Page 56 of Kiss Me at Christmas
“No. I’membarrassedthat you brought it up andannoyedat myself for not chasing it sooner.”
“Sometimes things get pushed to one side when we’re busy. It’s easily done.”
“I don’t imagine you let anything slide, no matter how busy you are.”
The splinter in her heart smarted, like it always did, reminding her of irreparable things.
“Catastrophic failure is a good motivator.” The words were out before she’d had time to check them, but when she saw his look of concern, she pushed a smile onto her face and walked briskly back to the group before he could ask more questions.
James sat opposite Harriet, sandwiched between Billy and Ricco, a well-used copy of the book held loosely in his hands, long fingers turning the browned pages, one ankle resting on the opposite knee. Today he had swapped his suit for a black cable-knit sweater, dark blue jeans, and a pair of chestnut-colored Chelsea boots. He looked surprisingly at home discussing Charles Dickens. She wished she didn’t find him quite so nice to look at.
“The movieScroogedwith Bill Murray did it reallywell,” James suggested, which to Harriet’s delight was met with enthusiastic agreement from Ricco and Carly.
“I agree. What did you have in mind, Billy?” Harriet asked.
“We were thinking maybe we could do a modern-day version, you know, keeping the dialogue the same, but really changing it up like Baz Luhrmann did withRomeo and Juliet,” Billy suggested.
“Certainly not!” A deep baritone voice echoed around the theater.
Everyone on the stage turned to see a man in a tweed cape with matching trousers and a bright green shirt protruding from his cape flaps striding down the middle aisle. A gaggle of equally colorful characters followed behind him.
“I cannot control what happens behind the film camera lens, but the purity of Dickens upon the stage will not be polluted on my watch!” the man continued. He stopped abruptly halfway down the aisle and held up his hand for the people behind him to do the same. Harriet was getting strongToad of Toad Hallvibes. He looked to be well into his seventies, though his hair—thick and swished to one side à la George Michael during the Wham! years—was the color of canned pineapple.
Harriet recognized his pitch and condescension from their phone conversations.
“Mr. Clarke,” she called, standing and making her way to the edge of the stage.
“Please.” He smiled graciously and opened his arms wide to encompass the whole stage. “Call me Gideon.”
“Gideon.” She smiled back, hoping he couldn’t hear the snickering from behind her. “Thank you for joining us.”
“Where there is drama, there are the Great FossPlayers!” He swept down into a low bow, his cape flaps flopping forward, then straightened and turned to the people behind him, presenting them to the group on the stage with a flourish of his wrists. They in turn bowed in an exaggerated way that gave the impression of being here to serve while assuring everyone present that they in fact only deigned to be here as a kind of theatrical rescue party.
“Great!” Harriet smiled widely.
“May I first draw to your attention the distinct lack of wheelchair access,” said Gideon. “It wasn’t at all ideal for Mallory to have to wheel herself through three miles of corridor to reach the auditorium.”
“Oh gosh, yes, of course, you’re absolutely right. So sorry about that, Mallory.” Harriet addressed the woman in the electric wheelchair, who was dressed in layers of autumnal-hued knits, with chopsticks holding up a barely contained bun of gray curls on the top of her head. “Ken is working on getting the lift up and running again as soon as possible.”
As she said this, two members of the maintenance team arrived carrying a ramp to fit against the stage.
“Ken thought you might need this,” one of them said jovially as her colleague helped her to clunk the ramp into place. They gave a cheery wave and a “Tally ho!” and left the auditorium.
“Okay.” Harriet smiled, feeling relieved; the last thing she wanted to do was alienate one of the actors who’d come to help them. “Let me introduce you to the team,” she said, and she went around the circle calling out each student’s name while gesturing toward them. The students mostly scowled at the newcomers, though Isabel managed a halfhearted wave and Leo gave a side nod from his position on the floor.
By this time Gideon had skirted around the orchestra pit, his cane—seemingly more accessory than necessity—tapping on every stair with a metallic clack as he ascended the steps to the stage. Once atop it, the rest of the Great Foss Players looking up in hungry anticipation, he flapped one half of his cape back over his shoulder and waved his cane around the circle of chairs.
“And who, if any, of you have theatrical experience?” he boomed. Isabel quaked visibly, and Billy slid farther down in his chair. The others raised their hands with varying degrees of confidence.
“They are all studying drama, theater, and English literature, or variations of the arts,” said Harriet when no words from her students seemed forthcoming. “So they are familiar with stage plays in general, and they each have an excellent grasp of this particular text. They are all keen to be hands-on with the process, aren’t you!” She smiled benevolently at her students, who, under her encouragement, seemed to find their voices again. Carly, Ricco, and Isabel sat straighter as they responded with more confident yeses. “And Leo has designed our backdrops; as you can see, he’s a talented artist.”
Gideon viewed them down his long nose, and his eyes flickered over Leo’s backcloth.
“And who is this?” he asked, pointing his cane at Sid, who grinned back at him like a cartoon cat.
“This is Sid, Billy’s younger brother and honorary member of the team,” Harriet said.
“Do you want to be on the stage, young man?” Gideon boomed.
