A Decent Interval (11 page)

The girl's beautiful face wrinkled ruefully. ‘Feels like a long time ago.'

Long time ago? echoed Charles's mind. You wait till you get to my age, love. Then you'll know what ‘a long time ago' means.

Sam took his girlfriend's hand and shook it reassuringly. ‘You'll get there, love. Remember, almost every great actor in this country has had to serve their time grafting away as an ASM at some point. Isn't that right, Charles?'

But before there was time for him to respond, Milly cut in with, ‘You seem to have managed to avoid that stage, Sam.'

The exchange didn't qualify for the description of ‘a spat', but it still showed an underlying tension in the young actors' relationship. Charles had never really had an affair with an actress where there had been professional rivalry, perhaps because his natural fatalism had prevented him from being too overt about his ambitions. But he did know many couples in the theatre for whom it had been a problem. Work patterns in their business were so erratic that the chances of both partners having exactly the same level of success at exactly the same time were distant. One career would be blooming while the other stagnated. One partner would be bathing in the glory and stimulus of nightly performances, while the other was stuck at home, enviously watching other actors who'd managed to get lucrative television work.

Charles had frequently seen the situation become a recipe for relationship breakdown. Because, of course, the more successful partner would be moving in more glamorous circles, possibly finding opportunities for new sexual adventures … He didn't for a moment believe that Sam Newton-Reid and Milly Henryson were currently at that level of risk, but he could recognize that the seeds of jealousy had been sown between them.

‘Anyway,' said Sam, continuing his campaign of reassurance, ‘there's a chance that we might work together again quite soon …' Milly grinned at him ‘… given the scale of Katrina's media commitments.'

Charles got it. He'd been aware during rehearsals of Katrina Selsey continually wanting to have a ‘quick word' with Ned English at the breaks. He'd also seen the girl's Personal Manager Peri Maitland around the Grand Theatre and gathered that there had been many requests for time off so that Katrina could appear on chat shows and panel games. The other part of the equation, which he'd forgotten but had known at some point, was that Milly Henryson was understudying the role of Ophelia. So if there were a performance which Katrina Selsey's ‘media commitments' prevented her from doing … then Milly would get to act with her boyfriend again.

‘I should think it's quite likely you'd get on at some point during the tour, Milly,' said Charles.

‘What makes you say that?'

‘It's just that I wonder, even without her “media commitments”, whether Katrina will have the stamina to do all the performances.'

‘Oh?'

‘She hasn't got a theatre background. Still really an amateur. She isn't used to the relentless grind of eight shows a week. I wouldn't be surprised if our Katrina doesn't call in sick at least once over the next week.'

Milly Henryson looked initially very excited by this idea, then realizing it might make her appear to be willing the production's Ophelia to fall ill, she changed her expression to something more neutral.

Sam Newton-Reid turned to Charles, his brow wrinkled with ingenuous puzzlement. ‘Milly's been telling me these amazing stories about Katrina Selsey's behaviour at rehearsals, some of which I just couldn't believe. I mean, is it true that she's been demanding chauffeured limousines to take her everywhere?'

‘Well,' said Charles Paris judiciously, ‘it's not a million miles from the truth.'

And if Sam Newton-Reid had been looking for a demonstration of the kind of behaviour Charles and Milly had been talking about, the next day, Wednesday, provided a perfect example. All three of them were in the auditorium of the Grand Theatre to witness it.

The rehearsal call was ten o'clock. Though they had made great strides the day before, integrating the new Hamlet into the production, a lot of hard work would still be required for the company to be ready for the first public performance the following evening.

There were warning signs in the fact that Katrina Selsey arrived glammed up to the nines. Not the usual sweatshirts, hoodies and jogging bottoms of rehearsal wear, but an impossibly short skirt, impossibly high heels, thick make-up and eyelashes like exotic moths. It was also ominous that she appeared accompanied by an equally well-dressed Peri Maitland.

