Moth to the Flame (7 page)

‘Right, we're casting the heroine first,' his strong voice easily carried to the back of the theatre. ‘She's the murder victim, the wife and battered mother. You've all read the excellent character analysis provided by our august and astute author here . . .' he turned and bowed deeply at Alicia, who blushed hotly. Clown!

In his seat, Neville found himself stiffening. This play sounded suspiciously like a cheesy whodunit to him.

‘You're all supplied with dialogue from Act Two, Scene One,' Jared continued smoothly. ‘Right Vera. You first.'

Neville wasn't sure he was ready to listen to words penned by his own sister. What if they were corny? But they weren't. The scene Vera performed was a straightforward but touching
scene
between the heroine and an as yet unseen boy, her son, who was challenging his mother about an affair she was having. And as the scene progressed, it was obvious to Neville that the scene was going to be some kind of catalyst. Neville, in instinctive critic mode, began to make notes.

‘Right, thank you everybody' Jared said, after the last audition had finished. ‘If you can just wait a moment . . .' He went back to consult with Alicia, but Neville already knew that there was only one possible choice. The ginger-haired girl had been by far the best.

‘Well, what do you think?' Alicia whispered to Jared anxiously. ‘I think Emily was good, don't you?' But would the others think she was only recommending her because of their friendship?

Jared could see the worry in those big, china-blue eyes and grinned widely. ‘I agree.' His eyes were tender as he watched her face light up. She was really coming out of her shell now. These last few weeks had been the best of his life, watching the butterfly emerge from the chrysalis.

They picked the best actresses for the other two parts. All of them were members of OUDS, the Oxford University Drama Society, and already had experience.

Alicia sighed. Things were happening so fast! Just three weeks ago she'd never even heard of Jared Cowan or thought much about
the
St Bede's Easter play. Now, here she was, actually writing it and watching it as it took shape. And all done with Jared right beside her.

In his seat, Neville wondered what his aunt Georgina would say about all this. Any pride she might have in her niece following in her literary footsteps was bound to be dented when she learned Alicia was writing a dismal whodunit. For the woman who'd won the Booker Prize for a scathing indictment of sexual inequality in modern Britain, it would be a come-down. And as for Dad . . . ? Neville shook his head. What on earth had made her agree to such a thing?

He simply had to nip this thing in the bud now, before it got any further. He walked purposely forward, still, at that moment, unnoticed.

‘Right, now we've got the ladies sorted,' Jared called out cheerfully, ‘lead on with the men.' There was a ribald series of cat-calls, comments and swaggers, as a group of male undergraduates shuffled on to the stage.

‘For you miserable-looking lot, we have a first-draft scene, from Act One. We're casting for the killer, the victim's husband, and the detective.'

Alicia made a sudden sound. Jared turned and looked at her.

‘What?' he asked softly.

‘I was just thinking,' Alicia said. ‘What if we
make
the detective a woman? Nowadays a senior police officer is just as likely to be a woman. She could even have marriage problems of her own.'

She was sitting in a folding chair and Jared put one knee on the floor in front of her to get more comfortable. As he did so, his loose-fitting, open-necked shirt gaped open, allowing her to see the strong column of his throat and the warm and smooth, tanned expanse of his almost hairless chest.

Alicia dragged in a ragged breath, pulling her eyes away. Jared noticed, and felt his body heat, as though an invisible sun had suddenly come out. He felt his nipples harden, beginning to throb as he imagined her touching them, her white, gentle fingers moving over his body . . .

Alicia swallowed. Licked lips gone suddenly dry, unaware of how the flickering of her tongue tip was driving him crazy. It was hard for her to breathe, let alone think, when he was kneeling before her like that. Like an old-fashioned swain about to propose.

‘Are we going to be here all day, Jared, or what?' one of the male students on the stage called restlessly. Jared turned and made a nicely judged rude gesture. Everyone erupted into laughter.

‘We'll discuss it tonight, after Hall. Come to my place?' Jared whispered quickly. He had a room in Wolsey.

She
nodded, blushing, thinking about being alone with him in his room. ‘OK.'

