In the coming weeks, now that Jonathan had made his move to England, Mirren was engaged to help him edit hisActors’ Manual of Shakespearean Stagecraftready for its publication with Kelsey’s beautiful headshot of Jonathan on its jacket. Yes, Mirren and Kelsey weren’t the only ones using their talents to branch out.
‘I heard from Jonathan this morning,’ Kelsey called down to Mirren. ‘He’s nervous. Always is on opening night.’
‘You haven’t seen him in his costume yet?’ Adrian asked.
‘He flew in from LA late last night, went straight into a technical rehearsal and grabbed a couple of hours’ sleep at the theatre. This will be the first I’ve seen of him since Valentine’s weekend.’
Kelsey sighed at the memory of that day and that tense first meeting between Jonathan and Wagstaff. It hurt to think of it now.
After Adrian and Mirren had dashed out into the night in pursuit of Mr Ferdinand’s sneak paparazzo, father and son had been left, astounded and wordless, looking at one another. When Wagstaff had tried to shake Jonathan’s hand, he had shrugged him away. Matters only got worse when Wagstaff whispered the words, ‘my son,’ in a quiet voice so no one in the bar could hear but Jonathan.
Jonathan, close to tears, had turned his back on the old man, helped his mother to gather her belongings and they had walked out of the pub, rapidly followed by the rest of Kelsey’s little party.
Kelsey had kissed her own family and friends goodbye, thanking them all for coming, and they’d made their way to their homes and hotels for the night. It had been quite a day, and Kelsey had pushed Blythe in her wheelchair all the way back to St.Ninian’s Close, listening to Blythe’s long testimony about what a lovely grandson Adrian was and how she hoped Mirren would give him another chance.
Jonathan had only stayed in town for two more nights after that and even though it was lovely to spend time with his parents and they’d managed to steal a few romantic moments alone together while Art and Olivia toured the sights, the events at the Yorick had put a dampener on their Valentine’s reunion. Added to that, Jonathan hadn’t mentioned the ring at all, not that weekend, and not any day since then, and Kelsey had made her peace with the fact he’d been spooked out of proposing.
As long as they were together, with no apprehensions and no secrets, that was all that mattered, she told herself, and most of the time she believed it, but she had often found herself snapping open the little ring box over the long weeks while Jonathan was teaching his drama students in LA, and dreaming about what it would be like if he’d held the ring out to her and said the words he’d so carefully planned to say.
She sighed again and scanned the crowds. Somewhere in town – Kelsey hadn’t been able to locate them yet – Jonathan’s parents and his four younger sisters were waiting to watch him go by in the parade.
Olivia had cried with gratitude and relief when she heard about Ferdinand’s exposé being thwarted. Mirren had handed over the memory stick with the pictures and stories Adrian had gathered for her and Jonathan. Kelsey wondered if she’d looked through its contents yet. It hardly mattered though; the memories were there if they ever wanted them.
Kelsey knew that Jonathan had only taken a mild interest in Wagstaff after that day, but he had mentioned receiving a long letter from the old actor, sent via Jonathan’s theatre company, and whatever the letter contained it had certainly lifted Jonathan’s spirits after weeks in the doldrums. Perhaps there was hope for a better reunion yet.
In the distance, across town, Kelsey heard the sound of bugles and drums and the combined company musicians starting up with a jaunty Renaissance song. She stood up on the platform and lifted her camera to her eye, her heart pounding hard. The actors were on their way, with Jonathan among their number.
First, Kelsey’s camera captured a celebrity actor dressed as William Shakespeare. Kelsey recognised him fromCasualtyas well as his lead roles at the Stratford theatres over the years. He was wielding a white quill pen like a baton and leading the whole parade.
Following behind him were the main company players dressed in theirWars of the RosesandThe Winter’s Talecostumes. Their musicians marched alongside them and the medieval melodies and the cheers from the crowds filled the air.
At every leaded casement of every five-hundred-year-old building lining the route happy spectators threw handfuls of black and yellow confetti – the colours of the Shakespeare crest – into the air and they fluttered up in the spring breeze before floating down onto the people walking below.
Kelsey captured every actor as they passed, glancing quickly at Mirren who was furiously scribbling names, aided by Adrian who had his hands clasped around her waist and his head nestled softly over her shoulder.
‘You getting all this?’ Kelsey called, and Mirren shouted back that she thought she was.
The first of the floats went by and on its flatbed a pale Ophelia lay upon blue satin in place of the brook where inHamletshe drowns offstage. The crowds cooed at the sight of her fantastic garlands of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purple dead man’s fingers. The sight was eerie and beautiful.
The next floats passed by with scenes of King Lear raging against the storm, andOthello’s Desdemona sewing strawberries upon a linen handkerchief.
Kelsey captured them all on film and SD card, switching between her two cameras. TheExaminerwould run her digital shots and the gallery would sell her analogue ones, and she already knew which she’d prefer.
She wound her vintage camera on, pushing her thumb against the little lever, listening to the satisfying clunk of the film moving while the sun beamed down on the crowds at her feet. She spared the ghost of a thought for her dad as she always did when she worked his camera, and she smiled to herself.
Bringing the viewfinder to her eye once more, she scanned the street behind the floats. The next band of musicians passed, playing flutes and mandolins.Click, fired the shutter button.Click,click,click.
‘Can you see who’s next?’ Mirren shouted up at her.
‘Not yet, it’s another float I think,’ Kelsey called back.
This time the figure on the float was shrouded in a high black gauze that was suspended on posts like the curtains of a four-poster bed and sitting beneath it there was a great golden throne. Kelsey could see that the figure all in black on the throne was waving to the crowds and they were cheering back, throwing their confetti and waving their flags. It wasn’t until the float was passing right in front of her that Kelsey made out the wording on the banner, painted in intricate red script against black board and suspended over the waving figure’s head. It was a line from a play by John Webster. It read, ‘I am Duchess of Malfi still,’ and beneath it sat Blythe Goode, reprising her greatest role just for today in an antique black lace headdress, smiling bold and bright with all eyes upon her.
She met Kelsey’s astonished gaze and blew her a kiss as she passed and Kelsey documented the moment on film forever.
‘Gran wanted to surprise you, made me promise not to say anything,’ Adrian was shouting up at Kelsey who had by now dissolved into happy tears for her friend and her neighbour, the woman who had brought her so much happiness and given her so much good advice but who in the end had learned a lesson herself from her young photographer friend about seizing life in the here and now.
Kelsey barely had time to compose herself before she saw him at the back of the crowd, walking in costume with the rest of the cast ofLove’s Labour’s Lostwith his co-star Peony on his arm, and the devoted Will Greville close by Peony’s side. The Oklahoma Renaissance Players were looking out at the crowds and smiling and waving but Jonathan had his eyes trained on Kelsey.
