Free Vital Secrets by Don Gutteridge Page A

at Merriwether. “Tessa always gives her best,” he said guardedly.
    â€œThea will play Juliet tomorrow night, if she’s well enough,” Mrs. Thedford said.
    â€œYou could let her take the role of Beatrice,” Merriwether said, staring straight back at her with his intimidating, black gaze.
    Mrs. Thedford smiled cryptically. “Meaning that I myself am somewhat too advanced in years to play the part?”
    â€œNot at all, my dear. You’ll be acting Beatrice and Cleopatra when you’re eighty, should you wish to. What I’m suggesting is that, outside of the farce, there are not, in the makeup of our current program, any roles now suited to the peculiar talents of our Miss Clarkson. That is all.”
    â€œI would be more than happy to let Thea play Beatrice, Jason, but then it would be incumbent upon us to find a Benedick young enough to be credible.”
    â€œI wouldn’t think of it—” Clarence Beasley said, looking abashed at both the director and the proprietor.
    â€œBut I’m ready to play Juliet! I am !” There was no sweetness in the ingenue’s statement of fact, only the petulance of a childapproaching tantrum. Tessa’s pretty features were suddenly contorted, and flushed with an unbecoming rush of crimson pique.
    â€œIf you carry on like that, missy, we’ll have to put you in the Punch-and-Judy show with a slapstick.” Mrs. Thedford spoke in the way a mother might in gently reproving a much-doted-on daughter. “Be content with Cordelia, for the time being.”
    Rick Hilliard stirred beside Marc, who put a restraining hand upon his friend’s arm and one finger to his lips. It was obvious that the actors, in the intensity of this interplay, had forgotten they were being observed, and Marc was thoroughly enjoying his invisibility.
    Tessa’s face lit up instantly, and all traces of tantrum vanished in the unrepressed joy of her response. “Oh, Annie, you are such a dear! I could hug you to death!”
    When she threatened to do so, Mrs. Thedford held up a hand and said, “Save that ardour for Cordelia and Miranda tomorrow night.” She turned to Merriwether. “Get on with the scene, then, Jason dear. I’ll just go and see how Thea’s getting on. We’ll need her for the farce tonight.”
    â€œWe’ll need everybody, ” Merriwether said, glaring at Dawson Armstrong, who had taken advantage of the diversion to squat on his haunches and drift into a doze.
    Mrs. Thedford left, and the director clapped his hands for attention, as if he were orchestrating a cast of hundreds. “All right, Dawson, you know the routine. Tessa, my sweet, whileyou have no lines for this particular scene—we’ll rehearse your other scene later—it is vitally important that you lie absolutely limp in the old man’s arms. I suggest that you let the arm facing the audience droop—like this—and your head should be tilted back so your beautiful, long tresses hang down to almost touch the floor, and you can let one slipper dangle from your toes, and contrive to let it fall just as Lear moves from his ‘howls’ to his speech.”
    â€œMust I wear Thea’s costume?”
    â€œI think not. We’ll try something gauzier that will let your figure show through—in a modest way, of course. Thea’s figure, alas, has to be disguised wherever possible: that was the point about her age I was attempting to make.”
    â€œI do hope Thea won’t be too upset. She’s a very nice woman.”
    â€œDawson! Wake up and take your place!”
    Armstrong glared at Merriwether’s knees, got up, and strode manfully back into the shadows upstage. Tessa padded after him. Clarence Beasley came and stood as close to Merriwether as he dared, anticipating the action to come. A moment later, Lear began his escalating sequence of howls.
    Marc felt a chill down his spine.