I. All right. Who looks and plays like that?’
‘Oh God!’ Jeremy said, reading the casting list.
‘Yes,’ Peregrine rejoined. ‘What I said. It sticks out a mile.’
‘Marcus Knight, my God.’
‘Of course. He is the Grafton portrait and as for fire! Think of his Hotspur. And Harry Five. And the Mercutio. And, by heaven, his Hamlet. Remember the Peer Gynt?’
‘What’s his age?’
‘Whatever it is he doesn’t show it. He can look like a stripling.’
‘He’d cost the earth.’
‘This is only mock-up, anyway.’
‘Has he ever been known to get through a production without creating a procession of dirty big rows?’
‘Never.’
‘Custombuilt to wreck the morale of any given company?’
‘That’s Marco.’
‘Remember the occasion when he broke off and told latecomers after the interval to sit down or get the hell out of it?’
‘Vividly.’
‘And when the rest of the cast threw in their parts as one man?’
‘I directed the fiasco.’
‘He’s said to be more than usually explosive just now on account of no knighthood last batch.’
‘He is, I understand, apoplectic, under that heading.’
‘Well,’ said Jeremy, ‘it’s your play. I see you’ve settled for rolling the lovely boy and the seduced fair friend and “Mr W. H.” all up in one character.’
‘So I have.’
‘How you dared!’ Jeremy muttered.
‘There have been madder notions over the centuries.’
‘True enough. It adds up to a damn’ good part. How do you see him?’
‘Very blond. Very male. Very impertinent.’
‘W. Hartly Grove?’
‘Might be. Type casting.’
‘Isn’t he held to be a bad citizen?’
‘Bit of a nuisance.’
‘What about your Dark Lady? The Rosaline? Destiny Meade, I see you’ve got here.’
‘I rather thought: Destiny. She’s cement from the eyes up but she gives a great impression of smouldering depths and really inexhaustible sex. She can produce what’s called for in any department as long as it’s put to her in basic English and very slowly. And she lives, by the way, with Marco.’
‘That might or might not be handy. And Ann H.?’
‘Oh, any sound unsympathetic actress with good attack,’ Peregrine said.
‘Like Gertie Bracey?’
‘Yes.’
‘Joan Hart’s a nice bit. I tell you who’d be good as Joan. Emily Dunne. You know? She’s been helping in our shop. You liked her in that TV show. She did some very nice Celias and Nerissas and Hermias at Stratford. Prick her down on your list.’
‘I shall. “See, with a blot I damn her”.’
‘The others seem to present no difficulty but the spirit sinks at an infant phenomenon.’
‘He dies before the end of Act I.’
‘Not a moment too soon. I am greatly perturbed by the vision of some stunted teenager acting its pants off.’
‘It’ll be called Gary, of course.’
‘Or Trevor.’
‘Never mind.’
‘Would you give me the designing of the show?’
‘Don’t be a bloody ass.’
‘It’d be fun,’ Jeremy said grinning at him, ‘face it: it would be fun.’
‘Don’t worry, it won’t happen. I have an instinct and I know it won’t. None of it: the glove, the theatre, the play. It’s all a sort of miasma. It won’t happen.’
Their post box slapped.
‘There you are. Fate knocking at the door,’ said Jeremy.
‘I don’t even wonder if it might be, now,’ Peregrine said. ‘However, out of sheer kindness I’ll get the letters.’
He went downstairs, collected the mail and found nothing for himself. He climbed up again slowly. As he opened the door, he said: ‘As I foretold you. No joy. All over. Like an insubstantial pageant faded. The mail is as dull as ditchwater and all for you. Oh, sorry!’
Jeremy was talking on the telephone.
He said: ‘Here he is, now. Would you wait a second?’
He held out the receiver with one hand over the mouthpiece.
‘Mr Greenslade,’ he said, ‘wishes to speak to you. Ducky – this is it.’
‘A year ago,’ Peregrine thought, ‘I stood in this very spot on a February morning. The sun came out and gilded the stage tower of the injured Dolphin and I lusted after it. I thought of Adolphus Ruby and wished I was like him possessed. And here I am again, as the Lord’s my judge, a little jumped-up Cinderella-man in Mr Ruby’s varnished boots.’
He looked at the restored caryatids, the bouncing cetaceans and their golden legend, and the immaculate white frontage and elegance of ironwork and he adored them all.
He thought: ‘Whatever happens, this is, so far, the best time of my life. Whatever happens I’ll look back at today, for instance, and say: “Oh that was the morning when I knew what’s meant by bliss”.’
While he stood there the man from Phipps Bros came out of Phipps Passage.
‘Morning, guvnor,’ he said.
‘Good morning, Jobbins.’
‘Looks a treat, dunnit?’
‘Lovely.’
‘Ah. Different. From what it was when you took the plunge.’
‘Yes: indeed.’
‘Yes. You wouldn’t be looking for a watchman, I suppose? Now she’s near finished-like? Night or day. Any time?’
‘I expect we shall want someone. Why? Do you know of a good man?’
‘Self-praise, no recommendation’s what they say, ainnit?’
‘Do you mean you’d take it on?’
‘Not to deceive yer, guvnor, that was the idea. Dahn the Passage in our place, it’s too damp, for me chubes, see? Something chronic. I got good references, guvnor. Plenty’d speak up for me. ‘Ow’s it strike yer? Wiv a sickening thud or favourable?’
‘Why,’ said Peregrine. ‘Favourably, I believe.’
‘Will you bear me in mind, then?’
‘I’ll do that thing,’ said Peregrine.
‘Gor’ bless yer, guv,’ said Jobbins and retired down Phipps Passage.
Peregrine