Murder in the Title by Simon Brett

Author:Simon Brett
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Severn House Publishers Ltd
Published: 2012-03-31T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

MRS FELLER DID not get any arrests, but she achieved the lesser objective of totally sabotaging the Undress Rehearsal. By the time the Hats had been cleared from the Drill Hall, the cast had all apologetically put their clothes back on again and it was too late to start on Act Two of Royston Everett’s little masterpiece. Even if the cast of the evening’s show had forgone the break due to them between rehearsal and performance, there wouldn’t have been time. So a somewhat sheepish little group traipsed back to the Regent Theatre.

Where at least one of them was met with a further set-back. Charles, now feeling that he should watch the Artistic Director’s every move, had walked back with him from the rehearsal room but there had been little conversation. Tony Wensleigh was sunk in a gloom of his own.

But they were still walking together when they entered the foyer of the theatre, and so Charles overheard the words of Donald Mason, who rushed up anxiously to his colleague as if he had been awaiting his return for some time.

‘Tony,’ the General Manager whispered as Charles moved away, ‘just had a call from Nigel Hudson.’

‘Nigel Hudson?’

‘My contact at the Arts Council.’

‘Oh yes.’

‘Well, it wasn’t so much a call as a tip-off. Apparently our grant prospects are dicier than we thought.’

‘Oh.’

‘They’re going to make their recommendations within the next fortnight.’

‘Oh yes?’

‘And they’re sending the assessment team down to the first night of Shove It to, as Nigel charmingly put it, “give us a final chance”.’

Which, Charles reflected as he left the foyer. was considering the current state of the production, tantamount to a straight refusal of the grant.

But the new blow aroused very little reaction in the traumatized Artistic Director. All it got was another dulled ‘Oh yes?’

Charles was surprised to find there was a telegram from him backstage. There are perhaps actors whose lives are full of ecstatic messages from fans and urgent news from agents about film offers, but he wasn’t one of them.

His first reaction was that something awful had happened to someone in the family. Juliet was ill. One of the grandchildren had been in a car accident.

It was family. But it wasn’t bad news. Or, he decided quickly before his mind was swamped with mixed emotions, it probably wasn’t bad news.

‘COMING DOWN TO RUGLAND SPA FOR LUNCH ON SUNDAY. RING ME IF YOU CAN’T MAKE IT. LOVE. FRANCES.’

The dear departed Sir Reginald De Meaux was now on his best behaviour. He had given his word to Donald Mason and, not wishing to add to the dissension between General Manager and Artistic Director, he therefore did not even contemplate a visit to the pub after he had discharged his artistic duties in the Thursday night performance of The Message Is Murder. He would wait around for the curtain call, following Tony Wensleigh’s desires.

Other nights he would have been content to sit quietly with a book (he was re-reading Samuel Butler’s Erewhon and enjoying the experience), but on this occasion he felt twitchy and couldn’t concentrate.

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