Break a Leg, Darlings Read online

  BREAK A LEG,

  DARLINGS

  Marian Babson

  CHIVERS

  British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data available

  This eBook published by AudioGO Ltd, Bath, 2012.

  Published by arrangement with the Author

  Epub ISBN 9781471303296

  Copyright © 1995 by Marian Babson

  The Author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

  All rights reserved

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental

  Jacket illustration © iStockphoto.com

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  1

  After the fourth murder, I began to notice how hard the seat was. It also seemed to be in two pieces so that, if I shifted incautiously, they moved together in a pincers movement – and I do mean pinch. Repressing a shriek, I ground my teeth together and tried to pay attention to the action on what passed for the stage.

  By the eighth murder, I was beginning to be too fed up to worry about professional courtesy – or even ordinary politeness.

  'Evangeline' – I tried to keep the whine out of my voice – 'Evangeline, can't we leave now? Honestly, I don't feel very well.'

  'Shhhh!' She was intent on the figure in the spotlight, who was raising his head like a bloodhound scenting an escaped prisoner as yet another victim moved towards him for the kill.

  My heart sank; it was the girl with the terrible scream. Already, I had a throbbing headache from her various demises, each of which she had met with the same high-pitched blood-curdling prolonged shriek. That many decibels should never be let loose in such a confined space. I tried to position my hands unobtrusively near my ears, ready to block out the sound as soon as she opened her mouth.

  Farewell, Everyone was strictly a no-budget production. Four actors were playing about twenty-seven parts. (I may have miscounted; the light in here wasn't good and the programme had been typed on a ribbon that had seen its last days long ago, then reproduced on the sort of low-tech, gel-based, clapped-out duplicating equipment that gave car boot sales a bad name.)

  The actors were doing their best to ring the changes with varied hairstyles and wigs, different jackets or lack of them for the males, and blouses, ribbons and scarves for the females. They always wore the same shoes, though, so no matter how good the disguise, it was easy to recognize them.

  'Why don't I slip out and meet you downstairs in the bar after the show?' I tried again. I could make my move in the fast blackout following the impending murder.

  'Shhh!' Evangeline threw me an impatient glance. She couldn't possibly be as interested in the performance as she seemed, but we were in the first row – practically on stage ourselves – and any movement we made would register on the rest of the audience. She turned her attention back to the stage, leaning forward raptly.

  This time the girl was wearing a navy-blue smock, grey wig pulled back into a bun and horn-rimmed glasses. She carried a book and brandished it at the man waiting for her.

  'According to our records, this book is thirteen weeks overdue!' Her speaking voice wasn't a great improvement on her scream. 'Furthermore, it has been defaced by a number of nasty reddish-brown stains which were not there when we loaned it to you. Therefore, in addition to your fine for an overdue book, I must charge you –'

  The hands lashed out, closing around her throat.

  'EEEeeeYYaa –!'

  I rammed my fingers into my ears and slid forward in my seat. The instant the lights flickered, I was off.

  'No, you don't!' A band of steel closed around my wrist and held me clamped until the lights went on again and I was trapped.

  Another actor tottered on wearing another grey wig and carrying a blanket of sewn-together rags in one hand and a large piece of cardboard with stones planted on it in the other. He set the cardboard down so that it became a wall and sat down gingerly in front of it, arranging the rag blanket over his legs. A revolving filter was activated in front of the spotlight and little dots of light fell lazily across the scene, simulating snow. The actor assumed a pathetic expression and began to shiver.

  I stifled a moan and closed my eyes. It was at least another fifteen minutes to the interval and I felt as though I had been sitting here for twenty years already. And, judging from the 'cast' list in the programme, there were around seventeen murders still to come.

  Sixteen. A cough, a choke and a gurgle from somewhere in front of me denoted that the old beggar had just met some bizarre end – and all without saying a single word. Let's face it, dialogue wasn't a strong point in this production.

  Don't ask me what was. The fact that it was taking place in a pub, perhaps. The fact that it was only a short trip downstairs to the bar of the Queen and Country had to be a major factor in its popularity.

  I heard another set of footsteps cross the stage and opened one eye to see how much worse it could get. A nun was walking slowly towards the murderer. For a moment, I thought an unlisted member had joined the cast, then I realized that she was wearing black stockings over her shoes, neatly solving the problem of footwear that was much too smart for anyone in Holy Orders. Of course, the trick would only work when long black skirts concealed the tops of the stockings.

  The nun was carrying a collecting box. That did it – her fate was sealed.

  I wasn't sure just what the playwright's problem was, but it was becoming clear that people asking him for money had a great deal to do with it. I began to speculate idly on the possible amount of his alimony payments.

  After an eternity of groans, shrieks, grunts, gasps and a strange gurgle I took to indicate garotting, I opened my eyes again to look at my watch. Inevitably, my gaze strayed towards the stage.

  The Screamer was in a plain black dress with a white cap and apron, miming an incompetent waitress serving a meal. I poised my fingers over my ears again; I already knew what she was going to get for a tip.

