by Celia Imrie
Thanking him and ripping open the envelope, Suzy went back to lie on the bed.
Among the useful things inside the packet were a number of introductory letters, a call sheet and a pull-out pocket map of the decks of the ship, marking areas like swimming pools, restaurants, shops and theatres. There was also a kind of block-coloured roster for the few days between Genoa and Southampton, showing events onboard at which her attendance was necessary. Finally, there was a list of cabin and phone numbers of the other entertainers and entertainment staff.
She pulled up the call sheet.
Entertainment division lecturers’ meeting, at 18.10 somewhere on the ship called Interact. She looked at her watch: 18.12.
She leaped up, checked to see her make-up wasn’t smudged and dashed out of the door, slamming it behind her. It was only when she reached the lifts that she thought about the map of the ship, which she had left lying on her bed.
Never mind, she thought, no time to go back. A boat couldn’t be that big.
But, after ten minutes walking briskly, with no certainty that she was actually going in the right direction, she realised her error. She had hoped there would be signposts everywhere, but no.
She noticed a man in uniform and stopped him to ask her way to Interact. He pointed her back in the direction she had come and down three decks.
‘It’s aft,’ he said, pointing. ‘Stern.’
Suzy’s face betrayed the fact that he might as well be speaking Chinese.
‘Right at the other end,’ he said. ‘At the back of the ship.’
Suzy marvelled that anyone could possibly know the front from the back in a stationary ship.
She arrived, breathless, a few minutes later to find an area in which two sofas were placed facing one another in a long corridor. Two men were sitting, chatting; another stood between them with a clipboard. He turned and smiled at Suzy. ‘Hi, I’m Andy, the production manager.’
‘So, so sorry,’ said Suzy. ‘I got totally lost.’
‘Don’t worry. Newbies are always disoriented on the first day.’
‘Andy, can I go now? I have things to do.’ One of the seated men had stood up. As he squeezed past Suzy, he turned and shook her hand. ‘Dr Tony Hanson, lecturer on History of Shipping in the Med and on the Atlantic Ocean.’
The other man looked up from his papers and said, ‘I’m Mike Turner. “Diet and Health”. And you are?’
Suzy smiled and gave her name as she took a seat beside him.
‘So, Suzy,’ said Andy, poising his pen over his clipboard. ‘Will you be needing PowerPoint and/or sound clips? Movies?’
Suzy had no idea what he was talking about.
‘For your lectures?’
‘I thought I was giving dancing lessons and things?’ said Suzy, feeling a rising fear.
‘No. That would be the social hostess’s job.’
‘But I thought …?’
‘Between here and Southampton you have to give two 45-minute lectures.’
‘Lectures?’ Suzy started to panic. ‘On what?’
‘That’s what you’re here to tell me,’ said Andy.
‘Oh God,’ drawled Mike Turner. ‘Not another B-list thespian amateur.’
‘I am not an amateur,’ said Suzy, feeling desperate. ‘But ten hours ago I didn’t even know I would be here.’
‘I think the whole point of hiring people at the last minute is that they are usually well-prepared and previously experienced,’ said Mike Turner. ‘Told a few porkies, did you, to get the engagement?’
At this moment, Jason turned the corner and appeared behind Andy’s shoulder. He winked at Suzy, and made a gesture meaning to stay calm.
Mike smirked and scanned a list which lay on top of the folder on his lap. ‘So, Ms Marshall, we can presume you have nothing prepared for your talk …’ His finger ran up and down the paper then flicked the edge as he peered up, glaring at her over the top of his spectacles. ‘Which – as it happens – is tonight. Just over an hour from now, in fact.’
‘I … I …’ Suzy had no idea what to say. She wanted to kill her agent, who, by giving her incorrect information about the engagement, had left her utterly vulnerable. She’d wasted that whole train journey dancing when she could have used the time to get herself prepared to give a talk.
‘So, Andy, I suppose you would like me to step in?’ Mike gave a dramatic sigh as he slid the papers back into his folder and rose from the sofa. ‘Clearly they picked a dud with this one.’
Suzy wanted the sofa she was sitting on to open up and swallow her alive. The humiliation!
