Murder in the Second Row (6 page)

Jessica felt
her stomach churn and blood rise to her face as she contemplated
the possibilities. Either they’d have to mount a stiff campaign to
save the theatre, which would divert a lot of time and energy away
from the show, or else they’d lose the whole wonderful old building
and end up in some sort of glorified shed in the park. Neither
option thrilled her, but by God if there was going to be a battle
she’d damn well be at the forefront.

As Fenton
scribbled furiously, Howard took care to ask every member for their
opinion. Several of the longer-term committee members were in
favour of taking the council’s option in the park.

‘That would
free up the society to do what we’re supposed to do – put on shows.
This is a drama society after all, not a building maintenance
department.’

‘This place has
been a millstone round our necks for years and it isn’t getting any
younger.’

‘Yes, imagine
having a theatre provided, fully-funded, and all we have to worry
about is choosing what to perform. Isn’t that what we’re all
about?’

Several heads
were nodding.

‘After all, the
Historic Places lot won’t be able to do much to protect the Regent.
Only about 20% of the place is original – the rest has just been
tacked on over the years and has no architectural value.’

Jessica was
biting her tongue, trying to refrain from bursting out with
ill-considered retorts. A millstone? No architectural value? How
could they even contemplate such idiocy?

She waited her
turn, tapping a foot against her chair and seething with
impatience.

Nick spoke up
next.

‘Let’s not give
up too fast – I think this is a fight we can win. If we get some
high-profile people to help us out, we can swing public opinion
against the mall and in our favour instead.’

The room waited
expectantly.

‘Let’s hear
your suggestions, Nick,’ said Howard.

‘OK, this is a
bit off the top of my head, but how about Greenpeace? They’re all
about reducing consumerism. Shopping malls are a symbol of needless
consumption – I reckon Greenpeace would throw some support towards
blocking the mall and keeping our building.’

He ignored the
sceptical looks and continued. ‘Another idea, we could contact
people who have performed here, big names, popular artists, and get
them to show their support. Maybe a benefit concert? All the local
groups that use the theatre would be happy to help, I’m sure. The
dance schools, the Musical Society, they could all do a piece in a
show for us to raise funds.’

More heads were
nodding now. Nick looked at Jessica.

‘I’ve even
thought of how we can tie in our current show and score publicity
for both causes. How about headlines saying “The Regent Theatre has
an Appointment with Death!”, or something like that?’

‘Brilliant!’
said Clara-Jane. We could do t-shirts with “New Mall - Over my Dead
Body” on the front and knives sticking out of the back, with a bit
of blood trail. If that doesn’t get us in the papers I don’t know
what would!’

By this time
the room was alive with eager suggestions.

After a few
minutes Howard called for quiet.

‘Hold it for
now, people. Let’s get everyone’s comments before we take off on a
tangent, shall we? Gazza, what’s your take on the situation?’

Gazza tipped
back his battered leather cap.

‘Well, for
starters we wouldn’t be able to stage the sort of productions we
can do here if we’re stuck in some little community theatre in the
park. How are you going to get a hundred and fifty kids on the
stage for a ballet-school show or a pantomime if we don’t have a
full-sized stage with an apron? Plus we’d lose a lot of the major
touring shows that need the size and the seating capacity of the
Regent. They just wouldn’t bother to come to Whetford at all and
then everyone would miss out.’

Murmurs of
agreement ran round the room.

Gerald raised a
hand. ‘If I may, Howard? Financially it would be very much simpler
to hand over all responsibility to the council – it would certainly
make my job easier. But we’d lose our freedom. The council might
well feel entitled to have a say in what shows we put on. It raises
the question of possible censorship of contentious material. As
guardians of part of this community’s art and culture I think we
need to remain independent.’

There were nods
and ‘hear hear’s from the more scholarly members.

Austin slapped
his leg and chuckled. ‘Look,’ he said, grinning around the room.
‘If I wanted my entertainment in a shed in the park, I’d go down to
the local scout troop!’ He cackled, unaware of the expressions of
distaste around him. ‘This grand old lady’s a bit of history, just
like me. A bit tatty in places but good for a few more years of fun
and games.’