  'Evangeline,' I muttered, 'if you don't let me out of here, I swear I'll faint right on the floor.'

  'Mmm ...' Her jaw tightened, but it was only to repress a yawn. 'Perhaps at the interval.'

  'The interval,' I agreed, seeing a ray of hope. Once we had navigated those twisting rickety stairs and Evangeline was comfortably settled with a glass in her hand, it would be easy to persuade her that we didn't really want to mountain-climb back up those stairs and we might as well go home.

  Abruptly, the Screamer went off and I had to muffle a shriek of my own. Someone had tapped me on the shoulder. Terrified that the performance had turned into an audience-participation venture, I took a deep breath and half turned in my chair to see deep blue eyes in an earnest face regarding me sympathetically.

  'I'm sorry to have to tell you this,' he said, 'but there is no interval in this play.' Having ruined my evening, he sat back in his chair and returned his attention to the stage.

  I closed my eyes and made a mental note to ruin one of Evangeline's evenings some night soon. For the moment, I suspected that Farewell, Everyone was doing the job for me. It had been Evangeline's idea
to attend this turkey and I wasn't going to let her forget it.

  From somewhere at the back, there sounded a shrill titter, quickly stifled, which was a shame. This play might just barely make it if it were presented as a rapid-fire camp comic-strip type of entertainment. Unfortunately, it had been billed as 'A Penetrating Exploration of the Human Condition' and the audience was doing its best to treat the mishmash with the hushed respect it had demanded.

  Just another case of everybody believing the publicity, even when directly faced with the contradiction of the actual facts.

  'The Emperor has no clothes,' I muttered under my breath.

  'And it's not a pretty sight,' Evangeline muttered back.

  'Shhhh!' somebody hissed sharply. The sound did not appear to have come from behind us. I opened my eyes incredulously, unable to believe that I had actually been shushed from the stage.

  The author-star was glaring directly at us, just as the Screamer cut loose again. What a pity if anyone in the audience had missed a decibel of that howl because of our quiet whispers.

  'That does it!' Professional courtesy gasped its last. I stood up. 'You can stay to the bitter end, if you want to. I'm bitter enough and I'm leaving now!'

  'Not without me, you're not!' Evangeline was on her feet, grasping me firmly under the elbow.

  'I'm afraid my friend isn't feeling well.' Cravenly, she threw me to the wolves onstage. The leader of the pack drew back his lips in an unforgiving snarl.

  'No, it's all right.' Evangeline waved a dismissive hand in the direction of the informative young man behind us, who was starting out of his chair. 'I can manage perfectly well. She just has these little turns occasionally. I'm used to them.'

  'Great!' I muttered as we staggered out into the dim upper vestibule and groped for the railing to those lousy stairs. 'Now everybody thinks I'm some kind of invalid.'

  'Next time, you can do the same for me and I'll play ill.'

  'What do you mean "next time"? If you think – whoops! Watch it. That step is steeper than the rest.'

  'Damn!' Evangeline caught herself just in time. 'I knew it was here somewhere. It tripped me on the way up.'

  We were at ground level now and the uneven floor of the Queen and Country stretched out before us. From behind the door marked with an EXIT sign, came the sound of voices and laughter.

  'I suppose' – Evangeline looked around discontentedly – 'there's no way out except through the pub?'

  'They get you coming and going,' I agreed. 'I'll bet the takings must be rich after a play like that ends.'

  'That's probably why they put it on. After sitting through that playwright's view of society, everyone is going to need a stiff drink.'

  Several heads turned as we emerged on the other side of the swinging door and into the bar area. Some of the conversational buzz died down.

  'Everything all right, ladies?' The landlord came forward, concerned but not surprised to see us.

  'My friend isn't feeling well,' Evangeline told him. 'I'm afraid we had to leave.'

  'That's too bad. Can I offer you something?'

  'Perhaps a bran—' Evangeline began.

  'Not here,' I muttered, kicking her sharply on the ankle, perhaps too sharply. She gasped, wincing.

  'Are you all right?' The landlord looked frightened, perhaps suspecting some sort of seizure.

  'Yes, yes. Just a touch of' – Evangeline glared at me – 'my old complaint.'

  'Let me get you a drink. My pleasure.'

  'I really must get home and lie down,' I said firmly. We wanted to be out of there before the show ended and the cast came downstairs in search of sustenance and praise.

  'Thank you just the same.' Evangeline bestowed a gracious smile on him. 'Perhaps another time.'

  There was a loud explosion over our heads. We both jumped involuntarily and looked at each other.

  'All part of the show, ladies,' the landlord assured us. 'As a matter of fact, it's just as well you left when you did. For the grand finale, he turns a machine gun on the audience. Loaded with blanks, of course, but they don't half make a noise. Deafening, too. I've seen some of the punters take more than an hour to get their hearing back properly. It's a wonder no one has sued him. If he brings down the ceiling some night, I might myself.'

  There was another explosion overhead. I saw what the landlord meant. The light fittings shook and the light flickered.

  'Home,' I said firmly. 'Now.'