‘Suzy’s first talk is on Oscar Wilde, including extracts from The Importance of Being Earnest,’ said Jason. ‘I’ve just been putting the final touches to her notes, as we’ve only come aboard an hour ago, and she had to come straight down here to get to the meeting in time, while I’ve been trying to locate a printer.’
‘It’s through that door there.’ Andy pointed over his shoulder as he jotted down the name Oscar Wilde.
Jason sidled towards Suzy, then bent down and whispered in her ear. ‘What else have you done lately?’ he asked.
‘Nothing,’ she replied.
‘Come on – tell me a play you know about?’
She twigged what Jason was suggesting and turned to Andy, saying with some authority, ‘And my second talk will be on Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night.’
‘And your talk-to session?’ said Andy.
‘My what?’
‘It’s a kind of interview, Q and A.’
Jason laughed. ‘Isn’t that obvious, Andy? Suzy is going to talk about her fabulous life with the stars, in TV and theatre. For many years she was the most popular actress in the UK and I feel sure many people onboard will remember her brilliant series Dahlias in which she played a lady barrister at the Old Bailey. Her third talk is called “Hey Diddle Dee Dee – The Actor’s Life For Me”. And, if I may, Andy, I will pose the questions.’
After the meeting, as Jason steered Suzy towards the lifts, heading back up to their cabins, Suzy thanked him profusely and told him how lucky it was that he had magically appeared just when she thought it couldn’t get worse.
‘No magic, involved, Suze,’ he said as they got into the lift. ‘I was lying on my bed reading the reams of paperwork we’d been sent and I saw that you were down for tonight’s mystery talk. Our agent clearly made a little slip-up with the info. Realising, I dashed along, so you didn’t make a gaffe.’
‘Ours? Is that all kosher now with Max? You’ve spoken.’
‘Mmmn-hmm,’ Jason nodded. His eyes sparkled. ‘From now on, Max will officially get twelve per cent of my earnings.’
‘Thank you so much for saving me, Jason.’
‘No. Thank you, Suze. You got me the gig onboard. It was the least I could do to help you out. Max is in trouble, though.’
‘Max? Why?’
‘I’m apparently aged between forty and sixty-eight.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Those are the requirements for my job as a gentleman host. Male, presentable, able to dance, aged between forty and sixty-eight, as my room-mate, George, never stops telling me. He’s very disgruntled about my presence.’
‘Oh lord. I never said you were young. What’s going to happen to you?’
‘They can hardly throw me overboard and get an elderly gent to swim out to the ship and take my job, so they’re stuck with me, at least till Southampton.’
‘Agents!’ said Suzy. ‘Well, at least Max got us a passage home, even if neither of us fits the bill. I’m hardly qualified as a lecturer either. How am I going to give those talks? I don’t know nearly enough.’ She looked at her watch. ‘Oh God! We’ve got less than an hour to cobble something together.’
‘Darling, this is not Oxford University. It’s a cruise ship. They don’t want dusty old footnotes. They’ll want something light and amusing. It’s easy. You blether on for a bit about the sad old genius and gay icon, Oscar Wilde. Tell them about the
trial and read some “Reading Gaol”.’
‘You’re right. There’s tons I could squeeze in. I don’t suppose you could give your Jack Worthing and I can reprise my “handbag”?’
‘Sans barbershop!’
The lift pinged and came to a stop.
‘Why not, Suze?’ he said. ‘We can do it. But, seriously, first we need to get some grub. My stomach is howling. I don’t want us passing out onstage.’
They whirled through the cafeteria, talking in Wildean phrases and swapping ideas for the lecture, while grabbing things to make a dressing-room snack – a chunk of cheese, some bread, a few small tomatoes, two cakes – then returned to Suzy’s room in entertainment quarters to write up their notes.
‘Your cabin is charmant!’ said Jason, looking around Suzy’s new home and flopping down on her desk chair. ‘I’m in bunks. My cabin partner is a seedy old chap who must be an ex-sergeant major, straight out of Joe Orton. Luckily he’s into keep-fit, so I’m hoping he’ll be spending hours in the gym, or jogging round the decks, rather than sounding off all day in the cabin with me. I think he thinks boys of my age should all be doing National Service.’
