The Summer Theatre by the Sea

by Tracy Corbett

  ‘Okay.’ His fingers slid up her arm. ‘Let’s hear it.’

  Her brain told her to move away from his touch, staying put was only encouraging him, but her body screamed, don’t even think about it!

  ‘“Believe me, King of Shadows, I mistook. Did not you tell me I should know the man by the Athenian garments he had on?”’ She paused, trying not to be distracted by his hand, which had started massaging her shoulder. Christ, the man had nimble fingers. ‘“And so far blameless proves my enterprise, that I have anointed an Athenian’s eyes. And I am glad it so did sort, as this their jangling I esteem a sport.”’

  ‘Perfect.’ His palm circled her shoulder, his fingers gently working the muscles leading up to her neck. ‘“Thou seest these lovers seek a place to fight.”’ His words were even more seductive than normal, his breath tickling her skin as he spoke. His touch was warm and enticing, his body both soft and hard against hers. ‘“Like to Lysander sometime frame thy tongue.”’ On the word ‘tongue’ he licked her neck, then gently blew on her damp skin.

  A bolt of something liquid shot from her toes right up her spine, rendering her unable to resist when he pulled her down the bed. He slid on top of her, his face hovering above hers, kissing her shoulder, her neck, her collarbone.

  How the hell was she supposed to remember her words under such an onslaught? His fingers laced with hers and he tightened his grip, sliding her hands up and over her head, pinning them to the headboard. The duvet no longer covered her dignity. ‘My God.’

  ‘I think you’ll find the line is, ‘“My fairy lord.”’

  Smart-arse. He was clearly enjoying toying with her. She closed her eyes, hoping to shut out the distraction of his closeness, his kisses, his mouth as it moved south. Concentrate, she told her brain. ‘“My fairy lord, this must be done with haste, for night’s swift dragons cut the clouds full fast.”’ She said it on a rush, knowing her ability to recall words was rapidly slipping away.

  His kisses moved lower. He was getting perilously close to her …

  Everything within her tightened. A mixture of pleasure and fear, like she was about to shatter. She tried to free her hands so she could move away from his mouth, but he held firm. ‘“Up … and … down.”’ The words would barely come. ‘“I … will … lead them …”’

  ‘Stop talking.’

  ‘But I—’

  The intensity of his kiss ratcheted up a notch.

  She tried again when he pulled away, albeit with a little less protest. ‘But …’

  ‘Shush.’ He smiled, a curiously wicked glint in his eye. ‘Don’t make a sound.’

  She realised he was getting his own back for the other night at Smugglers Inn when she’d accosted him in his dressing room. He was turning the tables, the one giving instructions, calling the shots. The one … Oh, Christ. What was he doing now …?

  Yes, indeed. However you looked at it, Puck was engaging in a highly inappropriate relationship with the King of the Fairies.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Sunday, 21 August – 2 days till curtain-up

  Barney flinched when the stage manager’s voice crackled over the headset. No one had responded to her requests to cue the fog machine and she was getting increasingly irate. Technical rehearsals were never easy. The cast got bored from hanging around waiting for the backstage crew to set the cues, the kids became fractious and distracted the more the day progressed, and the SM spent the entire time shouting at everyone for not listening to instructions. As director, Barney was expected to manage the whole debacle, remaining calm and positive as he was pulled in all directions, trying to sort out a multitude of queries, from issues with the props, to wardrobe malfunctions. Not exactly a restful way to spend a sunny afternoon in August. He’d been at the theatre since nine a.m. trying to coordinate the merging of the backstage team with the onstage team and it was proving testing.

  ‘Is anyone going to answer me?’ The SM’s yell almost deafened him.

  He looked around, trying to work out why Sylvia wasn’t responding. She was in the makeshift wings frowning at the fog machine. He went over. ‘Everything okay?’

  ‘I’ve followed the instructions, but the start button won’t work.’ She pressed the big red switch to emphasise her point.

  Barney picked up the cable and followed the trail to the extension socket tucked against the flats. ‘It’s not switched on at the wall, Sylvia.’

  She came over to check, as if not believing him. ‘I was sure I’d switched it on.’ She smacked her forehead with her hand. ‘I’m so stupid.’

