Casting Samson (16 page)

Saturday morning, the day of the pageant, Deborah awoke with feelings of both excitement and apprehension. She was reluctant to get out of bed, but duty forced her to rouse herself, and she struggled to sit up as Molly Kemerton came in with a cup of tea.

“You shouldn’t be waiting on me, Mum!” She pushed her heavy fringe out of her eyes.

“This is your big day, love. You’ve been working so hard for this. Your Dad and I will walk down to the green later this morning. I have to admit that I’m quite excited about it myself.” She sat on the edge of the bed and looked at her daughter. “Josh telephoned last night. I had to tell him you were out, but he said it didn’t matter and that he’d see you today. What happened with you and Bernard last night?”

Deborah sipped her tea and shuddered. “Oh, Mum, it was awful. Bernard wants me to go back to London with him—”

“But I thought you said that was what you were going to do—”

“London, yes, but not with Bernard. He was almost begging me. He was just telling me that I could have my old job back when Clara Babbacombe came in saying that Alan had broken his arm, so Bernard said he’d take his place in the pageant, and before I could say anything Clara was thanking us both and arranging for me to take Bernard to the meeting place this morning.”

“So is that what you’re going to do?”

“I haven’t any choice. Clara Babbacombe was hailing Bernard as the saviour of the pageant!”

“No, I mean about your old job in London. Are you going to take it?”

“Well, it was good money and would do while I found something else.”

“And what about Bernard? I know your father doesn’t like him but the boy must be keen to keep coming down here to see you.”

“Oh, I don’t know, Mum, everything’s so…” Deborah bit her lip. “I told Bernard I’d give him an answer today.” She glanced at the clock. “He’s calling for me, so I’d better get moving.”

Molly Kemerton gave her head a slight shake as she moved to the door. “Just be careful, Deborah. You don’t have to rush into anything.”

The toot of a horn told Deborah that Bernard was at the door. He grinned at her as she climbed into the car beside him.

“So how’s my girl this morning?”

“I am not your girl. I’m just showing you the way to the pub.”

“That’s if we can ever pull away,” Bernard muttered, hunching over the wheel. “I didn’t think Moreton was ever this busy.”

“It will be the market traders, mostly, and maybe a few people coming in to see the procession.”

The sky was overcast, and a stiff breeze was blowing over the large car park of the Happy Landings, where the lorries for the floats had assembled, decorated with flags and banners for the occasion. Anne greeted Deborah and Bernard with a distracted smile.

“Hi, Debs. Alan’s handed all his notes over to me, so I’m doing my best to organise everyone. Is this the young man who is going to be Alan’s replacement?” She held out her hand. “Welcome to Bedlam. We’re not due to set off from here until eleven, and Jane Lovett from the stables has phoned to say she’ll bring the horse up about ten. Clara is sorting costumes in the pub, and they’ve laid on tea and coffee for us, if you want a cup before you get changed. Deborah—have you got a moment to help out? Most of the Brownies and Cubs have arrived, but there’s no one to look after them. I wonder if you could round up some of the older Guides and Scouts as minders…”

As the morning wore on the chaos increased. The vicar was helping Godfrey Mullett to organise the floats into the correct sequence, while Les Cookham, leader of Moreton Brass Band, complained to Anne that their flatbed lorry was much too small, and Moses, a portly matron resplendent in purple bedsheets, wandered up and down past the floats, asking if anyone had seen the Ten Commandments. Once Brown Owl arrived, Deborah helped her gather the Cubs and Brownies into the children’s room. They spent the next half hour turning them into angels and fixing tea towels over the heads of the Scouts and Guides to indicate that they were either Philistines or Egyptians.

She heard the throaty roar of an exhaust and looked up to see a lime-green car pulling up. As Josh eased himself out, she recognised his companions as the other members of Four Front. With a blast of the car horn they zoomed away, and Josh headed for the pub to get his costume. He passed the door of the children’s room but although he gave Deborah a quick wave, he didn’t stop.

Her spirits drooped. They hadn’t seen each other for nearly a week, and he hadn’t even bothered to speak to her. Of course she knew why—he would be feeling guilty, ashamed that he’d traded information about her parents to get a restaurant of his own from Alan Thorpe.

