“There’s an adopted boy, Jasper.”
“Not the same thing. Anyway, I’m grateful to you for our two boys, and that reminds me. They want to get down here for the Saturday performance of the play. I’m not having any of that nonsense, though.”
“I’d love them to come. It’s good of them to bother. Why don’t you want them to be there?”
Jonathan laughed.
“What! Have them come and see me making love to another woman?”
“Yes,” said Deborah, “there is that. I get quite a qualm when I watch you and Barbara Bourton on stage together. You are so very convincing and she is so accomplished and beautiful. I’m very glad Hermia perfers Lysander to Demetrius, but you with your ‘Relent, sweet Hermia’ would melt a heart of stone.”
“That’s what I had to do when I wanted you to marry me. Just part of my technique, that’s all.”
“Oh, yes? And what about that little scene in the woods?” She mocked it. “ ‘Oh, why rebuke you him that loves you so?’ ”
“Well, why do you?” asked Jonathan, laughing. “Anyway, what about you and the handsome, virile Donald? You both turn that quarrel scene into a lovers’ tiff. It’s disgraceful how seductive you are and how he reacts, although he’s supposed to be having the devil of a set-to with you. His ‘Why should Titania cross her Oberon?’ is a masterpiece of snaky pleading, and his masterful rendering of ‘Tarry, rash wanton; am I not thy lord?’ is every suburban lady’s dream of being dominated by a sunburnt, cleanlimbed chap in riding-boots and a solar topee astride his Arab stallion.”
“Thank you very much! I admit the charge,” said Deborah, enjoying the game, although she knew it was a slightly dangerous one, “but please compare my pert reply. You can hardly call that love-making.”
“Why not? Titania is obviously eaten up with jealousy. She reminds him that he, in the shape of Corin, sat all day playing on pipes of corn and versing love to amorous Phillida. If you ask me, Titania was desperate to share Oberon’s bed and company once more.”
“I’m sure she was, and anyway, the play ends with everybody happy. I’ll tell you whose behaviour is going to queer the pitch unless Brian Yorke can do something about it. What about that wretched man Rinkley?”
“First, he’s the best male actor we’ve got and Yorke can’t afford to upset him; second, he’s a heel; third, he was mixed up in some unsavoury case concerning a young girl. I note that Yorke keeps an eye on things where Yolanda is concerned. Rinkley has already stirred me to action, as you know.”
“Not only that. If he continues to make snide remarks about Robina Lester, her son, young David, is going to blow up.”
“Well, Robina does over-act, and the workmen’s scenes really are Rinkley’s, you know.”
“But it’s not his business to correct her. That’s Brian’s job. I’m sure that as soon as everybody is word-perfect and we really get our teeth into the play, he’ll tone her down.”
“Anyway, Rinkley is just as rude to Susan Hythe and Caroline Frome as he is to Robina.”
“I know, and that doesn’t help matters. Young David has taken a protective attitude towards those two girls ever since the first reading. Haven’t you noticed?”
‘Of course, but they have no time for anybody but Tom Woolidge, I thought.”
‘That won’t stop David lying in wait for Rinkley in a dark alley one night if he keeps on twitting them the way he does. As for Thisbe, she isn’t very good at present, but once she gets the feel of the part she’ll be all right. All the workmen will. It’s a nuisance we have to put three women in as Flute, Snout and Starveling, but it’s Hobson’s choice. There simply are not enough men to go round.”
“Men won’t accept minor rôles in an amateur show. I think it’s rather noble of Lynn, considering he’s putting up all the money, merely to have cast himself as Quince. I should have thought he would opt for Theseus, at the very least, if only from the costume point of view.”
“I expect he realises his limitations as an actor.”
“He’s about the only one of the cast who does, then. Why are amateur actors always so damned conceited?”
“Donald Bourton does make love to me on stage,” said Deborah suddenly, “but he behaves perfectly off it, and that’s all that matters.”
“I hope it stays that way for his sake.”
“You are not to treat him the way you treated Rinkley.”
“Oh, I shouldn’t. I should really hurt him. Anyway, it’s getting late. ‘Lovers, to bed. ’Tis almost fairy time. I fear we shall outsleep the coming morn.’ Not that I think there’s much chance of it while Rosamund and Edmund are in the house and raising hell the minute the sun rises, if not earlier.”
“I only wish I had half their energy. Still, we don’t bear all the brunt, do we? Carey and Jenny have been awfully good, and Aunt Adela is to have them after they’ve been to Scotland.”
“And now,” said Brian Yorke, “that we all have some idea of our parts, do, please, darlings, put away those scripts and let us see how far we can get without them, shall we?”
“I can’t get anywhere without mine,” wailed Susan Hythe. “I know my lines, but I don’t know where to come in.”
“We’ll all help you, dear,” said the motherly Robina Lester. “What I want to know,” she went on, turning to Brian Yorke, “is what happens if one of us, particularly somebody in a major rôle, goes sick or, for any other reason, can’t turn up on the night.”
“I’ve thought about that,” said Brian. “You had better double as Hippolyta if Valerie can’t be with us.”
“How can I? It’s all right in the early scenes, but we’re on together in the last scene.”
“We can adjust the dialogue in the last scene so that Hippolyta doesn’t appear. In the same way, Susan had better familiarise herself with Hermia’s part, and Caroline, you’ll have to be the stand-in for Helena. The women’s gaps will be easy enough to fill.”
“What about Titania?” asked Donald Bourton, making a gesture indicating a desire to put an arm round Deborah.
“Again, perfectly simple. Valerie had better learn her lines. Hippolyta and Titania don’t come on together. No, it’s the men we have to cater for. It’s a pity the play needs nine of them. As it is, we have to give men’s parts to Robina, Caroline and Susan, not to mention little Yolanda as Philostrate, but I’m sure the ladies will do fine. Now, to double up on the men’s rôles—the actual, real men’s men I mean—I think the basic part to cover is Bottom.”
“I should hope so!” said Rinkley, with an unpleasant snigger.
“Well, it can’t be me,” said Tom Woolidge. “I am no good at all in a comedy part. Passed to you, partner.”
“Oh, all right,” said Jonathan, “but if I read my fellow Thespian aright, nothing short of a third world war will prevent him from displaying his talents.”
“Too right, dear boy,” said Rinkley. “Even if I’m dead, I shan’t lie down.”
The company then went into rehearsal again and, when it was over at ten, Jonathan and Deborah invited Lynn and his Emma, Yorke and his Valerie, Bourton and his Barbara—all the married couples, in short, to stay for drinks. It was at this friendly little session that what turned out to be a momentous decision was made.
“You know, Jonathan,” said Yorke, looking at his handsome, saturnine host, “I don’t think you have the face for comedy. If you ever have to stand in for Pyramus, I mean.”
Jonathan walked over to a mirror and solemnly scrutinised himself.
“Not the face for comedy? Perhaps you are right,” he said, turning round. “Anyway, as I said to Rinkley, the occasion will not arise. Nothing is going to prevent Rinkley from treading the boards.”