Free A Series of Murders by Simon Brett Page B

more than a passing interest in her daughter’s character.
    As soon as the read-through started, it was clear that Joanne Rhymer’s talent was equal to her looks. She brought a kind of resilience to the character’s naiveté. Lines that looked hopelessly sentimental on the page managed, through her delivery, to become charming.
    Everyone in the rehearsal room was aware of the contrast from the first read-through. At that stage they had suspected that Sippy Stokes was, like a lot of actresses, just a bad reader. The full deficiency of her talent had not then been exposed. But it had still made for an edgy atmosphere.
    With Joanne Rhymer in the part, though, everyone could relax. Charles watched as she read her first scene and saw the relief growing on various faces around the table.
    Will Parton looked positively triumphant, finally vindicated in the knowledge that his lines would work if played in the right way. W. T. Wintergreen and Louisa also beamed; for the first time they seemed to be happy about the way one of the
Stanislas Braid
characters was being portrayed. Russell Bentley seemed at ease, too. He probably wasn’t aware of why he felt better; the habit of not noticing what the rest of the cast did prevented him from realising how well his lines were being fed to him; but at last he seemed able to play the part of Russell Bentley.
    And Ben Docherty’s face glowed with benevolence, as if he were a proud father watching the performance of his favourite daughter.
    Yes, there was no doubt about it. Joanne Rhymer’s performance worked. She
was
Christina Braid.
    Except, of course, she wasn’t. She was Elvira Braid, just back from finishing school in Switzerland. Her sister, Christina, thanks to the inspired invention of Will Parton, had ‘gone to Paris to nurse an old school friend recovering from a nasty bout of influenza’.
    They got through the whole of the first Stanislas Braid/Christina scene before Russell Bentley interrupted the reading. ‘Look, there’s something wrong here.’
    â€˜Sorry, could we read straight through?’ said the new Director. ‘We’re doing this on the watch. We’ll pick up any notes afterward.’
    â€˜No, this is important. We’ve got to sort it out before we go on.’
    â€˜I’m sorry. Read-through first,’ insisted the director, unaware that he was entering his first battle of wills with his star.
    â€˜No,’ said Russell Bentley firmly.
    The P.A. gave a short-tempered sigh and clicked off her stopwatch.
    â€˜Look, I’m the Director,’ said the new Director, ‘and if I say we continue the read-through, then we continue the read-through.’
    â€˜No,’ Russell Bentley repeated.
    â€˜Come on, you’re a professional actor. Surely you know how to behave at a rehearsal?’
    This was dangerous ground. The worst insult that can be thrown at an actor is the accusation that he’s unprofessional. And for a new director to throw it at his star on a first read-through showed a lack of diplomacy that verged on the suicidal.
    Russell Bentley’s face flushed with anger. ‘Are you saying that I’m not –’
    Ben Docherty realised the gravity of the situation and fulfilled his producer’s role by interrupting. ‘Now just a minute. Don’t let’s get heated about this. I think Russell may have a point.’
    â€˜I’m the Director,’ the new Director insisted doggedly, ‘and I say we should get on with the read-through.’
    â€˜Well, I’m the Producer,’ said Ben Docherty, ‘and I say we should hear what Russell has to say first.’
    â€˜All right.’ The new Director flung his script petulantly down on the table. ‘If you’re one of those producers who constantly undermines his director’s authority . . .’
    Ben Docherty didn’t rise to this bait. Instead, he turned to his star in a