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

of the gimmicky tricks which had so enraged faithful Stratford theatregoers in recent years.
    Denis arrived at the pub five minutes late. He burst in, almost knocking over a mild youth who was standing by the door drinking a coke.
    ‘Well, Patrick, how’s everything?’ he cried, and without waiting for an answer went on, ‘sorry I hadn’t time for you in the office. It’s all go, go, you know. Season proper starts soon and there’s lots to do.’
    ‘I’m sure there is,’ said Patrick. ‘What will you drink?’
    ‘It’s lucky you found me free today,’ said Denis, when they had got their beer. ‘Hi, there!’ he called to a group on the other side of the room, which was heavily timbered, rather dark, and loaded with atmosphere, some of it genuinely old. His acquaintances across the room waved back.
    ‘Are they theatre people?’ Patrick asked. ‘Your friends?’
    They were. Denis named them for him. They were all connected with the administration; none were actors.
    ‘How long have you been here?’ Patrick asked.
    ‘Three years.’
    ‘You must know most people in Stratford by this time?’
    ‘Oh, I wouldn’t go so far as to say that,’ said Denis modestly. ‘There are so many. But a lot, a lot.’
    ‘You like it here?’
    ‘Oh yes. It’s alive – exciting,’ said Denis.
    Patrick could believe it. Although Denis was rather overpowering, his enthusiasm was endearing; Patrick often grew depressed by the negative approach of so many people to their lives and occupations.
    ‘I suppose you’re busy with rehearsals now?’ he asked.
    ‘Only the first plays,’ said Denis. ‘They get them together in the last eight weeks – the casting’s often not finished till then.’
    ‘So late?’
    ‘That’s right. The leading actors are agreed sooner, usually, but not the others. Actors live very much from day to day. They get offered things, and take them, and then aren’t available when they’re wanted later.’
    ‘You mean suddenly a film part turns up, or something?’
    ‘Yes. Or television – they’re gone for ten weeks if they land a series, and perhaps it may lead to another, whereas a season here may not. If someone from television says, “We want you on Wednesday,” they’d be mad not to take it.’
    ‘A bird in the hand, you mean.’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Must make the producer’s job difficult.’
    ‘Oh, it does. There’s a lot to be thought of, you know. You want someone for a big part who’ll accept a small one in another play, and so on.’
    ‘And I suppose they have to fit in together, as a team?’
    ‘Oh yes.’
    Patrick had not realised quite how last-minute it all was. He had imagined that the director sat down a year ahead selecting his cast from the top to the bottom and signing them up then and there. Such eleventh-hour planning would not suit him as a way of life.
    ‘There’s a bit of a panic on now, I believe. Chap they’d got for Friar Lawrence in Romeo and Juliet later in the year jumped in the Thames last week,’ said Denis blithely.
    Patrick sat up. Here it was.
    ‘What?’ he said.
    ‘Mm. Sam Irwin. Not well known, but a good actor. He’s been here before. They wanted him last year, but for some reason he couldn’t come.’
    ‘I remember Sam Irwin,’ said Patrick. ‘Why did he jump in the river?’
    ‘I’ve no idea. Pressure of life, I suppose,’ said Denis.
    While they ate thick slices of cold ham and baked potatoes, Patrick discovered that most of the actors lived in lodgings or flats round the district; some of the permanent staff had houses in Stratford; Denis himself had a flat in a new block in the town.
    ‘Have they found anyone to take Sam Irwin’s place?’ Patrick asked after a while.
    ‘Oh, bound to have,’ said Denis. ‘They’ll have rung round the’Had he been up to audition?’
    ‘He wouldn’t audition – not someone like him, who’s been around for ages. Things aren’t done like that here,’ said Denis kindly. ‘He’d have been