Centre Stage

by Judy Nunn

  ‘You’re damn lucky to experience that in your first job, Jen,’ she said encouragingly. ‘It’s unusual.’

  ‘Yes I know,’ Jenny effused. ‘And it’s all because of Alex. I can’t wait for you to meet him.’

  Maddy took a breath. It was now or never. ‘I have met him.’ She tried to keep her smile relaxed. ‘We went to drama school together.’

  Jenny skidded to a halt. ‘You’re joking! Why didn’t you say anything?’

  ‘You didn’t let me get a word in.’

  ‘No, I mean, why didn’t you ever tell me?’

  ‘Oh darling, it was years ago. I haven’t seen him since I was your age.’ She didn’t want Jenny to guess the truth and she knew she was taking a risk—but she also knew it was a risk she had to take. There must be as little deception as possible so that, when Jenny was finally told, the impact wouldn’t be so devastating.

  ‘I’m actually having lunch with him today,’ she continued, ‘but he doesn’t know it. Julian’s rigging it as a surprise, so don’t say anything, whatever you do.’

  ‘Fantastic!’ Maddy needn’t have worried. Jenny was so preoccupied with the play that the identity of her father was the last thing on her mind. ‘That’s fantastic!’

  Maddy arrived at Hyde Park feeling distinctly nervous. She distracted herself by walking about the fountain inspecting the statues before taking up her position beside the minotaur.

  She had always loved Hyde Park fountain and the minotaur was her favourite statue. She was so busy studying the rivulets of water winding their way between the muscles of the massive, bronze back that Julian’s voice came as a surprise.

  ‘Well, here we are.’

  They stepped out from the other side of the minotaur and, with a shock, Maddy found herself staring into the steel-blue eyes of Alex.

  He held her gaze for a moment, equally startled, and then the eyes crinkled at the corners. ‘So, this is the surprise, Julian.’ He was smiling broadly now. ‘It’s Madeleine Frances, isn’t it?’ He held out his hand.

  Maddy’s nervousness disappeared in a flash. He didn’t even remember who she was! She laughed out loud. ‘Yes, Alex, it’s Madeleine Frances.’ All her worrying about the impact of their meeting now seemed ludicrous. He didn’t remember who she was. She wondered briefly if she’d ever meant anything to him at all.

  ‘Good God, I don’t believe it!’ Alex’s mouth dropped and he stared at her in amazement, his hand still outstretched. ‘It’s Maddy, isn’t it?’ He finally dropped his hand and peered at her closely. ‘Is it Maddy?’

  Maddy nodded, still grinning. Why did she feel such a peculiar sense of freedom? she wondered.

  ‘Right. I’ll leave you to it.’ Julian turned to leave, feeling very superfluous, but Alex didn’t notice. He was still staring at Maddy.

  ‘Thanks, Julian,’ Maddy said. When he’d left she turned to Alex. ‘Are you mad keen to eat, or would you rather find a patch of grass and talk?’ she asked.

  ‘I’d rather do whatever you want to do,’ he said, not taking his eyes off her for an instant.

  Oh no, Alex, don’t you dare! She put on her best school mistress voice. ‘Patch of grass and talk it is, then.’ As she led the way she could still feel his eyes on her. He was as charismatic as ever, possibly more so, but the knowledge that he hadn’t even remembered her gave her strength.

  When they were seated on the grass he took her hand. ‘You look wonderful, Maddy.’ And she did, Alex thought, her delicate bones framed by the cropped hair, and the laughter lines that had formed as soon as she smiled at him … She looked even better than he remembered. A scene from Centre Stage came into his mind: Photos, Kat. Photos to tease me. And we take them in public places. Those photos, Alex thought. Those photos all those years ago. ‘You look really wonderful,’ he repeated.

  Maddy withdrew her hand. The delicate way she’d intended to broach the subject was no longer possible. Alex was finding her fascinating and that was very dangerous. She had to be brutal.

  ‘I have some news that’s going to shock you, Alex and it’s about Jenny.’ She felt strangely calm.

  ‘Jenny?’ He had no idea who she was talking about.

  ‘The girl playing Katerina in Centre Stage.’

