Centre Stage

by Judy Nunn

  Julian followed him to the car.

  ‘I’ll drive,’ Alex said.

  ‘You sure?’ asked Julian. ‘It’s my turn—you drove up.’

  ‘I know these roads. Besides, I feel like driving.’

  ‘Fine by me.’ Julian vastly preferred sightseeing from the passenger’s side.

  Alex put the key in the ignition but he didn’t start the engine straight away. ‘I’m sorry I barked at you,’ he said softly, staring through the windscreen at the drifts of snow. ‘But you’ve been evading me for a long time now and it annoys me sometimes.’

  Julian didn’t like the turn of conversation. He wished Alex would start the car so they could turn the heater on—it was freezing.

  But Alex didn’t. ‘You know me better than anyone ever has or ever will, Julian. You know me inside out; I’m there in all your plays—and yet you evade me. The real me.’ Alex turned to him and smiled charmingly. ‘I feel a little used at times.’

  All right, Julian thought, it was time to meet him head on. ‘No, you don’t, Alex. You love it. You deliberately tease and confuse to keep yourself interesting. And that’s fine by me, so long as I find you a source of inspiration. In the meantime, I do not have to personally connect with your brain, which at times, quite frankly, I find warped. I don’t even have to like you.’

  Alex laughed loudly. ‘That’s true. You don’t have to like Hitler to find him interesting.’

  ‘All right, so evil’s interesting, I admit that. Now can you turn the heating on? It’s bloody freezing.’

  Alex turned the ignition on and waited a few minutes for the engine to warm up. ‘Actually, it’s not the evil I find so fascinating about Hitler, it’s the death. If it weren’t for death, life would be an awful bore, wouldn’t it? I can’t understand this preoccupation with immortality. I can think of nothing more hideous.’

  Julian leaned over and turned the heater on.

  ‘That’ll take a few more minutes,’ Alex said. ‘There’s so much death you can experience while you’re living, isn’t there? I suppose that’s why kids pull the wings off flies. I mean, you see the death process all around you: old people dying, car accidents, illnesses. The next interesting step would be to inflict death wouldn’t it? Ah, that’s better,’ he said as the heat started to pervade the car. ‘Time to go.’

  As they started down the mountain, Alex glanced at Julian. ‘Do you fear death?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so,’ Julian answered and an image flashed through his mind. An image of a cat toying with a mouse.

  ‘Nor do I.’ Alex pressed down hard on the accelerator. ‘Let’s test it, shall we?’

  ‘What the fuck are you doing, Alex!’ Julian screamed, as the speedometer climbed steadily and the tyres started to squeal as they slewed around the hairpin bends in the narrow mountain road.

  ‘Testing,’ Alex said calmly. ‘Just testing.’

  There was nothing Julian could do. If he tried to wrest the steering wheel from Alex the car would most certainly go over the steep cliff. One glance at Alex’s face, the manic gleam in his eye, the twist to his lip, and Julian knew that pleading would do no good. That was what Alex wanted.

  Julian planted his feet firmly in front of him, put his hands on the dashboard and waited for the impact. For what seemed like an eternity, landscape flashed by, tyres screamed and the car skidded from one side of the narrow, twisting road to the other.

  It wasn’t until they were almost at the bottom that Alex slowed down. ‘Well done, Julian,’ he said with unsettling calmness, still negotiating the car around the bends. They rounded a corner and a tourist bus appeared twenty metres ahead of them. ‘Oh, look—a bus,’ Alex smiled. ‘Weren’t we lucky?’

  They drove in silence for a long time until finally Julian turned to Alex and said, ‘I think perhaps you’re insane, Alex.’

  ‘Oh, I doubt it.’ Alex shook his head. ‘Of course I haven’t been examined for about twenty-five years, but the tests were negative when I was eight and I don’t see why things should have changed since then. Do you?’ He smiled disarmingly.

  Julian refused to answer and stared out of the window instead.

  When Alex realised Julian wasn’t going to communicate he continued. ‘I think you should write a drama next, Julian.

  ‘The black comedies are very good, very clever, but you’ve proved you can do that. After we make Friend Faustus the huge success I know it’s going to be, I think you should write a drama—maybe a tragedy. About a man obsessed with death.’

