Break a Leg, Darlings Read online

  So, although most of them knew a few unsavoury anecdotes about Sweetums, it was a lead-pipe cinch nobody was going to print them. Not after Sweetums sent a box of chocolates, with live tarantulas alternating with chocolates in the top layer, to the gossip columnist who had hinted at her less-than-sweet disposition. Sweetums had never believed in letting the studio publicity department fight her battles for her.

  'That's why ... the lady is a tramp ...' Humming under her breath, Evangeline was riffling through the pages of the pub theatre listings. I watched uneasily; I didn't trust that smile.

  'What are you up to now?'

  'Just revising tonight's programme. I will not allow that ... creature ... across my threshold, so we'll invite her to the theatre with us.'

  'That sounds reasonable.' Too reasonable for Evangeline. I watched her closely.

  'Here we are!' She found what she was looking for and beamed at the page. 'At the Red Bull tonight: Maxim Gorky's The Lower Depths. Sweetums should feel right at home there.'

  'Maybe, but what about us?' I winced at the idea of sitting through that. 'The last I heard, Gorky wasn't in any position to accept a commission to write a new play for us.'

  'We'll just have to sacrifice tonight to the prospect of getting Sweetums out of our hair. If she thinks we're into that sort of theatre, she won't be so anxious to hang around with us.'

  'Good point.' I tested out a couple of earnest intent expressions. 'Do you think she'll believe it?'

  'If she doesn't ...' Evangeline scanned the listings.

  'Phèdre, in the original French, is playing at the Bijou Theatre by the Green tomorrow night.'

  'At least it won't lose in the translation.' I had a sudden dire thought. 'Maybe Sweetums speaks French, that letter was mailed from Paris.'

  'French has nothing to do with it,' Evangeline said. 'Sweetums could always get her own way in any language.'

  'Couldn't she just!' There was a moment of silence as we contemplated the truth of that. Single-handedly, Sweetums had been responsible for six heart attacks, four automobile crashes, several strange accidents to co-workers, innumerable nervous breakdowns and at least one suspected suicide. And those were just the incidents we knew had been hushed up.

  'Poor Cuddles,' Evangeline sighed. 'Thank heavens he was able to escape before it was too late.'

  I nodded. S. Z. (Cuddles) Sakall, flustered, lovable and cuddly, and Sweetums Carew, fluttery, feminine and adorable, had seemed like perfect pairing for a series of low-budget but highly bankable 'B' pictures. On paper, it was casting made in heaven; when they got on the set together all hell broke loose.

  Nobody was going to be cuter, cuddlier or more adorable than Sweetums, even if she had to kill them to keep her title. The director was carried off with a heart attack and subsequently changed his career path to become a market gardener ('Vegetables,' he had said later, 'give you no back talk'), two cameramen and the script girl had nervous breakdowns and the writing team took off for the Fiji Islands where they settled down to writing novels. The picture was written off and the series shelved.

  Apart from a tendency to break into shakes and wring his cheeks with both hands whenever Sweetums's name was mentioned, Cuddles got away relatively lightly. Needless to say, they never worked together again. Each reigned supreme as the most adorable character in subsequent separate pictures.

  'Sweetums, after all these years,' Evangeline said. 'How did she survive when so many nicer people have bitten the dust? It just goes to show, it's the green bay tree all over again.'

  The telephone rang and we both cringed. Somehow, we knew it couldn't be anyone else. I stood up reluctantly.

  'Tell her to meet us at the Red Bull,' Evangeline said, a scheming glint in her eyes. 'We'll eat there before the performance. The menu looks absolutely disgusting.'

  'Well, I must say!' Sweetums fluttered eyelashes that were a quarter of an inch too long for belief, or even comfort, and looked from Evangeline to me. 'You girls have certainly changed. In your tastes, that is. Not otherwise, of course. You still don't look a day over sixty, just the way you were when I first knew you, all those years ago. I can still remember how awed I was. Little me, meeting such important actresses, and so much older ones.' She looked around. 'There's a strange background noise in this place, isn't there?'

  Actually, it was Evangeline's teeth grinding, but I thought I'd better not point this out. I wouldn't give Sweetums the satisfaction of thinking she was annoying us.

