comes to the door of the delicatessen,
followed by a young boy. ‘They robbed their grandmother’s tomb,’ says the
woman.
‘This
must be it,’ says Paul, pushing Elsa through a doorway between the two shops
where a sign-board announces:
Very
Much Club
Advanced
Theatre.
Followed
by Garven and the Princess they file along a bright-lit passage to a curtained
doorway. Here, tickets are being collected and sold by two lean. young men who
are accompanied by a group of supporters. One of them is Pierre who has now
grown a small beard and is wearing a white turtle-necked sweater and red velvet
trousers. His friend, beefy Peregrine, with Katerina leaning on him in a stupefied
way, stands by. Peregrine says to Pierre, ‘Here comes your tribe.’
A girl
holding a bundle of programmes comes forward to greet them. ‘Good evening,’ she
says. ‘I’m Alice.’ A young man standing beside her says, ‘I’m Ken.’
‘Really?’
says Elsa. ‘You don’t look it.’
Pierre
turns as his mother speaks. She is already causing a stir, but Pierre looks at
her languidly, as one well accustomed to absorb any shock. Katerina sways a
little, stands lankily upright for a moment, then leans back on bulky
Peregrine. ‘Am I on a trip or is she real?’ Katerina says.
‘Both,’
says Elsa.
‘We’d
better get to our seats,’ Paul says uneasily, taking Princess Xavier’s arm to
edge her out of the little crowd. Garven follows with an anxious, trapped look.
‘Wait a
minute,’ says Elsa, ‘I want to see these photographs.’ She pushes through a
cluster of people who, now somewhat hypnotised, make way for her.
On a
wall a poster announces the show ‘Peter Pan — Unexpurgated’, followed by a list
of the cast. This is flanked by numerous large stills of the play. An aged
baby-faced Peter Pan. with his elfin cap holds up to his old lips with knobbly
fingers a grandiose horn. The caption reads, ‘Miles Bunting, the Broadway veteran.,
plays Peter, the boy who never grew up.’
‘Well, Poppy,’
says Elsa to the Princess, ‘what do you make of this? Miles Bunting. Is it the
same Miles Bunting we used to work with during the war? Remember, at the
Compound?’
‘He was
a professor of something,’ says Princess Xavier, scrutinising the photograph.
‘He was never an actor,’ She turns to Paul. ‘Do you remember Miles Bunting?’
she says.
Paul is
looking over her shoulder at the photograph. Something has gone wrong, he is
thinking. Life can’t be like this, I simply don’t accept it. He says, ‘To me,
it looks the same man, greatly altered of course. Much fuller in the face. But
the mouth, the nose, the eyes, all the features in fact. The name alone could
be a coincidence, but the face…’
‘Lady,
you come to the wrong playhouse,’ says a man’s voice behind them.
A girl
laughs, then Pierre’s voice says, ‘My mother has come to the right place.’
‘And
there’s Wendy,’ says Elsa. ‘Who’s playing Wendy?’ Anyone we know or used to
know?’
‘Curly
Curtiss,’ the Princess reads in a loud voice from the caption. The picture is
that of a haggard and bony woman with glittering eyes and wild long white hair.
‘I don’t recall any Curly Curtiss, though, do you Paul?’
Paul
does not reply.
‘What’s
curly about her?’ Elsa says, peering at the picture.
Garven
says, ‘I think we ought to move on. I really think we should take our seats as
unobtrusively as possible.’
At
which Katerina comes out of her trance and gives a loud unearthly laugh.
They
troop into the little theatre, through the curtains held open impassively by
Pierre. He follows them, guiding them with his voice. ‘Right down to the front.
There are four seats reserved in the front row.’
The
theatre is already almost full. Someone in the audience has started to applaud
as Elsa and the Princess appear. Then a few others applaud merrily. ‘She left
her tiara in the bank,’ says someone.
‘Leave
her alone,’ yells
followed by a young boy. ‘They robbed their grandmother’s tomb,’ says the
woman.
‘This
must be it,’ says Paul, pushing Elsa through a doorway between the two shops
where a sign-board announces:
Very
Much Club
Advanced
Theatre.
Followed
by Garven and the Princess they file along a bright-lit passage to a curtained
doorway. Here, tickets are being collected and sold by two lean. young men who
are accompanied by a group of supporters. One of them is Pierre who has now
grown a small beard and is wearing a white turtle-necked sweater and red velvet
trousers. His friend, beefy Peregrine, with Katerina leaning on him in a stupefied
way, stands by. Peregrine says to Pierre, ‘Here comes your tribe.’
A girl
holding a bundle of programmes comes forward to greet them. ‘Good evening,’ she
says. ‘I’m Alice.’ A young man standing beside her says, ‘I’m Ken.’
‘Really?’
says Elsa. ‘You don’t look it.’
Pierre
turns as his mother speaks. She is already causing a stir, but Pierre looks at
her languidly, as one well accustomed to absorb any shock. Katerina sways a
little, stands lankily upright for a moment, then leans back on bulky
Peregrine. ‘Am I on a trip or is she real?’ Katerina says.
‘Both,’
says Elsa.
‘We’d
better get to our seats,’ Paul says uneasily, taking Princess Xavier’s arm to
edge her out of the little crowd. Garven follows with an anxious, trapped look.
‘Wait a
minute,’ says Elsa, ‘I want to see these photographs.’ She pushes through a
cluster of people who, now somewhat hypnotised, make way for her.
On a
wall a poster announces the show ‘Peter Pan — Unexpurgated’, followed by a list
of the cast. This is flanked by numerous large stills of the play. An aged
baby-faced Peter Pan. with his elfin cap holds up to his old lips with knobbly
fingers a grandiose horn. The caption reads, ‘Miles Bunting, the Broadway veteran.,
plays Peter, the boy who never grew up.’
‘Well, Poppy,’
says Elsa to the Princess, ‘what do you make of this? Miles Bunting. Is it the
same Miles Bunting we used to work with during the war? Remember, at the
Compound?’
‘He was
a professor of something,’ says Princess Xavier, scrutinising the photograph.
‘He was never an actor,’ She turns to Paul. ‘Do you remember Miles Bunting?’
she says.
Paul is
looking over her shoulder at the photograph. Something has gone wrong, he is
thinking. Life can’t be like this, I simply don’t accept it. He says, ‘To me,
it looks the same man, greatly altered of course. Much fuller in the face. But
the mouth, the nose, the eyes, all the features in fact. The name alone could
be a coincidence, but the face…’
‘Lady,
you come to the wrong playhouse,’ says a man’s voice behind them.
A girl
laughs, then Pierre’s voice says, ‘My mother has come to the right place.’
‘And
there’s Wendy,’ says Elsa. ‘Who’s playing Wendy?’ Anyone we know or used to
know?’
‘Curly
Curtiss,’ the Princess reads in a loud voice from the caption. The picture is
that of a haggard and bony woman with glittering eyes and wild long white hair.
‘I don’t recall any Curly Curtiss, though, do you Paul?’
Paul
does not reply.
‘What’s
curly about her?’ Elsa says, peering at the picture.
Garven
says, ‘I think we ought to move on. I really think we should take our seats as
unobtrusively as possible.’
At
which Katerina comes out of her trance and gives a loud unearthly laugh.
They
troop into the little theatre, through the curtains held open impassively by
Pierre. He follows them, guiding them with his voice. ‘Right down to the front.
There are four seats reserved in the front row.’
The
theatre is already almost full. Someone in the audience has started to applaud
as Elsa and the Princess appear. Then a few others applaud merrily. ‘She left
her tiara in the bank,’ says someone.
‘Leave
her alone,’ yells
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