  The road was deserted except for an ancient Fiat just ahead but Alex checked the rear-vision mirrors, switched on the indicator, overtook the car, switched on the other indicator and pulled in ahead. He was driving with exaggerated care now and it was irritating Julian.

  ‘That’s it,’ Alex went on. ‘A man obsessed with death. But he wants to take his obsession a step further. He wants to inflict a death. How does he go about it?’ Alex started to become enthused about the idea. ‘Maybe he accomplishes the perfect murder himself or maybe he manipulates someone else to do it. What do you think?’

  Julian turned and looked at him.

  ‘Well, what do you think?’ Alex repeated. ‘Everyone’s obsessed with death in one way or another, Julian. It would have broad appeal.’

  Is Alex serious? Julian wondered. ‘Maybe there’s a play there,’ he said, ‘I’ll think about it.’ As he stared out of the window, a chill of fear ran down his spine. Did Alex seriously want him to write the perfect murder for him? And why? Was there someone Alex wanted to kill?

  And now Julian’s brain refused to be lulled by the drone of the aeroplane engines. Berchtesgaden, the drive down the mountain and Alex’s conversation kept churning around in his mind.

  Try as he might, he couldn’t rid himself of the theme. A man obsessed with death creates the perfect murder scenario: he manipulates another to commit the crime simply so that he can watch a death for which he himself was responsible. Just a power game. No motive. Very difficult to trace.

  Stop it, Julian, stop it, he told himself. You don’t want to write this play. But the ideas kept coming, and coming, and coming. And Julian knew he couldn’t wait to put pen to paper and make notes. But I won’t write the play, he promised himself. A few notes, that’s all. A few notes for future reference.

  ‘I don’t believe it!’ Maddy’s eyes were wide with amazement as Julian finished recounting the story of Berchtesgaden.

  ‘No exaggeration, I promise. It’s a miracle we weren’t killed.’

  ‘He’s mad. He must be.’ She shook her head in disbelief.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Julian said. ‘I really don’t know.’

  It was Sunday night and they’d long finished eating the meal Maddy had prepared, followed by Jenny’s rather sludgy trifle.

  They’d sent Jenny to bed at eleven-thirty and by midnight Maddy had been brought up to date on recent events. But there was one thing Julian hadn’t mentioned. His idea for another play. He felt strangely guilty about the two hours of notes he’d made in his London hotel room immediately after they’d booked in. They’re only notes, he told himself, but he still felt guilty.

  ‘Well, I think he’s mad,’ Maddy continued. ‘People don’t do things like that unless they’re mad. And it’s all the more reason to keep Jenny well away from him.’

  Julian and Maddy talked till four in the morning. Maddy told him all about Douglas and the bomb in Armagh and the television news broadcast.

  ‘Do you think he’s IRA?’ she asked.

  ‘It does look that way, doesn’t it?’ Julian wished he could say no—it was obvious Maddy was torturing herself. ‘Oh, Christ, Maddy, I don’t know, I really don’t.’

  The following night Alex insisted he and Julian go to the theatre together.

  ‘Here you are,’ he said, dumping the entertainments section of the newspaper on the bar in front of Julian. They’d just returned from their third and final business meeting for the day. ‘I had a good stud
y of what’s on around town, so make your choice and we’ll toss a coin.’

  Julian had anticipated such a suggestion and had his reply at the ready. ‘But we’re off to Chichester tomorrow. We’d cover more ground if we went to different shows and compared notes afterwards.’ (Maddy had booked him in to see The Misanthrope that night with Jenny who was quite happy to see the production for the third time.)

  ‘That’s not very companionable of you, Julian.’ Alex looked genuinely disappointed. ‘I tell you what. If you really want to check out what’s on in London, why don’t we come back here for a few days after Scotland?’ He seemed very pleased with his suggestion. ‘Yes, that’s the best idea,’ he said as he picked up the newspaper.

  Julian was momentarily stunned. Did Alex still expect him to go to Scotland? To journey into the arctic highlands with a madman who’d tried to kill him? He couldn’t believe it.

  ‘I tell you my choice for tonight,’ Alex continued, shoving the paper at him. ‘The National’s production of The Misanthrope. It’s supposed to be really original. Just the sort of thing you love—what do you say?’