‘Thank you,
Austin,’ said Howard, interrupting smoothly. He took comments from
the rest of the members and finally came to Jessica. ‘Jessica,
you’ve probably got the most to lose here. What are your
feelings?’

She smiled.
‘Mostly relief, actually. For a moment there I was really afraid
that we were going to give up and sell out. Thanks for offering
some real options, Nick.’ He bowed to her, grinning.

‘I think we do
have a chance of saving this place,’ Jessica continued. ‘And I
think it’s a cause we have to fight for. If we give up because it’s
too hard, a piece of history will be lost forever. You just can’t
create a hundred and thirty year-old theatre – it’s built by the
passage of time and generations of people. And this one is our
responsibility. We can’t give up on this wonderful old girl. She’s
been the home of so many magic performances. The whole place is so
filled with the vibrations of long-ago shows that the atmosphere is
practically visible, and it’s utterly irreplaceable. When you walk
into a new theatre, sure, the seats are comfortable, and the
facilities are good – but there’s no soul. Yes, it’ll be a tough
sell to the public, but if we do it right we can inspire them with
the same enthusiasm that we have, and they’ll see the Regent’s
value.’

Howard nodded.
‘Well said, Jessica, thank you.’

He addressed
the meeting. ‘Are we ready to vote? Show of hands, please. Option
one, we sell out to the council, let the mall go ahead, and move to
smaller premises. Option two, we do everything we can to save the
existing theatre.’

Hands went up
for each option while Fenton tallied the results.

He handed the
paper to Howard.

‘Ladies and
gentlemen, we have a result. Four in favour of selling out, and
twelve in favour of saving the Regent Theatre. Let’s get to
work!’

Within minutes
Nick had been elected head of a sub-committee dedicated to option
two, saving the theatre, and was eagerly co-opting other members to
join him. After working his way round the room, he perched on the
sofa arm next to Jessica.

‘You’ll be in,
won’t you Jessica?’

She pretended
to give it careful thought. ‘Hm, let’s see – I am rather busy just
now with managing a theatre and producing a show, but hey, it’s a
good cause isn’t it? I’ll just put my social life on hold and
devote every waking moment to this place, shall I? Happy now?’

‘This could be
your social life, if you like,’ he said softly. ‘If you define
social life as spending time with people who treasure your company.
We could do great things together, Jess, and saving the theatre
would be a bonus.’

His dark eyes
looked so hopeful she just wanted to pat him on the head. She was
saved from replying by Austin, who squashed down onto the sofa next
to her and squeezed her knee.

‘You kids
already getting your heads together and planning – that’s good.
We’ll soon have this old girl up and dancing into the public eye
again, won’t we? What’s first on the agenda, Nick?’

‘I haven’t
quite got that far yet,’ said Nick stiffly. ‘We need to brainstorm
some ideas and then formulate a plan of action. I’ll be in touch
shortly to arrange a meeting.’

He removed
himself from the sofa arm and went to confer with Howard.

‘Just you and
me then, darling,’ said Austin, his hand moving slightly higher up
her thigh.

With a chill in
her tone and steel in her eye, she stopped him mid-grope. ‘Don’t
make me hurt you, Mr Sudgeway.’ She removed his hand by grasping it
firmly at the wrist. ‘Just behave yourself, OK? You’ll get yourself
in trouble one of these days.’

‘Sorry, Miss.
Don’t spank me, please.’

She didn’t
smile back.

His red-rimmed
eyes darted about for an escape route. ‘Right then. Just going to
see old Gazza for a tick. Be good.’

Clara-Jane
plopped down in his place. ‘Goodness, they’re all after you, aren’t
they? What’s your secret?’

‘Search me –
but it only seems to work on men I’m not interested in!’

‘Isn’t that
always the way?’ agreed Clara-Jane casually. ‘So you’re not wildly
keen on Nick, then?’

‘Oh he’s nice
enough. Nothing wrong with him.’ Jessica’s eyes narrowed. ‘Why are
you asking?’

‘Just checking.
I like to live vicariously through my friends. If there’s any
romance in the air I want to know about it, that’s all.’

