To Dream Again by E. C. Tubb

Author:E. C. Tubb [Tubb, E. C.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780575107717
Publisher: Orion
Published: 2014-01-30T07:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 12

On the stage ghosts were singing, the resurrected actors who had died earlier in the play, now on their feet and joining together in a Greek-type chorus which emphasized morality, justice, the intrinsic decency of democratic process and the aspiration of a better world to come.

Ralph looked at Lavinia as the curtain came down. “What did you think of it?”

“As a play it was pretty awful,” she said. “The song at the end was even worse.”

“That’s just what I thought.” He rose, joining the crowd of first-nighters streaming towards the exits. “Let’s get ourselves a drink to wash away the taste.”

The theatre bar was crowded and it took a while to fill his order. Turning with the drinks in his hand he bumped into someone and recognised John Rigby. The recognition was mutual.

“Major Mencini!” The drama critic held out his hand, dropping it as he saw that both of Ralph’s were occupied. “This is a pleasant surprise. Are you a devotee of the arts?”

“I like to see a play sometimes,” said Ralph dryly.

“Of course, and you must forgive my apparent surprise. It’s just that one doesn’t usually associate a policeman with cultural pursuits. Not that this shambles can be called that.” Rigby pursed his lips. “I give it three performances at the most. You agree?”

“Three is being generous,” said Ralph. “One has been one too many.”

“Then we see eye to eye. Are you alone? No? Then I’ll tell you what. Why don’t you bring your friend backstage? We are having the usual wake and tonight I feel like drawing blood. Is that your friend?” He waved at Lavinia. “Do come. We are going to need a little beauty enliven the proceedings.”

Ralph hesitated. He had intended spending the evening alone with Lavinia but Rigby was suspect and the chance to get to know the man on an informal footing was too good to miss.

“We’d love to join you,” he said and added, casually, “Have you seen anything of Cybele lately?”

“Not since the party. I think she’s gone abroad somewhere but I don’t really know.” Rigby turned as a pale-faced young man with a ruffled shirt and a ring in his ear plucked at his sleeve. “All right, Derek. You go ahead. I’ll join you later.”

“You’re sure, John?” The young man was anxious despite his air of bravado, “I mean, I’d like to hear your views and there are other who will miss you.”

“I’ll be along.” Rigby shook his head as the young man moved reluctantly away. “The author,” he said. “Derek Burdon. Most of the backing came from his devoted parents and he’s hoping to bribe me into giving him a good review. Is he in for a shock. Coming?”

A dozen people occupied the green room together with waiters serving champagne to the producer, director, a couple of angels and a scatter of hopeful actors. A hum of sycophantic conversation filled the air, empty chatter designed to please, rising above the clink of glasses like the murmur of bees.

“A simply marvellous play, darling!” An aging actress gushed over the author.

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