Set Change: A Nina Bannister Mystery (The Nina Bannister Mysteries)

by T'Gracie Reese

  “This is it, isn’t it?” came a different voice. Margot’s.

  “Yes. Turn in here!”

  And there they were, the words ‘Turn in here!’ right in that little bank slot.

  So it was all right now.

  She just had to stay away from Clifton Barrett.

  One of her favorite Shakespeare critics had written about the “Green World Comedies.” In these comedies the first act consisted of things taking place in the real world—Athens, for example, or some Italian court. The setting soon switched though to Arden Forest, which had, at sunset, become enchanted. Elves and fairy creatures and spirits of the night all manner of supernatural beings haunted it, and by turns vexed, frightened, and enchanted the mortals who had ventured into their lair.

  This had happened, she realized, with Hope Reddington’s house.

  It was the same house she had visited only weeks earlier but it had become magical and now was haunted by deities who, if only watched a bit more closely than normal, could have been seen floating several inches above the ground.

  Huge floodlights dotted the gardens.

  All of the lights in the house were glowing golden.

  People came and went. Some of them were the same functionaries who had peopled the Robinson mansion at the time of Alana’s announcement.

  But their number had lessened in favor of the theatrical people, who, having played imaginary beings all of their lives, had become imaginary beings, who, besides the fact that they were floating, were transparent.

  You could see right through them!

  “Nina! Margot!”

  Alana Delafosse, who, incredibly, now looked like a post-mistress or a social worker.

  “Ladies!”

  My God, she was even talking like a mortal.

  The contrast was simply too great—she could not be Alana any more!

  “Come! There are so many people you must meet!”

  And meet they did, Nina eschewing beverages (she had taken three days to get over the champagne at L’Auberge des Arts and so avoided like death the white jacketed waiters whom she continued to blame for the whole thing), Margot eschewing any type of moderation (Gin! Margot’s eyes said upon setting one foot into the garden—gin! Everywhere gin!) and the entire conversation elevating itself to POLITEPOLITEPOLITE as they learned that this lighting crew had descended from Memphis, that group of set designers had come from New Orleans, the Polonius standing by the magnolia tree was from St. Louis, the Fortinbras leaning against the bird bath and getting drunk there had been hired from the Chicago Repertory Company—and there was the great Constance Briarworth, stunning in jewelry that made her look like a Christmas tree. She was standing by the grape arbor, speaking with three women who would have been though great beauties in their own rights, but here had assumed simply the roles of minor deities.

  The courteous conversation drifted for a time around these porches of Olympus, while Nina watched in wonder as the trees were illuminated by tiny points of flitting, golden light, thought by mortals to be fireflies, but known by English teachers to be Puck and his friends, minor functionaries whose job was to serve Oberon, Hippolyta, and the other major deities.

  After a time they were in the house itself, then ascending the staircase—a thing she had never done before, even when she and Frank were regular visitors—and then entering Helen’s old room.

  “Will you look at what Hope has done up here?”

  Another lady from the church—astonishingly, Nina did not know her, for she and her husband had newly joined—was leading a kind of tour.

  The tour would have been worth a great deal, even had it not been for all the pictures, banners, ribbons, and Tony awards covering the walls.

  No, the tour would have been worth scads of money if it had only shown the bed.

  Helen, Nina imagined, had slept on a twin bed as a young teenager.

  Now that bed had been replaced by the resting—and, one must not deny, breeding—place of kings.

  It was a magnificent bed, a four poster bed, overtopped by a canopy that almost brushed the fourteen foot ceiling.

  “My God,” whispered Margot.

  “I suppose,” Nina found herself whispering back, “that’s what Helen is going to say, when they both get in there.”

  By eleven o’clock some of the crowd had begun to leave.

  Nina and Margot had separated, Margot now standing in a far corner of the garden, conversing with the magnificent Constance Briarworth.

  When Nina, sitting at a table on the small pier that led down to the bayou—which was lapping at the boards two feet in front of her—was joined by Clifton Barrett.

  He sat down opposite her and smiled.

  Incredibly, she realized, she was going to be able to speak.

  Perhaps it was just exhaustion, or the transforming effect of Arden Forest.

  She herself had become a goddess, and could speak quite rationally with Oberon.

  “I am sorry that I approached you so blatantly this afternoon at the airport.”

  “Oh that’s all right. I was honored.”

  No wada’s.

  Incredible.

  “I did mean what I said, you know.”

  “I’m sure you did, but…I have to tell you, I doubt very seriously whether I have any insight that an actor—and director—of your stature has not heard a million times over.”

  “That may be—but I doubt it. I’m only a performer. You, dear lady, are a teacher.”

  “Well. Whatever I can do.”

  Silence for a second.

  Or a few centuries.

  They were in The Green World.

  Time had no meaning here.

  “It is,” Clifton Barrett went on, “a great honor to be in your city.”

  “We’re honored to have you.”

  “I’m meeting Helen’s wonderful grandmother for the first time. She was unable to come to New York for the wedding.”

  “I knew that.”

