Next morning she dressed hurriedly and walked down the road to buy the local newspaper, eager to read the review of the show. With heart thumping, she handed over the coins, grabbed the paper, and stood right outside the shop, flicking urgently through the pages until she found it. The bold headline made her gasp.
Dated Mystery Fails to Thrill
The real mystery is why the Regent Theatre decided to stage this antiquated Agatha Christie play when her shows are done so often and so well on television.
That being said, the production was above average, with Director Adam Bryant drawing some strong performances from the amateur cast. Simone DuChaine kept the audience’s attention with her performance as Ida Boynton, the evil mother who rules her brood of adult step-children with an iron hand. Actors Phil and Pippa Jessop have been seen often on the Whetford stage but in this case were not playing opposite each other, instead taking the roles of Sarah King and Lennox Boynton. Stewart Parkinson made his debut as the hotel clerk and Emma Sinclair was suitably fey as Ginevra Boynton. Various somewhat dated comic characters played counterpoint to the main drama, as arrogant Lady Westerholme intimidated her companion Amabel Pryce – who, incidentally, was played in the original London production in 1945 by a young Joan Hickson who in later years gained worldwide fame portraying Miss Marple.
The staging was generally suited to the era, although the garishly red rocks of the desert set were unnatural and a constant distraction in Acts Two and Three.
Patrons might consider bringing cushions to augment the austere seating, and will need to be prepared for both heat and cold. The Regent Theatre society is to be commended for keeping the old building operating, but one has to wonder how much longer they can resist the tide of progress.
Appointment with Death runs nightly at 8pm until September 18.
Jessica felt like she’d been kicked in the stomach. Steadily increasing waves of anger crashed over her with every feverish re-reading of the weak yet damning review. Her pulse raced, sweat broke out on her face, and she felt sick. She crushed the paper into a tube and beat it to a pulp against a streetlight pole, then kicked the pole hard for good measure.
Her middle toe broke with the impact.
As she was teetering on one leg gasping with pain, her phone rang. She fumbled it out of her pocket, saw Jack’s name and decided he was worth answering despite her distress.
‘Yeah, hi,’ she managed to grind out, grabbing the pole for support.
‘Jessica? Are you all right?’
‘Not really, no.’ There was enough hint of tears in her voice for him to respond instantly.
‘Where are you? Home? I’ll be there in five minutes.’
She told him where she was, and was overwhelmingly glad to see him pull up next to her less than four minutes later. He leaped out of the car and came to her side, a reassuring smile not quite hiding the anxiety in his eyes. He helped steady her and opened the passenger door for her to sit down. Once they were both in the car, he took her hand.
‘Well Miss Jones, would you like to make a statement? What happened exactly?’
She barked a shaky laugh. ‘Well, yer honour, I was proceeding in a westerly direction along King Street when I was viciously assaulted by a passing streetlight pole, resulting in the loss of the ability to walk. This assault was subsequent to a previous intellectual mugging by the author of a rather ill-considered piece of drivel masquerading as a theatrical review.’
Jack considered this for a while. ‘Bad crit, huh?’
‘Yeah.’
‘So you kicked a pole?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Anything broken?’
‘Possibly.’
He leant over and held out his hand for her foot, unlacing her running shoe and easing it off as gently as possible. He felt each toe in turn, stopping immediately when she gasped as he touched the middle one.
‘Hm. Take off your other shoe.’
‘But I didn’t hurt that foot – it’s fine, really.’
‘Take off your other shoe, Jessica.’
She obeyed, sighing heavily. ‘There, happy now?’
He checked her feet side by side.
‘Does that sore toe look a little bit shorter to you?’
She studied her two middle toes. ‘Yes,’ she admitted grudgingly. ‘I suppose that means it’s broken, does it?’
‘Right, it’s off to the emergency room for you, missy. We’ll get it set and splinted and you’ll be fine.’
‘Can we stop at the reviewer’s place on the way?’
‘Why?’
‘Because I’ll probably break my hand when I punch his lights out and it would save making a second trip.’
He levelled a severe look at her, and she subsided, head hanging.
‘Just one thing before we go, Jack – could you buy me another newspaper, please? I’m going to need a copy of the review to plan what to say to the cast and crew.’ Tears filled her eyes. ‘They’re going to be devastated.’
As they waited in the hospital’s emergency room, Jack read the offending review. He looked at her, puzzled.
‘It doesn’t look that bad to me. It says the production was above average. What are you worrying about?’