  ‘Oh. Imogen. Yes.’ Imogen was most certainly fascinating, but Alex didn’t want to talk about her now. He didn’t like to mix the objects of his fascination. One at a time. One at a time.

  ‘She’s my daughter.’

  Alex’s eyes widened. How amazing, and how interesting. Suddenly talking about Imogen was all he wanted to do—imagine the two of them being mother and daughter. Now that was extremely fascinating …

  ‘And yours.’

  Alex looked at her uncomprehendingly.

  ‘She’s our daughter, Alex, yours and mine.’ Alex shook his head in disbelief while Maddy ploughed on. ‘That abortion you thought I had when we were at NADA—I didn’t have it. I went to England and I had the baby instead.’

  ‘Imogen?’

  ‘Yes.’ Now that she knew the fatal attraction had been arrested, Maddy was quite enjoying being brutal. ‘You probably don’t remember, but it was final term and we were doing a production of Cymbeline at the time. You were playing Cymbeline, Susannah was playing the Queen and I was playing Imogen.’ She shrugged. ‘So Imogen it was. Jenny for short.’

  Alex couldn’t care less how the name had come about. He’d stopped listening to Maddy. Imogen. His daughter. It opened up a whole new world. The opening speech of Centre Stage flashed through his mind: It was the most intimate experience I’ve ever shared with another human being … I’ve been searching all my life for someone with whom I could repeat that intimate experience … I’ve finally found her …

  Had he truly found her? Imogen. His daughter. And she shared his obsession with death. It was amazing.

  ‘Alex?’ Maddy leaned forward to get his attention. He was staring intently at the grass and he was obviously miles away. ‘Alex, I’m sorry to shock you, but I couldn’t think of a gentler way.’

  ‘Oh that’s all right.’ Alex looked up and smiled at her, very fondly. ‘It’s a bit of a shock, yes, something I hadn’t expected, but she’s a lovely girl and you must be very proud of her and …’ He waited for Maddy to take over. He wasn’t sure what she wanted him to do. He only knew that he wanted to go home and think about Imogen. Why was the image of Tim flashing into his brain every few seconds like a neon light? Was there a link between Tim and Imogen? He wanted to go away and think about it.

  ‘She mustn’t know, Alex,’ Maddy urged. ‘Not until after the production.’

  Maddy caught his attention with that one. ‘That’s a good idea. Yes, that’s a very good idea,’ he said thoughtfully.

  ‘Julian and I both think she wouldn’t be able to handle the role if she knew.’

  ‘I agree.’ He nodded sympathetically. ‘I don’t think she would either.’

  ‘Can you cope with keeping it a secret until the production finishes?’ Maddy couldn’t believe how easy it was.

  ‘Yes, I can do that.’ Alex smiled again.

  ‘There’s one other thing,’ Maddy said hesitantly. ‘Julian has this idea that Jenny might be just a touch … infatuated with you. Personally I don’t agree with him,’ she added hastily. ‘It’s the “actors’ love affair” syndrome, as far as I can see but … well, that can get out of hand, can’t it, particularly with the young ones, and …’ Maddy felt a little nonplussed by the way Alex was looking at her. What the hell, she’d have to spell it out. ‘Julian and I just thought that now you know about your relationship, you might discourage any infatuation on her side, that’s all.’

  ‘Does Julian think I’ve been encouraging it?’ Alex asked coldly. Christ alive, he thought, even the writer doesn’t understand Edwin. Edwin doesn’t care about sex, he merely uses the girl’s obsession with it to gain power over her.

  ‘No,’ Maddy assured him, ‘no, of course not,’ knowing full well that Julian certainly did t
hink that Alex was encouraging it, ‘but she’s very young and …’

  ‘Maddy, I will look after Jenny, I promise you.’ Alex’s face was a picture of fatherly concern. ‘I’m sure you and Julian are overreacting. She has a boyfriend and she’s very happy with him …’ Maddy was starting to feel a little embarrassed … ‘but I promise you that if I feel that she’s having any improper feelings towards me I will discourage them.’ The eyes crinkled again, very engagingly.

  Maddy couldn’t help but laugh. ‘All right, so I’m playing mother hen, but I’m speaking from experience; you can have quite an effect on a girl, you know that?’