  What did he say? Julian’s mind raced. What the hell did he say? ‘How do you know it’s really original?’ he asked, buying time.

  ‘I went for a wander while you were partying it up with your pals last night.’ It was a slight dig. Alex had been put out when Julian had insisted upon going their separate ways. ‘But it’s our first night in London,’ he’d said.

  ‘Friends of the family, Alex, I can’t get out of it,’ Julian had insisted.

  Alex continued, ‘I spent a good hour and a half doing the rounds of the West End and The Misanthrope looked far and away the most interesting. They’ve got blow-ups of the full reviews in the foyer—not just excerpts—and that’s always a good sign. Some of it’s played in the original French and it’s directed by Viktor Hoff.’

  Julian was genuinely surprised. ‘I didn’t know you were into Viktor Hoff’s work.’

  Alex nodded. ‘The couple of movies of his I’ve seen have been great. Really bizarre. I never did see Androgyne, that’s supposed to have been his best. Did you?’

  ‘Androgyne?’ Julian looked closely at Alex. This wasn’t a game, was it? It didn’t appear to be, but with Alex it was so often difficult to tell. ‘Yes, I’ve seen Androgyne; it was on in Sydney a couple of years ago.’

  ‘I know. I wanted Harold to go with me but he wouldn’t. “Cinéma vérité is too exhausting, dear boy”, all of that rubbish. And I never got around to going on my own.’

  Good old Harold, thought Julian with a rush of affection. It must have been difficult for him to keep his mouth shut but he’d done it.

  Alex signalled to the barman for another round of drinks. ‘So, what do you say we check out Hoff’s prowess in the theatre?’

  Julian studied the newspaper. ‘Let’s have a look at what else is on.’

  ‘The Misanthrope is the best choice, Julian, believe me.’

  ‘What happened to tossing a coin?’ Julian was racking his brain for a way out.

  ‘Oh, I didn’t really mean that,’ Alex gave a glib wave of his hand. ‘I knew you’d want to go to the National.’

  ‘Well, you knew wrong,’ Julian said petulantly. ‘I want to go somewhere else.’

  ‘All right, all right,’ said Alex, gesturing dismissively. He was fed up by now. ‘You go somewhere else, I’ll go to the National and we’ll compare bloody notes.’ He turned to pay the barman for the fresh drinks.

  ‘Forget it, we’ll go to The Misanthrope. Shall I ring and book now?’ Julian stood up and searched his pockets for some change.

  Alex looked at him, surprised. ‘Why the sudden change of heart?’

  ‘No change of heart—I really would like to see The Misanthrope.’ Julian shrugged. Mustn’t arouse suspicion, he told himself. ‘I just don’t like being bossed around.’

  ‘Rubbish, you love it,’ Alex grinned.

  ‘Back in a minute.’ Julian headed for the telephone in the foyer.

  ‘Oh my God,’ Maddy said, aghast. ‘Couldn’t you stop him?’

  ‘No way. I tried, believe me.’

  ‘What’ll we do?’

  ‘Nothing we can do, except arrange for the seats to be towards the back and hope that he doesn’t recognise you with the wig and period make-up.’

  A series of images flashed through Maddy’s brain. Sydney. King Street. Night time. A collision with a man on the footpath as she hailed a cab. Yes, it might work. Alex hadn’t recognised her then, had he?

  ‘Right,’ she agreed. ‘Thank goodness for the warning. At least I can keep Jenny out of the way.’

  ‘Rotten seats,’ Alex grumbled. ‘The house is only half full—why did they put us back here?’

  ‘Don’t ask me,’ Julian answered, crossing his fingers as the lights started to fade. Then she appeared and he breathed a sigh of relief. It was difficult even for him to discern Maddy beneath the crinoline, the powdered wig and the heavy makeup. The affected voice too, and the rapid bouts of French added to the disguise. There was no way Alex would pick her.

  Then why was he straining forward for a closer look every time she appeared on stage? Julian asked himself, not daring to glance at Alex. And if he’d recognised her, why wasn’t he saying anything?

  As the lights came up at interval Julian leaned back in his seat and tried to sound casual. ‘Well, what do you think?’

  ‘The woman playing Celimene’s fantastic, isn’t she? What’s her name?’

