Page 41 of Kiss Me at Christmas
“A collaboration?” The man rolled his tongue around therlike a tiger purring.
“Yes!” The relief was evident in her voice. “It’s all rather short notice, but I’m hoping you can help us. We’re putting on a production ofA Christmas Caroland we are short on numbers, and to be honest, we could do with some advice from experienced dramatists such as yourselves.” By the tone of his voice alone she could tell he was the sort who required flattery.
“And who, might I ask, are you?”
“Oh, ha! Yes, sorry. My name is Harriet Smith.”
“And the name of your society?” His boredom dripped through the speaker.
“My society? Oh, you mean our group! Um, we are a collective from Foss Independent School.”
“Students!” His tone was so scathing he might as well have declaredExcrement!
“Yes. Bright young things, full of enthusiasm and talent just waiting to be unleashed.” Was she hamming it up too much?
“And how manystudentsmake up this collective?”
“Five.”
“Five!Five, you say?”
“I was hoping you could add to our numbers.”
“You want the Great Foss Players, an amateur dramatics society renowned in several counties for their professionalism, to add to the numbers of aschool play?”
Oh, well, now he was just being rude.
“Not a school play, no. Our venue is the Winter Theater, and our production will be a one-night-only performance ofA Christmas Carolby Charles Dickens in front of the dignitaries and townsfolk of Little Beck Foss.” She didn’t know if there would be dignitaries there, but it sounded like the kind of bait Gideon might go for.
Incoherent blusterings ensued before Gideon Clarke rediscovered his voice.
“Preposterous! The Winter Theater has been defunct for half a century!”
Aha! Gotcha!
“It is being refurbished as we speak, Mr. Clarke.” She echoed his superciliousness. “And my students—handpicked by Ms. Evaline Winter—will be the first and possibly the last actors to tread its boards under that name.”
“Ooh-ahh-brrrr-hoho-ahem.” He was spluttering like an old generator. “Well now, that puts a different slant on things.”
“I thought it might.”
“Harriet, was it?”
“Yes.”
“Please call me Gideon.”
“Okay.”
“Leave it with me. It will be a huge imposition, of course. The Great Foss Players are much in demand, especially during the season of goodwill to all men. But I will see what I can do. If it is within our power to assist in bringing this production to fruition, then we are bound by the sacred code of thespians to help.”
Every word he uttered boomed.
“Thank you,” said Harriet.
“Have you approached any other dramatic societies for assistance?” he asked.
“Not yet,” she confessed.
