Break a Leg, Darlings

by Marian Babson

  'Not yet, you won't.' I caught her arm. 'Not until I see what you've got up your sleeve.'

  'Nothing.' But there was a sharp crackle of paper beneath my fingertips. 'Let me go!'

  'You stole Lucy's play!' Suddenly the reason for her desire for a glass of water, her urgency that I make sure Eddie was still waiting outside, became clear. While our backs were turned, she had helped herself from the desk.

  'It's my play!' Now that she was caught, she shrugged calmly out of her coat and retrieved the script from the sleeve. 'I had to leave the page on top of the pile beside the typewriter, unfortunately, and I didn't quite dare to take the page from the machine in case Nova noticed. But I've memorized them. If I can get to pen and paper quickly enough, I should be able to write them down verbatim.'

  'You stole it,' I repeated. 'How could you? Have you no shame? No shame at all?'

  Of course, she hadn't. She was quite pleased with herself, in fact. Humming softly, she settled herself in an armchair and began riffling through the pages.

  'You call Eddie back this minute and send him over to return that play!'

  'Do you really think he'd go? He didn't like that neighbourhood in broad daylight and it's beginning to get dark now.'

  'You've got to return it!' I seemed to have been uttering variations of that remark all day.

  'You can return it, if you're so concerned about it,' Evangeline said serenely. 'After I photocopy it.'

  'Evangeline!'

  'Zis role ees a shallenge sush as I 'ave nevair faced before! Zis role could be zee culmination of my career.'

  'No, Evangeline!' She was hopeless. 'Not with that phoney French accent.'

  'But –' She looked puzzled. 'It's written in that accent.'

  I might have known it! 'Let me see that!' I snatched for the script, but she held it out of reach.

  'I'm going to read it first! It's my play! Any minor problems with it can be ironed out when we talk to Lucy.'

  'If we talk to Lucy. By now, she may be on her way to a croft in the wilds of Scotland — just so she can hang on to that damned dog.'

  'The artistic temperament,' Evangeline murmured. 'How well we know it.'

  The telephone rang again. I should have pulled the jack out.

  'It might be Nova,' Evangeline said. 'Lucy may be back.'

  'Yeah, and she may have found her play missing!' The phone continued to ring. Neither of us moved to answer it.

  'You get it,' Evangeline directed. 'I'll go and write down as much as I can remember from the pages I had to leave behind. Then, at least, we'll have something to work with.' She disappeared into her bedroom.

  'Hello?' I was going to make short shrift of this call and then disconnect the phone for the rest of the night.

  'Hello ... Trixie? Is that Trixie Dolan?' The male voice was vaguely familiar, but not immediately identifiable.

  'Yes ...' I admitted cautiously. At least, he didn't have an Irish accent. 'Who is this?'

  'Oh, sorry. It's Greg. From the Open and Shut Club.'

  'Oh, yes.'

  'I'm sorry, I hope I'm not disturbing you.' I guess I didn't sound exactly welcoming. 'I was just – We were wondering if you were all right? You and Miss Sinclair?'

  'We're just fine. Why shouldn't we be?'

  'But you're not here. At the Wounded Lion. It's Opening Night for Give No Quarter. We were worried ... concerned ...'

  'We went to a lunchtime matinée today at the Scarlet Swan. Even for us, one show a day is enough.'

  'Of course, of course. I'm glad there's nothing wrong. Perhaps you'll be coming along tomorrow night? I think you'd find it very interesting. It's a play, but with incidental music. Some of it sounds quite good.'

  'Oh?' I have to admit it, he'd hooked me. There was so little in the musical line on offer that even incidental music was worth looking into. 'Perhaps we could make it tomorrow night.'

  'Good. Tell you what, why don't we all meet here and the club will take you to dinner? Then we can all see the show together. It isn't the same without you.'

  'No dinner,' I said firmly. I'd had enough pub meals to last me a long time, even though today's lunch had been pretty good. Come to think of it, I was getting a bit fed up with the Open and Shutters, too. Why wasn't it the same without us? They'd managed happily before we appeared on the scene. It wasn't as though we were their girlfriends. And that was another thing: where were their girlfriends? They were a group of good-looking, healthy, solvent young men not obviously overly devoted to each other, so where were the young women they should have by their sides?