She laughed sadly. ‘I know how they’ll interpret it, you see. They’ll only see the negatives. “The amateur cast” and “somewhat dated” and “garish unnatural set”. We hang on every word of these damn things because it’s the only feedback we get other than general applause. And it’s stupidly important because it can make or break bookings. A lot of people wait to read the crit before deciding to book, and if it’s a lacklustre pile of tosh like this one, they probably won’t bother to go to the show at all. I hope to God the radio guy is nicer to us. He certainly looked more cheerful on the night.’
She checked her watch. ‘I want to be home to record the radio review on the Arts programme at noon. They’ve been advertising all week that the show review will be on so it might generate quite a bit of interest. If it’s good and I can play it to the gang at the theatre tonight it should reverse some of the damage this one’s done.’ She smacked the newspaper glumly. ‘That is, assuming it’s any better.’
‘Don’t look so miserable! I’m sure you’ll get a glowing report.’
‘You’re probably right. It would be a cruel blow if both the critics happened to be cruel uncultured clods.’ She grinned. ‘Thanks, Jack – you’re good at making me feel better.’
Jack’s pager beeped and he checked it, looking suddenly concerned. ‘Sorry, Jessica, something’s come up and I’m going to have to leave you here. Have you got enough cash for a taxi home?’
‘Don’t worry. I’ll call Gazza or Howard to give me a ride once they’ve fixed my poor toe. You take off if duty calls.’ She smiled up at him. ‘Thanks for dashing to my rescue.’
He bent down and kissed her lightly. ‘Any time. I’ll call you later to hear what the doctor has to say.’
Once Jessica had finally been seen by the emergency doctor and patched up, she called Howard.
‘Hey, remember last year when you cut yourself on the saw and I took you to emergency? I’m there myself right now and calling in the favour. Would you possibly pick me up here and give me a ride home please?’
Howard cheerfully collected her, drove her home and helped her inside. Her broken toe had been set and taped firmly to the one next to it so she didn’t need a cast, but she couldn’t put any weight on it. He settled her on the couch and put ice cubes wrapped in a tea towel onto her foot to keep the swelling down. At her insistence, he set up the radio to record the Arts programme before making them both a restorative cup of tea.
‘Nice flowers, Jessica. Who’s your secret admirer? That policeman chappie again, is it?’
She couldn’t help blushing. ‘Yeah, Jack Matherson, just one of the cops on the investigation. Hey look Howard, it’s almost noon. The Arts review will be on any minute.’
The song that was playing at 11.58am finished, there was a brief station identification, then another song started. Jessica frowned.
‘That’s odd. My clock’s right, isn’t it? That song won’t finish by 12, they’ll have to cut it off.’
They listened, checking their watches. Noon passed with no pause in the music. The song finished, but there was no time check, just a station ID again and a new song. Howard and Jessica looked at each other.
‘That is odd,’ said Howard. ‘I’ve never heard that happen before. I might just give them a ring and find out what’s going on.’ He checked the number in the local directory and punched it in. While he waited, he pulled faces at Jessica, pretending to respond to unheard conversation. After a few minutes he gave up.
‘Nothing. No answer at all. Not even an answer machine, which is really strange. I might just drive down there and check it out, if it’s OK to leave you like this?’
‘Yeah, sure, go ahead. Just call me and let me know as soon as you find anything out. If they can’t broadcast for some reason, could you ask if you can get a transcript of the review at least – it might help.’
Howard drove away with the promise of reporting back with whatever news he found.
He phoned twenty minutes later.
‘You’re not going to believe this, Jessica. There’s been a bomb threat at the radio station and the whole place is evacuated and cordoned off. Your friend Jack Matherson is here overseeing a whole squad of police chaps and they’re checking out a suspicious package that was left in the foyer.’
‘Holy shit, really? No wonder normal programming was interrupted! Hey, Jack’s not being heroic and doing anything dangerous, is he?’
‘No, there’s some chap in heavy protective gear standing here with a bunch of equipment and a little wheeled robot. Hang on a sec.’
There was a pause while she heard a muffled conversation, then he was back on the line.
‘Sounds like they’re going to get the package out in the open and blow it up as a precaution. We’re all being moved back to halfway up Church Street. I’ll call you back.’
Jessica waited in a fury of impatience. She would have paced if she’d been able. After ten more minutes she was ready to attempt to drive with one foot just to find out what was happening. Her phone rang and she snatched it up.
‘Jessica , Jack here. How are you? Did you get back from the emergency room all right?’
‘Yes yes, I’m fine.’ She yelled into the phone. ‘What’s happened at the radio station? Has anything blown up? You haven’t lost any vital parts, have you? Will they get back on air any time soon?’
