Part 3 (1/2)

He had tried to sleep but the gambling sailors made too much noise. Instead he studied the reflections in the window; the blurred beak of his own nose, that thong as if of an Indian brave imprinted across his brow by the absurd cap which he had removed at Crewe and which now lay among the cigarette b.u.t.ts at his feet; the jutting shoulders of the poker players who sprayed their cards like fans beneath their mouths. Madame b.u.t.terfly Madame b.u.t.terfly, he thought, for he had sneaked a glance at the soldier opposite and seen that he was now weeping, the letter crumpled in his fist, scrunching apple blossom.

At Wolverhampton the carriage had all but emptied, leaving only a sleeping woman cradling a badminton racket. Some miles from Nuneaton, as the train jolted with drawn blinds between an embankment, the man gave an audible sob. 'Forgive me,' he said. His voice was educated although he was wiping his nose on his sleeve. 'Bad news?' Meredith asked, and lent him a handkerchief.

The letter was from Bunny's father, telling of a bomb that had exploded in the garden. Thinking in terms of his mother's back yard in Hoylake, the was.h.i.+ng sagging between poplar trees, Meredith had prepared himself for details of death. In his head he saw the hung sheets dotted with coal-s.m.u.ts torn from their pegs and ripped into bandages as they sailed above the foxgloves. He a.s.sumed a melancholy expression and said, 'I'm so sorry. No, please keep the handkerchief.'

'There was a 300-year-old oak,' Bunny said. 'And a yew hedge even older. It wasn't a raid. The bomber released its load because it was having difficulty reaching the coast. Another mile or so, another thirty seconds at the most and they would have dropped harmlessly in the Channel.'

'What rotten luck,' said Meredith.

'Robyn was found in the orchard with his leg blown off.'

'What can I say,' murmured Meredith. 'There aren't any adequate words.'

'My father had to shoot him.'

Meredith still hadn't forgiven him not for the big house, the holidays touring France on bicycles, the expensive schooling, the mutilated pony or the affectionate parents. He himself had never known a father, being the issue of a man who smoked cigars and a girl plucked from the typing pool of the Cunard buildings in 1913.

Desmond Fairchild was loitering in the corridor when Meredith emerged from the rehearsal room. He demanded to know when they would have the use of the stage. Like a beggar, he went so far as to pluck at Meredith's sleeve. 'Sorry to go on about it, squire,' he said. 'I just find it impossible to get into character here.'

'So I've noticed,' said Meredith, and he pushed past him impatiently and ran down the grand staircase in search of Bunny. He found him in the station buffet slouched against the counter eating toasted tea-cakes. Beside him stood a man whose boots had burst asunder at the toes.

'No wonder you look ill,' Meredith said. 'You should eat proper food.'

'I don't have your appet.i.te,' said Bunny. 'Nor your taste buds.'

'My G.o.d, what a stench,' cried Meredith and, s.n.a.t.c.hing up Bunny's plate, took it to a table near the door.

Bunny followed. 'You don't have to be so unkind,' he complained. 'People have feelings, you know.'

'If you'd stood next to him much longer you'd be scratching by teatime.'

'I haven't got your sensitive skin either.'

'That's true enough,' said Meredith and, unable to apologise directly for his outburst at rehearsal, invited him instead to dinner that evening at the Commercial Hotel.

'I'd rather read,' said Bunny.

'Come early and leave early,' coaxed Meredith, and as though it had just occurred to him wondered aloud whether it would be a good idea to include young Harbour.

'Better not,' said Bunny, avoiding his eye. 'It's as well not to rush things.'

'I wasn't very nice to him this morning.'

'You weren't very nice to quite a few people,' said Bunny mildly.

His amiability irritated Meredith; it made him spiteful. He referred disparagingly to Bunny's demob suit. 'Own up,' he demanded. 'You sleep in it.'

'Only in the winter months,' conceded Bunny. 'I suppose this has to do with Hilary.'

'I telephoned twice this morning. I couldn't raise a d.i.c.ky bird.'

'People go out, you know.'

'At eight in the morning!'

'Hilary's mother could be ill. From what you say she's very frail.'

'Could be,' sneered Meredith. 'But I bet my bottom dollar she isn't.'

'The phone could be out of order. Perhaps the bill hasn't been paid.'

'I've paid the d.a.m.ned bill,' shouted Meredith. 'I pay for everything,' and he lit another cigarette and exhaled furiously, glaring through the smoke at Bunny munching on the last of his tea-cakes.

The man in the worn-out boots limped towards the door carrying an ancient suitcase. Meredith, noticing Bunny fumbling in the pocket of his mackintosh, leaned across the table and seized him by the wrist. 'Don't you dare,' he hissed. 'By the state of you, it's you that needs the hand-out.'

