Dear Villain

by Jacqueline Gilbert

  'It's a charming hat and you look delightful,' was the reply. Touching her arm and smiling briefly, he said: 'Goodnight, Elizabeth. It's been a most pleasant day.'

  She said a quiet goodnight and watched the car out of sight. It had been a pleasant day, especially the evening; the six of them had got on well together. And Adam had laughed and joked as much as the others. Why then had he been so quiet and withdrawn on the way home? And why was she feeling so dissatisfied?

  Honestly, Liz told herself crossly, I wish you would sort yourself out!

  CHAPTER 6

  I have oft regretted my speech.—Publius Syrus

  'Harry Dean's living up to his reputation,' commented Liz lazily to Judy, four weeks and a lot of hard work later. 'Mm… what? Oh, good,' said Judy absently, biting on an apple and turning the pages of her magazine. 'I bumped into Martin yesterday. He tells me that One Too Many is going well.'

  'Yes, it is,' agreed Liz. 'Probably better than the Shrew, but then most people like a good laugh. Why not come and see it tonight?'

  'Didn't I tell you? I'm coming on Saturday.' Judy looked up and said thoughtfully: 'I might pop into the theatre later on.'

  'Good,' said Liz, pleased. 'We'll be all right for a lift, Martin will give us one.'

  'Will he now?' asked Judy, eyebrows raised.

  'Well, yes… I'm sure he will,' said Liz, rather nonplussed. 'It's on his way home, he often gives me a lift.' She laughed, her face clearing. 'Oh, you! You're as bad as Helen for matchmaking,' and putting on a prim voice, she said: 'We're just good friends.'

  Her "good friend" was chatting to Judy in the bar when Liz came down after the show.

  'That was quick work, Martin,' she remarked. 'How do you manage to get down so quickly?'

  'By not getting off all his greasepaint, by the look of him,' Judy suggested with a smile.

  'That's all the thanks I get for rushing down here to get you both a drink,' Martin complained.

  'Bless you, Martin, is that mine?' asked Liz, spying a cool, sparkling lemon and lime on the table and ruffling his hair affectionately as she passed, added: 'Do I need this!'

  'You'd better grab a chair, Liz,' said Judy, 'the place is filling up. How did it go tonight?'

  'As far as I'm concerned it went well.' Liz sipped her drink and allowed her gaze to wander round the now crowded bar. 'What do you think, Martin?'

  'We actors are the last people to ask,' Martin joked. 'On the night you think the audience is dead from the neck up, that's the night they come out raving about it! Have you seen our little shambles yet, Judy?' he asked, draining his glass.

  'No, not yet.' Her colour rose slightly. 'I'm coming with Simon on Saturday.'

  They sat in silence for a while and as Liz sipped her drink she was glad that Judy was still seeing Simon. But he was by no means her only escort and Liz was beginning to know the young doctors from St Anne's fairly well by now. Even so, at times Judy looked… Liz hesitated to use the word unhappy, but it was what sprang to mind. In fact—glancing at her friend—she did not look too cheerful right now.

  'How about another drink, girls?' Martin hovered above them.

  'Not for me, thanks, Martin,' Judy said, and Liz also shook her head.

  'Nor me, thanks,' and watching as he pushed his way to the bar, she said: 'Martin's rather subdued tonight.'

  'Is he? Perhaps he's tired,' suggested Judy.

  'Could be. The Shrew was an exacting role and this one's not much smaller.'

  'What's Tracey like in it?'

  'Gorgeously bitchy,' commented Liz with a grin.

  'Type-cast again,' they chorused together.

  Martin rejoined them. 'What's the joke?'

  Liz explained their laughter, adding: 'But really, I do mean it, she's very good.'

  'I wonder what's the matter with Adam tonight?' said Judy softly, 'He's been standing at the bar for quite some time now, I've managed a smile from him, but he obviously doesn't want to join us.'

  'Well, don't look at me,' protested Liz, with a quick laugh. 'I haven't done anything to annoy him lately—at least, I don't think I have,' and her eyes followed him as he made his way out of the bar.

  'Ah, well, he's not a particularly sociable type and I don't think I come on his list of favourite people,' reflected Martin, adding: 'He's not the easiest of men to understand, either.'