Ned English's technical discussion with the designer in the stalls was interrupted by a peremptory call from Katrina onstage. ‘Can we get started, please, and get my bits done? I've got to be away by eleven.'

‘What?' asked a bewildered Ned.

Katrina Selsey looked to her Personal Manager to deal with the next bit. ‘That's right,' said Peri Maitland. ‘Katrina has to be away by eleven.'

‘But we're rehearsing today,' said the confused director. ‘And the bloody show's opening tomorrow night.'

‘I'm sorry,' responded Peri Maitland, all sweet reasonableness. ‘Katrina's got a telly recording.' She mentioned the name of a popular Friday night chat extravaganza,
The Johnnie Martin Show
. ‘They pre-record on Thursday evening, which obviously she can't do because of the performance here, so they've agreed to do her segment separately. And today's the only day they'd got free.'

‘They may be free,' said Ned English, finally rustling up some counter-arguments, ‘but Katrina is not. She's committed to rehearsals here. Our schedule's already been knocked sideways by Jared's accident. We can't afford any more delays.'

‘Listen,' said Peri, rather more forcefully, ‘
Johnnie Martin
is a very big deal.
You can't argue with telly people.'

‘You certainly can. Katrina is required to rehearse here this morning.'

‘Why?' The actress herself rejoined the argument. ‘I know all the lines and the moves …'

‘That's not the point. There are other members of the cast who—'

‘… and that girl, you know, the one who's understudying me, she can stand in for today's rehearsal.'

Katrina Selsey may not have been in show business very long, but she'd been quick to pick on certain aspects of star behaviour. Throughout the rehearsal period she'd made a point of pretending not to know Milly Henryson's name, referring to her always with the disparaging ‘that girl'.

‘I cannot rehearse without my full cast,' the director insisted.

‘Listen, Ned,' said Katrina Selsey, a new Essex hardness in her voice, ‘my appearance on national television on
The Johnnie Martin Show
on Friday night is going to do far more for this production of
Hamlet
than any amount of rehearsal.'

‘She's right,' Peri Maitland chipped in. ‘You can't buy that kind of publicity.'

‘And,' Katrina went on, ‘now Jared's out of the show we need something to get bums on seats. I'm the only star name left in this show.' A new thought struck her. ‘And in fact, Ned, I should have Jared's dressing room.'

‘For heaven's sake,' said the exasperated director. ‘This show opens tomorrow night. We haven't got time to talk about dressing rooms.'

‘Well, we should,' insisted Katrina. ‘And I should definitely have the star one. You don't think any of the other nonentities in the cast are going to bring the punters in, do you?'

Seated in the stalls, Charles Paris winced. And for once it wasn't from his hangover. For himself he didn't object that much to being categorized as a ‘nonentity' (indeed, it chimed in with his self-image during his lowest moods). He didn't, however, think all the other members of the cast would be quite so forgiving.

But none of them said anything. They all just listened as the argument between stage and auditorium continued.

‘Katrina's right,' Peri Maitland asserted once again. ‘On Friday night this show will be known about by people who've never even heard of
Hamlet
.'

‘That's as maybe,' said Ned English, ‘but the fact remains that Katrina has signed a contract which means Tony Copeland Productions have first call on her services.'

‘And suppose Tony himself feels it's more important that Katrina gets the telly exposure …?'

‘I would think that is extremely unlikely.' Ned English's words sounded a little too defiant, as though he were afraid that Peri might be telling the truth.

The Personal Manager pressed home her advantage. ‘Katrina's going to be giving a sneak preview of her debut single on
Johnnie Martin
. And Tony Copeland is a director of the company for whom she's recorded it.'

Charles Paris saw Ned about to question this and then think better of the idea. Peri Maitland could have been bluffing, but Tony Copeland's tentacles reached so far into so many areas of show business that her assertion could be true.

‘Go on,' she continued, ‘why don't you call Tony and ask him?' And she proffered her mobile phone towards the director.