‘Good God,
woman – that’ll be the day! There’s nobody in the theatre crowd who
appeals, and who’s got time to meet new men when we spend all our
evenings in this place? No, night-times it’s just me and the cat,
curled up in comfort. Sad but true.’ She snorted at a sudden
thought. ‘If you want vicarious entertainment you should follow
Tamara around some nights.’

‘Ooh, you have
been spending too much time with the cat!’

The following
Saturday it rained. Heavily. Jessica sighed as she hunted out
buckets and towels to deal with the many leaks dripping onto the
stage. By the time the rest of the construction team arrived she
had mopped up most of the puddles and placed buckets under the more
persistent dribbles.

‘You’re going
to have to work round the rain, guys. Either that or climb up on
the roof with some chewing gum and bung up the holes.’

‘Ah, a bit of
rain never hurt anyone,’ said Gazza as a large drip hit his cap
brim. He removed his cap and shook it. Seeing the droplets splatter
to the floor, he added, ‘Though it might pay to make sure we’ve got
the isolating transformers plugged in to the extension cords
though, for anyone who’s using power tools.’

They got to
work assembling a series of flats designed to represent the rocky
outcrops of Petra.

‘This is a bit
wet for a desert, isn’t it?’ said Howard, picking up the battery
drill and driving in a screw. It squeaked loudly, echoing in the
empty auditorium.

‘More
lubrication!’ yelled the rest of the team in a practised response.
Stewart giggled nervously.

They built a
high wall with steps up to an opening and a flat area, a platform,
in front of it.

‘How much room
do they need up here?’ called Gazza from the platform.

‘Leave enough
space for a chair and for someone to stand behind it,’ Howard told
him, after checking the set design.

‘How big a
chair?’

‘How the hell
should I know? Best make room for the biggest one in the props
room.’

‘That sounds
right,’ put in Jessica. ‘Ada Boynton sits in it and she’s supposed
to be “a vast obese woman, rather like an idol” according to the
script.’

‘An idle what?’
asked Howard, grinning.

‘An American
idol!’ said Jessica. ‘Seriously, the script says she’s
American.’

‘I’d better put
some extra reinforcing under this bloody platform then,’ came a
voice from above.

Amid the wave
of laughter that followed, Nathan appeared at the side of the
stage. Today he had interesting red and blue colouring sprayed
through his dreadlocks, which were tied back into an unruly bunch.
At least they toned in with his tie-dyed red t-shirt, thought
Jessica, but she wasn’t too sure about the blue and purple
patterned pants.

Stewart
however, leaped to his feet with enthusiasm. ‘Wow, cool pants man –
where d’you get them?’

‘Course
assignment,’ said Nathan. ‘Block printing. It was these or
curtains.’

‘Great
colours.’ Stewart reached forward tentatively to feel the fabric
but wavered halfway. He changed the direction of his hand, instead
gesturing towards the other side of the stage. ‘Er, the paint
room’s over there. You want to see what colours we’ve got for the
Petra set?’

He took Nathan
over to the small but well-stocked paint room, where Jessica
watched them prise the lids off several cans to check the contents.
She edged over to Howard and nudged him. ‘Looks like wee Stewart’s
found himself a friend.’

Howard
straightened up from rummaging through a box of screws, and
followed her gaze to where the fair head and the dreadlocked head
were close together, peering into a paint bucket.

‘You might be
right,’ he said.

She smiled. ‘It
would be nice to see Stewart happy, wouldn’t it? He always seems a
bit lost or unsure of himself, as if he can’t quite figure out
where he fits in.’

‘You’re a sweet
little softie, aren’t you Jessica? You can’t fix everything, you
know,’ he told her. ‘Sometimes people have to sort their lives out
themselves.’

‘Yeah, but it
doesn’t hurt to give them a nudge in the right direction
occasionally, does it? Remember when MaryAnn thought you were
having an affair because you spent so much time here? Wasn’t it a
good idea to get her involved as well so she could see what was
really going on?’

‘Oh sure – it
gave her a whole new list of things to nag me about. “Did you tidy
up the prompt box yet, Howard? Is anyone fixing the rip in the
curtain, Howard?” Oh, don’t give me that look, Jessica! OK, OK,
you’re right. Meddle away, my dear – I’m sure you know what you’re
doing.’