  Julian’s mind raced. If he feigned ignorance Alex might buy a programme. A programme with a studio portrait and a biography on Maddy. Alex only ever bought a programme when he needed to know someone’s name. ‘Programme’s are a rip-off,’ he maintained. ‘A tidy little sideline that goes straight into the producer’s pocket. I should know.’

  ‘Madeleine Frances,’ Julian answered.

  Alex frowned. He’d heard the name before somewhere.

  ‘Viktor Hoff’s had a crush on her for years,’ Julian continued. ‘She played the lead in Androgyne.’

  ‘Ah, right,’ Alex said. ‘Knew I’d heard the name.’

  ‘She doesn’t seem to do much film any more. She’s pretty big in the theatre though. Come on, I’m dying for a beer.’

  ‘Let’s go backstage and meet her after the show,’ Alex suggested as he stood up and followed Julian out of the auditorium.

  ‘Why?’ Hell, Julian thought, I’d better warn Maddy not to waste time taking her make-up off.

  ‘Oh, come on now. If you rack your brains hard enough surely you can guess why.’

  Julian stopped so abruptly that Alex nearly crashed into him at the exit doors. ‘No, Alex, I can’t.’ His heart was pounding at an alarming rate. It was cat and mouse time again, he told himself. Alex had known all along.

  ‘Shit, Julian. She’s the horniest woman I’ve seen in years.’

  ‘Oh.’ Julian tried to laugh. ‘Silly me. You stay here, I’ll get the beers.’

  Julian elbowed his way through to the bar and waited his turn. ‘Thank you,’ he said to the young woman who handed him the drinks. Then he whispered, ‘I wonder if you could arrange a message to be sent backstage to Miss Frances during Act Two.’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Don’t bother.’ Alex was right beside him. ‘I’ve already done it. Here I’ll take those.’

  Julian automatically handed the beers over, paid the girl and joined Alex who’d backed away from the bar crowd. ‘You’ve done what?’

  ‘Sent one of my cards backstage, of course, gave it to the front-of-house manager.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Well, I wouldn’t get very far with her if she thought I was just another fan, would I?’

  ‘Good thinking.’ Julian smiled and relaxed. He knew Alex’s cards. They were top quality, very impressive with Alex Rainford, Producer in embossed lettering. He started to breathe easily.

  After the performance Julian didn’t have to work hard at delay tact
ics.

  ‘Well, of course we must give the woman time to get her make-up off, Julian,’ Alex agreed. ‘Very rude not to.’ Then he wandered out to peruse the foyer display which included, to Julian’s horror, a portrait of Maddy.

  Julian stared at the photograph, trying to convince himself that it didn’t look anything like the Maddy of NADA days. But to Julian it did. Certainly the hair was cropped short, the face more angular and sophisticated, but to Julian it was still Maddy.

  To his amazement, Alex gave the photo only a cursory glance. ‘She looks better in the wig; I don’t like the short hair,’ he said, and then strolled around the foyer looking at the portraits of the other actors.

  Julian knew then that Alex had completely and utterly forgotten Maddy. It was as if she had never been a part of his life at all.

  Alex was disappointed when the stage doorman told him Madeleine Frances had already left the theatre.

  ‘Did she get my card?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, Mr Rainford. And she left her apologies, but she had a prior engagement.’

  ‘Not to worry,’ Alex shrugged. ‘We might chase her up when we come back from Scotland, Julian, what do you think?’

  ‘We’? .. ‘Scotland’? is what Julian thought, and then he decided to dismiss it. He’d face that one after Chichester. There’d been enough pressure on him for one night.

  ‘I’ve booked the tickets to Edinburgh,’ Alex said, ‘and I’ve arranged a hire car so we can drive from there.’ Julian stared at him in horror. ‘I think we should spend a couple of days in Edinburgh though, don’t you? What a magnificent city.’

  It was four days later. The meetings in Chichester had gone very smoothly. The managing director had introduced them to the woman who was to direct The Conjurer, they’d met the set and costume designer and everyone seemed to be in accord as to the style of production.

  There was one jarring moment when Alex tried to chat up the director only to find that she was a confirmed lesbian. Well, it was jarring to her, and to Julian who was present at the time, but Alex was bemused more than anything.