‘Where, where?’ said an excited Bonny, temporarily distracted as the five-minute bell called them back.
Where’s Valent? wondered a worried Etta, looking at the empty seat at the end of the row.
‘O, withered is the garland of the war,/The soldier’s pole is fallen …’ Corinna’s whisper of infinite sadness could be heard round the entire theatre, ‘And there is nothing left remarkable/Beneath the visiting moon.’
The play’s end was so tragic that it took the syndicate a little time to get back into carnival mood.
92
Back at the Tempest Inn, the Prospero Suite turned out to have a mural of great black storm clouds, flashing lightning zipping out of purple waves and mariners being tossed on to the palest apple-green island, on which Miranda and Ferdinand wandered hand in hand, Caliban sulked in the bushes and Prospero could be seen drowning his book.
‘Wish I could afford to drown mine,’ grumbled Alan.
Tables were grouped around a little dance floor with a disco alternating between golden oldies and the latest pop music in the corner.
‘One would expect viols and lutes,’ said the Major pompously.
The behaviour of the syndicate, however, grew more like that of Stephano and Trinculo, the play’s drunkards, as they tucked into flagons of booze and piles of Shakespearean food: boar’s heads, sucking pigs, and mountains of figs and grapes.
‘Why no roast swan?’ asked Alan.
Cheers greeted the arrival of Seth and Corinna.
‘O eastern star!’ cried the Major, kissing her hand.
‘The lighting was awesome,’ Bonny told her, ‘you didn’t look a day over fifty-five, Corinna. And weren’t the sets marvellous? What a good supporting cast and you must be so proud of Seth.’
Unable to come down to earth at once, Etta escaped to her lovely room to tart up.
‘I have immortal longings in me,’ she sighed.
The play had been so wonderful, but the best part of the day had been Valent hugging her after Wilkie won and his tucking her trousers into her gumboots and feeling his big strong hands on her legs. She hoped they’d have a dance later. She was sure he’d be a terrific dancer, he’d spent enough time dancing round the goal mouth.
She was worried, however, by the way Bonny was leaping to Seth’s defence. She hoped Valent wouldn’t be hurt and things wouldn’t get out of hand. Going downstairs she found a note in her pigeon hole.
‘Dear Etta, Sorry, had to fly off to the States to sort out some crisis. Have a good evening, Valent,’ and felt winded by a huge charging bullock of disappointment. Turning, she found Seth talking to a boot-faced Bonny.
‘Whatever’s the matter?’
‘Valent’s pushed off to the States. The Yanks are kicking up because he’s refusing to have his miracle teething gel tested on baby chimps.’
‘Quite right,’ said Etta warmly.
‘For the sake of a few monkeys,’ spat Bonny.
‘Let’s have one other gaudy night,’ mocked Seth, linking arms with them both, ‘and fill our bowls once more and mock the midnight bell.’
Having acted her heart out, taken a dozen curtain calls and been sought out in her dressing room by the great French director Tristan de Montigny, who was mad about her Phèdre, Corinna wasn’t up to another gaudy night and retired to bed after about an hour.
Seth, aware she was an infinitely greater actor than he, psychologically wanted to flaunt his pulling power and decided to play Trixie and Bonny off against each other.
Punishing Trixie for her initial indifference, gradually over the last months he had reeled her in, all over her one moment, pulling up the drawbridge the next, not ringing her for a fort-night, reducing her to desperate uncertainty. Tonight she’d drop into his hand like a ripe fig.
‘Such a sad ending,’ Miss Painswick was saying to Pocock. ‘At least Antony and Cleopatra are together in heaven.’
‘Not sure they’d go to heaven,’ chuntered Debbie.
‘Did you know, in Shakespeare’s day, Cleopatra would have been played by a boy in his late teens,’ said Tilda.
‘Dora’s boyfriend Paris would be perfect for it,’ said Trixie.
‘What bliss,’ Niall murmured to Woody.
‘Drink up,’ said Seth, filling their glasses.
Joey had put his woolly hat on Shakespeare’s bust and tucked in his gold pen. He longed to ring Chrissie, but the Fox was laying off staff and she’d be serving in the bar. Pity they weren’t celebrating there where they needed the custom.
Painswick was very happy because the yard had done so well. Mrs Wilkinson’s health was drunk as often as Seth and Corinna’s.
To Alban, not drinking, everyone seemed very silly. But at