  ‘It’s good to hear,’ he grinned. ‘Come on, I have to get back to rehearsal.’ He helped her to her feet and they walked to the fountain. When he kissed her on the cheek his eyes held a fondness Maddy had never seen before. ‘I’m proud she’s our daughter, she’s a fine girl.’

  Maddy felt an overwhelming sense of relief as she watched him go. Everything was going to be all right.

  That night Alex had the first of his dreams.

  There was the chook. Two chooks. The chook they’d killed and the chook that got away and headed for the river. And there was Agatha. Agatha who was bigger. But had he wanted to kill Agatha because she was bigger or because she was family? They used to feed Agatha snails by hand.

  And there was Tim. He hadn’t wanted to kill Tim, surely? But then, in the dream, Alex could see the lifeblood seep from his brother’s body and, in the dream, he knew that little Lexie wanted to be responsible. Little Lexie wanted the power to be his. The only power Lexie had been granted was to watch the death, not to cause it.

  Over the next few weeks of rehearsals the dreams became more vivid and more confused. Little Lexie’s desire to be the instigator of the death became stronger and stronger. Tim became Jenny. And somewhere in the background there was Edwin. Or was it Alex himself? It was difficult to be sure—the images were rapidly becoming one and the same.

  Alex always awoke with the same feeling. The feeling that the play was wrong, that Julian had messed it up. Edwin didn’t want to accept the girl’s self-sacrifice. He wanted to kill. And the girl should be his daughter as well as his mistress. She should be his own flesh and blood because Edwin knew that the true thrill of the kill lay in that fact. Edwin wanted to share the death of his own flesh and blood with his observer. It was his ultimate gift to his audience.

  Alex was aware that he couldn’t entirely rewrite the script and that if he suggested any such notion Julian would dismiss it, but he knew that by altering his interpretation, he could greatly change the general context of the play.

  He insisted that Edwin would not call Katerina Kat but Katie, the diminutive used by her parents and family. ‘His feelings towards her are more paternal than anything,’ he urged. ‘She’s the one obsessed with sex, not him. His obsession is with death. Besides,’ he added as he saw Julian’s doubtful expression, ‘if I play him as fatherly, it could add a whole new dimension to the play.’

  Julian was at a loss as to Alex’s motives. He was sure that Alex wouldn’t jeopardise his performance to protect Jenny. It was out of character for him to act selflessly.

  When Alex had come back from his meeting with Maddy he’d simply said to Julian, ‘You’ve known all the time, have you?’

  ‘No,’ Julian had answered. ‘I found out nine or ten years ago.’

  Alex never brought up the subject again with Julian. And now here he was wanting to alter his performance entirely on the strength of his recent knowledge. Why?

  Alex made his suggestion in the company of Naomi so Julian was unable to express his misgivings.

  And for once Naomi was on Alex’s side. ‘I think we should give it a try. It can’t hurt to have a look at what Alex has in mind.’

  After a run of the play, they were all in agreement. The element of evil that was added by Alex’s new interpretation was amazingly effective.

  The only person left unhappy and confused was Jenny. She could see the effectiveness of the performance but she was upset by the change in Alex’s attitude to her offstage. He no longer called her Imogen, but Jenny, just like everyone else. And he treated her with the same happy familiarity as he did everyone else. The special feeling between them had gone.

  She said as much to her mother and of course Maddy came up with the obvious answer. ‘But you told me that Alex had decided to play it in a more fatherly way, darling. He’s allowing the role to carry over into his daily life. A lot of actors do it, you know that.’

  Maddy was greatly relieved. Jenny’s disappointment proved that Julian had been right—there had been an element of infatuation. And Alex was countering it beautifully. It was very caring of him and it would certainly be a great help when they came to break the news to Jenny. Maddy felt deeply grateful. And very guilty. Could she have misjudged him all these years?

  The obvious explanation wasn’t of much use to Jenny. It didn’t stop her fantasies. It didn’t stop Alex’s image appearing in her mind every time Paul made love to her. It didn’t stop the fact that, several times, during her moment of ecstasy, she’d had to clench her teeth to stop herself calling out his name. There was still a fortnight of rehearsals to go when Maddy received the call from an apologetic Viktor Hoff. They were demanding her return to Europe the following week for four days of reshooting and he couldn’t get her off the hook.