  'Maybe not, but he's one of the easiest to look at. Did you see the cut of that suit?' asked Judy appreciatively.

  Neither of her companions answered. Martin was draining his glass and Liz had just met a cool pair of dark eyes, Adam looking back unexpectedly before going through the door. Martin looked at his watch and said briskly:

  'Right, girls. I'm ready when you are—if you still want that lift.'

  'He must be tired,' whispered Liz to Judy as they made their way through the mass of people. 'It's only half-past ten!' But Judy could not have heard her amongst all the noise and Liz followed them both out, not really sorry to have an early night.

  The Friday following, Liz ought to have realised that fate was not doing her any favours when she laddered her last pair of tights. She then just missed a bus and ended up walking, and as October so far had been wet and windy, the usually equable Liz found herself considerably out of sorts and vaguely aware that she had a headache lurking. When she finally arrived, later than she liked, she rushed into the office to find Tracey Miller in Adam Carlyon's arms, or to be fair, the other way around, but the gentleman did not appear to be protesting. Hearing the door open, they looked up and Tracey smiled dangerously:

  'Don't you knock, Liz dear, before you come into a room?'

  'Not usually into Polly's office, but perhaps I ought to do in future,' Liz agreed. 'Do please excuse me,' and made to go.

  'Now that you are here, you may as well do whatever you have to do,' said Tracey sweetly, turning back to Adam. 'Thank you so much, Adam, I'll always be grateful,' and giving a triumphant smile in Liz's direction, she swept out of the room.

  Sounding completely composed, Adam said: 'Do you want me for anything, Elizabeth?'

  'No, thank you, I just want to leave these for Polly,' and placing the papers on the desk she walked out without looking in his direction.

  Harry Dean met her with the news that he had sent Andrew home.

  'The poor lad had a streaming cold, Liz, sneezing every five minutes, he'd have been no use to us tonight. It's rather a nuisance, though, I must go for part of the evening down to the workshop. We've a crisis on our hands over the set for the next show.' He scratched his head thoughtfully. 'You'll have Steve and Jane. If you need me, give me a call.'

  An hour later, Liz finally realised that it was going to be "one of those nights". The audience were heavy-going and remarks like "They are still alive out there, aren't they?" and "My God, someone actually laughed!" were being bandied about amongst the cast.

  'Lighting cue ten,' said Liz softly, but clearly, into the speaker.

  'One of the drawers in the bureau is stuck,' whispered an agitated Steve. Liz, following the script, sighed with relief when he added: 'It's okay, Louise has got it open.'

  'It's not okay,' muttered Liz, 'Bill's ad-libbing like mad, something's gone wrong.' She frantically scanned the page and thankfully heard Martin come to the rescue with one of his speeches. 'Poor old Jane on prompt must be having kittens,' she commented to Steve.

  The second act was slightly better, laughter now coming from the audience, which was better for the actors but not so good for Liz's headache, now more than vague. She hurriedly asked Steve to get her something for it. 'Not,' she said glumly, swallowing the tablet, 'that it'll be much help, I ought to have taken it sooner.' She frowned, listening for a moment. 'What's that noise?'

  'Something's banging up above,' said Steve.

  Liz sighed. 'Lord, what a night! Go up and check what it is, will you? It'll ruin Tracey's next speech if we don't stop it.' She flicked the soundbox switch. 'Telephone cue coming up.' A few moments later Steve whispered
:

  'It's one of the traps leading on to the roof—you know, for fire purposes. The catch is broken and the wind keeps banging it. We're doing something about it.'

  'Good, take the next set of calls, Steve.'

  Tracey came off stage carrying a tray which she handed to Liz with a glare, then flounced out of the wings to the dressing room.

  'What's the matter with Madam tonight?' asked Steve.

  Liz shrugged, pushing the hair from her face. 'Steve, I think you'd better call Harry, that damn trap's still banging.' A few moments later Steve whispered worriedly:

  'Harry's not there, Liz, but they're sending someone after him.'

  'All right, not to panic,' said Liz reassuringly.

  'I say, Liz, shouldn't Tracey be here by now?' said Steve urgently.