Looking out the window, Deborah could see Bernard leaning against the bonnet of his car, talking into his mobile phone. He’d come down from London with one aim, to take her back with him. He was confident, successful and used to getting his own way. She was flattered he still wanted her, but the knowledge didn’t cheer her at all. In fact, she had never felt more desolate in her life.

Anne frowned over Alan’s notes while Les Cookham hovered at her shoulder.

“Let’s see, Samson’s float is that one with the polystyrene pillars, then there’s Moses, so according to this the band should be on…Oh, now I see what’s happened,” she said at last. “David and Goliath have got your float. Let’s go and ask them to swap everything over.”

A few minutes’ discussion and it was all arranged. Anne watched as a contingent of Scouts removed the cardboard walls of Jericho and hurriedly rebuilt them on the bigger trailer.

“This one’s much better,” Les remarked as he lifted the chairs up onto the float. “Plenty of room here. After all, wouldn’t want to lose the second trombone halfway through a Souza!”

A number of well-wishers had turned up to watch the proceedings, and Anne found herself constantly removing extraneous dogs and small children from the floats. Rita Tring arrived with Hilda Gresham, carrying several large boxes.

Rita beamed at Anne. “Right, where do you want the Ten Commandments? I know officially they were written on only two tablets of stone, but we thought if we made extra cakes we could give pieces out to the crowd after—for a donation, of course.”

“What? Oh, yes, great idea.” Anne pointed. “There. That lorry’s for you. The pile of sandbags is Mount Sinai. You can store your cakes on there while you go and get changed.”

“Right.” Rita turned, and as she did so she caught sight of Yvonne making her way to her float. “Oh, my God, what does she look like?”

Anne blinked. “Sorry?”

“That Willetts woman. Look at that dress, neckline cut open to the navel. Who does she think she is, Liz Taylor? Someone should tell ’er she’s playing Delilah the slag, not Cleopatra.”

Anne smiled but thought it prudent not to say anything. Rita went off to store her cakes and Anne glanced down at her lists again. The wind tugged at her hair, sending it across her face to block her vision.

“Hello.”

Cruel fingers seemed to twist at her insides as she recognised the voice. Misery and the memory of one marvellous, passionate night and hideously disastrous morning ran through her body in a mix of hot steam and icy water. She turned slowly. Toby sidestepped a child carrying a large and unstable ice cream and stood looking at her, hands pushed deep into the pockets of his jacket, shoulders hunched against the wind.

Anne found some relief in anger. “What are you doing here? Offering your services as historical adviser, perhaps. I’m sure if you try hard enough you’ll find something to criticise!”

“Anne, I wanted to apologise. What I said—”

“What you said was unforgivable,” she told him in a low voice.

“I know, and I’m sorry. I was hurt, when I thought that you’d used me—but later, when I thought it over, I knew I was wrong.”

A small hand tugged at her jumper. “Mrs. Lindsay, Brown Owl wants to know when we can get on the lorry.”

“Not yet, Jasmine. We have to wait until everyone is ready.” She turned back to Toby. “Look, I’m sorry, I don’t have time for this now. This pageant is far too important to me, despite
your
efforts to sabotage it!” She turned away, but not before she’d seen the hurt in his face.

“D’you mind if I hang around, watch the procession?”

Looking at her formidable list of notes and aware of the chaos around her, Anne felt close to panic. “I don’t care what you do,” she said crossly.

“Anne! How’s it going?” Alan Thorpe was walking up to her, one arm held across his chest in a white sling.

She gave a small cry of relief. “Alan, thank God you’re here! We’re nowhere near ready. Ross McCready is sick and can’t make it, and there’s no sign of Jane Lovett yet with that damned horse—”

“Don’t worry, Godfrey can look after the Scouts, can’t you Godfrey?” He raised his voice to attract the older man’s attention.

“What’s that? Oh, hello, Alan. How’s the arm?”

“Painful, and a damned nuisance. Anne was just saying we’ll need some help with the Scouts—Ross McCready’s off sick.”

“Of course I’ll help with the lads.” He patted his pocket and smiled at them. “It’s a good job I brought extra supplies of sweets today.”

“Thanks.” Anne forced a smile. “And perhaps you’d keep an eye on Sam Stansfield—playing Goliath. He’s been winding up the other boys all morning.”