Jared turned, saw Neville, took in the Savile Row suit, the ginger hair and rolled umbrella, and hesitated. It didn't take a genius to know that this was no undergraduate. ‘Can I help you, mate?' Jared asked genially, getting up lithely.

Alicia, along with everyone else, turned to see who he was talking to, and felt the blood drain from her face.

‘I was looking for my sister,' Neville said smoothly. ‘I was told she was here.'

Jared glanced automatically at the gaggle of female undergraduates, but it was from behind him that he heard a response. ‘Neville! What are you doing here?' Alicia croaked.

And suddenly, there was a surprising tension in the room.

Neville ignored his sister's dismay. ‘I just thought I'd come by and see how you were doing,' he said easily. ‘I had no idea you were writing a play,' he added mildly. But his level, gleaming brown eyes seemed to bore into hers, and she felt herself go a whiter shade of pale.

Jared, sensing some kind of problem, moved restlessly. ‘It's a wonderful play she's written for us, Mr Norman,' he came to Alicia's defence instantly, and heard the others around him murmur in agreement.

‘Hmm,' Neville said non-commitally. ‘I was listening in. It sounded to me,' he laughed
jovially,
‘like a “whodunit”.'

Jared stiffened, sensing the put-down in his voice. ‘It is a whodunit,' he said, deliberately cheerfully. ‘With a complex victim, a fallibly human killer, a good smattering of hearty red-herrings and plenty of clever clues. It's also set on a run-down estate, rife with crime and violence, and has a lot to say about domestic violence, a woman's right to happiness and the repercussions of the twin urges to love and to kill.'

The students around him nodded in enthusiastic agreement, but, naturally enough, most of their attention was centred on Neville Norman himself. It wasn't often that anyone got to meet a real Lion of the Theatre.

Indeed?' Neville said coldly. He didn't like the challenging look in the younger man's eyes. He didn't like the way Alicia moved closer to him, as if for protection. And he especially didn't like the way he must have lured his sister into writing this trashy little play either.

‘In that case,' Neville smiled wolfishly, ‘perhaps I can request an invitation to the opening night? Even review it for you to the local press?'

There was a sudden collective whoosh of caught breath followed by a whoop of delight as the others considered their huge luck. To be cast in such an obscure play, and only to have their efforts reviewed by the great Neville
Norman!

Jared sensed trouble, but what could he do? Old Sin-Jun would jump for joy to have St Bede's so honoured. So would the English Literature Tutors. He could hardly say No. Although, from the agonised look in Alicia's eyes, he longed to do so. Perhaps he could put him off? ‘Thank you, Mr Norman. But the play only goes out for the one night. I don't know if you'll be free. It's on April the second.'

Neville made a great show of opening his diary. ‘It's a date.'

Aware that now was not the time to tackle him, Alicia turned away helplessly.

‘Please, do carry on with the auditions,' Neville said urbanely, and took a seat next to his sister.

Reluctantly, Jared restored order and began to call up the men for audition. Not surprisingly, with the great Neville Norman watching their every clumsy, amateurish move, there was a lot of spluttering and fluffing of lines, stiff acting and nervous coughing. Jared, trying to see through the nervousness to detect any real talent underneath, found that the
joie de vivre
had gone right out of the day. Alicia looked as tense as a violin string.

‘OK, Rupert Greyling-Simms,' he called wearily.

By her side, Neville suddenly perked up. With a name like that, the tall handsome blond man who stepped on stage had to be a relation
to
Seymour Greyling-Simms, otherwise known as the Earl of Warrington. The family had a huge ancestral pile not far from Stratford-upon-Avon. Of course, he'd never met the Earl—they moved in very different circles.

As the blond man accepted the pages of script from his sweating predecessor, Neville noted the strong family resemblance. The son, then. Heir to title and estate?

Then the critic in him took over. The boy had a good voice. Upper crust, but clear. The role he was reading was that of Sam Blake, the lover and eventual killer of the victim. And he was good. Neville, who'd reviewed most of the great actors of the day, recognised at once that highly-strung, volatile nature that all the best actors possessed.

On the stage, Rupert Greyling-Simms was pleading with his invisible lover to leave her husband and children and get off the estate. He was offering her all that he had, and the desperation of the character was coming through clearly.

