by Deryn Lake
‘Perhaps you could have a word with him.’
She gave an exquisite shrug. ‘It would make no difference, I assure you. Gerry has always been a law unto himself.’
Ricardo spoke up. ‘I’m sorry but what is this Son et Lumière you are talking about?’
Nick answered, ‘It’s the history of Fulke Castle, which is near here; an historic castle built in 1067. I think it is going to be awfully good.’
‘That is if my husband doesn’t muck it up.’
‘When is it coming off?’
‘In four weeks’ time. Why? Are you coming to see it?’
‘I would rather be in it,’ Ricardo answered surprisingly.
Both Ekaterina and Nick turned on him an astonished stare.
‘Well, we are still rather short of men,’ the vicar ventured.
Ricardo explained. ‘I am giving Mrs Harlington a course of massage and am also going to help her to find a suitable health club. So I have booked into The Great House for a month. I would very much like to find something to do in the evenings.’
‘Then please come to the next rehearsal. I’m sure you would be most welcome,’ said Nick.
Kasper had managed to buy himself a small but beautiful cottage in Arrow Street. It was three hundred years old, had a small garden at the back in which he could sit out, and was ideally suited to his bachelor existence. Tonight, however, he was having a small dinner party and was busy in the kitchen preparing Polish food. He had invited Nick and the owner of Fulke Castle, Sir Rufus Beaudegrave, whom he had met socially at a boring little drinks party given by Colonel and Mrs Babbs who lived in The Maze. The colonel had dressed in ginger tweeds and his wife worn a worsted plaid bias-cut skirt. The whole event had been extremely hearty and dull.
Kasper hummed as he worked and decided that this evening would be the complete opposite of dreary with plenty of vodka to drink and wild Polish dishes that he hoped the others would like. Fortunately he was a good cook and highly organized and so had a quarter of an hour to spare during which he washed and changed his shirt and wished Olivia would come back from her world tour. There could be no doubt that he liked her enormously and it would not take much persuading for him to fall totally in love. But he had competition and of that he was highly aware.
The leader of the rival faction, Nick, knocked on the front door exactly five minutes later and was seated, vodka in hand, when the knocker went again. The vicar stood up, anxious in several ways to get a look at Sir Rufus Beaudegrave, the owner of Fulke Castle.
He was a tall man, standing well over six feet, and broad of shoulder into the bargain. He had bright-red hair, rather like the smouldering remains of a log fire, strongly marked features and a very fine well-proportioned nose. His eyes were remarkable; amber pupils with tawny flecks in them. Nick thought that put a helmet and chain mail on him and he could quite easily pass for one of his ancestors.
The fourth member of the group was a girlfriend of Sir Rufus’s and was vapid with a well-bred face exactly like a million others that one could see at upper-class parties. She wore her hair straight and had the habit of flicking it back with a movement of her head about every five minutes or so. She had a very short skirt on and black leggings beneath. Nick stared in fascination at her feet, which were adorned by a massive pair of red shoes with five-inch heels, a platform sole and a welter of florid red bows down the front. He had quite literally never seen anything like them. She looked down and said, ‘Do you like my shoes?’ in a very posh voice.
Nick gulped, not wishing to lie but conscious of the fact that to tell the truth would be hurtful. ‘They’re not quite what I’m used to,’ he said.
‘I gathered that,’ she answered with a cold look and turned her head away to talk to Rufus, who was making it quite clear that she and he were just good friends.
Nick had looked Rufus Beaudegrave up on Wikipedia before he came out and had discovered that the man had been married and divorced, leaving him with the custody of four little girls. He had then looked up a copy of the Daily Express relevant to the divorce and learned that the wife had run off with the gamekeeper and was living in a small two-bedroomed cottage in a nearby village.
What extraordinary lives some people lead, he had thought. And looking at Rufus now as they took their seats at the dinner table, he could not imagine why any woman would want to bolt from him. He supposed the answer lay in good old-fashioned sex.
Rufus was speaking. ‘Have you heard about the Son et Lumière thing they are doing at my castle?’
