threshold of the stage door a sense of tension in the air hit hard. Cheerful Charlie, the doorman, had lost his characteristic manner, instead he seemed particularly grim as I flashed my staff badge and as I passed various members of backstage crew I noticed everyone kept their heads down.

  In her office, Jeanie held the phone to her ear, her face set in stern lines, her mouth dipped at either end. She nodded several times, barked a couple of staccato questions and rubbed at a spot on the back of her neck. With depressed lethargy, she replaced the handset. I wanted to look away so she couldn’t see anything in my eyes.

  She straightened and I could virtually see her donning her management cape, pulling the strings of serious and grave about her.

  ‘There’s an emergency meeting downstairs on stage. At two-thirty. Memo on your desk.’

  ‘Yesterday’s papers?’ I asked, my voice faint. After a very sleepless night, every tendon in my body felt tight.

  ‘You’ll have to wait until the meeting. The department heads have only been told a brief outline. And where the hell has Vince got to? He was supposed to start work at twelve today.’ She tapped pointedly at her watch.

  I presumed she wasn’t expecting me to answer as a) I wasn’t his official time-keeper and b) given the hugely varied hours productions finished, clock watching had never been a feature of our employment.

  ‘I’m sure he’ll be here soon.’ My placating attempt fell on deaf ears as she wheeled to watch him drift in through the door. Drift being the operative word. He had a sad and lost air about him.

  ‘Are you OK?’ I asked. Another disastrous date? Normally Jeanie and I would patch him up with hot sweet tea and within half an hour, he’d let it all out in his usual camp comic fashion and be laughing as hard as us at the memory of the night before.

  With a curl of his lip, he glared. ‘No. Just a … bad weekend.’ His bush baby eyes filled with tears. ‘Sorry, just feeling a bit sorry for myself.’

  ‘Well, what’s the problem then?’ asked Jeanie, not being at all nice as her mouth pursed with impatience. She had no time for Vince’s dating dramas which, to be fair, were frequent and each one seemed to be a bigger production than the last.

  ‘Urnggg,’ wailed Vince and burst into tears, pushing past both of us and fleeing down the corridor.

  ‘Oh, for Pete’s sake. Today of all days. Spare me the histories.’ Jeanie rolled her eyes. ‘That boy will be the death of me.’ She hissed out a breath and rounded on me. ‘And you shouldn’t be encouraging him.’

  ‘Me! What did I do?’ Now wasn’t the time to correct her.

  ‘If we’ve got this meeting, we need to get some work done.’

  It was official; I was working in a mad house. Both her and Vince were obviously mentally imbalanced at the moment. It was the only explanation I could find. That or they were both in love, with Vince that was always a possibility, with Jeanie an absolute impossibility.

  The Head of PR, Elizabeth Tansley, had a distinctive style of her own, consisting of floaty tea dresses and 1940’s shoes, and was about as un-public relations-like as humanly possible. She reminded me of a rather chic forgetful clairvoyant with her deep, sincere voice which probably hypnotised journalists into giving the LMOC acres of positive publicity. When any negative stuff was printed, she took it very personally. Today her face kept crumpling into unhappy lines and I knew it wasn’t going to be a good meeting especially when I realised who flanked her on either side; the Chief Executive, the head of HR and to my surprise Marcus Walker.

  He had the full pin-striped Monty on today and an impassive expression on his face as he stared out across the assembled audience.

  ‘Thank you all for coming. I will be having several of these meetings with various departments.’ Her voice shook. ‘I’m sure you have all seen the unfortunate story in this weekend’s paper which has obviously caused terrible anguish to poor, poor Katerina.’ Her voice hitched and she peered over her glasses at the assembled audience. ‘I hate to think that this story originated from the LMOC,’ she peered over her glasses at the assembled group, her lower lip trembling, ‘but …’ I worried that at any moment she might burst into tears, ‘there is a v-very s-strong poss …’

  Her mouth worked furiously and everyone shuffled awkwardly at her distress. ‘Personally I … I can’t believe that any one of you could … would even c-consider b-but there is,’ she shot Marcus a poisonous glance, ‘some thinking that it might have come from someone here.’