“There, what did I tell you?” Alan grinned as Godfrey Mullett marched off in search of the Scout troop. “And Jane will be here, trust me. I expect she’s stuck in traffic. Never seen so many cars pouring into the village.” He glanced over her shoulder. “Was that Professor Duggan you were talking to when I arrived? Arrogant devil, turning up here. I hope you told him where to go.”

She glanced round in time to see the professor’s silver convertible leaving the car park.

“Yes,” she said flatly. “I suppose I did.”

Out of the chaos of the morning, the procession of floats gradually took shape, and at ten-thirty Jane Lovett’s Range Rover pulled into the car park, a large horse-box swinging precariously behind it.

“Sorry I’m late!” Jane called, jumping down. “Dulcis decided to cast a shoe at the last minute and we had to make a quick swap.” She opened the tailgate of the horsebox and led out a huge grey horse.

“Meet Murphy.” Her smile faded as she looked at Alan. “Good God, what happened to you?”

“Slipped off a step.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. But you can’t ride Murphy like that.”

“I don’t intend to. We have a stand-in.” Alan nodded at a figure marching towards them.

Deborah watched Bernard stride up, his grey knitted chain mail and cardboard armour looking very realistic. Someone had given him a lance made from a curtain pole with a white pennant attached. He caught her eye and grinned. He seemed to be saying to her,
Look at me, I’m your knight in shining armour.

“Well, very impressive!” Jane Lovett nodded at him approvingly. “And Murphy will take your weight, no problem.”

Alan stepped forward. “Bernard, isn’t it? I’ll just run through the procedure for you again. You will lead the procession down the road here, past the church and over West Bridge to the green, then bear left onto Drakes Walk, the road around the northern edge of the green. It’s been arranged that any spectators will be on the south side, so it should be clear. Walk on until you come to the far end of the green, just before the High Street, and stop there. The floats will pull up along that north side of the green—there should be enough room for them all, then you will walk slowly back along the front of them while Mr. Bodicote says a few words over the PA system. Once you’ve reached the other end, each of our little groups will do their bit. When they’ve all finished, you will ride back to the front of the procession and lead everyone off through the High Street and across Eastgate Bridge. Take your first left after the Bridge into North Lane, opposite the Yew Tree Restaurant, and that will bring you back to the Happy Landings. Got all that?”

Bernard nodded. “Simple enough.”

Hilda Gresham came over clutching a large bundle.

“We made a saddlecloth—you know, it goes over the horse’s back and hangs down around his legs. We thought it could go over the saddle, and we’ve slit it so that the young man can use the stirrups.”

“That’s super, Hilda. The red crosses are just right. Will the horse be okay with it?” Anne looked at Jane, who nodded.

“Don’t see any problem. Let’s get it on.”

Murphy took exception to the fluttering material and backed away, rolling his eyes.

“Whoa, there,” Jane steadied him. “He’ll be fine once you get going. Steady as a rock. The only thing he really doesn’t like is donkeys, and there’s none of those in the procession, I hope.”

“No.” Alan turned to Bernard. “Well, young man. This is it—you’d better climb aboard. What do you think, Anne?”

She shrugged, thinking of Toby. “Purists might say it’s not accurate, but it’s close enough—after all, this is an entertainment, not a history lesson. Okay, that’s everyone ready now, I think. We’ll just make a final check of the lorries.” She looked at Deborah. “I’ll be finished here in a couple of minutes and I promised Alan a lift down to the village—do you want to come? If we set off as soon as I’ve made the final checks, I should be able to get the car into my garage before they close the road.”

Diversion signs had been set up on the approach to the village, and Donald Carrick the community policeman was directing those who’d come to watch the pageant to the large makeshift car park in a nearby field. He grinned when he recognised Anne’s car.

“Morning, Mrs. Lindsay. Going home? I’d advise getting there as soon as you can, there’s dozens turning up to watch your carnival.”

“Good! Will you be able to watch it too?”

“I’ll see it pass here, of course, and I want to get down to the green to see them do their little plays—our Wayne’s a Philistine, you know—but the traffic’s heavier than we anticipated. I’ve put out a call for another car to come and give me a hand, and Sergeant Potter’s gone to ask Bertram Oldfield if he’ll let us use his north pasture as a car park for t’other side of the village.”