  ‘It’s an easy mistake.’ He flicked the wall switch on. ‘Try it now.’

  She went back to the machine and pressed the red switch. A burst of fog exploded from the vent. ‘It works!’

  Yeah, funny that. Leaving Sylvia to deal with the fog machine, he returned to the stage, only to be accosted by an irate Glenda. ‘Lauren tells me she’s not wearing the dress I made for her.’ She stood in front of him, hands on hips, making it clear she wasn’t budging. ‘I put her straight. I said, “You’re wearing it, my girl,” but she’s refusing.’

  Barney knew tact was required. ‘Unfortunately, the dress you’d made didn’t quite work, Glenda. Sorry about that. I know you’ve put a lot of effort into the costumes.’

  Everybody else’s costumes, anyway. Lauren’s dress looked like a drab rag compared to the rich fabrics used to dress the other characters. He was starting to wonder if Nate’s ‘bullying’ theory was right.

  ‘No one else has complained. I don’t see why she should get special treatment just because she doesn’t like her costume.’ Glenda pointed to where Lauren was sitting with Tony, her voice deliberately loud.

  At that moment, Sylvia appeared from the wings and went over to squeeze Lauren’s hand, a show of support against the might of Glenda’s verbal attack. Tony remained oblivious. It was hard to tell whether he genuinely didn’t notice, or just didn’t want to get involved.

  Barney kept his voice low, indicating this wasn’t a discussion that needed to include anyone else, especially not Lauren. ‘It isn’t that she doesn’t like it.’

  ‘Then what is it? She’s too vain, that girl. She needs to stop fussing over her appearance and wear what she’s given.’ Glenda’s voice rose another notch.

  Lauren stumbled to her feet and ran towards the loos.

  Sylvia gave Glenda a pointed look and followed Lauren into the loos, not before scolding Tony with, ‘You shouldn’t let her speak to Lauren like that.’ But the remark was lost on Tony, who looked around with a puzzled expression, as if confused by what had just happened.

  Barney reverted his attention to Glenda, wondering if he should point out that Lauren was the least vain person he knew. But he suspected this had more to do with issues outside the drama group than a spat over costumes. ‘You’ve done an amazing job with the costumes, Glenda. We just need to put Hermia in something more fitted and less likely to trip her up.’

  ‘If that’s the only issue, then I’ll take up the hem.’

  ‘It’s also too baggy. Hermia’s supposed to be petite. We need the visual contrast between her small stature and Helena’s tall stature, otherwise the fight scene in the forest isn’t funny.’

  ‘I’ll take the dress in.’

  ‘No need, Glenda.’

  ‘Jonathan liked my designs.’ Glenda was used to getting her own way. No wonder she made such a formidable moneylender.

  ‘I’m sure he did, but this particular dress isn’t working.’ He hoped his tone indicated it was discussion over. ‘The show starts on Tuesday, it’s easier if we use the hire dress I picked up yesterday.’ He made a point of moving past her. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, we need to get on with the tech.’

  He ignored her grunt.

  Directing a play was similar to working on the wards, he’d decided. Endless pacifying, juggling a multitude of tasks, and bouncing from one issue to another. The only differences were that no one was likely to die on his
shift, and he got to go home at a reasonable hour … at least, he hoped so.

  He took a moment to look around the stage, wondering what else needed resolving.

  Nate was looking after the kids, handing out packets of crisps in a bid to keep them quiet. Good. That was one less thing to worry about.

  Paul was up a ladder moving spotlights. It was all hands on deck in amateur dramatics. Thankfully, the theatre supplied a backstage crew for the run, so he didn’t have the hassle of trying to find volunteers to work lighting and sound.

  Daniel was sitting alone, his head buried in his script. It would be nice if he made himself useful, but he wasn’t causing any grief, so Barney left him to his own devices.

  That just left Charlotte.

  He found her standing next to the tree house. She was wearing her snug-fitting jeans with a red top and what looked like white school plimsolls. Having admitted she didn’t own any trainers, he’d suggested she buy a pair to rehearse in. High heels weren’t exactly suitable for playing the part of a woodland nymph.

