Chapter Four
‘There are always mishaps in the theatre,’ said Leila when she and Emma met Joseph backstage after the play had finished.
Isadora had flounced off in a huff in spite of the standing ovation she had received from an ecstatic audience.
Edward had gone for a drink in The Wily Fox with the witches, most likely to bitch about Isadora, and only members of the crew remained, clearing up and preparing for the following day.
‘I didn’t notice the chair,’ said Emma, ever the tactful wife. ‘And I’m sure many people thought the flying letter was something to do with the witches.’
Joseph sighed. ‘Everyone knows Macbeth, darling,’ he said.
She put a hand on his arm. ‘A silly prank then. But it didn’t ruin the play. Everyone loved it. It was brilliant.’
‘Yes, Joseph, it was brilliant,’ Leila echoed enthusiastically, pulling her faux fox-fur coat tighter about her body.
The place still felt cold. ‘I must say, Edward was superb,’ she continued.
‘As for Isadora Nash, after a momentary wobble, she was back on the horse and flying over the jumps. A true professional.’
‘It won’t happen again,’ said Joseph resolutely. ‘I think I’ve made that clear to the cast. Whoever did it won’t dare repeat it.’
Leila pulled a face that revealed she knew more than she let on. ‘You don’t want to make enemies in theatreland,’ she said quietly. ‘If I were Isadora, I’d be a little more considerate of my co-actors.’
Joseph looked at his wife. Emma shrugged; she hadn’t said anything. Leila grinned shrewdly. ‘I’ve been in this business long enough to sniff a situation when its brewing. I’m like a bloodhound.’ She tapped the side of her nose with a red talon.
‘Well, let’s just say she’s taken a bit of settling in,’ said Joseph cagily.
‘And this won’t help,’ Emma added. ‘Poor you, darling. Still, you got a standing ovation, and everyone went home happy.’
‘Except Isadora,’ said Leila, arching a thin eyebrow.
‘Tomorrow is another day,’ said Joseph optimistically.
The following morning Joseph was thrilled to see the number of positive reviews both online and in the local newspaper.
There were various mentions of the flying letter, but most assumed it was witchcraft: ‘those devious and beautiful witches’.
One person on Twitter suggested it was a ghost, calling it the ‘phantom of the theatre’.
Isadora was described as ‘compelling’, ‘mesmerising’, ‘deliciously evil’, and Edward as ‘an old hand’ and ‘magnetic’.
Joseph walked his yellow labrador up the beach with a spring in his step.
The sky had been washed to a sparkling blue and beneath it the sea was calm.
The waves broke onto the sand in reams of gentle foam, and seagulls squabbled benignly over small creatures left behind by the tide.
Joseph felt good. All would be well. He threw the rubber ball for his dog and watched him scamper after it, scattering sand and seagulls into the air.
That afternoon the cast arrived as normal, but there was a distinctive froideur backstage.
Isadora flounced into her dressing room, barked at Lezli, shouted at Joanne, and scolded Madge for serving up cold coffee and dry cake.
Madge left the room in tears, while Lezli, who was used to Isadora’s outbursts, tried to smooth it over with Joanne and made a mental note to give Madge a bunch of flowers from Isadora as an apology – if she took a dollar for every reconciliatory gesture she’d made on behalf of her boss, she’d be a very wealthy woman.
Isadora, despite the good reviews, was anxious about tonight’s performance. ‘If they play around again, I’ll fucking kill them,’ she growled to anyone who was listening.
Edward called Joseph to his dressing room. ‘My dear Joseph, the witches are as blameless as lambs,’ he said, owning his big chair like a king on his throne while the make-up artist applied thick foundation to his face with a sponge.
Joseph hovered in the doorway. ‘It could be anyone really, couldn’t it?’ he said, putting his hands in his pockets. ‘Isadora hasn’t made an effort to win friends around here.’
‘They’ve made their point. I think they’ll leave her alone now,’ said Edward.
Joseph nodded. ‘Well, I’m staying backstage tonight, and everyone is going to be vigilant. They’ll be very stupid to try it a second time.’
Once again, the theatre was full to capacity. Emma and Leila returned out of curiosity. Leila had brought her theatre glasses to better watch the stage for skulduggery. ‘If anything untoward happens tonight,’ she said with a grin, ‘I won’t miss it.’
