Caught in the Act (14 page)

Before she had got into bed Callista had taken the precaution of slipping a chair under the handle of her bedroom door, just in case George took to sleepwalking.

Slipping in and out of sleep she had been wondering if it was an overreaction, a foolish thing to think after all these years, let alone to do, when—in the small hours—the doorknob rattled violently. There was a grunt of frustration from outside and then another little push and jiggle before her would-be visitor conceded defeat.

‘Good night, George,' she called cordially.

‘Ah, oh yes, good night, Callista,' he said. ‘Sorry about that, m' dear. Just on my way back from the bathroom. Didn't mean to disturb you. Wrong room. Easy mistake to make. See you in the morning. Sweet dreams.'

All alone in the darkness Callista smiled to
herself; it was almost convincing, or at least would have been if her name hadn't been tacked to the outside of the door on a large sheet of laminated card.

Callista turned off the lamp, and pulled the bedcovers up over her shoulders; some things never change. It was quite sweet, re ally. Did George seriously think that after all these years he would bring her back into the fold with a late night little seduction? She smiled as she settled down. Poor George. It had been touch and go when he was in his prime.

‘Right,' said Mr Bearman the following morning, clapping his hands as he brought the rabble in the main hall to order. ‘If you would like to take your seats, ladies and gentlemen, then Miss Haze and myself will get this show on the road—again.' He laughed at his own attempt at a joke, and as the crew and cast settled down Miss Haze got to her feet and took up a place behind the lectern. With the slightest nod of acknowledgement to Mr Bearman she began to speak.

‘Hi and good morning, everyone. First of all I wanted to say how very nice it is to see you all again. I have very fond memories of the
Belvedere summer drama tours and of this group in particular. Although at the time I doubt anyone in the cast was aware of it, your production of
Macbeth
was my very first major show at Belvedere High School, and my very first tour, and I was incredibly nervous. I have to say that on the opening night as the curtains came down to a standing ovation I have never felt more proud or more relieved in my entire life.

‘I feel a little bit of that same nervous excitement today. We've got an awful lot of work ahead of us so I don't propose to waste too much time on reminiscing but I just want to tell you how very pleased I am to be invited back and to be involved all over again. I am also quite certain that if you are half as good as you were first time round then we'll bring the house down.' Miss Haze smiled, waited for silence and then, opening a file on the lectern, said, ‘Right, well, given that it's been quite a few years since our last performance I thought we'd begin by taking a look at the play and then we'll talk about what we're going to do over the weekend. We're on a very tight schedule, so I do hope you'll bear with us when we start bullying you.'

There were muted cheers and laughter from the cast and crew.

Carol stared up at Miss Haze. She was quite small, maybe five foot two or three at the very most, whip thin and packed full of vitality, her face alight with enthusiasm. The younger Miss Haze, just fresh out of drama school, so sexy, so elegant, so very eloquent and talented, had seemed the height of sophistication, a role model if there ever was one. Carol remembered being hugely impressed by her—and it seemed that she wasn't alone.

Alongside her Adie was staring up at the stage totally entranced. ‘Leather trousers,' he purred. Carol laughed and poked him sharply in the ribs. It didn't seem all that long ago since he'd said it for real.

Twenty years ago it had been just the same: there had been him, Jan, Netty and Diana, all standing in a row surrounded by the rest of the cast and crew. Carol looked over her shoulder. Nothing it seemed had changed that much except for the fact that back then everyone had had all their hair, almost everyone had had a waistline and none of them had been in the slightest bit grey.

It felt to Carol that Miss Haze had said almost exactly the same things then too.

Picking up her notes, Callista Haze walked
away from the lectern so that everyone could see her more clearly and then began to talk slowly in a warm, expressive, almost melodic storyteller's voice.

‘
Macbeth
is one of the most popular and famous of Shakespeare's plays—and I've always thought it is one of his best pieces of writing. The story is emotive and magical and very powerful, and stands up even after all these years. Macbeth, a Scottish warrior, encouraged by his wife—an ambitious, ruthless and ultimately unstable woman—and by the prophetic words of three witches, murders his king, Duncan, and then seizes the throne for himself.'