  I swallowed hard and tried to keep an impassive expression on my face.

  ‘An investigation is underway but I’m sure it won’t happen again. I’ve been asked to remind you all of the consequences should it transpire that someone has deliberately fed information to the press. Any such transgression will lead to disciplinary actions and possibly prosecution.’

  Both Marcus and the Chief Exec straightened like a pair of soldiers on sentry duty. It enhanced the message and then she stepped down and walked away. Chatter immediately erupted, a buzz of angry wasps in horrified condemnation, appalled at the potential accusation.

  Then the Head of HR stepped forward. Unlike Elizabeth, Marsha Munro was every inch the exec in her tailored dress and jacket. ‘I would like to remind you all that there is an official code of conduct.’ Irritation and anger rolled off her in waves of pissed offness, her mouth working as if there was a very nasty taste inside. ‘You should have received one with your contract when you first commenced working here. However, in case it has been misplaced, I would urge everyone to take a copy away with them today. We will also be issuing a confidentiality clause to all contracts.’

  ‘She’s hacked off because she’s been caught out,’ muttered Leonie from wardrobe in my ear.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘There’s no confidentiality clause in any of our contracts … now this has happened it doesn’t look good for her. Did you ever get a code of conduct?’

  ‘Not that I remember. Just a letter …’

  ‘Yeah, I bet no one got one. She’s shitting herself …’

  Jeanie remained tight-lipped as we made our way back up to the studio while Vince, who had bounced back with the verve of Zebedee on acid, hit Agatha Christie mode, with a rapid run through of potential suspects.

  ‘Could be someone in the box office … or front of house. One of the cleaners, could be an undercover reporter.’ Vince screwed up his face in thought.

  Or it could be the partner of someone who worked here, who thought he’d make a fast buck. Acid swirled in my stomach.

  ‘Or what about hidden spy cameras. Rigged up in the middle of the night.’ Vince threw his head back and posed towards the ceiling. ‘Hello darlings.’

  Jeanie stopped dead in the corridor and turned around with a ferocious glare.

  ‘Not another word,’ she snapped, her eyes glinting with fury.

  ‘What did I say? Wh–’

  I gave him a sharp kick from behind and he shot me an aggrieved look as I shook my head at him.

  He tossed his head in the air and thankfully shut up.

  When we got back to the studio, Jeanie shut herself in her office. All I could do was sit and sort out hair pins, my hands shaking slightly, the least demanding job I could manage.

  Chapter 10

  Grim lines etched by years of smoking wreathed Jeanie’s mouth, as she pushed a cinnamon Danish towards me. ‘This business is hateful. I’ve worked here for twenty years and nothing like this has ever happened before. That meeting on Monday … I’ve never known anything like it before.’ She cast a quick look around the crowded canteen. ‘I hate the amplification that it has to be one of us.’

  Leonie put down her cup
with a bang in the saucer. ‘Who says it is? Anyone could go to the papers. That picture was doing the rounds for months.’

  ‘No, the paper is insisting the source came directly from someone here.’

  ‘Really?’ I asked, my voice shaking, hoping it sounded horrified rather than scared.

  Thankfully Felix had gone away again, as I couldn’t bring myself to speak to him. I’d relished the peace and quiet at home for the last three days.

  Jeanie gave a heavy sigh and turned sharp eyes my way. ‘They’ve launched a full-scale investigation.’

  ‘You mean there’s a mole!’ squeaked Vince with inappropriate animation. He furtively peered around the room as if it would suddenly become apparent and a big neon arrow might suddenly start flashing.

  ‘I can’t believe we’ve only got a few more performances of Don Giovanni,’ I said, unsubtly changing the subject, which was clearly a relief to everyone, as they all started dipping their heads in agreement. ‘It’s gone so quickly, although I’m looking forward to doing The Nutcracker.’ The popular ballet production was due to open for its usual Christmas run and would be an easy gig.

  ‘Yes,’ Leonie nodded, her burnished copper curls bouncing, ‘and I’ll be relieved that we’ve got those hairy high-speed costume changes done. Honest to God, my heart rate doesn’t return to normal until the end of the show.’