‘Yes. OK. OK. Later, darling,’ said Suzy, pulling out pens and paper. ‘We have to get on with this.’
Jason took the pen and started noting down all the subjects they had discussed, while Suzy laid out the plates on the bed, assembling the tomatoes, the salad and the cheeses between buttered baps.
‘Open with the handbag scene …’ Jason grabbed a new piece of paper. ‘Then facts – birth, success, green carnations, Bosie, the trial and doom …’
‘We’d be in the middle of Act Two now,’ said Suzy, handing Jason a cheese-salad roll. ‘Opening night. Imagine that! It already feels a lifetime away.’
‘This is so frustrating,’ said Jason, scratching away on headed ship’s notepaper with one hand while tearing his teeth into the roll with the other.
Suzy’s mobile phone rang. ‘Damn.’ She looked at the screen. ‘It’s Reg!’
‘You’re kidding!’ Jason leaped across the cabin and perched beside her on the bed. ‘Take it!’
Suzy slid her finger across the screen and started the call.
‘Suzy!’ Reg’s voice was bright but oily. ‘Just touching base, darling, after the catastrophe yesterday. Did you manage to get home all right?’
Jason had put his head close to hers and was listening in.
‘No, actually, Reg. I didn’t get home yet. Did you?’
Jason made plane wings, and tapped his watch.
‘I’m still in Zurich,’ she lied.
‘Ah.’ There was a pause. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve seen or heard from Jason Scott?’
Jason shook his head.
‘Not since this morning, no.’
‘He managed to get a flight out, then?’
‘Not as far as I know. Reg, did you not hear every one of our return flight tickets was voided. What on earth was all that about?
‘Ah.’ Another pause. ‘Not my department, unfortunately. I am only the director.’ Reg sighed. ‘Listen, sweetie, when you get back to town I think we should all meet up. Just because we lost the venue in Zurich doesn’t mean the show’s over.’
Suzy pulled a horror face at Jason, but said nothing.
‘Well, anyhow, Suzy, just give me a bell when you get to London. And, if you see that boy Jason, please ask him to phone me. It’s very important.’
‘I presume this means you’re at home already, Reg.’
‘That’s right. Luckily I got an early flight.’
‘No question of the captain going down with the ship then?’
By way of reply Reg cleared his throat.
‘You flew home with Stan?’
‘Whatever makes you think that?’ Reg’s voice betrayed outrage. ‘In fact, I haven’t heard from Stan since dinner last night. Have you spoken to him? I’ve been trying to reach him but his phone is going straight to answer.’
‘As far as I know, Stan was on the first flight out of Zurich this morning.’
‘I doubt that,’ said Reg. ‘How would Stan have known the show was called off? I hadn’t told him, neither had Barbara.’
Jason did a mime of fighting. Suzy got the hint.
‘Barbara seemed to think you weren’t well, Reg?’
‘Walked into a kitchen cupboard. Bit of a black eye. Nothing serious. But if you hear from Jason …’
Jason’s face was filled with anger.
‘Must go now, Reg.’ Suzy was about to cut him off when she thought of something. ‘Oh, just one other thing. You talked about putting the show on in town. Is your Swiss backer still going ahead, then?’
‘That’s not what I meant. I was thinking that one of those little fringe venues might take us in. There’d be no pay, of course. But at least we wouldn’t have wasted our time.’
‘So, the producer, what was his name …’ Suzy snapped her fingers at Jason who scribbled on the Blue Mermaid notepad on the bedside table. He held up the paper. Suzy read aloud: ‘Mr Appenzell. He’s not taking up the show if we open in London?’
‘Uuuummmm,’ said Reg. ‘I don’t think so. It was the first time I’d used him for a producer. A bit of a mistake. He didn’t really know his way round “theatre land”. I mean … He’s used to big business. Finance, stock markets and that stuff. For him we thespians are a bit of a joke – small fry. I won’t be using him again.’