  Evangeline nodded and we progressed to the front door, with me remembering to sway a bit while she remembered to limp. We were aware of heads turning surreptitiously to follow our progress.

  It was a relief when the door swung shut behind us and we could straighten up and resume our normal gait. As one, we looked about for a taxi.

  'Don't give him the address until we're safely inside,' Evangeline warned unnecessarily. We had had too many taxi drivers shake their heads and drive away from us when they discovered we wanted to go to Docklands.

  'We should be flat-hunting,' I said. 'First things first.'

  'Finding a play is the first thing,' Evangeline said. 'Since it is quite obvious that dear Hugh has forgotten our existence.'

  'We had dinner with them just the other night,' I reminded her.

  'And what good did it do us? Did he mention that new play for us? Did he suggest a theatre for us? Did he give any indication that he recognized us as working actors? Did he hell!'

  'Give him a break. He and Martha are only just back from their honeymoon.'

  'And that's another thing! Those photographs! He bored us for hours thrusting every dreary picture under our noses – even the out-of-focus ones.'

  'Some of them were awfully good. Martha looked so happy and the kids were having a wonderful time.'

  'Unlike us! Face it, Trixie, we are bereft and abandoned. On our own. Alone!' She sighed tragically and gazed into mid-distance declaiming:

  '"Here am I, a stranger and afraid,

  In a world I never made ..."'

  'Good luck, world!' I muttered, waving frantically at a taxi heading our way with its light on. It veered towards us, slowing, then suddenly lurched back into the lane of traffic and accelerated past us. He had obviously picked us up before.

  'We've got to move back to civilization,' I said bitterly. 'No driver ever refused to take us to St John's Wood.'

  'Our rent is paid to the end of March,' Evangeline said, in a tone that closed the subject. She looked down the street thoughtfully.

  'Here comes another taxi. I'll hail it. As soon as it slows down, you step in front of it until I'm safely inside. Then you get in.'

  'Why don't you stand in front of it while I get in?'

  'Because you have a dancer's reflexes and muscles. If he tries to drive away, despite your standing in front of him, you can leap on the fender.'

  'Oh, thanks a bunch. Why don't I just leap for the roof while I'm about it?'

  'As you prefer.' Evangeline moved away from me and waved winsomely at the approaching taxi.

  I moved to the edge of the kerb and teetered there. Maybe it would be enough if I just looked as though I might fall under the wheels.

  There was no need to worry. The taxi drew up smoothly, the driver was beaming at us.

  'Here you are, ladies,' he said. 'I thought you might be ready to leave by now.'

  'Oh, Eddie, bless you!' We fell into the back seat thankfully. Loud percussive noises began rat-a-tatting through the air behind us, insufficiently muffled by the walls of the Queen and Country.

  'He's machine-gunning the audience now,' Evangeline said.

  'Good enough for 'em,' Eddie said. 'They want to go to muck like that, serve 'em right. What you want is a nice cheery song-and-dance show, a proper knees-up to send you out happy. Not that stuff.'

  'Oh, yes,' I agreed wistfully. 'And something new, please, not one of these endless revivals cluttering up theatres all over town. We saw them the first time round – '

  'And didn't think much of them, even
then.' Evangeline was critical. 'Silly plots, witless dialogue. Nothing to get your teeth into.'

  'Oh, but the music, the melodies,' I sighed. 'They don't write them like that any more.'

  'You going straight home, ladies, or are you stopping somewhere for a bit of after-theatre supper first?'

  'Home!' We spoke in unison. We weren't going to take our chances on finding another taxi after lingering over a meal. Eddie was the best thing that had happened to us all week.

  2

  Last week hadn't been so good, either. Evangeline had begun agitating for action before Hugh and Martha had even had a chance to unpack their bags. Since they weren't immediately available for nagging, I took the brunt of it.

  'Give them a chance,' I protested. 'They've only just got home. They've hardly had time to unpack. And then they've got to get the kids settled in school –'

  'Precisely. It is becoming increasingly apparent that we are at the bottom of their list of priorities.'

  'You can't say that for certain. They've been in the Caribbean, going to all sorts of shows and getting new ideas. For all you know, they've already discovered a great vehicle for us.' I was getting enthusiastic. I could see myself sashaying across the stage balancing a Carmen Miranda fruit bowl on my head, rolling my hips to the beat of voodoo drums. And it would be typecasting to have Evangeline as the White Witch of Rose Hall.

  'And they're taking us to dinner at the Ivy on Friday. Maybe they're going to give us the good news then. Maybe they've found something new and exciting and absolutely terrific for us.'

  'Maybe ...' Evangeline said, but I could see that my enthusiasm had been contagious. There was a glint of hope in her eyes.

  And maybe, some day, I'd learn to keep my big fat mouth shut.

  The dinner was delicious, but the only surprise in store was that there was no surprise at all. It had also long become obvious that Evangeline was not so rapturously enthralled by the photographs of Martha and the children as I was.

  'Viola's hair is growing out beautifully and those little curls make her look like a cherub. And I swear Orlando has grown two inches. And, oh Martha, they look so happy.'