The Strangling on the Stage (29 page)

Without her idol's support, patronage and validation Mimi Lassiter crumpled like a rag doll. To her mind suicide was the only available option for her.

Of course, at the cast party nobody knew of the gruesome event taking place in Fethering. It was afterwards they heard the news which caused Jude such disquiet.

But at the party itself there was a high level of good cheer. This was because people in amdrams always like to let their hair down at the end of a production, rather than because
The Devil's Disciple
had been a huge success. Neville Prideaux's conviction that a wordy minor work by George Bernard Shaw was what the good burghers of Smalting were craving for had been proved completely wrong. They had stayed away in droves, and those who had attended had been unimpressed. In spite of all Carole Seddon's assiduous one-to-one ‘line-bashing' sessions, when faced by a live audience Olly Pinto's memory appeared to have been wiped completely. He had ensured that Carole, in her role as prompter, had had a very busy week. And the people in the front row of St Mary's Hall had heard more from her than they had from some of the actors.

Storm Lavelle, on the other hand, had really built her performance throughout the run. She did have genuine talent and Jude wondered whether her butterfly brain would allow her to concentrate sufficiently on trying to get work in the professional theatre. Secretly, Jude rather doubted it. Like many aspiring actors, her friend had the talent, but lacked the tenacity required to make a go of it.

Storm had had her hair done on the morning of
The Devil's Disciple
's final performance and, on removing Judith Anderson's wig, revealed a fuschia-pink crop with a long jagged fringe. For the cast party she wore a diamanté top over silver leggings. She looked terrific, her sparkle increased by the knowledge of how well she had acted in the show.

Storm seemed in such a relaxed mood that Jude thought she could ask about the strange moment when her friend had put the phone down on her. ‘Do you remember, I said it was something about Ritchie Good and Elizaveta …?'

Storm looked embarrassed. ‘The fact is, I had a bit of history with Ritchie which I didn't want anyone to hear about. And when you said it concerned that old cow Elizaveta too, I thought she might spread the news around SADOS.'

‘And what was this “history” you had with Ritchie? An affair?'

‘No, it didn't quite get that far, but it still left me feeling pretty stupid.'

‘May I put forward a theory of what might have happened?'

Storm looked puzzled, but shrugged and said, ‘If you want to.'

‘I suggest that Ritchie Good came on to you quite heavily, got you keen and interested, got you to the point where you'd agreed to go to bed with him, and then said he couldn't go through with it because of his loyalty to his wife.'

A thunderstruck expression took over Storm's face. ‘How on earth did you know that?'

‘Let's just say there was a pattern to Ritchie's behaviour.'

‘Oh. Well, the thing that worried me was that, I suppose trying to curry favour with the old bat, I told Elizaveta what had happened. Which was very stupid, because it was a sure way of guaranteeing that everyone in SADOS would soon know. And there was one person I really didn't want to know I'd had any kind of relationship with Ritchie Good.'

‘And who was that?'

Jude's question was immediately answered by the wide smile that came to Storm's lips as she saw someone approaching them. It was Olly Pinto, grinning broadly.

His disastrous showing as Dick Dudgeon during the week seemed not to have affected him one bit. Jude had noticed him earlier at the cast party, in extremely high spirits, downing beer after beer.

And now she realized from the way he was looking at Storm Lavelle that there was another cause for his good cheer. Jude felt a bit silly for not having seen anything developing between the two of them earlier, because it was now clear that Olly Pinto was destined to be the next man to feel the full force of Storm's adoration. Jude didn't think it would do either of them any harm, and might in fact do them some good.

As a result of
The Devil's Disciple
's failure to bring in the audiences, there was now a move among the younger members of the society to oust Neville Prideaux from the Play Selection Committee. His star had waned considerably. And some of this younger group at the party were arguing quite loudly that it wasn't too late to change the SADOS's next production from
I Am A Camera
to three episodes of
Fawlty Towers
. The mention of this led to a lot of the men going into comedy goose-stepping, as if auditioning for the part of Basil Fawlty.

Elizaveta Dalrymple, who had somehow got entangled with this group, proved not to be as averse to the idea of doing the three television episodes as some might have expected. The reason was, of course, that she didn't really think she was too old to play Basil's wife Sibyl.

Inevitably, Elizaveta had come back into the SADOS fold. As Olly Pinto had predicted, she had been at the first night (‘someone dropped out at the last minute') and had met so many people there who were delighted to see her and urged her to attend the cast party on the Saturday night, that she couldn't really disappoint them. This suited her very well, because she had really wanted to get back in ever since Ritchie Good's death. With the man who'd insulted her removed, there was no reason for her not to reclaim her rightful place, the spider at the centre of the SADOS web.