Carol glanced around the room. Just like all those years before, Miss Callista Haze had the troupe's undivided attention. They were hanging on her every word.

‘So…' said Miss Haze, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial purr as she continued the story.

‘So where did
you
get to last night, then? And when are we going to hear all the sordid details?' whispered Adie, leaning a little closer to Carol. Carol blushed crimson. Adie smirked, lifting his eyebrows to emphasise the question. On the stage Miss Haze was still explaining
the story of Macbeth—not that Carol heard a word.

‘Well?' pressed Adie.

Carol stared at him. Whatever she said she knew that no one would believe it. Hadn't it been just the same first time around too?

‘No comment,' she said and turned her attention to the sheets of paper Diana had handed out.

Netty elbowed her.

‘Not you too. We were only talking,' snapped Carol angrily.

Netty pulled a face. ‘What?'

‘You heard me,' hissed Carol. ‘Nothing happened, zilch—nada—Gareth and I, we were only talking.'

‘What
are
you on about? Miss Haze just said she wants you and golden boy to go down the front and for us to pick up our props and scripts.'

Carol stared at her, bluster gone in an instant. ‘Oh right, sorry,' she said.

‘Come on, we haven't got all day,' said Netty.

Meanwhile, Adie was also on his feet and scurrying down towards the stage, only too eager to go rootling through the dressing-up boxes. After a few seconds he emerged
triumphant, clutching a long grey cloak and a huge plastic sword. Carol made the effort to regain her composure while going down to where Diana and a stagehand whose name Carol couldn't remember were rummaging through another box of oddments.

‘I know they're in here somewhere,' Diana was saying, turfing out a shield and horned helmet. ‘I put them in myself.'

‘What exactly are we looking for?' asked Carol, peering at the growing heap of discarded paraphernalia.

‘Ah, here we are. These,' Diana said with delight, and pulled out a couple of very convincing rubber daggers and handed them to Carol. From up on the stage Miss Haze beamed.

Carol could sense that Gareth was right behind her but didn't turn round.

‘Hi,' he said. ‘Sorry I'm late. I overslept. How are you this morning?'

‘Fine,' she said, without looking round. ‘How about you?'

Before he could say anything else Miss Haze clapped her hands and said, ‘Right, well, I think we re ally ought to make a start. We've got an awful lot to get through today. I thought we'd just go for a straight read-through from the
beginning; see how it goes. So if you'd all like to gather round, pull the chairs into a circle…' She waited a few moments for everyone to settle down and then looked up at the three witches, Netty, Diana and Jan, who were sitting in a huddle, cradling a huge plastic cauldron between them.

‘Well, ladies and gentlemen, if we're all set?' She waited for any protests and when there were none said, ‘In that case then here we go.' With a broad smile and reading from her script she began, ‘“Act one, scene one. Thunder and lightning. Enter three Witches.”'

For a moment there was an expectant lull—a strange heady quiet—and then Diana pulled a piece of tissue from her pocket and unpeeled what looked like a rather nasty piece of chewing gum from inside it. The wart. Unhesitatingly Diana pressed it onto her chin. There was a muted cheer and as it died back to silence she began to read. ‘“When shall we three meet again?/In thunder lightning, or in rain?”'

‘“When the hurlyburly's done,/When the battle's lost, and won.”' answered Netty.

‘“That will be ere the set of sun.”' Jan.

‘“Where the place?”' asked Diana, hunched now over the cauldron.

‘“Upon the heath,”' answered Netty.

Carol's eyes filled with tears. Or in some Christian retreat miles from anywhere and twenty years on, she thought wistfully.

As the voices rose and fell, the years seemed to vanish and it was easy to imagine that they were all teenagers again.

Carol could remember the first read-through very clearly. She had re ally wanted to be a witch and had hung back and stayed with the rest of the gang, much too self-conscious and far too unsure of herself to go and sit anywhere near Gareth Howard, despite having spent the previous lunchtime with him on the veranda of the cricket pavilion.