‘Everything is under control,’ he said calmly, ‘except you. Sit back and I’ll tell you what’s going on so you don’t blow a gasket.’
She sat on her sofa, all her attention focused on his warm voice in her ear.
‘The station got a phone call at 9.30 this morning warning them that there was a bomb on the premises. They evacuated and called us. A bomb squad guy flew in with a small robot which he sent in to check out a laptop bag that had been left beside a couch in the foyer. It brought it out to detonate in a cleared area. The bag blew open, there was no explosive inside.’
‘So it was just a hoax?’
‘Not exactly.’ Something in his voice raised goosebumps on her neck.
‘It was something relevant, wasn’t it Jack? What was in the bag?’
‘Rather a lot of confetti, now. But before we blew it up it would have been a number of sheets of religious quotes on purple notepaper.’
‘Oh my God.’
‘Exactly. I think, Jessica, that your nutter is expanding his sphere of influence. I hope to hell we can get enough evidence from this incident to track him down and prevent any more like it.’
‘Amen to that.’
Shortly after she’d finished the call with Jack, her phone rang again. Howard was on the line with a smile in his voice.
‘Did your policeman friend just call you, by any chance?’
‘Yeah, how did you know?’
‘I was watching his face from across the road here. He went all soft instead of being The Man in Authority controlling the scene. I could tell it wasn’t an official call.’
‘Did he really?’
‘Yes he really did!’ he said, mimicking her delighted tone. ‘I think he likes you! Ooh, Jessie, perhaps he’ll ask you to the senior prom!’
‘Shut up, Howard! Don’t make me report you to MaryAnn. What’s going on at the radio station now? Are they going back inside yet? Will they get back on air?’
‘Just as soon as they get the all clear and that should be pretty much right away. But I’m afraid they’re going to carry on with their scheduled programming. The Arts programme won’t play. I spoke to the head guy and he said they’d try to play the review on next Saturday’s show.’
‘AAAARRRRRGGGGGHHHHHH!!!!!! That’s no freaking use at all! Did you tell him that?’
‘Jessica, the poor guy had just stared death in the face and almost had his entire workplace explode around him. The problems of the Regent Theatre don’t amount to a hill of beans as far as he’s concerned.’
‘Well they should,’ she said sulkily. ‘We’re his customers, aren’t we? Oh all right, you have a point. I’ll just try to figure out some other way of getting publicity. I could do a media release about how successful opening night was and send it to the paper, I suppose. They ought to have the decency to print it after dumping all over us with the crit. Did you get the radio station transcript at least? Is it better than that crap in the paper? Cool, bring it in tonight. Ooh, I just thought, we should probably put Matt and Paul on full security alert if this mad zealot’s going round threatening to blow things up. I’ll give them a call. Bye.’
For the rest of the day she lay on the sofa, foot elevated as in the approved R.I.C.E. treatment, racking her brain for other ways to boost the show’s publicity. She managed to write a brief spiel about opening night and emailed it to the paper, signing herself as promotions manager in the hopes of sounding authoritative. After that she was stumped.
By the time she was due to head for the theatre late in the afternoon, she had a full jotter page of suggestions, but most were heavily crossed out. Her swollen toe had subsided enough for her to slip on a canvas sneaker, but she was relieved when Howard showed up to give her a ride. He passed her the radio review transcript and she grabbed it eagerly.
‘Right, let’s see how Mr Brad The Man Bannerman liked our show.
For any performer, there’s just nothing like the excitement of a live show in front of an audience. Whether you’re in a radio studio or on a stage, everything you say is heard instantly, no second chances, no re-takes. It gives live theatre an edge that movies and TV shows lack – the chance for an audience to be almost a part of the action.
I attended the Regent Theatre’s opening night of Appointment with Death last night, and it was electric. From the moment the curtain went up on the hotel in Jerusalem to when it went down on the rose-red rocks of Petra, the audience was kept in suspense by a classic Agatha Christie whodunit. Veteran director Adam Bryant drew a masterful performance from the whole cast, with the standout role being Simone Duchaine playing Ada Boynton – I wanted to kill her myself. You’ll have to go to the show to find out who did, though, I’m not going to spoil the suspense by telling you. Unless you send an envelope of used notes to Brad Bannerman, care of Whetford Classic Radio.
You know folks, when global warming has hit and the oil’s all gone, there’s a fair chance we’ll be left in the dark without our TV and our DVDs and even – shock, horror – even radio. Our entertainment will have to go back to the olden days of real human beings on a stage. If you don’t want to get stuck watching your Uncle Arthur do charades, you’d better keep supporting the Regent Theatre.