  Liz looked round the wings quickly. 'She was here a minute ago, where on earth has she gone? Quick, Steve, give her another call,' she ordered, dashing through the door and along the corridor, meeting Tracey Miller head on as she hurried out of the dressing room. At that moment they both heard Tracey's cue-lice coming over the loudspeaker.

  'You fool!' she spat out, pushing past Liz. Without a word, Liz quickly followed her back and watched her make her entrance on stage.

  'What happened?' asked Steve.

  Liz shook her head and stood for a few moments listening to the play. Steve, his eyes glued to the book, chewed his bottom lip. Liz came back to him and whispered:

  'The others seem to have covered up, things are running smoothly now,' and adding with relief, 'Here's Harry.' Liz explained quietly what had been happening. Harry grinned. 'Quite a night!'

  'I'm sure I called her, Harry,' persisted Steve.

  'Not to worry, lad,' said Harry, 'these things happen, even with this superb equipment. You all right, Liz? You look a bit white.'

  'She's got a headache,' put in Steve quickly.

  'It's not too bad,' lied Liz, adding: 'It would have to be Tracey Miller of all people! Anyone else…' She sighed. 'To be fair, she's justified in being cross, although I could have sworn she was already up.'

  'Curtain,' ordered Harry, and listening to the applause, said: 'Well, they don't seem to have noticed anything, just listen to them.'

  Liz did not get the chance to speak to Tracey as they all came off the stage, but her expression boded ill for someone, and that, thought Liz as she rested her aching forehead against the comforting cold brickwork, is little old me.

  'Can you finish off here, Liz?' asked Harry. 'I'm just going up to look at that trap. It must be all these high winds we're having.'

  Liz nodded and they set to and made the stage ready for the Saturday matinee. When they had finished, she said briskly to Jane and Steve:

  'Off you go, I'll see to the lights.'

  Steve lingered. 'Are you coming down, Liz?'

  'Er—in a minute, Steve, you go on.'

  Now that she was alone, Liz went over to the desk and opened the book, flicking back to the relevant page and reading it through carefully. Hearing the door open, she turned, and before she had a chance to apologise, Tracey, her anger barely controlled, went into the attack.

  'I hope you realise what you've done, you stupid bitch! Completely ruined the play for me—just when it was important that I should do well.' Her voice rose. 'I shouldn't wonder if you did it on purpose, just to spoil my chances!'

  'Tracey…' began Liz, but was ruthlessly overridden.

  'And not content with making me late for an entrance, and one, I might add, that demands precision timing, not content with that, I have to put up with endless banging throughout my big speech.' She was walking backwards and forwards, her face tight with anger. 'You knew Carlyon had arranged for Warren Gould to be in the audience tonight and you couldn't even give a simple cue call!'

  'Warren Gould?' asked Liz, puzzled.

  'Oh, don't tell me you didn't know, everyone knew he was here to see me tonight,' she said angrily, 'but Miss Butter Wouldn't Melt made sure that my big chance is ruined!'

  'But I didn't…'

  'I've had my doubts about you from the first, and can quite understand why Carlyon didn't want you to have Paul Scott's job—you're just not capable.'

  'Please, Tracey, can I…'

  'You probably only got the DSM because of family connections,' Tracey went on spitefully.

  Liz had expected Tracey to be angry, but the vindictive-ness and unconcealed dislike was nevertheless a shock. She said quickly:

  'I apologise, Tracey, for what happened, especially as it seems someone important to you was out front. I didn't know that, but even if I had, tonight would still have happened. It was just a human error, if the mistake was ours. But was it entirely ours? You'd already been up once, why did you leave again and not tell us?'

  'Don't be ridiculous, I wasn't called in the first place.'

  'I'm sorry, but I think you were.'

  'In that case, I would have been there. In future, if they stupidly allow you to take charge again, I shall have to do my job and yours as well!'

  'There's no need to shout, Tracey, surely we can discuss this sensibly?'

  'Just because you're hand in glove with the Harveys and would like to be with Carlyon…'

  'I refuse to discuss it further until you've calmed down,' Liz broke in desperately, turning away.

  'Well, don't think you've heard the last of this!'

  There was merciful silence after the door banged shut.

  'Ye gods, what a shrew!' Harry came over from the other side of the stage. 'I've fixed the trap. Come on, Liz, forget what that fishwife said. Let's go for a drink.'