‘Yes,’ said Kasper, while Nick replied, ‘I’m in it actually.’
‘Are you, by Jove? Then you’ll have witnessed the trouble at first hand.’
The vicar decided to be honest and said, ‘There isn’t any real trouble, Sir Rufus.’
‘That’s not what I heard. In fact the local solicitor has been to see me and asked me to intercede.’
Nick looked at him blankly.
‘He’s in the damned thing. Name of Paul Silas. Models himself on Donald Sinden . . .’
‘Oh, I know who you mean.’
‘Well, he made an appointment to call on me and did nothing but grumble about the new director who is apparently a third-rate American actor who starred in the Wasp Man films.’
The girl, whose name was Davina Booth-Lyle, said, ‘What can you expect with amateur dramatics? Everybody is out to put down everyone else. My sister was in a production where they cast a forty-year-old as Juliet. She turned out to be the wife of the director. How ridiculous can you get?’
‘I tend to agree. But I must admit this show is going to be pretty terrific. I think it will be utterly spectacular when it is done in Fulke Castle.’
‘So when is your first rehearsal in the castle?’ This from Rufus.
‘Tuesday night.’
‘I’ll come and observe.’
‘I think we’d appreciate that very much.’
‘Including the Wasp Man?’ Rufus asked.
‘Yes, if he’s got any sense.’
The conversation veered away to the food, which everybody was enjoying – excepting Davina who picked at her helping with a disconsolate expression. Kasper enquired if she would rather have something else but she said no in a wispy voice. After that the men tended to ignore her.
The evening over, Rufus roared away in a large four-by-four but Nick walked up Arrow Street, quiet and deserted at this hour of the night, and back home along the High Street. As he drew alongside The Great House he stopped dead in his tracks. Even through those great Tudor walls a voice could be heard.
‘Geez, you’re asking me if I know Brad Pitt. Well, let me tell you sumpin. I knew Brad when he was just starting out on his career. In fact it was I myself who had a little whisper in the director’s ear. Wolf, I said . . .’
Some uncouth youth let out a baying howl at this but was shushed by the others. It was obvious that Gerry had gathered quite an audience.
‘Wolf, give the kid a chance. He’s got the looks and I believe he’s got the talent. Give him a break. I’ll stake my life on the fact that he won’t let you down.’
There was a kind of mock cheer, which led Nick to the conclusion that they, his audience, were collectively taking the mickey.
And what else does he deserve, thought Nick in an uncharitable way. He was beginning to think of the Wasp Man as a self-opinionated little squirt and just hoped that in some way or other he could not ruin the grand concept of the Son et Lumière.
SIX
Fulke Castle had been named after its builder, the great Norman warrior Fulke Beau de Grave, who had fought mightily at Hastings alongside his cousin Guillame, anglicized to William, the Conqueror. As a reward he had been granted great swathes of land on one of which, in 1067, he had started to build a moated motte-and-bailey castle. A stone keep was added as the original buildings were not strong enough to withstand attacks from marauders and it was still possible to walk around the immense twelfth-century walls with its ramparts providi
ng a magnificent view of the castle complex. During the English Civil War it had been the only remaining Royalist stronghold in the south-east of England and it was besieged by Cromwell’s troops for three years before the chatelaine, Lady Marguerite Beau de Grave, had finally conceded. To repay her in kind, Cromwell had ordered the removal of the castle’s roofs. But the restoration of Charles II had seen the repairs undertaken and Lady Marguerite had planted an oak tree in the courtyard to mark the end of the castle’s warlike past.
Peace had indeed returned to Fulke Castle. To the right of the old fortifications, looking at the buildings from the drawbridge – now replaced by an eighteenth-century bridge that could be crossed on foot – the Tudor Beau de Graves had built a large set of additional rooms and a great feasting room, which could be reached by a covered passageway that spanned the moat and contained two arches through which the water flowed peacefully. Added on to these were the graceful Georgian buildings and these had finally been extended by a compact Victorian dwelling, complete with tower from which Rufus flew the Beau de Grave flag bearing the family coat of arms. It was in this part of the castle that he continued to live.