  'Trixie ...?' He had been waiting for me to say something more; in my preoccupation, I had let the silence go on too long. 'Are you still there?'

  'Yes, I was just thinking ...'

  'Changing your mind, I hope. The food is really quite good at the Wounded Lion.'

  'We already have a dinner date.' It seemed the easiest way out. 'We might look in on the show later – and we'll be bringing our guests.'

  'The Sylvesters? How smashing!' His enthusiasm would have put him on Evangeline's black list instantly.

  'Not them.' I had actually been thinking of introducing Ros to the group. She was such a nice, pretty young woman and she could use some cheering up. 'We do have other friends.'

  'Of course, of course. I didn't mean to imply –'

  'I'm glad to hear that.' I'd had just about enough of Greg. 'And now, if you'll excuse me, there's someone at the door.' The doorbell rang as I spoke, making an honest woman of me.

  'Yes, yes, I hear it. We'll see you tomorrow night, then.'

  'Don't bet on it.' But he had already hung up.

  I crossed to answer the doorbell, aware that Evangeline – always as curious as a cat – was hovering in her bedroom doorway to see who it was.

  'Come in, Nigel.' I hoped she was disappointed.

  'Nigel, dear, what a coincidence!' Evangeline swooped forward. 'I was just about to ring you.'

  'Ah! Good!' A bit surer of his welcome, Nigel stepped into the living room, looking at her expectantly. 'Why?'

  'No, no, you first.' Evangeline was consumed with inquisitiveness. 'After all, if it was important enough for you to come up here ...' She made it sound as though he had trekked to the North Pole, and she had quite lost sight of the fact that he was saving the cost of a telephone call by that short hop in the lift. She tended to forget that other people might need to economize. Especially those without jobs.

  'Ah! Well! Not all that important, perhaps. Just a little invitation. I've heard there's a new show opening at the Wounded Lion and thought you might like to be my guests. Perhaps have a meal there, too. Tomorrow night? Or any evening you like.'

  'That's Give No Quarter, right?' Either this was going to be the most popular show in town, or it was the cheapest.

  'Ah, right! You've heard about it, then?' He beamed at me, as though his taste in entertainment had been confirmed.

  'It has incidental music,' I said. 'Where did you hear about it, Nigel?' He had never struck me as being particularly knowledgeable about the fringe theatre – or even the West End.

  'Oh! Ah! One of the chappies you introduced me to the other night.' He looked at Evangeline. 'Thought I might like to know about it and rang me.'

  'I noticed you were getting along awfully well with Ledbetter.'

  'Ledbetter, yes. That's the one. Jolly clever of you to know straightaway.' He beamed at her.

  'Elementary, my dear Nigel.' She beamed back.

  Maybe, but that was the easiest question of the lot. A more pertinent one was just why the Open and Shut Club were so determined to get us to the Wounded Lion. Was the show really that good? Was our company so desirable? Or did they have a bet riding on whether Greg or Nigel was the more persuasive? Certainly, they had mounted a determined two-pronged attack to ensure our presence tomorrow night. Some sort of surprise party? But it wasn't the birthday of either of us, nor any anniversary that I could recall.

  'I'll collect you about seven
tomorrow night, shall I? That will give us time to have dinner there before the show.'

  'Oh, no, not dinner,' I said. All roads might lead to the Wounded Lion, but I certainly wasn't going to eat there. Nigel looked so disappointed I figured Ledbetter was actually going to pay for the meal.

  'Come up here about six-thirty,' I said. 'We'll eat here before we go.' Our microwave oven was as good as any pub's microwave.

  'Ah! If you're sure? Not too much trouble?' Nigel's face cleared; he didn't mind where he ate as long as he wasn't paying for it.

  'We insist,' I assured him.

  The Wounded Lion was a lot more upmarket than most of the pubs we had visited lately, with the possible exception of the Happy Larry. There were window boxes filled with flowers and greenery, carriage lamps flanking the doors, mullioned windows and a long deep balcony overhanging the entrance and running along the length of the building.