  'Something to do with the darts game, maybe,' I suggested. There was a lively game going on in one corner. In another corner, a group of young men huddled together and seemed to be paying a certain amount of covert attention to us.

  'Oooh!' Sweetums followed my gaze and simpered at the men. 'Don't look now, girls, but I think we've been recognized.'

  'They're probably wondering who the old freak is,' Evangeline muttered.

  'Oh, you don't look that bad.' Sweetums had heard it. 'Just terribly exhausted and rather distraught. Are you sure you haven't had a nervous breakdown recently?'

  'Any minute now,' Evangeline threatened, clenching one hand into a fist.

  'Why don't we order?' I tried to distract them, waving the gravy-stained piece of cardboard that served as a menu to be shared among the three of us.

  'I'm not very hungry.' Sweetums wrinkled her nose, then simpered when she realized the men were still watching.

  'But you must try some English specialities.' Evangeline took the menu from me and surveyed it. 'There's a Ploughman's Platter, Bubble-and-Squeak, Toad-in-the-Hole Her voice faltered and I knew how she felt. I wouldn't trust this place not to serve up a real toad.

  'I'll just have a glass of white wine,' Sweetums said firmly. 'I'm sure we can find a decent place to eat after the show.'

  'I'll have a lager and crackers and cheese,' Evangeline decided.

  'Sounds safe – I mean, good – to me,' I agreed. If Sweetums wasn't going to risk her digestion on any of the menu selections, neither should we. Furthermore, the reek of heliotrope surrounding us had killed any appetite I might have had.

  The waiter was looking at us rather oddly and with a certain amount of displeasure. Obviously he had hoped for a more impressive order – in which case, he should have had a more impressive menu.

  'Don't look now' – Sweetums rolled her eyes and prinked at her hair – 'but I do believe we're going to be asked for our autographs.'

  Sure enough, one of the young men had detached himself from the group and was heading purposefully towards us, a scrap of paper in his hand.

  Automatically, we arched our necks, tilted our heads to the most becoming angle, and smiled.

  'Oh!' Sweetums gave a pretty start, raising her hands and widening her eyes, at discovering him at her side.

  'Miss Carew?'

  'Oh, please, call me Sweetums,' she simpered, turning the full force of her saccharinity upon him.

  'Er ...' And they hadn't even been introduced. The tips of his ears glowed red and he retreated a nervous half-step. 'Yes. Thank you ... Swee—' He could not bring himself to do it. 'Miss Carew.'

  'And you're Miss Sinclair?' He turned to Evangeline with visible relief; she was not going to invite him into undue familiarity.

  'Was there any doubt?' Evangeline froze him with her best Ethel Barrymore glare. He shuffled a step sideways and turned to me.

  'And Miss Dolan?'

  'Yes?' By this time, I wasn't prepared to be any more welcoming. I had had time to notice that the scrap of paper he clutched was filled with cramped writing and scribbled figures; there was no room on it for any autographs. So, what did he want? I raised an eyebrow and waited.

  'Great honour to have you here, to meet you,' he said earnestly. Why didn't I believe him?

  'Like to buy you a drink. All the pleasure you've given. In your time. My gran was a great admirer. Never missed one of your pictures. All of you.' He was getting in deeper with every stumbling word. Even Sweetums had stopped smirking.

/>   'Anything you like.' He ground the words out from between clenched teeth, increasingly nervous in the face of our silence. He glanced back over his shoulder at his friends across the room. A couple of them made encouraging gestures.

  'Name your pleasure,' he invited recklessly.

  Evangeline looked thoughtfully into the distance. Hanging-drawing-and-quartering him would be her pleasure at this moment.

  For perhaps the only time in her life, Sweetums's mask had dropped enough to suggest that she was in complete agreement.

  'Thank you.' I broke the silence. 'I'm afraid we haven't time. The performance is due to start. We'd better get upstairs.'

  'Afterwards, then.' He was pale but determined, perhaps he thought we might be in a more amenable mood after we'd survived the rigours of the performance.

  'I think not.' Evangeline bared her teeth at him, sending him back another step before he caught himself. She hadn't missed those friends of his in the background waiting to rush forward and join the party the minute we showed any signs of letting down the social bars. 'We have had more than our quota for the evening –' She indicated her half-empty lager glass with an expression that implied she had reached the outer limits of her endurance. The idea of a sip of anything stronger ever having passed those untainted lips was unthinkable.