Ned English was basically a weak man, and the way he backed off from the direct challenge was yet another demonstration of that weakness. ‘Right,' he said, reaching for his script and calling out to the cast, ‘let's make a start with the scenes involving Ophelia …
while we still have her services
.'

In spite of Ned's waspish final words, Charles Paris was left in no doubt that Katrina Selsey had won that particular battle. She left at eleven in a limousine sent by the company who made
The Johnnie Martin Show
. But, though she might have plenty on Facebook and Twitter, the victory certainly hadn't increased her number of friends in the
Hamlet
company.

K
atrina Selsey was back in good time for the Wednesday evening Dress Rehearsal. Well before the ‘half' (that moment thirty-five minutes before curtain-up by which all professional actors should have checked into the theatre). And she gave a good performance as Ophelia. Whatever criticisms might be made of her approach to other aspects of show business, none could be made of her application to her acting. She was serious about the profession and wanted to maximize her natural abilities. There would always have been something wooden about a performance by Jared Root, but not one by Katrina Selsey. Even those cast members who had been most offended by being called ‘nonentities' had grudgingly to admit her talent.

Apparently, according to the Green Room grapevine, Tony Copeland had been in the audience for the Dress Rehearsal, but he did not come backstage afterwards. That evening was the first chance to get an impression of how long the show would run in normal performance. Charles was gratified to see that, from a seven thirty start, the last words of the play, ‘
Go, bid the soldiers shoot
,' were pronounced by Fortinbras at ten twenty. Ned English's cutting of the text had had the desired effect – there would be time to get to the pub before it closed! All was well in the world of Charles Paris.

He wasn't the only member of the company to take advantage of this opportunity, but he hadn't lost his old skills and was first to the bar, ordering ‘a large Bell's with some ice' before anyone else had passed through the Stage Door. This being an evening – or at least half an hour – of social drinking, he had gone to the pub nearest to the theatre, a considerably more cheerful venue than the one he'd been to at lunchtime the previous day.

The landlord's attitude to licensing hours was commendably lax and Charles managed to fit in three doubles before time was called. He enjoyed the familiar banter of his fellow actors, inflated tales of disasters averted during the evening's performance. He was also glad to have confirmed that they weren't all of the mineral water and gym persuasion. Their presence comfortingly presaged more such post-show gatherings during the weeks of touring that lay ahead. Geraldine Romelle wasn't among the group, though, Charles noted wistfully. Where was she? Back alone in her digs with a bottle of Evian? Thinking about him? Unlikely.

The only slight damper to the actors' jollity came when first one, then another noticed that they'd received text messages from the Stage Manager. The whole company was to be in the auditorium at nine thirty the following morning for ‘notes from Tony Copeland'.

There was some trepidation and taut laughter amongst the coffee- and mineral water-clutching cast as they sat facing the stage of the Grand Theatre on the Thursday morning. Nine thirty was an early call for a day which was scheduled to end with the first public performance of
Hamlet
. Not unprecedented – and their Equity representative would ensure they got the union-sanctioned breaks they were due during the day – but unusual enough to jangle their already overstretched nerves. And the mystique surrounding Tony Copeland did make him a rather frightening figure.

Charles Paris was one of the last to arrive. The previous night's session at the pub had enlivened rather than sedated him, so he'd needed a few more Bell's at his digs to get properly relaxed. He'd fallen asleep in his chair during some interminable catch-up of the current
Top Pop
, woken at three, lain wakeful till six and then overslept the alarm. At least it didn't matter that he hadn't shaved. He had a false beard for the Ghost (described in the play by Horatio as ‘a sable silvered') and the First Gravedigger needed to be a bit stubbly.

He checked his watch as he bustled through the Stage Door. Nine twenty-seven. His parched brain cried out for coffee. Maybe there was a pot on in the Green Room …?

But he paused by the half-open door, immobilized by the sound of voices. The first was Katrina Selsey's. And she wasn't sounding like the demure, efficient Ophelia of the night before. More like a trader at Romford Market.