A Dark Coffin

‘Max always knows everything,’ said Stella. ‘He is very helpful.’

‘When it suits him.’ Coffin had made it his business to find out about Max since he was now so much a part of his wife’s business life with the way he ran the theatre catering – very well, it must be said. Coffin wanted to know. Max had come to England from Northern Italy as a young lad, after the war; he had come on his own, with no money, to make his fortune, which he was in a fair way to do. Coffin reckoned he would die richer than the Chief Commander himself ever would. Starting in a small way, Max was getting richer.

Stella was practical. ‘Will you know the Macintoshes again after all this time?’

‘I think so, unless they have changed a lot, but they will look older. Max said that they told him someone had given them a box.’

‘Oh, that will make it easy, there are only two boxes. One on each side of the stage between pillars of the old church that could not be used. The sight lines are poor but you can hear well.’

‘I’m surprised there are boxes … I thought it was a theatre in the round.’

He’d been doing his research, Stella thought with amusement.

He read her mind. ‘I’m interested in the theatre. Like to have been an actor, I know I couldn’t have been, no talent but the interest is there. Unusual in a copper, I suppose.’

‘What about me?’ Coffin had the feeling he was being left out.

‘You married into it.’

‘I married you, Stella,’ Coffin observed mildly. ‘Not the theatre.’

‘Same thing. I wonder if you would have married me if I hadn’t been an actress.’

‘But you wouldn’t be Stella,’ he said unanswerably and honestly.

Stella looked enraptured. She came over and kissed him. ‘You angel … you do know the right things to say.’ Then as she drew away: ‘Mind you, I’ve told you before that you are a bit of an actor yourself.’

Then she turned her attention back to Harry, and Coffin wondered once again about the man in Rome. American, wasn’t he? Probably not a bit important to Stella but he wished he was sure. That kiss just now, not like Stella as a rule, she played it cool in public. Perhaps she felt she owed him something.

‘I can feel evil,’ said the nightwatchman to one of the ushers. He intended to stay to see the performance: not only an old performer (in a humble way, an extra at Elstree, a chorus boy, a man who walked on), he had also fought in the war. He wanted to see.

‘Oh, come on with you, Albie,’ said the usher. ‘There’s Miss Pinero coming in with her husband and a friend. No evil when she’s around, she wouldn’t allow it. Keeps the discipline, that one. And look at her smile, such a happy smile.’

‘Fool,’ muttered the old man. ‘Evil has nothing to do with discipline or a happy smile. It’s like blood, you can smell it.’ All the same, he smiled himself at Stella as she went past in a gust of Jolie Madame. ‘Evening, Miss Pinero.’

* * *

They were late to the theatre. ‘Excuse me,’ said Harry, disappearing. ‘Won’t be a minute.’

Stella and Coffin waited. Weak bladder, Stella thought. She had a performer’s bladder herself and felt no discomfort till the show was over.

Harry returned with an apology – ‘Sorry’ – and followed Stella as she led the way to their seats and although Harry Trent looked around him, he didn’t see the Macintoshes.

‘Already in their seats.’ Stella led the way to the special house seats always reserved for her and her friends.

The young and ambitious producer, Monty Roland, had decided to make his mark on the world with this production: there would be no interval (something no management liked because it cut down bar profits, but he was too young to think this mattered or was any concern of his), it would break the mood, but the pace would be fast and there would be a party afterwards.

For celebrities, critics and his friends.

Harry was looking around him as they settled in their seats, but the lights were already being lowered, slowly shade by shade, so that people seemed to recede into the shadows. ‘Can’t see them, can’t see into the box.’

‘Perhaps they are in the other box, on the prompt side.’

Harry did not know which was the prompt side, but he could see into one of the boxes which was full of teenagers. ‘No, I can see into that one, and it’s not them. Their grandchildren maybe, if they have any.’

The other box was very dark, but there might be two figures sitting there. Yes, there were, you could just make out the shapes. Harry relaxed a little.

‘Oh, grandchildren, had they, do you think?’ Stella was always interested in personal details, it was one of the things that made her a good actress, because she carried within herself a compendium of people’s behaviour, their relationships, desires, ambitions, loves and hatreds. She had this reservoir to call upon when required to build a part.

‘I believe there’s a daughter.’

Stella was clearly about to ask about the daughter, but all the lights went out, and heavy, complete darkness descended upon the theatre.

It lasted for a long moment, then a distant thunder of artillery fire.

Then silent darkness again and the Last Post sounded.

The curtain went up on a trench in Flanders, World War One.

‘I don’t know anything about that, she may be dead,’ said Harry hastily to get his word in before the action started on stage. He looked at his programme and fidgeted a little while Stella smiled at her neighbour on the other side, an actor she knew and had played with but who was currently out of work.

Harry turned to Coffin. In a low, uneasy voice, he said: ‘I feel as though my brother is here. I can sense him.’

‘Oh, come on. You always were one for a bit of a rigmarole, Harry. I remember when we worked together and I used to enjoy it. But now … look around. Can you see him?’

‘I don’t need to see him,’ muttered Harry as the actors began to speak.

Coffin did his best to attend to the performance, it was a duty that Stella expected of her spouse, but his attention kept wandering. He found he enjoyed the extract from Journey’s End more than he expected but after that he went back into his own thoughts.

No interval, unluckily, but he would telephone to find out how the girl was holding up the minute the show ended. If there was any trouble on the streets the message would get to him anyway. He had left instructions on that score.

As the curtain came down to enthusiastic applause from the audience, which Monty had carefully packed with friends and relations, Stella leaned across to Harry. ‘Wasn’t bad, was it? I think Monty might develop very nicely. He’s a bit mannered now, of course.’

‘You mean the soldiers in underpants?’ said Coffin.

‘That was just to show they were dead, Monty wanted shrouds or naked, but I said not.’

‘I think you were right.’

Stella ignored this. ‘Harry, Monty’s having a party backstage to celebrate, we must all go. You’ll enjoy it.’

But Harry had his eye on the box in which he could see two figures still sitting.

‘I want to see the Macintoshes first.’

Coffin said that he would come too, he would take the chance to see if there were any messages for him. No riot tonight, or he would have been plucked from his seat already.

Stella was moving ahead out of their seats and down the aisle, greeting people as she passed. ‘See you at the party, then.’