‘That doesn’t mean he can get away with this, Reg. Even though the show was cancelled we’re still owed money.’ As she spoke Suzy felt a rush of justified bravery. ‘Anyway, if we can’t go after him for the money we’re owed, perhaps we’ll come after you.’
‘Now, hold on, Suzy.’ Reg’s voice registered panic. ‘Look. I’ll chase him up. I know he was set to see a solicitor about selling his London flat. He’s due off for business in LA or somewhere. You know these jet-setters. Touch down at their various international pied-à-terres then within twenty-four hours they’re off again.’
‘Oh, by the way, Reg. If I bump into Jason should I ask him what happened last night?’ asked Suzy.
‘No. No. Don’t mention anything to Jason.’
She knew that she had touched a nerve because Reg was now trying to get off the line. Why would Reg not want her to talk to Jason? She hoped Jason might explain this to her later.
‘As I said. Call me when you’re back in the UK, Suzy dear. Must rush.’ And he was gone.
Suzy flung her mobile on to the bed and grabbed the notes for her lecture.
‘We’ll never get any of that money, will we?’ she said as she ran her finger down the list of subjects.
‘No.’ Jason spoke definitively.
‘We could go down the path of law.’ Suzy put her hands up. ‘But I’ve seen what happens to people who have fought their corner in this business. Twenty years of legal hell. Eventually they win some pitiful amount. But during those twenty years, no one will employ them. Life ruined. No, thanks.’
‘I have a feeling Mr Appenzell is going to be well out of touch with the law.’
Suzy looked at Jason, who was doodling on the desk pad. She could see that his thoughts were running. Whatever had really happened last night, it wasn’t what he had told her. There was something more. Something he was clearly reluctant to admit.
‘What was the name of Bosie’s father, Jason, the one Oscar sued for libel?’
‘The Marquess of Queensbury.’
As Suzy scribbled down the name, she looked up at the wall clock.
‘Hell! Jason! Look at the time. We’ve got to be backstage in fifteen minutes!’
She edged herself on to the desk seat so that she could face the mirror, while Jason continued writing. ‘I’ve got to get my slap on.’
‘You could talk about Oscar Wilde’s tomb in Paris.’
‘Isn’t that a bit morbid?’
‘No – fabulous anecdotes. Once part of it was a statue with enormous testicles – until they got stolen …�
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‘I can’t tell a story like that on a cruise ship!’
‘All right. How about the fact that so many people put on lipstick and then kissed the tomb that the stone started to rot away, so they had to erect a kind of plastic shield round it?’
‘How do you know all of this?’
‘I was brought up in a flat just up the road from Père Lachaise Cemetery. I used to hang out there with my friends.’
‘I just don’t think it’s right to talk about tombs.’ Suzy licked her kohl pencil and started on her eyes.
‘He died in a hotel on the Rue des Beaux-Arts, you know,’ said Jason. ‘And he was going under another name.’
‘Really?’
‘Sebastian Melmoth.’
‘I think I’d prefer to concentrate on his mother, his upbringing in Ireland, and his success,’ said Suzy. ‘Rather than disaster and failure. So … we start with the handbag scene …’
Quarter of an hour later, Suzy stood in the wings of the ship’s theatre, Jason at her side. She took deep breaths. Through the curtain, she could hear the buzz of the audience. It was a full house.
‘This is terrifying,’ she whispered, taking a sniff of her Olbas inhaler stick.
One of the stage hands swept past her. ‘It’s packed out there. We’ll probably have to wait another couple of minutes while they get them all seated.’
Suzy glanced down at the folder which she and Jason had assembled.
‘I hope I can read this in the lights.’
The stage hand waved them to the gap in the middle of the curtains. ‘You’re on.’
The curtains pulled open a few feet and Suzy walked out into the spotlit stage.
‘Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. My name is Suzy Marshall and tonight I’m going to talk to you about Oscar Wilde.’
The audience applauded politely. She scanned their faces, and, sitting in the centre of the stalls, near the front, was Mike Turner. He was not clapping; his arms were defiantly crossed.
Suzy turned and introduced Jason. ‘This is my friend, Jason Scott. And tonight we are going to start with probably Oscar Wilde’s most famous scene. It’s from The Importance of Being Earnest.’