Miss Haze had looked up as they'd settled themselves down in a loose circle around the stage, blissfully unaware of any nerves or selfdoubt.

‘Right, Carol, if you'd like to go over there and pair up with Gareth and the rest of the Macbeth household.' She had waved her over. Carol had bitten her lip and shuffled forward, although at least now their pairing had some kind of an official sanction. ‘And Adrian and Fiona?' Miss Haze continued, ‘I know in the play you don't even speak to each other but I
want us to think about characterisation. After all, it is your death, Fiona, that ultimately brings about Macbeth's death. As Lord and Lady Macduff we need to consider the relationship between you.'

Carol grinned. There was not much chance of a relationship between those two. As they settled down alongside each other, Adie pulled a face that suggested he had some kind of terrible abdominal pain while Fiona picked up the script and, oblivious to what the rest of them were doing, started to read her part aloud. It was a match made in hell.

‘So, if you'd all like to get into your groups. Witches down here, please.' Netty teetered off on stack heels that only just squeaked in under the suitable footwear rule.

Miss Haze had clapped her hands and everyone changed positions. Carol had watched the witches moving away to go through their parts until she was left alone with Gareth and his household. She shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot feeling—although there was no evidence to back it up—that everyone was looking at the two of them.

Carol came to with a jolt as she realised that the play—the one at Burbeck House in the here
and now—was rapidly heading her way and she hadn't got a clue where the hell they were. It was like one of those awful dreams where you are standing there, centre stage, spotlights on, naked except for your slippers and a tiara with no idea what the play is or what your lines are.

Panicking, Carol glanced down at the page open in front of her—no one who was currently speaking now was on it. Damn damn, damn. She looked up and scanned the room in desperation but everyone else was either listening to the speeches or following the book. Damn, bugger and damn.

Just as she felt the pulse in her ears drop down a gear and race away, a hand appeared on the edge of her vision, flicked through a few pages and pointed to the line they were on. As the panic started to abate Carol looked up. Gareth grinned as he caught her eye.

‘Nervous?' he mouthed.

Carol pulled a face that she hoped conveyed something grateful but nevertheless quietly confident. ‘No, I'm fine,' she whispered back.

Across the room, the old king—once the lanky boy who had played Duncan and who now, all grown up and balding nicely, could
quite easily pass for an ageing Scottish monarch—had got into his stride. Carol struggled to keep her eye on the script, keeping the place with her finger, while all the while her brain desperately tried to pull her away and back to other places and other times.

‘God, I'm never going to be able to learn all this,' said the voice of a much younger Carol, tugging nervously at her hair, the memory surfacing as vividly as a scene from a feature film in her imagination. ‘I don't know half of it yet. We start the tour next week and I'm barely off the book. It's going to be a disaster.'

And from beside her on a daisy-strewn bank, long forgotten, a teenage Gareth Howard was busy saying, ‘Relax. It'll be all right. You'll be fine. It sounds great, you're nearly there, Carol. And no, before you ask me—I'm not just saying that, I mean it. You're good.' And then—and then, he had loomed up over her on his elbows, head and shoulders obscuring the sunlight. She thought for one heady, time-stopping instant that he was going to kiss her, and there was that nip, that delicious wobbly sensation in the pit of her stomach and Carol had held her breath.

It passed almost as soon as she felt it. After
all, Carol realised, she had thought Gareth was going to kiss her lots of times since they had started rehearsal and he hadn't so far. So she relaxed and closed her eyes and was about to say she was still worried about her lines when he re ally did kiss her.

She gasped as his lips gently touched hers, and as if the sound was some kind of invitation, Gareth slid his hand under the back of her head and pulled her closer. As his fingers closed in her hair, all sense, all reason bubbled away on a great upward surge of desire that took her breath away, all those years ago on a long-forgotten bank of grass in broad daylight. And the night before, sitting side by side on a dewy lawn looking up at the moon in the grounds of Burbeck House, he had done it all over again.