  'Very picturesque.' Evangeline took it all in and nodded approval. 'Just like a backdrop for a movie.'

  'It is very old,' Nigel said. 'Ah ... eighteenth ... seventeenth ... sixteenth ...' He groped for a suitable century.

  'Not as old as you might think,' a voice said behind us. 'One of the last coaching inns, true, but a replacement for a much earlier inn on the same site. Now that one was really old, built by a returned Crusader. Hence the name. Some legends say it refers to Coeur de Lion, others that the Crusader actually encountered a wounded lion in the desert.'

  'Terence!' We whirled to face him. 'What a surprise!'

  'What are you doing here?' Evangeline sounded more annoyed than surprised.

  'I've heard the show is excellent; I wanted to catch it before it transfers to the West End.' Yet Terence looked obscurely guilty, as though expecting to be accused of something reprehensible. Disloyalty, perhaps, or even dancing on a grave. 'I hope you don't think it's too disrespectful, but I don't think Sweetums would have minded.'

  'I'm sure she wouldn't,' I said quickly and, I hope, loudly enough to cover Evangeline's snort. 'She wouldn't want you to mourn.' I sent Evangeline a dirty look.

  'That's what I thought. She had a long and productive career and we are rich in the legacy she left us.' He pushed open the door and we entered the cheery saloon bar.

  Engraved mirrors behind the long bar reflected groups of laughing customers and the many small tables, each with its own carriage lamp and tiny vase of spring flowers. There was a piano in one corner rattling out a honky-tonk medley of music hall tunes. I realized with surprise that Vic was the pianist.

  'Let me get you a drink –' Terence began.

  'All taken care of, old man.' Greg appeared with large brandy snifters nearly a third full of golden liquid. Shades of Sweetums! Were they trying to get us drunk?

  Evangeline appeared to have no such qualm as she accepted her glass.

  'We're over here.' Greg led us to a table by the piano. 'Adam, get the gents a couple of drinks, will you?' he ordered carelessly.

  'So glad you could make it.' Ledbetter's smile seemed a bit strained as he included Terence and Nigel. I got the idea that he would have been happier if we had come by ourselves. It was too bad Ros had had a previous engagement, she might have had a better effect on him. Or would she and Adam be a better match? Or perhaps Vic? I realized that long years of trying to pair off Martha had left a lasting automatic reaction in me. I could no longer look at an eligible bachelor without plotting the loss of his freedom.

  'Any requests?' Vic called out merrily, swinging into 'No More Sugar for Daddy' with an inviting wink at me. A spattering of applause from adjoining tables egged me on.

  Well, I had to stand up and sing a chorus or two, didn't I? Never mind Evangeline scowling into her snifter. Was it my fault that she couldn't carry a tune?

  The applause had drowned out the warning bell, which was eventually heard to be ringing violently. So I was in a very good mood when we went upstairs to the theatre. It was obviously a fully fledged tourist trap, with a proper stage and curtain and individual comfortable seats. Too bad about the play.

  Historical dramas were never my strong point and Evangeline has abjured wimples ever since that made-for-TV movie Crisis in the Convent, which had set television back at least thirty years, not to mention what it did to religion.

  The incidental music was pleasant, but not so much memorable as reminiscent. I seemed to have heard it all before.

  Often. And a lot better done. Unless the second act improved dramatically, there was nothing here for us.

  'Coming downstairs for a drink?' Finally, the lights had gone up, the last plangent chords of the lute hovered in the air. Greg was at our elbows, trying to chivvy us into action when I, for one, just wanted to sit still, read my programme and wait for the second act to begin.

  'I think not.' Evangeline was not disposed to move, either.

  'Come out on the balcony then and get a breath of air,' Greg urged solicitously. 'I'll bring drinks up to you.'

  Some of the audience were already crowding out on to the balcony, pulling packets of cigarettes from handbags and pockets as they went through the door. There was going to be more smoke than air on that balcony during the interval.

  'Perhaps after the show,' I said. 'I want to check the programme before the next act.'

  'I'll get their drinks.' Nigel jumped to his feet. 'Same again?' He was gone before we could answer.

