Shadow Play

‘Good heavens, no! To make a success of my career, of course.’

He burst out laughing. ‘Don’t tell me that’s the ambition of every single girl, because I don’t believe it.’

Nell smiled, pleased that she’d made him laugh. ‘Well, it happens to be mine and that of most of my friends.’

‘Until the right man comes along.’

‘Or the wrong one,’ she said pensively, then quickly said, ‘How about you; don’t you have any dreams?’

The sun was shining brightly through the window. Ben got up, pulled up the blind, and would have opened the window, except that it was a modern air-conditioned building and the windows wouldn’t open. He banged an annoyed fist against the frame. ‘I feel like a caged animal in here.’ He turned, gave her a moody look as she sat waiting for him to answer. ‘No,’ he said harshly, ‘I don’t have dreams any more—just nightmares.’

Nell blinked, taken aback, but was even more surprised when Ben said, ‘Come on, let’s get out of here.’

Picking up a microcassette recorder, he headed for the door. Grabbing her bag, Nell followed at a run.

‘Where are we going?’

‘Just out. Anywhere. I’m fed up with being cooped up inside. I need to stretch my legs.’

Considering how long his legs were, Nell wasn’t surprised. When they got out of the building he turned left and strode along the pavement at a brisk pace. Nell grabbed his arm. ‘Hey, slow down. I can’t keep up with you.’

He glanced down at her. ‘Oh, sorry. You’re awfully short, aren’t you?’

‘No,’ Nell answered, annoyed. ‘You’re awfully tall.’

He grinned at that, and took her arm to propel her more than help her across the road.

It was one of the best things about London that there was always a park or open space somewhere near by. They had only walked for a few minutes before they turned in the gates of one, the trees and lawns making a green oasis in the heart of the city. Ben’s pace immediately slowed, as if the tension had suddenly gone out of him. ‘I was wrong,’ he said. ‘There is one ambition—dream, if you like—that I have: to own a house in the country, a place with a garden that isn’t overlooked.’

‘An old thatched cottage with roses round the door?’

He grinned. ‘Trust a woman to think of the house first. I hadn’t given it a thought; all I’ve imagined is the garden and being out in the open instead of stuck over a word processor. I envy the old writers who could work anywhere, or someone like George Bernard Shaw with his garden house.’

‘Are the machines our slaves or are we the slaves of the machines?’

‘Quite.’ Ben smiled again and turned to look at her. ‘I’m not used to walking with someone as short as you.’

So how was she supposed to take that? Nell wondered. Wryly she said, ‘I suppose all your girlfriends are tall and willowy. Very fashionable.’

‘Is it? I should have thought it was a great advantage to be short. All the tall girls have to find taller men, whereas short girls can choose from the whole range.’

‘There is that, I suppose,’ she admitted. ‘But I’m not that short.’

Ben took the cassette recorder from his pocket and held it ready. ‘Now, that scene we were discussing...’

Soon they were absorbed in the adaptation, but not so deeply that Nell didn’t notice how pleasant it was to work like this, to breathe in the fresh air and feel a slight breeze in her hair, to walk from shade into sunlight, to smell the flowers in the beds and to hear the birds singing happily on this summer afternoon. It was easier out here, too, to discuss the wedding-night scene and how it should be handled. Anyone passing by, though, might have been startled to overhear their conversation as Ben said, ‘The whole sex act shouldn’t take longer than a couple of minutes,’ and Nell added,

‘No, and they should both have their nightclothes on the whole time.’

They sat on a seat while Ben dictated into the recorder and made good progress. But at three-thirty he glanced at his watch. ‘We’d better be getting back so I can collect my car. I have to do some shopping on the way home.’

‘More ready-made meals?’ Nell said with a smile, creating the opportunity she wanted.

‘That’s right.’

She hesitated for just a moment, wondering if she wasn’t being too precipitate, but then said casually, ‘I’m having a dinner party on Saturday night. If you’d like to sample some home cooking, you’d be very welcome to come and join us.’

Ben had been walking unhurriedly along, his arms loose at his sides, but now she felt him tense and saw him put his hands into his pockets. Damn! she thought angrily. He thinks I’m making a pass.

There were a couple of women pushing baby-buggies coming towards them. Ben moved to walk round the other side of them, giving him, she realised, time to compose a tactful answer. He smiled at her and said, ‘That’s very kind of you, Nell. I’d certainly be grateful for a good meal, but I’m afraid I’m going away this weekend. But ask me again, will you?’

‘Of course,’ she said with a polite smile. ‘I’ll let you know next time I have another dinner party.’

So that was that, she thought, feeling hurt. He obviously didn’t want to know, even though he’d been very polite and tactful about it. But so what? She’d only felt sorry for the guy. It was his loss, not hers. She would still have the dinner party; she usually gave one a month anyway, but she had brought it forward in the hope that Ben would come. When they reached the office he picked up his briefcase, said goodbye, and left in a hurry.

Nell sighed. She’d made her invitation as casual as possible, stressed that there would be other people there, but she had obviously scared Ben off. Going to the window, she watched as he drove out of the underground car park. He drove an ordinary estate car, which surprised her; she’d expected him to own something more sporty and powerful. Maybe he really was going away for the weekend, she thought. Or perhaps he already had a steady relationship and didn’t feel free to accept invitations from other girls. I suppose I should have asked him to bring a friend, she mused, and then laughed at herself. She wasn’t interested in Ben’s friends, wasn’t even sure that she wanted to be interested in him.

They worked together amicably enough for the rest of the week, but on Friday she did some shopping in the lunch-hour, letting him know that the dinner party was going ahead. The wedding-night scene was finished to their satisfaction, although Nell had strongly disliked having to read through the dialogue aloud, to make sure it ‘felt right’, as Ben put it.

‘I’m not an actress,’ she protested. ‘And, anyway, it sounds OK to me.’

‘Written dialogue often sounds stilted when it’s spoken. I always like to go through it aloud. And that way, too, you can get more idea of how long the scene will take.’

‘What do you do when you’re working alone?’ Nell asked.

‘Then I have to run through all the parts myself.’

‘Do that now, then, and I’ll listen and make any criticism I think necessary.’

Ben raised an eyebrow. ‘What have you got against reading it yourself? Don’t tell me you’re shy.’

‘No, of course not,’ Nell snapped back. ‘But I’m no good at that kind of thing; it will sound all wrong.’

‘Let’s just try it, shall we?’ he said on a patient note.

Nell flashed him a look, wondering why, when she’d so openly said that she didn’t want to do it, he should still expect to have his own way—and get it, too! Picking up the script, she started to read through the heroine’s lines, doing so in a clipped, short tone that lacked any emotion whatsoever.

‘Hey! Stop!’ Ben commanded. ‘What’s the matter with you? Put some feeling into it.’

‘I am.’

‘But you’re not. Look, like this.’ Standing up, he read through some of the husband’s lines. He had a good voice, quite deep, and was able to put almost as much emotion into it as an actor. ‘Now try,’ he instructed her.

Nell began to speak the lines again, and this time, almost against her will, she made them sound more realistic. Enough to satisfy him anyway. But it was so obvious that she didn’t like doing it that when they’d finished Ben said to her, ‘Aren’t you happy with that scene?’

‘Yes, it’s fine.’

‘You don’t behave as if you are.’