Nick, arriving early so that he could look round the place, felt unbelievably excited. It was so exquisite that it made him gasp out loud and he was glad that there was nobody around to hear him. At the same time he felt an enormous admiration for the family that had kept it going by a great effort of will. Rufus, so he had been told, hired the place out for films and TV, did weddings, ghost walks, public admittances, balloon rides, old-car rallies, etc. He had even converted a few rooms in the Tudor block for rich Americans to stay in luxury and be hosted to a feast in the great dining hall. The one thing he had drawn the line at was bed and breakfast for passing strangers. At the same time as all this was going on he was raising four small daughters single-handedly. Nick raised his metaphorical hat to him.
The audience for the Son et Lumière were to sit in the courtyard which had been formed by the Tudor dining hall on the right-hand side, the Georgian buildings to the left. Immediately opposite them were the ramparts with some medieval archways underneath. Behind them stood Lady Marguerite’s oak tree. Action would take place all around them, as it were, and Nick felt he must enjoin his parishioners to buy tickets as it was obviously going to be an incredible sight to witness. Feeling in good spirits he crossed the moat and made his way within.
Gerry was rushing around with a baseball cap on his head. He wore this sideways with the peak over his right ear and the back over his left. He carried a clipboard on which were attached a copy of the script and several important-looking documents. The sound people – a professional team hired from London – were quietly getting on with organizing the speakers. While the lighting people – also professional – were crawling all over the lighting rig. Meanwhile Gerry shouted instructions through a loudhailer which everybody ignored.
The actors had been given a large tent behind the scenes for costume changes and make-up and despite being early Nick discovered that a lot of the rest of the cast had done likewise. He got into his opening costume – a medieval builder – then wandered round to Marguerite’s oak tree to watch what was going on. The entire acting area was now plunged into impenetrable darkness through which the only sound that could be heard was that of Gerry bellowing. And then suddenly, as if by magic, the lights began slowly to come up, bathing the old castle in an ethereal silver. It was at that moment that a white barn owl flew across the courtyard and disappeared into the darkness beyond. It was as if it had been created by supernatural means and Nick found himself transfixed. He heard the movement of someone beside him and saw that Jonquil, too, was totally enraptured.
In the dimness the sound of Rafael Devine’s awe-inspiring voice spoke the opening words.
‘The year is ten sixty-seven and that grim and bloody battle which would become known in history as the Battle of Hastings is over. Fighting alongside William of Normandy was his cousin and lifelong friend, Fulke Beau de Grave, present in Westminster Abbey when William, now styled the Conqueror, was crowned King of England. He was rewarded amply for his loyalty to the crown, being granted great swathes of land, one of which included a large holding in Sussex.’
The soundtrack faded out and Gerry’s voice could be heard saying, ‘Hey, what’s going on?’ only to die away as the spotlight suddenly blazed on a solitary rider coming through one of the medieval arches and looking about him in the darkness. Nick felt so inspired that he gripped the hand of the person standing next to him. He felt that he was looking on the true Fulke Beau de Grave, dressed in chain mail and flowing crimson cloak. Indeed he was so overcome with emotion that his eyes actually filled with tears.
‘We’d better go round. You’re on next,’ a voice whispered in his ear, and he turned, much embarrassed, to see Jonquil smiling at him.
He rapidly let go of her hand, saying ‘I’m sorry,’ in a muffled voice.
‘Don’t apologize. I was feeling exactly the same as you were,’ she answered.
And he could see that she really meant it.
The rest of the rehearsal went smoothly enough until it came to the show-stopper, the Elizabethan Fair scene. At this, Gerry, who had remained suspiciously quiet after his opening gaffe, called all the players into the courtyard and stood up on a chair.
‘Well, kids, it’s all going a gas at the moment. It’s real cool. But I just thought I ought to warn you that I have slightly altered the Fair scene. I have invited a troupe of morris dancers – the Casselbury Ring Men – to perform in this scene.’
He consulted a piece of paper on his clipboard.