  'I'm glad to have this chance to talk to you.' Terence also remained in his seat. 'I was afraid I wasn't going to have time before I left.'

  'Oh? Are you going somewhere?' I heard Evangeline ask without any particular interest as I concentrated on my programme notes. It appeared that the author was now working on a docudrama of the Irish Potato Famine with incidental music based on old Gaelic folk songs. Definitely, nothing for us here.

  'Yes, quite unexpectedly. I had no plans to, but ... Terence shrugged, looking both proud and uncomfortable. 'But I couldn't refuse, the way her family put it. I'll have to arrange for the memorial service when I get back. This is more important.'

  'I'm sure Sweetums would understand,' I said automatically; the man seemed to require constant reassurance.

  'Oh, I know Sweetums wouldn't mind this,' he said. 'It's not as though I were deserting her. She's coming with me – rather, I'm going with her.'

  'What?' Now he had my undivided attention.

  'Her family asked me to escort her – her' – he could not bring himself to say 'body' – 'back to Los Angeles. When I telephoned them with my condolences and to tell them that she had been happy and having a good time right up to the — the end. I thought at first that they meant for me to have her cremated and bring them the ashes, but no. Her daughter-in-law said they want to see the ... body ... for themselves, so they could be sure she was really dead. They wouldn't be able to believe it otherwise.'

  That figured. After what Sweetums had put them through, they would probably bury her at a crossroads with a stake through her heart, just to make sure she'd never bother them again.

  'I've been seeing to the arrangements,' he went on. 'We should be flying out two days after tomorrow. I ... I feel it's a great honour. And the family have invited me to stay at their home and attend the funeral. I'll be representing the Magnificent Stars of Yesteryear Fan Club, of course.'

  Nigel returned with our drinks and we reached for them with unseemly haste. Trust Sweetums to get herself an attractive male escort right up to the Pearly Gates.

  For once, I was happy to hear the second-act bell. I didn't feel my conversational powers were adequate to any more discussion with Terence – and I was darned sure Evangeline's weren't.

  By the time the show ended, we had all regained our composure. Four curtain calls seemed a bit excessive, but I joined in the applause willingly. It gave us an excuse to remain in our seats while the more impatient of the audience crowded the aisles.

  'You'd think they still played "God Save the Queen",' Evangeline grumbled under her breath. 'Time was when you could be tramp
led to death in the rush of people trying to get out before that started and they had to stand to attention until it finished. Of course, it was "the King" in those days.'

  'The rush seems to be over now,' I said, as the curtains swished shut with an air of finality. 'I think it's safe to leave.'

  I spoke too soon, however. There was a crush on the long balcony outside. It seemed as though some of the early birds had gone down to the bar and come back up here with their drinks. We were jostled unthinkingly as we tried to make our way to the outside stairs leading down to the courtyard.

  'Over here.' Nigel shouldered through the crowd, clearing a passage for us over to the outside railing, where we paused for a moment, looking down on the cobblestoned courtyard below. It was deserted at the moment, with everyone still clustered at the bar or up here on the balcony.

  More than ever, it resembled a set, waiting for the director to call: 'Action!' Light from the carriage lamps mingled with the light shining out from inside the inn to make strange wells and shadows on the rough cobblestones. I leaned over the railing, looking down, enjoying the scene and the faint scent of flowers and herbs wafting upwards from the window boxes.

  And then it happened. Some rowdy gang of late leavers shoved and jostled their way past us towards the stairs.

  One moment, I was just bending out over the railing slightly. The next moment, I was flying through air.

  17

  Relax, I tried to tell myself on the way down.

  Fall loose. It's only a one-storey drop. You've done that before in your time – and without a double.

  But the time was out of joint. 1 seemed to be falling in slow motion. There would be no camouflaged mattresses below to soften the landing. If I hit those hard unyielding cobblestones at the wrong angle ...

  I felt myself tensing and tried to fight it. Relax ...

  A long piercing scream I recognized as Evangeline's ripped through the air, along with male shouts, cries and the pounding of feet along the wooden balcony.

  'Oooof!' There was a large horsehair mattress there, after all. I was draped over it and clung to it, winded.