Nor was Neville the only one to recognise the man's talent. Jared and Emily were both on the edge of their seats, and even the other waiting undergraduates were nodding at each other, silently acknowledging the fact that Rupert was the best so far.

An hour later, and the play was cast. Neville, despite pointed hints by Jared, had not left, but stuck close to his sister's side.

Rupert
Greyling-Simms hovered on the edge of the stage, half in darkness, half in light, looking at no one but Alicia. He hadn't been able to take his eyes off her from the moment he'd walked into the theatre. He'd seen the auditions for the play advertised last week, and had decided to go along, more out of a sense of defiance than anything else. He knew his father had no time for the arts, but acting was something Rupert had always been good at, and he knew he could join the college play without too much flack from his family.

From the moment he'd stepped into the theatre, and seen her, he knew he simply had to win a role in the play. Any role. She was like a . . . a vision. Those raven tresses. Those amazing, wide blue eyes. Skin like a camellia. And shy too. He'd watched those blushes, that downward sweep of long eyelashes, that defensive body-posture, and read them all. Enchanting. Utterly enchanting. She stood out from the other women, like a fresh, innocent daisy, in a field of Venus flytraps.

He'd longed to go over and speak to her, but that damned Jared Cowan was always fawning all over her. Kneeling down in front of her, whispering, laughing. But he'd got a lucky break with the arrival of her brother. It had put his rivals into a spin, putting them off their stride. Rupert was impressed by nobody, apart from his father, and that lack of nervousness had allowed him to shine on stage. Now,
seeing
that Jared was at last talking to that ginger-haired stick-insect who was to be his leading lady, he made his move.

The first Alicia was aware of him was when her brother suddenly stiffened, an odd, uncharacteristically fawning expression crossing his face. She turned and saw the handsome man they'd cast as Sam Blake coming towards her.

‘Alicia,' Rupert said softly, smiling. ‘I hope you don't mind first names? Particularly as we're going to be working so closely together?'

‘No, of course not,' Alicia said, a bit flustered.

‘My Lord?' Neville said, formally offering his hand. ‘Your father is the Earl of Warrington, isn't he?' he added.

‘That's right. But here at Oxford . . .' Rupert shrugged off his title with becoming modesty and Neville smiled. ‘I understand. And congratulations in landing the leading part.'

This of course, Neville thought instantly, changed things. When you had an Earl's son in the play, then of course, Alicia must continue to be associated with it.

‘Alicia, I really like the part of Sam Blake,' Rupert said, feeling himself shudder as those blue eyes turned his way. They really were superb eyes. Aphrodite must have had eyes like these, he thought dazedly.

‘Oh,' Alicia murmured, not sure what else to say.

‘I'm
sure the rest of the lines you'll give him will be as good as those I read today. I was really impressed with the play,' he added softly, and she rewarded him with yet another look from those blue eyes. And this time . . . yes, a slight smile. Rupert felt like the luckiest mortal on earth. She was exquisite. Divine. Just what he was looking for.

Neville recognised at once the look in those noble brown eyes and smiled. Of course, it was ridiculous to hope for too much, so soon. But still . . . Rupert was obviously smitten with his sister. And since they'd be working closely together from now on, who knew what might come of it? The Normans, for all their literary prominence, had never yet managed to marry into the aristocracy.

‘Lord Rupert . . .' he began. The other man quickly waved a hand, sensing an ally in the ginger-haired drama critic. ‘Please, call me Rupert,' he said. Then glanced once more at Alicia. ‘Both of you must call me Rupert.'

‘Thank you,' Neville beamed. ‘Rupert. I believe our families are more or less neighbours? I must say, I've always admired Warrington Manor. It reminds me a little of Chatham.'

Rupert smiled. ‘Thank you. We like it.' Rupert and Neville Norman gave each other a long, thoughtful look. A look of recognition. Of joined forces . . .

Alicia, trapped between them, felt herself
struggling
to breathe. Rupert Greyling-Simms was looking at her with such open admiration she knew she should be flattered. But she wasn't. For some reason, she felt scared. Which was ridiculous of course. What was there to be scared of?