Cast For Death by Margaret Yorke Read Free Book Online Page A

there.

 
Part V
1
     
    Patrick did not care for the architectural style of the Royal Shakespeare Theatre, but he had spent many happy hours inside it, so, like a jolie laide, it charmed him as he walked towards it from the big car park beside Clopton Bridge. He crossed the road and went through the gardens. A few people stood on the river bank looking at the swans, and more were strolling about in front of the theatre.
    Patrick’s former pupils were employed all over the world in various ways; some taught; some were journalists; some were civil servants, a few were politicians. He had lost track of many, but he remembered that one had a job here behind the scenes in the theatre, though in what capacity he could not recall: publicity, perhaps, or was it to do with finance? Never mind, it did not matter.
    He enquired for Denis Vernon at the box office, where no one had heard of him, so they sent him round the side of the building to the office entrance, telling him to try there.
    Some minutes later Patrick was being led along echoing stone corridors, past door after door, and at last was deposited in a small office where two girls were typing and a young man with close-cropped hair was talking into a telephone.
    It took Patrick a moment to recognise Denis, for when last seen he wore shoulder-length locks; shorn like this he looked startlingly naked.
    Denis gestured at Patrick and went on talking animatedly into the telephone about some cheque that had gone astray. The two girls looked up; one looked straight back at her typewriter again, but the other smiled and invited Patrick to sit down. There was one small, frail chair available, its back to the wall, and sitting in it, Patrick’s legs stretched almost across the width of the room, which was long and narrow, with a counter running along one side on which the two typewriters rested. Behind Denis, a window overlooked the town; the office was warm and snug: no wonder, with so many people in it, Patrick thought. Photographs of scenes from various past Stratford productions hung on the wall, and he amused himself by trying to identify the players and the plays while he waited. Soon Denis replaced the telephone with a thump and came surging across the room, to the peril of the other occupants. Patrick had forgotten how vigorously he always strode about.
    ‘Well, Patrick, how nice! What are you doing here?’ he exclaimed heartily.
    ‘Just passing through,’ said Patrick, feeling suddenly fatigued by this exuberance. ‘I remembered you were here and thought you might have lunch with me – just a snack in a pub somewhere.’
    ‘I’d love it. As it happens, I’m free today,’ said Denis. He glanced at his watch. ‘In half an hour? At the—’
    Patrick cut him short and named a pub where the beer was famous.
    ‘Jean will show you the way down,’ said Denis, and Jean, the more friendly of the two girls, rose to lead him back to the outer world.
    Patrick would have enjoyed finding his own way out, with a chance to prowl about in this interesting place, where suddenly you saw a row of costumes on a rack, or another corridor leading off into the unknown fascinations of the backstage theatre. As he followed Jean, who looked good from the rear in her tight trousers, an actor he recognised passed them. He wore the current uniform of dark brown corduroy trousers and waistcoat, over which could be thrown cloak or doublet, which the company had adopted latterly. Jean told him as they went along that this side of the theatre had formerly been dressing-rooms; now most of these were on the river side of the building. That accounted for the long, narrow shape of the office they had just left.
    The play tonight was Othello, a repeat of the previous year’s successful production, though with a different cast. Patrick thought that he might try to pick up a ticket for it; he had seen it last year with Joss Ruxton as Othello and had enjoyed it; the director had steered away from some