  “But so much was happening. There are so many obligations that one has to fulfill…”

  “I’m sure that’s true.”

  “And in the meantime. Well. I do know how much she means to Helen.”

  His face, which had become quite serious, brightened.

  “Did you see what she has done to the bedroom?”

  “Yes, we were taken up in a tour.”

  “I feel like a king!”

  “Well, in a way, you are. You’re King of Bay St. Lucy. At least for a while. We all just hope you don’t get bored here.

  He shook his head.

  “No, never. Boredom is simply not possible. In the first place, I love being by the sea. I have a bad back, and walking on the beach is wonderful therapy. In the second place, the play is all-consuming. What a wonderful opportunity. And the people who’ve been assembled are top notch. Absolutely the best, from all over the country. We’re going to create a truly memorable Hamlet. And as for the rest, if I have any time at all…well, part of it will be spent getting to know the people of St. Lucy. Helen’s people. By the way, though, I do mean what I said about rehearsals. We don’t want too many people wandering around in the theater while we’re blocking and running lines, of course…”

  “I understand.”

  “But you are one of those special people who should feel welcome at any time. Please do come.”

  “I will. I’ll let you know ahead of time, of course, but…”

  Nothing followed the ‘but.’ Nothing could follow it, because suddenly there was no one on the other side of the table to listen. Clifton Barrett had disappeared.

  He had not disappeared physically because the body was still there; but something in him had declared ‘time,’ and that meant whatever space upon his mental stage that had been reserved for Nina, was now to be occupied by other actors.

  He rose—completely ignoring Nina—walked around the table, and stared out over the garden. He scanned the thinning crowd until he saw his wife, chatting with th
is subordinate or that Neanderthal or that would be ticket buyer. Then his gaze intensified and intensified still more until it riveted itself into the back of her neck—

  ––and she turned into it, wincing—she was forty feet away, but still Nina could see her wince—and nodding.

  She made quick apologies and left the conversation she’d been engaged in and walked briskly into the house.

  This magical—and somewhat frightening—ritual accomplished, the man across the table returned to the man across the table and managed a completely impersonal smile downward at the woman he had, only seconds ago, pretended to be conversing with.

  “We must,” he not-quite-said, “abide by our schedule.”

  Nina, knowing nothing at all to say, simply nodded.

  Then he took a step back, turned, looked up toward the window of his wife’s room, and waited until she opened it.

  After she had done so, she leaned out, staring down, first at the bayou, and then at her husband below.

  She said, simply:

  “Ah me!”

  But this was enough.

  Clifton Barrett seized the cue as though he were an alligator floating by, seizing a rodent caught in the current.

  “She speaks! Oh speak again, bright angel! For thou art as glorious to this night, being o’er my head, as is a winged messenger of heaven unto the white upturned wondering eyes of mortals that fall back to gaze on him, when he bestrides the lazy-piercing clouds, and sails upon the lazy bosom of the air.”

  All of the people remaining in the garden turned, became silent, and converged on the pier.

  A stage, Nina thought. And actors to behold the swelling scene.

  Nina could see Helen’s fingers gripping the railing, while the caves that were her eyes deepened, and the small voice that had come through the laughter in her throat, now retreated, to be replaced by the sonorous tones of soon-filled tombs:

  “Fain,” said Juliet, channeling through what had been Helen Reddington, “fain would I dwell on form, fain, fain deny what I have spoke; but farewell compliment! Dost thou love me? I know thou wilt say Ay!”

  And so saying, Juliet turned and followed Helen Reddington’s body back into the bedroom.

  The door closed behind her.

  Clifton Barrett looked down at Nina, and said:

  “Good night, dear lady.”

  “Good night,” she answered, feeling very cold suddenly, and not knowing why.

  Helen Reddington’s husband—as though the crowd left in the garden were nothing but statuary, motionless figures which, once vaguely admired, could now safely be ignored—whirled and strode purposefully into the house.

  And was gone.

  CHAPTER 7: FREE EATS!

  Bright and early the following morning, Helen Reddington brought Nina breakfast.

  “Bread man is here! Bread man is here!”

  The world was just waking, morning light creeping like kelp up onto the beach and around the stilt poles of the shack. The pelicans were making their first low level sweep over the balmy waves, and the sun had yet another ten minutes in dawn’s great Green Room before making its entrance, to begin Act Four Hundred and Seventy Three Million in the classic play BEING.

  “All kinds of bread for you! Baking’s done, errands to run!”

  Nina had made her way into the kitchen and was just getting the coffee on; Furl had pressed his nose against the sliding glass deck door and was beginning to yowl softly; but the rattle of the front door changed everything, as did the cheerful voice that could have been a mixture of sparrows singing and morning sea breeze tinkling in the wind chimes.

  “All kinds of baked goods! Bread for your breakfast!”

  She made her way through the living room, opened the door, and saw the face of rejoicing, the countenance of youth, the smile of New Day Coming, and the biggest and ovalest brown bread loaves ever yeasted.

  “Helen!”

  “Bread man’s here!”

  “You remembered!”

  “Of course I remembered! How could I not remember?”

  “Come in, come in!”