  As he neared, he could see a frown creasing her forehead. She was clinging hold of the scaffolding, shaking her head. ‘I’m sorry, but I can’t do it.’ There was a genuine sense of panic in her voice as she looked up at Quentin and Vincent Graham.

  ‘I see you’ve met Glenda’s sons.’ Barney realised that the Neanderthal pair were trying to get Charlotte to test out the fly rig. Both brothers were built like Thor, only with substantial beer bellies and significantly less hammer skills.

  Charlotte turned at the sound of Barney’s voice. ‘They want me to climb up there and jump off!’

  ‘She’s gotta wear the harness.’ Quentin held out the leather belt. ‘Mum said so.’

  Despite being well into their thirties, both brothers still obeyed their mother. Sad, really. Or maybe it was just him that disobeyed parental orders? ‘Give me five minutes, will you?’

  With some reluctance, they repositioned themselves a few feet away. They weren’t very good at switching focus, he’d discovered. Still, as muscle was needed backstage, he had to keep them sweet.

  ‘There’s nothing to sort out.’ Charlotte’s whole body was physically shaking. ‘I’m not jumping off six feet of scaffolding.’

  Barney tried to take her hand, but she wouldn’t let go of the support pole. ‘No one’s asking you to.’

  Her expression turned hopeful. ‘I don’t have to jump off?’

  ‘It’s more of a gentle swing down.’

  Her eyes grew wide. ‘From up there?’ More head shaking. ‘No way, I … I can’t.’

  He’d forgotten about her fear of heights. How to tackle this? he wondered. Coercion? Bribery? Or just plain diversion tactics? He prised one hand away from the scaffolding. ‘If you can’t do it, then I won’t make you.’

  She looked wary. ‘You won’t?’

  ‘Of course not. But I think it’s a shame. Puck flying across the stage would look fantastic, quite a spectacle for the audience.’

  ‘Not if I throw up halfway across!’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. I quite like the idea of you splattering Daniel’s head with last night’s dinner.’

  She didn’t laugh.

  Okay, time to switch tactics. ‘Forget the show for a moment. Think about what this could do for you personally.’

  ‘Flying through the air on a harness is not on my bucket list.’ Her disgruntled expression made him smile.

  ‘Maybe not, but you have to admit that you’ve tried all sorts of new things over the summer, and for the most part, you’ve enjoyed them.’

  She faltered, almost as if she wanted to contradict him, but couldn’t.

  ‘You don’t like heights, I get that. But think what an achievement it would be if you overcame that? Imagine how empowering it would be to conquer your fears and feel the elation of flying.’

  ‘I … I don’t know.’

  ‘You’d be perfectly safe, I promise you. The harness is very secure, and look at the size of the men controlling the rig?’ He pointed to where Quentin and Vincent were standing, waiting for their next instruction. Dumb fucks, the pair of them. ‘No way are they going to drop you.’ At least, he bloody well hoped not.

  She chewed on her lower lip, her eyes assessing the gap between the stage and the tree house. ‘How … how far would I be off the ground?’

  ‘Just a few feet. You swing down from the tree house, across to the fairy grove, and then back again. Simple.’

  ‘Oh, God. I can’t believe I’m actually contemplating doing this.’

  He took her by the shoulders. ‘You’re a remarkable woman. Brave and resilient. Under that buttoned-up exterior is an adventurous spirit waiting to be unleashed.’

  She raised an eyebrow. ‘You do talk bollocks sometimes.’

  He laughed. ‘Is it working?’

  She hesitated. ‘You promise to stop if I don’t like it?’

  He leant closer. ‘I promise. But maybe once you give it a go, you’ll love it.’ She smelt amazing: fruity and summery. ‘I can think of a few other instances where that’s happened.’ He gave her a teasing smile.

  ‘Yes, well, you have a very persuasive nature.’ She shrugged free from his grasp. ‘I haven’t quite worked out whether that’s a good thing or not.’

  ‘Have you had fun this summer?’

  ‘Much as I hate to admit it, yes.’

  ‘Any regrets?’

  With some reluctance, she shook her head. There was a time when she’d be fiddling with her hair or searching out a button when faced with adversity, but no more. She was definitely less wired.

  ‘Do you trust me?’