'I was looking for my matches,' said Bunny crossly. He pursed his big mouth into such a babyish pout that Meredith found him comical; he sn.i.g.g.e.red.

'You lack consistency,' said Bunny. 'You blow with the wind.'

Meredith couldn't deny it. Often he suspected he hadn't the capacity to sustain either love or hate.

Encouraged, Bunny suggested he would be doing himself a favour if he asked Desmond Fairchild to dinner. The man might be something of a bounder, dispatching young Geoffrey every afternoon to that bookie in the Nelson Arms, not to mention the way he tapped his cigarettes on his thumbnail, but he was, after all, a favourite of Rose Lipman. Leastways, he was a distant connection of Councillor Harris, and he had made an enormous success as Cousin Syd in that comedy series on the Light Programme, quite apart from his role in Charley's Aunt Charley's Aunt on Sat.u.r.day Night Theatre. Appreciative letters were still arriving at the stage door from listeners to the Home Service. Meredith might not like him but he was a box office draw and bearing in mind that unfortunate incident in Windsor... on Sat.u.r.day Night Theatre. Appreciative letters were still arriving at the stage door from listeners to the Home Service. Meredith might not like him but he was a box office draw and bearing in mind that unfortunate incident in Windsor...

'Like him!' said Meredith. 'I detest him. The man's a sartorial offence. That camel-hair coat with the velvet collar... that vulgar hat.'

'It's possibly a mistake to make an enemy of someone on account of his trilby,' warned Bunny.

'I wouldn't stand him dinner if my life depended on it.'

'I despair,' said Bunny. He actually looked as though he did.

A young woman came in from the booking-hall trailed by a ragged child, its legs pocked with the marks of vermin. Beneath a man's jacket the woman wore a gaudy satin slip streaked at the hem with blood. Meredith clapped his hand over his nostrils.

'If I could,' said Bunny, only slightly smiling, 'I'd take you away from all this.'

Stella had run all the way on her errand to the Post Office; rather than let Meredith down she would have dropped in her tracks. She was quite composed copying the address onto the telegraph form, but when she came to the words: Am in h.e.l.l. Does ten years count for nothing? You must ring. Reverse charges. Devotedly Meredith Am in h.e.l.l. Does ten years count for nothing? You must ring. Reverse charges. Devotedly Meredith, she experienced such a choking sensation of jealousy she thought it must be like parachuting from an aeroplane, in that she couldn't breath and the world dropped away that she scrumpled up both sc.r.a.ps of paper and flung them into the metal basket beneath the counter.

She was half way up Stanley Street before she recovered and her heart stopped sinking in her breast. She retraced her steps just as swiftly, only to find the wastepaper basket had been emptied. Fetching another form, she wrote: Don't bother to telephone. Will not accept reverse charges. Yours Meredith Don't bother to telephone. Will not accept reverse charges. Yours Meredith. She gave the money for the words not used to a boy with ringworm throwing stones at a cat on a wall.

5.

The cast was allowed onto the stage five days before the opening night of the season. Meredith apologised for the delay. A leak had developed in a portion of the roof above the flies; there was still a slight pinking of water-drops splattering behind the flats of the living-room set. Rose was suing the builders.

The actors, now they had the use of the theatre, grew noticeably more confident. Dawn Allenby presented Richard St Ives with an oil-painting of a bull in a tortoisesh.e.l.l frame which had caught her eye at the back of a butcher's stall in St John's Market. It had been a bargain because the butcher was thinking of throwing it out in favour of a signed photograph of Field Marshal Montgomery. St Ives, while agreeing with Dotty that Freud might have something to say about the choice of subject, was rather taken with the gift. In return Dotty, on his behalf, bought Dawn Allenby a pot plant to which was wired a card saying: 'To Dawn, with great affection from Richard and Dorothy.'

The 'stopping rehearsal' of Dangerous Corner Dangerous Corner began at ten o'clock on Monday morning. Not until twelve o'clock, by which time no more than five minutes of the drama had been enacted, did Stella understand the meaning of the phrase. She hadn't known the lighting would play such an important part. Bunny, wearing a knitted Balaclava and carrying a clip board, called out commands to the chief electrician in a voice m.u.f.fled with pain. Geoffrey said he had complained earlier of toothache. There was some trouble with the follow-spot attached to the balcony rail of the upper circle. Then a whole bank of dimmers on the switchboard unaccountably fused. began at ten o'clock on Monday morning. Not until twelve o'clock, by which time no more than five minutes of the drama had been enacted, did Stella understand the meaning of the phrase. She hadn't known the lighting would play such an important part. Bunny, wearing a knitted Balaclava and carrying a clip board, called out commands to the chief electrician in a voice m.u.f.fled with pain. Geoffrey said he had complained earlier of toothache. There was some trouble with the follow-spot attached to the balcony rail of the upper circle. Then a whole bank of dimmers on the switchboard unaccountably fused.