  'Thanks, Harry, but I couldn't.'

  'Don't let the Tracey Millers of this world upset you, Liz, they're not worth it.'

  'She had every right to be angry,' Liz admitted.

  'My dear girl, that wasn't anger, that was hate. What have you done that she should have her knife into you so?' Liz shrugged her shoulders helplessly. 'And who on earth is Warren Gould?' added Harry, replacing his tools in the box.

  'I suppose he's a casting director, but I don't really know. You go on, Harry, I'll follow in a minute.'

  'Make sure you do,' he ordered, opening the door and giving her a keen look before going out.

  Liz wandered forlornly round the stage, finally sitting in one of the armchairs. She lay back with her eyes closed and when the door reopened she didn't need to look to see who was there. Sitting very still, she became aware that she was desperately tired and that the last thing she wanted was to do battle with Adam Carlyon, but it seemed she had no choice in the matter. But, ever hopeful, she took a deep breath and giving what she trusted was a normal smile, rose and walked over to him, saying:

  'Did you want me, Adam?' and flicking off the remaining light, she led the way to the small dressing room where she had left her coat.

  He said evenly: 'I understand things haven't been going so smoothly tonight, Elizabeth. Any particular reason?'

  It was a shock as his fingers touched her, as he helped her on with her coat. Liz moved away, picking up her silk scarf and slipping it round her neck.

  'Just jinx night, I think.' She concentrated on the buttons, but finally had to raise her head and found that his eyes. were fixed on her intently. His voice was casual, but it didn't fool her.

  'I'm not a jinx believer myself. Care to tell me what happened?'

  No, I don't care, thought Liz wearily, but my feelings don't come into it. Obviously someone had already been telling the tale and she wouldn't need three guesses as to who it was. Raising a hand to her forehead and rubbing the throbbing ache that was there, she frowned, trying to remember all that had happened.

  'Well, there was a panic over Martin's trousers, they'd disappeared and were found eventually in the props room, of all places. The bureau drawer wouldn't open, we're giving Martin a smaller book to put in tomorrow.' Liz flicked a glance at his face, but it wasn't telling much. She threaded her belt carefully through the buckle. 'What else wa
s there?' she said thoughtfully. 'We had trouble with a banging trapdoor in the roof… and there was a mix-up over a cue call. I think that's all, except Harry knocked his beer over, which upset him rather.' She gave a tentative smile, but saw no answering one, and her heart sank. So this was it. Liz held his eyes with her own—it was up to him now whether he took things further.

  'Mm… you certainly make it all sound insignificant.'

  'Not really,' she said quickly. 'Whenever something goes wrong, one always tries to learn from it and make sure it doesn't happen again.'

  Liz thought at first that she was going to get away with it, but was soon disillusioned. Leaning against the long dressing table, coat flung carelessly over his shoulders, Adam said with a slight edge to his voice:

  'Unfortunately, while mistakes are being made, someone else is having to cope with the problems that then arise.' He stood up and paced the floor slowly. 'Actors have to be pampered, Elizabeth. We know, and they know, that the backstage work is just as important to the production as the play itself. One couldn't survive without the other. But it's the actors the audience pays to see.' He turned abruptly and caught Liz with her eyes closed. 'Yes, I know you've heard all this before,' he said sharply, 'but it seems I have to tell you again.' He paused. 'Tracey missed an entrance tonight. What happened?'

  The headache was doing its worst and Liz had closed her eyes to relieve the hammer consistently pounding in her head, but she wasn't going to plead excuses and said tiredly:

  'If you've heard it all from Miss Miller, then I fail to understand why you have to ask me.' She turned to go. but he barred her way.

  'Not so fast, please. I don't ask unnecessary questions, and believe me, there's quite a lot you fail to understand.' Liz sank down on to the nearest chair. The edge to his voice had intensified, but she was past caring how angry he was. 'My temper is never improved by hysterical females squabbling between themselves,' Adam ignored her look of astonishment. 'I've never accepted the fact that a woman makes a successful stage director, especially if she's as vulnerable as you are, and tonight has only confirmed that belief. Had a man been in charge tonight, the incident might well have happened, we're only human after all, but it wouldn't have been allowed to get out of all proportion.'