  She opened the front door; the smell of the bread entered first, followed by the bread itself, and then the bearer of the bread.

  “Your lovely home, just as it was!”

  “Well…not much potential for decorating, Helen.”

  “And no need. It’s marvelous. You moved in, I remember, in October. I had been in your class two months my sophomore year,—that was world literature––and idolized you, of course. So I made a vow to visit you often, mornings, because mornings are always best—and bring you something that I loved as much as you loved literature. And of course that was bread!”

  “And so you did. So you did.”

  Nina could remember it as though it happened yesterday.

  Her move into the shack happened a scant three months after Frank’s death; and the sight of this superb young student, the excitement she radiated—

  ––these things were welcome indeed.

  And they still were.

  For here was Helen Reddington, the great Helen Reddington, looking precisely as she had those years ago.

  A bit too much rouge perhaps.

  Why had Helen started wearing so much makeup?

  But otherwise the same. The identical lithe and lightly muscled body which seemed to have the consistency and flexibility of spaghetti but the tensile strength of iron ore.

  Here she was, coal black hair pulled tightly into a gleaming bun, athlete’s body clad only in a bare undershirt and running pants—and eyes glittering like black diamonds.

  “Bagatelli’s is still open!”

  She might as well have said:

  “Tomorrow is Christmas—and Santa is real!”

  “Yes. They haven’t missed a day. Baking every morning.”

  “And do you go there often, Nina?”

  “Yes I do. Three or four times a week, at least.”

  “I love it! I’ve just come from there, and they are exactly the same, he always covered in flour, she always bustling around with the same absolutely perfect blue striped apron, both of them yelling at each other at the top of their lungs: ‘ADEPENTO! ADEPENTO, DECCOLATERI, SOPALIUSCIA!’ or some such gibberish, that nobody in town can ever understand—they still do that and it’s so wonderful!”

  “Yes they do, Helen. Haven’t changed one syllable, or lost one gram of flour. Here. Come on in. Let’s slice this bread and get it out to the deck with some coffee and butter and jam and whatever we can find. Then I want to hear everything.”

  “Everything?”

  “Absolutely everything.”

  “Well, that might take some time.”

  “You brought two loaves, didn’t you?”

  And, laughing, they set about confirming that the last years had gone nowhere, and were in fact out there in front of them, as ready to be lived through as the ocean was to be sailed out onto.

  At least ten minutes of this newly regained decade were given to the pleasantries of the kitchen; but after these matters had been accomplished they found themselves sitting on the deck, the cat dealt with, the bread smeared with half an inch covering of everything in the refrigerator that came in small glass bottles, and the coffee showing once again why several empires had been made and destroyed just so two women such as these could drink it every morning.

  “I’m sorry, Nina, that Clifton left you so suddenly last night.”

  “I don’t know what you mean, Helen,” lied Nina.

  “It’s just—he has very strict ways of doing things. It can be difficult to get used to.”

  “He simply saw the chance to do a moving exit scene. We were all quite delighted.”

  This was a lie too, but it seemed to relieve Helen, so, Nina mused, let it go and enjoy the sesame rye.

  “When I met Clifton I was so—I was just so inexperienced. I knew nothing. Nina, I didn’t even know how to walk.”

  “I seem to remember,” Nina said, pouring a
bit of cream, “that you walked quite effectively.”

  Helen smiled.

  “I thought so. I used to think so many things. When I look back…”

  She looked back.

  After she had done so for a while, Nina asked:

  “Where did you meet him, Helen?”

  “New Jersey.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes! Yes, I was there doing an off- off-Broadway production of something or other. I’d only known him a short time, and he invited me to go with him to London.“

  “What a fairy tale story.”

  “Well it’s not…”

  She was silent for a time.

  Then she leaned forward and said:

  “Nina—there are some other things I wanted to talk to you about.”

  “Certainly, Helen. Anything at all.”

  “First, I want to thank you for taking care of Grandmamma.”

  “Helen, I’ve not taken care of your grandmother.”

  “Yes, you have. You all have. The whole town. So many wonderful ladies. The people from the church. I know what you’ve done.”

  “They more than I.”

  “All of you. And it was necessary, because I wasn’t here. I just—well, I went off and did my thing.”

  Nina leaned forward:

  “But what a thing, Helen! Interlochen, then on to New York—now this! Everyone is so proud of you, your grandmother most of all.”

  There was a pause. Finally Helen asked:

  “Is she all right, Nina?”

  “Hope?”

  “Yes. I know she’s frail. But last night there were times—of course there was so much confusion, and the reporters, and the lights––but there were times when I wondered whether she—I don’t know how to put this—I just wonder if she’s all right.”

  “She’s fine, Helen. Really she is.”

  “Excellent then. So that leaves one other thing to be taken care of.”

  “And that is?”

  “Rehearsals. I think it’s been decided that you and Grandmamma are to come to rehearsal next Thursday.”

  “Next Thursday?”

  “Yes, Thursday morning at ten o’clock. We’ll be blocking then.”

  “All right. It will be an honor to come.”

  “Good. It’s just that…”