‘As you are probably all aware, morris dancers have been around a hell of a long time. The first known reference to them was in 1448.’
He’s been on the Internet, thought Nick.
‘And they were very popular in Tudor times. William Kemp danced a solo morris from London to Norwich in 1600 and the Bard of Avon referred to them in one of his plays, saying, I quote, “As fit for a morris for May Day”.’
There was a stunned silence.
‘Anyway, these Casselbury guys are pretty busy with other engagements and I’m afraid that they cannot be with us until the dress rehearsal, in other words the day after tomorrow. They will dance just after the gypsies have come on with the performing bear. Is that OK with everybody? ’Cos if it ain’t, that’s tough.’
Nick waited for somebody to raise an objection but surprisingly nobody did. Ricardo, who had joined the company ten days ago, whispered to Nick, ‘Who are these people he’s talking about?’
‘They’re quite well known. They come from West Sussex and they’ve named themselves after a local feature, Casselbury Ring, which is a ring of trees supposed to have mystic powers.’
‘Will they spoil the show?’
‘No, I don’t think so. In fact they might enhance it.’
‘Good.’
‘OK, people,’ said Gerry. ‘Let’s proceed.’
The actors vanished to begin the Elizabethan Fair but not before Nick had caught a glimpse of a man’s face watching the proceedings from a window in the Tudor feasting hall. So Rufus had been there all the time, he thought, and Nick hoped he was impressed.
After the rehearsal was over there was the usual gathering of people in a local pub, The Beaudegrave Arms. Nick had joined them for the first time, accompanied by Ricardo, who was looking gorgeous in a silk shirt, open at the neck and displaying a beautifully waxed chest. He had obviously been spray tanned and the colour of his skin was enhanced by the mauveness of his clothes. There was quite a flutter of women wanting to sit next to him and luck had fallen on Meg Alexander, who was eyeing him up like mad.
‘What do you think about the addition of morris men to the Fair?’ asked Paul Silas, taking charge as always.
‘I think it could work well,’ answered Robin Green.
He was clad in his usual style, baggy brown shorts and sandals, with a turtleneck sweater in a slime-green shade a
bove. Nick caught himself wondering why men with particularly nasty legs should insist on showing them and made a mental note to inspect his own carefully before next summer.
‘Well I think it’s just going to make the whole show too long and unbalanced,’ said Mike Alexander, determined as ever to rock the boat. ‘I mean, it was wonderful the way Ben Merryfield wrote it and I think out of respect to his memory we should alter nothing.’
‘Rubbish,’ said Annette Muffat, leaning across Meg and addressing Ricardo directly. ‘What do you think, sunshine? Let’s get your opinion.’
‘I think I am too new to your show to voice such an answer,’ he answered, bestowing on her a glance fit to melt her undergarments.
‘If you ask me,’ put in Estelle Yeoman, whose opinion was much respected as she was that marvellous thing in amateur eyes, an ex-professional, ‘there’s no point in belly aching about it now. Let’s wait and see what it looks like and if it’s pants then we’ll go to Harlington and tell him so.’
‘That sounds like a good idea to me,’ said Nick mildly.
‘I agree.’ This from Barry Beardsley, the verruca wizard.
The plain girl called Cynthia Wensby, who could never make up her mind, came to a decision. ‘Estelle’s right. We’ll just have to wait and see.’
Jonquil, who had been at the bar, slid into a small gap beside Ricardo. ‘Are you enjoying the show, both of you?’
She addressed the remark to the masseur and to Nick.
‘Very much. It is so English,’ Ricardo answered in his amazing Italian accent.
Nick, remembering how he had grabbed her hand during the opening scene, was more than somewhat effusive as he said, ‘I think it’s wonderful. And the soundtrack is terrific. What a magnificent voice Rafael Devine has got. It reminds me of recordings made by Richard Burton.’
‘Absolutely right. Have you heard his Under Milk Wood? It’s sensational.’
‘My mother saw it on the stage and raved about it.’
‘My grandmother saw Burton as Henry the Fifth and stood up and cheered,’ answered Jonquil.