  'Oh. Of course. Of course. Perhaps next time. Are you coming to the next presentation? Mother Courage. It's the start of our Bertolt Brecht Season. Followed by Umberto Ui. We're all very excited about it.'

  'Oh, yes!' I managed to sound wildly enthusiastic and was glad to see that Sweetums looked distinctly as though she was having second thoughts about linking up with us – even if we were successfully reviving our careers. Some prices were too high to pay.

  'How thrilling!' Evangeline repressed a shudder and glanced at Sweetums, who was now visibly shrinking in horror at the prospect. 'We wouldn't dream of missing it!'

  'Good. Great.' He waved a hand in our general direction and, flushed by the prospect of escaping him I actually caught it and shook it. He appeared overwhelmed. 'Oh, Miss Dolan!'

  A buzzer sounded and people at surrounding tables began lurching to their feet, grabbing their glasses and heading for a narrow door at the far end of the room.

  'I'm not sure I can stay.' Sweetums was on her feet and baulking. 'I don't think I feel too well. Jet lag, you know.'

  'Nonsense!' Evangeline seized her elbow in a steely grasp. 'You had plenty of time to get over your jet lag in Paris. You'll love the show. You'd never forgive yourself if you missed it.' Relentlessly, she urged Sweetums forward.

  'Well.' I tried to free my hand without turning it into a wrestling match. 'It's been nice to meet you, um ...'

  'Vic,' he said earnestly, gazing into my eyes but still not releasing my hands. Our moment of pressing-the-flesh seemed to have unnerved him completely. He pulled me closer, clasping my hand to his heart. 'Victor Varney, at your service.' He made it sound as though he had just won a tournament and declared me his Queen of Love and Beauty. I was touched – but I still wanted my hand back.

  The buzzer sounded again and a second wave of delinquents pushed back their chairs and made for the staircase. Evangeline and Sweetums were at the door; Evangeline looked back and signalled to me.

  'I must go.' I tugged my hand free; he released it reluctantly.

  'Next time,' he said.

  I smiled, not sure what I seemed to be agreeing, and hurried to catch up with the others. When I looked back over my shoulder, I saw that Vic Varney had returned to his group of friends and seemed to be arguing furiously with them. The scrap of paper was taken from him almost forcibly and someone began adding more notes to it.

  'Hurry up.' Evangeline tried to sound enthusiastic. 'We don't want to be late for the performance.'

  Sweetums muttered something under her breath; it didn't sound sweet at all.

  4

  In the morning, I stood at the telephone, not bothering to keep a straight face as Sweetums earnestly explained that she had been smitten by a strange malady during the night. The symptoms included dizziness, aching limbs, spots before the eyes and many other unspecified discomforts, all of which meant that she would not be able to join us on this evening's theatrical excursion.

  'Oh, what a pity,' I sympathized. 'I know you would have loved it. One so rarely has the opportunity to see an Urdu company presenting the uncut five-hour version of The Decade of the Maharishi.'

  'Oh, I'm utterly devastated at the thought of missing it,' Sweetums assured me. 'But I'm afraid I'm going to be out of action for some time. I can tell it's just terribly serious. I'm sure no reliable doctor would allow me out at night for at least a week. Maybe longer.'

  'How rotten for you.'

  'Yes. I was so looking forward to sharing the intellectual life of London with you girls. Last night was ... memorable.'

  'Never mind. You just concentrate on taking care of yourself and getting well. 'Bye now.' I replaced the receiver as Evangeline entered the living room.

  'It worked,' I reported. 'Sweetums is off our backs. Some mystery virus has laid her low, probably for the remainder of her stay. And we did it all first crack off the bat.'

  'Thank heavens for that! We can go back to the A List now and see some decent shows.'

  'Uh-huh.' I cocked an eyebrow at her. If she thought that, she'd obviously forgotten what we had already seen and what was on offer. I'd heard of the triumph of hope over experience, but this was ridiculous.