Her rift with Davina Vere Smith also seemed somehow to have been healed. Jude did not know how this had been achieved, but suspected some telephonic machinations on Elizaveta's part, some agreement whereby Davina would never mention her involvement with Freddie and would always wear high collars at SADOS rehearsals.

Of course, Hester Winstone was not at the cast party. Jude had been in touch with Rob at Casements about future healing work and heard that Hester had left the convalescent home. Where to, Rob couldn't be sure, but he thought she had returned to her family. Jude didn't envy Hester her reunion with Mike because, in her experience, cricketers remained the most misogynist of sportsmen. Maybe she'd try to give Hester a call to offer help, but she very much suspected that the carapace of middle-class respectability would once again have closed over, and the need for any assistance would be denied. Hester would assure her that ‘We are all right as we are.' It was frustrating, but there was nothing Jude could do about it. She did definitely plan to do more work at Casements, though.

The wine was flowing and some people were dancing. To provide the music, one of the younger members had produced a portable CD player. (Gordon Blaine had earlier set up a huge system of amplifiers and speakers in one corner of the room, but unfortunately it didn't work.)

Jude didn't feel like dancing. Apart from anything else, her body was still wincing from the bruises caused by her encounter with Mimi Lassiter's Renault. And her body language must have indicated her unwillingness to dance, because nobody asked her. Had Carole been thus neglected, although she ‘didn't like dancing', she would have taken it very personally indeed.

Jude didn't mind at all. She just wanted to go home.

But it would be a while yet. Her transport, Carole, who ‘didn't like dancing', was in vigorous motion on the dance floor, mirroring the movements of the Heil-Hitlering young man in front of her (yes, it was a continuation of his Basil Fawlty impression).

Her neighbour, Jude concluded with an inward giggle, was actually a little bit pissed. Tired after the evening's concentration on trying to get Olly Pinto to deliver at least a few lines of genuine George Bernard Shaw, Carole had gulped down the first two glasses of wine quicker than she normally would. And now Jude found herself witnessing something she had longed for but never expected to see – Carole Seddon casting off at least some of her inhibitions.

Jude didn't want any more to drink, and wondered mischievously how an offer that she, being the more sober, should drive the Renault back to Fethering would go down with her neighbour. No, probably not a good idea.

She looked around St Mary's Hall. The main sets of
The Devil's Disciple
had been dismantled with surprising speed. Jude could not keep out of her head Lysander's line from
A Midsummer Night's Dream
: ‘So quick bright things come to confusion.' There was always a pleasing melancholy about the ending of a theatrical production. The stage crew, encouraged by copious draughts of beer, were still stripping away flats and props. Gordon Blaine was at the centre of the operation, clearly happier doing something useful than trying to be sociable.

And, moved from the wings to the body of the hall, stood the chaise longue. Almost unnoticed by audience and critics alike, it had delivered another sterling performance. Jude didn't think she'd suggest taking it home in the Renault that evening. Carole seemed to be enjoying herself too much for that. They could pick it up another day and take it back to Woodside Cottage. Where it could wait, draped with throws and cushions, till it received its next summons to become part of the magic of the theatre.

Eventually it was clear that Carole's programme of dancing had come to an end. When they stopped, the young man of the Basil Fawlty impressions wrapped her in a bear-hug and it was a rather flushed Carole Seddon who came across to join Jude.

‘Promise me I'll see you on the next production, Carole!' the young man called after her.

‘Oh well,' she said with a little giggle. ‘Never say never.'

Carole had driven with intense concentration from St Mary's Hall back to Fethering. She had not infringed any speed limits or deviated from a line exactly parallel to the kerb of the road. But she had driven rather slowly.

And outside Woodside Cottage she had kissed and hugged Jude rather more effusively than she sometimes might have done. But it was only when she fumbled with the keys of High Tor and had difficulty getting the relevant one into the lock that it occurred to her she might be a little bit drunk.

‘Cold water,' she thought. ‘Drink lots of cold water.'

As she moved towards the kitchen, Gulliver rose from his favourite position beside the Aga to greet her. As the dog looked up, she wondered if she was being fanciful to see reproach in his large, melancholy eyes.

Then she noticed the single red digit on the answering machine. She fumbled for the playback button and pressed it.

‘Mother,' said the rather formal voice of her son Stephen, ‘I thought you might like to have some explanation of these stomach upsets Gaby's been getting. Well, we've had the twelve-week scan today and it's confirmed. We thought you'd like to know … you're going to be a grandmother again.'