Appointment with Death is playing all this week at the Regent so dust off your detective deerstalkers and make a night of it. If you miss this then you haven’t got a clue.
‘Oh, that’s great!’ She turned to Howard and beamed. ‘I want to kiss that man and bear his children!’
‘Steady on girl, dinner and a movie should thank him enough. Don’t go overboard.’
They pulled up at the theatre and he let her out at the door. She keyed in the code and opened up, limping inside to sniff the air. The usual mix of paint and rope had perfume traces from last night’s crowd mingled with it, and just a hint of damp carpet from the bar.
‘What time did it break up here last night?’ she asked Howard when he caught up with her after parking the van.
‘About 1.30am, I think. I pushed the last few out to let Matt and Paul get some sleep. I expect a couple of the crew will have sore heads today but the cast all behaved themselves.’
‘That’s good. I don’t think I’d want to see Simone with a hangover.’
‘No, nor Terence. Imagine what gruesome symptoms he’d come up with.’
Chortling, they went backstage where Jessica set the season clock to “second night” and taped up the radio review for all to read. Then she mentally braced herself for the fallout from the newspaper crit.
As she had expected, as soon as the cast arrived they went straight into a major grouch session about the newspaper piece.
‘Did you see what they said? “Amateur cast”. That’s as bad as “amateurish” to anyone reading it.’
‘And what about “SOME strong performances”? Does that mean the rest of us were crap?’
‘How can you stage an Agatha Christie without it being “dated”? The old trout died over thirty years ago and most of her plays are set in the early half of last century. What does he expect us to do – re-write it in the present day?’
‘Take it easy, guys,’ said Jessica. ‘The radio review was much better. Go take a look; I’ve put it up by the clock.’
There was a scramble to get close enough to read the typed page.
‘Now that’s more like it,’ said Pippa with satisfaction.
‘Shouldn’t there be two Ns in “whodunit”?’ said Phil.
‘Ha, “veteran director” – Adam’s not going to like that!’
‘Hey this Bannerman guy’s OK. We should invite him to the Final Night party.’
‘When did this go out, Jessica?’
She winced inwardly. Just when she’d turned their mood around to positive, someone had to ask the awkward question.
‘It hasn’t been broadcast yet. There was a bomb scare at the radio station as you probably know, so the Arts programme was cancelled. But they did promise to play it before the end of our run.’ She mentally crossed her fingers.
‘Hope they do it sooner rather than later, then.’ Phil looked over to the door. ‘Hi Simone, you must be feeling pretty happy with the review? Looks like you were the only person the critic liked.’
Simone frowned. ‘I wasn’t at all pleased with his comments. Quite apart from his abysmally ignorant remarks about the show in general, I felt that “kept the audience’s attention with her performance” was wide open to misinterpretation. They might have been watching to see what mistake was made next.’
‘Come on guys, let’s just focus on the good points, shall we?’ said Jessica. ‘It was “an above average production” with “some strong performances”. And the radio guy was really enthusiastic. “It was electric.” “A masterful performance from the whole cast”. Keep those words in your head when you go on tonight, and give this audience their money’s worth, just like you did yesterday.’
‘What’s the house tonight, Jessica?’
‘I haven’t checked yet, Phil. I’ll go and have a look.’ She stood up and took a few steps, discreetly trying to keep her weight on the heel of her injured foot, but sharp-eyed Stewart spotted it immediately.
‘Are you hurt, Jessica? What have you done?’
‘Nothing, it’s just a sore toe.’ She waved it away as inconsequential.
‘You have to be careful with toes. I had an ingrown toenail once that needed surgery. It got a very nasty fungal infection under the nail, right in the corner, and the doctor had to remove the whole thing.’
‘Yes, thank you Terence. It’s just slightly injured, nothing life-threatening I assure you.’
She hobbled to the box office. ‘How’s the house, Gerald?’
He didn’t say anything, just turned the computer screen towards her. Her face fell. About half the downstairs was booked, but the back half and upstairs circle were empty. She sighed.
‘Well, it’s not the worst house we’ve ever had. I suppose you saw the newspaper crit? It certainly hasn’t helped, has it?’
‘You can’t win with those things. If they’re too favourable the public think that some friend of the theatre has written it and they disregard it – if it’s unfavourable then they have an immediate excuse not to make the effort to go to the show.’
‘Remind me again why we do this?’
‘We’re keepers of the flame, my dear. Slaves toiling in the service of culture and history.’
‘And what if one day we tired of the struggle and just stopped toiling?’
‘Two words. Shopping Mall.’