  ‘Good job they decided not to do that scene in the Christmas Gala Performance,’ I said, teasing her.

  ‘Oh, that’s a breeze. All excerpts from different operas, so we can just reuse existing costumes.’

  I wasn’t sure I’d agree that the annual Christmas performance was a breeze. The special charity night with invited VIPs, sponsors and friends of the theatre was a bit of a showcase that senior management set great store by.

  ‘Lucky you, darling,’ piped up Vince. ‘It’s a nightmare for us. All those principals, all jostling to be first.’ He shuddered. ‘It’ll be a right cat fight in the make-up room. We’re having to have a couple of freelancers on board those nights. It’ll give her an opportunity to dig in,’ he jerked his head indicating someone behind us.

  I turned around trying to be subtle. The canteen was just starting to fill up with the lunchtime crowd and was extra busy today as most of the orchestra were in for the first rehearsal for The Nutcracker. A few tables back sat Arabella Barnes, my least favourite person in the known universe. Annoyingly perky and upbeat about everything, she also had a particular speciality in pointing out the tiniest fault with saccharine, apologetic sweetness as if she were doing you a favour and not being a superior, know-it-all super-bitch. A regular freelancer, she was desperate for a permanent position and never missed an opportunity to make herself helpful.

  What the hell was she doing sitting with Marcus?

  They were holding a very animated conversation, although her long swathe of blonde silky hair seemed to be doing an awful lot of the talking as she tossed it over her shoulders with a tinkly laugh every couple of seconds.

  ‘What’s she doing here? And with him, I wonder?’

  ‘Sniffing around after your job, no doubt,’ said Vince. ‘You know it went up on the noticeboard yesterday.’

  I did and I’d been trying not to think about it too much. Every job had to be advertised externally and internally.

  ‘She hasn’t wasted any time then,’ I sighed. ‘Please don’t tempt providence.’ I touched the table and his head, ‘It’s not my job. She has just as good a chance. Alison really likes her.’

  ‘Alison might,’ said Leonie with a kind smile, ‘but the talent doesn’t. She doesn’t have the bedside manner with them.’

  ‘Looks as if she’s got one with him,’ observed Vince, watching them through half-closed lids. ‘There’s some serious flirting going on over there.’

  ‘They’re perfectly suited. Very professional. Ambitious.’ I might not like her but I had to admit Arabella was good. Organised. Efficient. She even dressed with the smartness of a manager. I sneaked another look at her. Black shift dress. Smart leather handbag and matching shoes. She reminded me of Christelle. I could never emulate that sort of unconscious elegance or style in a million years.

  ‘Yeah but Tilly, she doesn’t have your experience. You can make a mean wig, and,’ Vince’s elfin face creased into a wicked smile, ‘you are going to be an IT expert.’

  I shot him a sour look as Leonie laughed. ‘How are the lessons going?’

  ‘They’re not. In fact,’ I slunk down in my seat, ‘I’ve successfully managed to cancel the last two.’

  Almost as if he’d read my mind, Marcus glanced over just as he and Arabella stood up.

  ‘Pants, he’s seen me.’

  The two of them laughed as I hauled myself back up, trying to pretend I hadn’t been hiding at all.

  They came straight over to us, like a pair of Exocet missiles homing in on the target.

  ‘Tilly. Glad I caught up with you.’ Marcus looked anything but glad. Irritated more like, but he put on a good show with a stiff little smile. ‘You stood me up.’

  I shifted in my seat, but before I could say anything Arabella butted in. ‘And I’m just leaving, so hi and goodbye, guys.’ She gave a casual, half all-encompassing wave with her handbag looped over her arm. ‘See you all soon.’ She pitched up on her tip-toes to give Marcus a quick peck on the cheek. ‘Bye sweetie and thank you so much for sparing the time to have a chat. It’s been a great help. I’ve got lots of ideas about how I can introduce improvements.’ She flashed a sunny smile my way.

  I waited until she’d gone and rolled my eyes only to find Marcus glowering down at me. I screwed up my face. ‘Bu … b-bother, I’d forgotten about you, I mean, sorry I er, forgot the time the other day.’