  'Here we are.' Oblivious, Evangeline discarded one sheet of paper and concentrated on the other. 'Tonight is the closing night of Flying in the Face ... at the Happy Larry.'

  'Face of what?' It sounded highly suspect.

  'Oh ... tradition, I suppose. Or danger. What does it matter? "A frothy delight",' she began quoting from the scribble beside the title. 'It must be a comedy.'

  'I'll believe that when I see it.'

  'And,' she added cunningly, 'the pub is in Islington. That's this side of the West End. Not so far to travel. If we start out in time, we can make bus connections all the way and see some new territory.'

  'Oh, all right.' I gave in. 'I suppose we might as well.'

  Islington is on the other side of town from St John's Wood, so we had never explored it before. It turned out to be a lively upbeat area with lots of restaurants, pub theatres, shops, street markets, an antique centre, a cinema, and crowds of people thronging it all.

  Since we got there in plenty of time, we browsed through a few antique shops and had an early dinner at an Italian restaurant before going on to the Happy Larry for the show.

  It did seem to be a happy pub. We entered into a buzz of conversation and laughter which seemed to wrap around us and welcome us. Tables were crowded and there was a jam at the bar. We looked around with approval; this was more like it. Maybe there was hope for the show yet.

  'Oh, look, Trixie,' Evangeline carolled suddenly. 'There's that nice Superintendent Who-He!'

  I followed her pointing finger and couldn't believe my eyes. There, indeed, was Superintendent Heyhoe – as we had never seen him. Standing at the bar in jeans, T-shirt and denim jacket, talking with several men who seemed to belong in this ambience. An explanation abruptly came to me.

  'Shhh, Evangeline!' I nudged her quickly. 'He must be doing undercover work. Don't give him away!'

  Too late. The little group had looked up and spotted us. Superintendent Heyhoe flinched visibly as Evangeline bore down on him, beaming.

  'Good evening, ladies,' he said through clenched teeth.

  'Who's dead now?'

  'I don't know,' Evangeline said brightly. 'Who?'

  'Someone must be,' he said. 'You're here.'

  'There's a theatre upstairs,' I reminded him coldly. 'We've come to see the show.'

  'You promise?' A faint hope seemed to dawn at the back of his eyes, but he was still mistrusting. 'That's your only reason?'

  'Of course. But what are you doing here?' Evangeline ignored another
nudge. 'And dressed like that?'

  'I'm off duty, madam,' Heyhoe said stiffly. 'And I live in this neighbourhood. This happens to be my local.'

  'That's right,' one of the men said. 'A copper off duty is just as good as anybody else. He even has friends.'

  I wasn't so sure about that. Now that a couple of the men at the fringes of the group had turned away and were talking to other people there was a new lightness in their bearing, a relaxation they hadn't displayed when talking to Heyhoe. He was not the only one mistrustful around here. The defectors kept casting curious little sidelong glances at us. Either they had recognized us, or they thought we were up to something, or both. In any case, they were content to step aside and leave Heyhoe to deal with us.

  'Of course he has friends,' Evangeline said warmly. 'And we're happy to count ourselves among them.'

  Heyhoe didn't look happy at all. He checked his watch. It was getting close to performance time.

  'Aren't you going to introduce us, Ron?' his friend prompted.

  'Ron!' Evangeline breathed triumphantly.

  Glowering at her, Heyhoe mumbled the introductions. His friend's name was Barry Lane.

  'Pleasure and honour, ladies,' Barry assured us. 'Can I get you a drink?'

  'They don't have time,' Heyhoe said quickly. 'There goes the warning bell.' A sharp peal underlined his words.

  'Perhaps at the interval,' Evangeline said graciously. 'If you'll still be here?'

  'I'm not sure –' Heyhoe began.

  "Course he will,' his friend interrupted. 'His wife's gone to the country, so he's making a night of it.'

  'Wife?' Evangeline was enchanted, she was learning far more than we had ever known about Heyhoe. Of course, we had never seen him in a social context before.

  'Have you got your tickets yet?' Heyhoe's shoulders hunched defensively as he tried to hurry us off. He didn't want to get into any social context with us. I suppose I really couldn't blame him considering ...

  'We booked by telephone,' Evangeline said. 'Where do we pick up our tickets?' We both looked around vaguely.