Set Change: A Nina Bannister Mystery (The Nina Bannister Mysteries) (10 page)

She composed herself again, stepped forward, and, with more confidence now, said:

“Wadawadawada.”

“Nina,” said Margot, pulling her away, “you’re making a fool of yourself. Come with me; we’ll go to the party.”

And they did.

They had entered Margot’s Volkswagen and negotiated the small driveways, entrance and exit ramps designed by airport engineers to frustrate people who had only dropped other people off or picked other people up and were thus not constrained to be frustrated by air travel itself, when Margot said:

“What was the matter with you back there?”

“What do you mean?”

“Haven’t you ever seen anyone famous?”

“Of course I have.”

“Who?”

“At a baseball game in Indianapolis once I saw Colonel Sanders.”

“What were you doing at a baseball game in Indianapolis?”

“Don’t remember.”

“How do you know it was Colonel Sanders?”

“Margot, when you see Colonel Sanders, you don’t forget it.”

“What would he have been doing at a baseball game in Indianapolis?”

“Don’t know.
 
Not my business.
 
But it was him.”

“All right, so you’ve been in the presence of greatness.”

“Damned straight.”

“That still doesn’t explain why you made such a fool of yourself back there.”

“How did I make a fool of myself?”

“He asked you if you would teach him Shakespeare.”

“Yes, he did.
 
And I said, ‘I’d be honored to tell him anything I knew, but that I could learn much more from him than he from me.’”

“You said, ‘wadawadawada,’ or something like that.”

“Did not.”

“Did so.”

“Why would I have said ‘wadawadawada?”

“I have no idea. Except I might point out that he invited you to rehearsals.”

“Yes, and I said that I’d be honored to come.”

“You said ‘wadawadawada’ again.”

“You’re just making all this up.
 
Here—turn here!”

They argued for a time longer as Margot negotiated the darkening streets of Bay St. Lucy, and Nina recounted the witty and urbane answer she had in fact given to Clifton Barrett’s questions.

She had said the right things, hadn’t she?

Except—why was this blurriness in her memory bank, precisely where ‘answers to recent questions’ should have been? And why was that space filled instead with only a memory of those eyes, that voice…

…that voice.

“This is it, isn’t it?” came a different voice.
 
Margot’s.

“Yes.
 
Turn in here!”

And there they were, the words ‘Turn in here!’ right in that little bank slot.

So it was all right now.

She just had to stay away from Clifton Barrett.

One of her favorite Shakespeare critics had written about the “Green World Comedies.”
 
In these comedies the first act consisted of things taking place in the real world—Athens, for example, or some Italian court. The setting soon switched though to Arden Forest, which had, at sunset, become enchanted.
 
Elves and fairy creatures and spirits of the night all manner of supernatural beings haunted it, and by turns vexed, frightened, and enchanted the mortals who had ventured into their lair.

This had happened, she realized, with Hope Reddington’s house.

It was the same house she had visited only weeks earlier but it had become magical and now was haunted by deities who, if only watched a bit more closely than normal, could have been seen floating several inches above the ground.

Huge floodlights dotted the gardens.

All of the lights in the house were glowing golden.

People came and went. Some of them were the same functionaries who had peopled the Robinson mansion at the time of Alana’s announcement.

But their number had lessened in favor of the theatrical people, who, having played imaginary beings all of their lives, had become imaginary beings, who, besides the fact that they were floating, were transparent.

You could see right through them!

“Nina!
 
Margot!”

Alana Delafosse, who, incredibly, now looked like a post-mistress or a social worker.

“Ladies!”

My God, she was even talking like a mortal.

The contrast was simply too great—she could not be Alana any more!

“Come!
 
There are so many people you must meet!”

And meet they did, Nina eschewing beverages (she had taken three days to get over the champagne at L’Auberge des Arts and so avoided like death the white jacketed waiters whom she continued to blame for the whole thing), Margot eschewing any type of moderation (Gin! Margot’s eyes said upon setting one foot into the garden—gin! Everywhere gin!) and the entire conversation elevating itself to POLITEPOLITEPOLITE as they learned that this lighting crew had descended from Memphis, that group of set designers had come from New Orleans, the Polonius standing by the magnolia tree was from St. Louis, the Fortinbras leaning against the bird bath and getting drunk there had been hired from the Chicago Repertory Company—and there was the great Constance Briarworth, stunning in jewelry that made her look like a Christmas tree.
 