  He raised an eyebrow and made me feel even smaller. I really had forgotten, but it was obvious that he thought I was avoiding him.

  ‘I didn’t write it in my diary.’ I pulled out my well-thumbed diary and showed him the blank page.

  ‘You still use a diary?’ He sounded pained but he had that look on his face that questioned why he should be surprised.

  ‘Yes.’ I smiled up at him and then stood up to whisper conspiratorially in his ear, ‘and the clever thing about them…’ Damn, I’d forgotten how much I liked the way he smelled. I ignored the missed beat sensation that hit my chest and stepped back to give him a nonchalant wink as I added, ‘they don’t need batteries or charging.’ I didn’t feel the least bit nonchalant. Inside, everything felt mixed up and antsy. What the hell was wrong with me? I didn’t even like Marcus.

  His lips curved with a reluctant smile and he reached out, taking the diary from me, his fingers brushing mine which turned my internal temperature gauge up to maximum. ‘And there’s nothing else in said diary for the next hour, so we can safely assume that you’re free to meet as planned.’

  He had me there. Jeannie and Vince watched with avid interest as if we’d laid on a show especially for them. And then realising that I was glaring at them, both rose and made their goodbyes, leaving Marcus and I facing each other with the animosity of a pair of boxers who’d just been separated by the referee.

  ‘Well, now you’ve tracked me down …’

  Marcus sighed, not out loud but I could see the way the collar on his shirt rose and his shoulders lifted. It didn’t give me any satisfaction.

  ‘OK, I’m sorry I forgot about the meeting.’ It was the truth, I wasn’t the best diary manager in the world, but I could see that he wasn’t sure whether to believe me or not. ‘What would you like me to tell you?’

  He looked around at the busy canteen and let out a self-deprecating half-laugh which left his mouth turned down. ‘How about everything?’ If I hadn’t known how super confident he was, I might have thought he seemed a touch vulnerable. I could have ignored it but I made the mistake of looking down towards his feet.

  The sight of his highly polished black brogues, their glossy leather shining with the reflection of an overhead light, next to
the battered leather Chelsea boots of one of the musicians sitting to his right hit me, the stark contrast socking me right in the chest with a punch of sympathy.

  Dressed in a smart grey wool suit, which had that cost-a-fortune sheen to it, a crisp white shirt shouting Savile Row and a sedate silk tie, he stood out like a brand-new Ferrari in a second-hand car showroom.

  Worse still, he suddenly appeared uncomfortably aware of it.

  ‘I tell you what,’ I rose to my feet, ‘why don’t I give you the grand tour?’ He opened his mouth and I held up a hand. ‘Yes, I know. You’ve already had the official tour, with its shiny-look-how-professional-and-amazing-we-are agenda. And yes we are, but I’ll give you the one that explains how we all work together and what really goes on. The highs and the lows, which I’m sure management wouldn’t have shared when they were selling this place to you.’

  His eyes sharpened, a few lines appearing on his forehead. I could tell he was intrigued and the quick, sudden flash of respect that crossed his face made me feel just that little bit taller.

  I gave him a grin. ‘What have you got to lose?’

  ‘Put like that, not a lot. Just be gentle with me.’ The tentative, pleading smile he sent my way melted any last residual doubts about consorting with the enemy.

  Without stopping to think, I tucked a hand into the crook of his arm and steered him towards the exit. ‘If it’s gentle you want, you’re never going to survive here.’ Not that I’d worry on that score. On Monday on the stage with the senior bosses, he’d looked plenty tough enough. Ignoring a quick shiver of unease, I smiled at him in a business-like way. I wasn’t going to think about any of that.

  We started with the foyer, which in keeping with most theatres was a relatively small area when you considered the numbers of people that came through the doors. I always thought of the building as rather like an iceberg. What you saw on the surface by no means reflected the vast spaces backstage and underground.

  There were plenty of people about, a few tourists who popped in to take a quick peek, probably unable to get tickets for anything, a couple of discreet cleaning staff polishing the Georgian panes of glass in the doors and a team of props guys who were decorating a huge fir tree which had been placed in the well next to the staircase.