  She raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Well, do you?’

  She sighed. ‘Yes, I trust you.’

  ‘Good. Because I honestly believe you’ll love it.’ He moved closer, intending to kiss her, but she pulled away like he was about to strangle her. ‘Stop it!’ she said, glancing around. ‘People will assume something’s going on.’

  He smiled. ‘Well, it is … isn’t it?’

  She gave him a look. ‘There’s no need to advertise. And it’s not like it’s going anywhere. It’s a short-term arrangement. The fewer people that know, the better.’ Her cheeks coloured.

  He laughed, mostly to cover his disappointment. Foolishly, he’d thought their ‘relationship’ was shifting. It wasn’t. ‘Discretion it is.’ He beckoned over the Graham brothers and held open the harness for Charlotte to step into. ‘One leg either side of the strap.’

  After a moment’s hesitation, she obeyed and let him fasten the clips.

  ‘Do you need a hand getting into the tree house?’

  She straightened her shoulders. ‘No, thanks. I can do it on my own.’

  ‘See? Remarkable and brave.’

  She shot him a look. ‘Quit with the sales pitch. I’ve succumbed.’

  He watched her climb up the ladder, resisting the urge to touch her.

  When she reached the top, she hesitated. ‘What do I do now?’

  ‘Ease yourself onto the ledge. Quentin and Vincent will control the fly rig from the wings.’ When they didn’t move, he pointed to the wings. ‘Over there, guys.’

  Vincent shifted his bulk, followed by Quentin. Brainless pair.

  Barney looked up at Charlotte, who’d edged her way onto the ledge, clutching hold of the camouflage netting. ‘When the rope goes taut, push yourself away from the ledge.’ He waited for everyone to clear the stage. ‘Quentin? You ready?’ Satisfied they were set, Barney gave Charlotte a thumbs up. ‘Whenever you’re ready.’

  It took a few aborted attempts before she finally let go, the fear in her body rendering her as stiff as a mannequin. Part of him felt bad for making her do it. Was it really a good idea to force someone into facing a phobia? Especially when that person was someone you cared about. Because, despite his best efforts to keep their relationship purely physical, he’d failed. Over the last week, when they’d practised their lines together, gone for long walks alo
ng the beach, and ended up in bed each time, exhausted and laughing, a connection had been formed … on his part, at least. But Charlotte had made it clear she only wanted a fling. And he wasn’t quite sure how he felt about that.

  As he watched her now, battling her instincts to cling hold of the scaffolding, he was overcome with something powerful. Pride? Admiration? Or just lust? He didn’t know, but seeing her flying across the stage, screaming with a mixture of exhilaration and fear, gave him a sense of satisfaction like no other.

  It wasn’t the most elegant of flights, but when she swung back across the stage, her scream was a little less ‘I’m being murdered’ and more ‘this might be fun’.

  ‘How was it?’ he shouted.

  She grabbed hold of the scaffolding, taking a moment to ensure she wasn’t about to fall off. ‘Okay … I think. As long as I don’t look down.’

  He smiled. ‘You did it!’

  She nodded, slightly manically. ‘I did, didn’t I?’ Her hair moved softly in the breeze, and for a moment he was stunned by how beautiful she was.

  He tried to clear his mind. ‘Can we try it again with the lines this time?’ He waited for her to nod, before checking that the Graham brothers were paying attention and weren’t about to drop her.

  She only faltered for a moment before pushing herself away from the ledge. ‘“I go – I go – look how I gooooooo!”’ She flew across the stage, her hands outstretched, landing on the raised fairy grove with all the grace of a prop forward entering a rugby scrum. It didn’t matter. She’d done it. Her return flight was a little more fairy-like, and she nailed the landing perfectly. ‘“Swifter than arrow from the Tartar’s bow.”’

  The rest of the cast, who’d gathered below to watch, clapped enthusiastically and cheered. Tony shouted, ‘Well done, love,’ evoking a smile from his daughter.

  Barney stood at the bottom of the ladder. ‘Need a hand down?’

  She shuffled around to the top. ‘Nope, I got this.’

  When she reached the last rung, he placed his hands on her waist. ‘Like I said, remarkable woman.’