Page 69
Mark sauntered off towards the Long Bar and looked back over his shoulder. Alex didn’t peel her eyes away fast enough. He caught her gaze and unleashed a heart-stopping grin. She slid down in her chair and hid behind her hair.
Twenty-Five
One month later
“Did you know that some of the National Theatre’s props and costumes are available for hire?”
A chorus of “oohs” and “ahs” slipped from the lips of Alex’s tour group of twelve theatre fans.
“With over 60,000 costumes in the theatre’s collection—all crafted in-house—your fancy dress dreams can become reality. If you’re looking for an enchanting Elizabethan gown or a knight in shining armor for a party or your Christmas celebrations next month, you’ve come to the right place. Why should the actors have all the fun?”
“Exactly,” said one excitable American visitor.
“And with a return to our starting point, this ends our backstage tour of the National Theatre. We hope you’ve enjoyed your afternoon with us. Thanks for coming, and we hope you’ll see one of our productions soon.”
The group enthusiastically applauded Alex for a job well done.
“I’d love to rent something for my themed wedding,” said a breathless bride-to-be as she handed Alex the fluorescent orange bib that all tour participants must wear. “Imagine dressing up in a gown worn on stage by Helen Mirren.”
“We’ll definitely look into it,” said her doting mother.
Alex grinned as they headed towards the bookshop. Mark was right. This job was a perfect fit. Her enthusiasm and extensive knowledge of the National made her popular with visitors and her bosses. She had only been handling tours for two weeks when she was pulled aside by her supervisor and praised for her professionalism and breezy presentation. Her favourite perk—besides helping at the stage door and interacting with the actors—was the free ticket to every production at the National. In order to provide insider commentary, tour guides had to be up-to-date on every play performed. Watching Britain’s best actors never felt like work.
It also didn’t hurt that with this job, she saw Mark more often, too. She spent more time with him on her breaks and after her shifts than she did writing on her laptop on the second floor.
She grabbed her peacock-blue wool coat from the cloakroom and skipped to Kitchen, the National’s café. Freddie munched on a half-destroyed piece of red velvet cake near the window, overlooking the South Bank terrace.
“Did you give away all the National Theatre’s deepest darkest secrets?”
“Every single one of them.” Alex sat down, adjusted her black pleated miniskirt, and let out a satisfied sigh. “You’ll never guess what happened this morning. I touched Benedict’s costume from Frankenstein. God, I love this job.”
“I filed countless dusty copies of ancient BBC scripts. I almost sneezed myself inside out. Look! My eyes are still bloodshot. Envious?”
“Not a smidge, sorry. But tell me…how was Moriarty’s appointment?” Alex looked at her phone. “It’s only twenty past five. I didn’t expect you here so soon.”
Freddie handed her a fork. “He’s fine. Turns out, his version of The Reichenbach Fall only resulted in a surface wound. Silly cat. I take a half day off, and it’s a false alarm.”
“Better to be safe than sorry, though.” Alex pulled her coat over her shoulders to kill the November chill creeping through the window.
“True. I would’ve bawled if it was serious.”
He shoved a large forkful into his mouth, mumbling through the cakey goodness. “But being stuck in the vet’s waiting room did have its benefits. Guess what I spotted on Twitter? A huge con combining Sherlock and Doctor Who in January.”
Alex gawped at him, dropping cake on the v-neck of her ruched purple blouse. “Seriously?”
“It looks pricey. Tickets go on sale next week, but I’m soooo going,” said Freddie. “I’ll deal with the financial punch to the face later. You’re in, right?”
“I hope so.” She swatted the cake crumbs from her boob. “The question is will my chequing account play along? I’m still waiting for my first payday.”
“Borrow off Lucy. Get her to crack her rainy day fund. If there ever was an emergency, this is it. You were excited touching Cumberbatch’s costume. How about touching HIM?”
“Cause of death: Benedict Cumberbatch.” Alex licked icing from her fork. “But actually, I’m more excited to meet Andrew Scott. They can’t leave out Moriarty, can they?”
Freddie’s fork flashed as he stabbed the last bit of cake. “He got swarmed at Sherlocked. They’d be fools not to include him. Maybe this time I’ll remember to show him a photo of my Moriarty.” He glanced upwards. “Speaking of Irish actors…”
Mark strode over to their table. “There you are.”
He nodded towards the foyer. “Lex, there’s a guy asking for you at the bar. He went to the box office first and had no joy, so he came to us.”