  ‘The producer-bitch, she tell me,’ he said over the phone, ‘she tell me that if she don’t sue you, then she sue me. Rather you, my darling. I’m broke. Come back.’

  Maddy didn’t mind. She was happy with the way things were going in Sydney. Her only stipulation was that she must be clear to return in time for the opening night of Centre Stage.

  To Maddy’s astonishment, Rodney was waiting for her at Heathrow Airport. There was nothing unusual about that—Rodney was always waiting for her at airports—except that this time she hadn’t even told him she was arriving, let alone what flight she would be on.

  ‘How did you know?’ she asked.

  ‘Phil told me.’ Phil Pendlebury acted as far more than an agent for Maddy, particularly when she was away. Her answering machine was automatically switched through to his office, he handled her bills and banking and personal enquiries and, despite her insistence, he refused to take any more than his customary ten per cent. He didn’t know why.

  ‘I suppose you’ve spoken to Douglas,’ Rodney asked as he opened the car door for her.

  The world stopped. ‘No. Why?’

  ‘Oh, Phil said that he rang last week wanting to know where you were. Phil gave him all the details and, when he offered to get in touch with you, Douglas said he’d do it himself.’ Rodney read the confusion on Maddy’s face and added, ‘I don’t know why you don’t give up on him and marry me instead.’

  He was only half joking and they both knew it. ‘I don’t know why I don’t either,’ she smiled. ‘You’re a much better bet.’

  It was true that Rodney was quite a catch. He’d given up pornography eight years ago and the production company he’d formed from his earnings had become extremely successful. He was earning a fortune making corporate videos and spending it all making environmentally-conscious documentaries.

  Maddy called Phil Pendlebury as soon as she got home but he had no further news of Douglas.

  ‘Sorry, sweetheart, but he didn’t give me any details. I told him you were in Sydney and he said he was going to contact you direct.’

  Maddy phoned Helena daily but they hadn’t heard from him. Perhaps he was simply going to turn up—that would be just like Douglas. Maddy couldn’t wait to get back in case he did. Besides, she longed for the Australian sunshine. The damp cold of London was depressing her and the weather in Munich for the four days she was there was even worse.

  She spent her last night with Robert and Alma and finally she was aboard a Qantas jet headed for Sydney.

  It was the opening night of Centre Stage the day after she landed. And Dougla
s might arrive at any moment. Maddy was very excited.

  Alain King was thrilled when he saw the first full dress rehearsal of Centre Stage. It was the most powerful play, the most powerful production and the most powerful performance he had ever witnessed.

  The stage belonged to Alex. The girl was excellent, definitely destined for a fine career in the theatre, but Alex was compelling. The engaging intimacy with which he wooed his audience was hugely seductive. So seductive that they forgot he was evil. The death of the girl at the end of the play was a chilling shock.

  After the rehearsal Alain looked at the cameras set up in strategic positions around the theatre and felt very proud of himself. He’d pulled off one of the most successful television deals in the history of the industry. Centre Stage would go to air live nationally; the UK had already bought the rights, and, after a performance like this, it was an easy bet to assume there’d be a bid for the world rights as well.

  He gave Alex time to change and then went backstage to the dressing rooms to congratulate him before the members of the cast were called for notes. Alain was proud of his protege. He’d always considered Alex the only actor worthy of his friendship. We’re alike, he told himself yet again. The man knows what he wants and he goes out and gets it. He’s a winner.

  Alex was gratified by Alain’s approval but he was distracted. He’d been distracted a lot lately. Everyone had noticed. They’d put it down to approaching-opening-night nerves and were mostly sympathetic. Alain, who hadn’t been around for rehearsals, was a little taken aback at the aloof reception he received. But because it was Alex, he didn’t dismiss it as ‘actor-wanking’.

  ‘You want to get a good night’s sleep, Alex,’ he said. ‘You look as if you could do with it.’

  Alex wasn’t sleeping well. The familiar characters of his dreams took over as soon as he closed his eyes. He liked them and welcomed them as old friends but they left him drained, and lately they merged so into his daily life that sometimes he had trouble telling his waking and sleeping hours apart.