She was standing by the grape arbor, speaking with three women who would have been though great beauties in their own rights, but here had assumed simply the roles of minor deities.
     

The courteous conversation drifted for a time around these porches of Olympus, while Nina watched in wonder as the trees were illuminated by tiny points of flitting, golden light, thought by mortals to be fireflies, but known by English teachers to be Puck and his friends, minor functionaries whose job was to serve Oberon, Hippolyta, and the other major deities.

After a time they were in the house itself, then ascending the staircase—a thing she had never done before, even when she and Frank were regular visitors—and then entering Helen’s old room.

“Will you look at what Hope has done up here?”

Another lady from the church—astonishingly, Nina did not know her, for she and her husband had newly joined—was leading a kind of tour.

The tour would have been worth a great deal, even had it not been for all the pictures, banners, ribbons, and Tony awards covering the walls.

No, the tour would have been worth scads of money if it had only shown the bed.

Helen, Nina imagined, had slept on a twin bed as a young teenager.

Now that bed had been replaced by the resting—and, one must not deny, breeding—place of kings.

It was a magnificent bed, a four poster bed, overtopped by a canopy that almost brushed the fourteen foot ceiling.

“My God,” whispered Margot.

“I suppose,” Nina found herself whispering back, “that’s what Helen is going to say, when they both get in there.”

By eleven o’clock some of the crowd had begun to leave.

Nina and Margot had separated, Margot now standing in a far corner of the garden, conversing with the magnificent Constance Briarworth.

When Nina, sitting at a table on the small pier that led down to the bayou—which was lapping at the boards two feet in front of her—was joined by Clifton Barrett.

He sat down opposite her and smiled.

Incredibly, she realized, she was going to be able to speak.

Perhaps it was just exhaustion, or the transforming effect of Arden Forest.

She herself had become a goddess, and could speak quite rationally with Oberon.

“I am sorry that I approached you so blatantly this afternoon at the airport.”

“Oh
 
that’s all right.
 
I was honored.”

No wada’s.

Incredible.

“I did mean what I said, you know.”

“I’m sure you did, but…I have to tell you, I doubt very seriously whether I have any insight that an actor—and director—of your stature has not heard a million times over.”

“That may be—but I doubt it. I’m only a performer.
 
You, dear lady, are a teacher.”

“Well.
 
Whatever I can do.”

Silence for a second.

Or a few centuries.

They were in The Green World.

Time had no meaning here.

“It is,” Clifton Barrett went on, “a great honor to be in your city.”

“We’re honored to have you.”

“I’m meeting Helen’s wonderful grandmother for the first time. She was unable to come to New York for the wedding.”

“I knew that.”

“But so much was happening. There are so many obligations that one has to fulfill…”

“I’m sure that’s true.”

“And in the meantime.
 
Well.
 
I do know how much she means to Helen.”

His face, which had become quite serious, brightened.

“Did you see what she has done to the bedroom?”

“Yes, we were taken up in a tour.”

“I feel like a king!”

“Well, in a way, you are.
 
You’re King of Bay St. Lucy.
 
At least for a while. We all just hope you don’t get bored here.
 
       

He shook his head.

“No, never.
 
Boredom is simply not possible. In the first place, I love being by the sea. I have a bad back, and walking on the beach is wonderful therapy. In the second place, the play is all-consuming. What a wonderful opportunity. And the people who’ve been assembled are top notch. Absolutely the best, from all over the country. We’re going to create a truly memorable
Hamlet.
And as for the rest, if I have any time at all…well, part of it will be spent getting to know the people of St. Lucy. Helen’s people. By the way, though, I do mean what I said about rehearsals.
 
We don’t want too many people wandering around in the theater while we’re blocking and running lines, of course…”

“I understand.”

“But you are one of those special people who should feel welcome at any time.
 
Please do come.”

“I will.
 
I’ll let you know ahead of time, of course, but…”

Nothing followed the ‘but.’ Nothing could follow it, because suddenly there was no one on the other side of the table to listen.
 
Clifton Barrett had disappeared.