‘I can’t imagine anyone’s going to do anything foolish a second time. The whole cast and crew will be watching,’ said Emma, who was always ready to see the bright side of a situation. ‘Love or loathe her, Isadora is certainly drawing a crowd.’
‘That genius husband of yours,’ said Leila happily. ‘The best thing I ever did was go to the pub that night.’
Emma laughed. ‘I think it was the best thing he ever did as well,’ she laughed. ‘You and he were destined to meet. You’re the perfect team.’
‘There is no such thing as chance,’ said Leila. ‘“It is not in the stars to hold our destiny but in ourselves.” So sayeth the great bard.’
When the curtain went up, the bewitchingly lovely faces of the three ‘Wayward Sisters’ were illuminated like ghosts in fog.
The auditorium went quiet as the chilling, discordant music filled the theatre once again.
Emma pulled her shawl about her shoulders; the fake fog was freezing.
When Isadora made her first appearance, Leila put her glasses to her eyes and watched the stage closely.
Joseph stood in the wings with Toby. His heartrate had gone up and he felt his insides clench with apprehension.
The witches had gathered in the wings on the opposite side of the stage with other cast members.
Everyone trained their attention on the chair and the letter.
Only Edward remained in his dressing room; he was certain the events of the night before were not going to be repeated.
Isadora was in character. She owned the stage, and the role.
She was Lady Macbeth, with all the evil vitality of a scheming conspirator.
Her voice was steady, her movements confident.
She betrayed nothing of the inner turmoil that raged beneath the surface.
It was as if she was daring the perpetrators of the prank to try it on a second time, only so that she could disregard them.
Just as she was reaching the pinnacle of her soliloquy the chair moved.
Leila’s mouth fell open. She gasped. ‘Bloody hell!’
Emma leaned forward in her seat and blinked to check that she wasn’t hallucinating. Joseph was furious. How could this be happening a second time? The chair didn’t just move but slid a good five feet across the stage. It was a deliberate sabotage of Isadora’s first scene. A calculated disruption.
But Isadora, as before, didn’t notice and carried on. ‘Thou wouldst be great, Art not without ambition, but without The illness should attend it.’
With those words, so skilfully articulated, the letter was snatched by an invisible hand and carried high into the air.
Isadora caught her breath and watched it helplessly as it flew out of her reach.
Then, as it began to float slowly down, rocking from side to side like a feather on the breeze, she lunged for it and grabbed it with the furious determination of a beleaguered actor to reclaim the scene.
The audience erupted into wild applause.
Encouraged by the rousing sound of clapping, she valiantly carried on. Defiant this time. Her voice harder than ever.
Emma shivered. Leila was so transfixed by what she was witnessing that she didn’t notice the cold. But Isadora did and she shivered too. ‘The King comes here tonight,’ said the Messenger, distracting the audience from the chaotic props that seemed to have a life of their own.
But whoever was playing tricks was not yet finished. ‘Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark,’ said Isadora in a stirring voice.
Then the lights went out. The theatre was plunged into darkness so black, only the neon glow of the red exit signs could be seen. Murmurs of panic rose up from the stalls.
‘Shit!’ Emma exclaimed.
Leila lowered her glasses and looked around. ‘What the hell is going on?’ she muttered, unamused now.
Joseph sprang into action, giving orders as calmly as he could, trying to keep everyone from panicking.
On his instructions, Toby made a hurried announcement over the loudspeaker, telling the audience to remain in their seats, informing them that it was merely a technical hitch and that the play would be up and running very soon.
But some feared it was a terrorist attack and left the theatre at a run.
It must have only been a few minutes before the lights went on again, but it felt like ten.
The audience clapped once more and Isadora, who was now red-faced with fury, was persuaded to go back on stage, at which point the audience got to their feet and clapped even louder.
She soaked up the support, raising her hands as if playing the part of Evita on the balcony of the Casa Rosada.
Then the chair didn’t just move but was lifted into the air by an invisible force and dropped onto the stage with a loud crash.
The audience was stunned into silence. The clapping stopped.
The cold had now spread into every corner of the theatre so that it wasn’t just Emma who was pulling her shawl about her, but other members of the public too.
Even Leila shrank into her fox fur. A feeling of fear spread through the crowd like a virus, infecting them one by one.
The muttering turned into exclamations of fear.