THE PLAY

The restaurant was crowded with shop clerks and business people when Victoria and Nigel arrived. The faint strains of an electric harp followed them as they threaded their way through the cacophony of chatter filling the room. Peering through stands of artificial bamboo, Victoria found Susan waving from a tall booth across the wide room.

"Now remember, Nigel, you can do this. Don't say more than necessary; be clever and creative when you do." She took his arm and steered him through the jigsaw of diners to the waiting Susan.

"Victoria, how wonderful to see you." The two women traded phantom kisses and sincere hand clutches. "And this must be your famous nephew." Susan held out a slender hand in greeting.

"This is Susan Ho," Victoria said, "Susan, my nephew Nigel Stainway."

"It uh, it's a great pleasure, Miss Ho." He felt his neck heat at the bright, beautiful smile on her lips and the touch of her hand.

"Please Nigel, call me Susan. It's my pleasure as well. Let's sit, shall we?"

For several minutes, they traded polite conversation, with Nigel revealing his impressions of Canada, and particularly, Ashton Hills. Susan watched his face attentively, nodding and smiling at every utterance, leaving Nigel to trail his eyes about the room, at odds with the young woman's intense gaze.

"Oh that accent! It just sends shivers through me." Susan blushed and waved an apology.

Victoria cocked an eyebrow, at her nephew's own crimson features, sharing a wink above the rim of her glass. "Susan," she began, setting the glass down. "You said you were searching for material for a play?"

"Yes. Yes I am. We want to do something new this season, something fresh and clever." She wiggled on the banquet, bumping legs with Nigel. "The council, well Milo," she waved a delicate hand, "was leaning toward a Noel Coward type comedy, you know, clever dialogue, vivid characters." Nigel's head swung like a well oiled gate to stare at his aunt who shut her eyes and gave his shin a sharp nudge. "I was hoping that, well since Nigel here is a playwright, we might convince him to lend a hand. Maybe you have something in your uhm, aah..."

"As a matter of fact, Nigel is working on something right now. Aren't you dear?" Victoria turned an encouraging face to her nephew. "It could be just the thing you're looking for."

"Really?" Susan bounced excitedly closer to the cringing Nigel. "Would you tell me about it? I'd just die to hear."

So would I. He cleared his throat and tried a smile. "Well, it's just in very rough outline form at the moment, I don't–" The appearance of a short, bland faced Chinese man, presenting menus, thankfully interrupted his excuse, and Nigel quickly grasped the opportunity to delay his answer. "Ah, yes. Would you be good fellow and bring us some water and then hear our selections."

Victoria winced, delivering another, sharper kick to his shin. "Nigel, this is Victor Wang, the principle of this lovely establishment.

"And also of Miss Ho. She is my fiancée." Victor puffed himself up to his full five and one half feet and gazed with slit-eyed suspicion at Nigel.

"Victor dear, this is Victoria's nephew, Nigel Stainway. He's a playwright from England whom I'm hoping to enlist in helping with our theatre program this summer." Susan diplomatically pulled her fiancée's stiff hand across to Nigel, encouraging their manners.

"So sorry, sir. I had no idea... I mean I thought..."

"Victor understands, don't you dear?" She soothed, keeping hold of his hand as it returned smartly to his side. "Why don't we forget these," she said, gathering up the menus, "and you fix us one of your special lunches. Victor is an absolute genius in the kitchen." Nigel and his aunt smiled enthusiastically, nodding their eager approval. Absorbing the praise, Victor gave a curt bow and with a parting glint at Nigel, vanished amidst the bamboo like a jungle warrior.

Lunch progressed pleasantly enough, with Nigel learning the names and ingredients of several mysterious dishes and marveling at the unfamiliar flavours. Susan even tried patiently to instruct him in the use of chopsticks, but after loosing several portions onto his lap and the floor, he went back to the safety of a fork. When the main courses were over, and they were relaxing with mango and green tea ice cream and a tiny cup of rich coffee, the conversation returned to the summer theatre.

"You were going to tell me about your writing."

"Uhhhmmm..."

"Nigel is very shy talking about his talent, Susan," Victoria jumped to the rescue. "Perhaps it would be a good idea if he were to visit the playhouse, you know, actually see where the action will take place. I'm sure he'd feel more comfortable knowing the uh, advantages our theatre offers." She took a moment to preen before continuing. "Theatre artists need to feel the heart, to inhale the very soul of the surroundings in which they are to perform... or in this case, write."

"I see." Susan agreed, impressed. "What a great idea. What do you think, Nigel?"

"I've already made arrangements for Nigel to take in a performance of The Wedding Room on Friday. If you're available, Susan, maybe he could sneak a visit backstage afterwards."

"No problem. I can meet you after the show in the lobby and we'll do a little tour." Another bright smile, returned with a weak imitation.

"Marvelous. Until Friday night then, and thank you so much for this delicious lunch. Please give Victor our regards, won't you?" Victoria slid out of the booth, slinging her purse over shoulder and beckoning Nigel.

Out in the street Nigel was worrying the air with his hands. "Victoria, this is a big mistake. I can't–"

"Nonsense. You can do whatever you set your mind to." He hopped after her, as she marched down the street, mussing his hair on the low hanging scallops of the awning in front of the flower shop. "You'll go Friday night. Tour the theatre, meet the people, and then over the weekend we'll create a play."

"Over the weekend! Victoria, I've been writing since I was a boy, with nothing to show. How can I possibly write a play over the weekend?"

"Tut-tut, my boy. Think positively, your auntie will be there every step of the way." She made an abrupt right turn and crossed the road without a pause, leaving Nigel to slalom dangerously, around the mid-day traffic.

THE COMINGS AND GOINGS

Grace Winston emptied the grounds from her coffee maker and poured a steaming mug, carrying it to the sunroom off the kitchen. Thank god it's Friday, she thought, happy to be home for a long weekend, free of scheduled appointments. She would be liberated from the hospital for three days, barring emergencies. Gathering up her negligee, she curled herself onto the hanging basket chair in the corner of the room, closing her eyes and letting her mind drift with the gentle sway of the chair. The hand delivered invitation to the Richardson party lay opened on the edge of the wicker table in the corner, the airy script of the message proclaiming an informal open house for residents on The Pathway. Grace would have to work next Wednesday, but she would be home by nine, not too late, she reasoned, to make an appearance. It might be very interesting, especially if the two bachelors attended... unescorted. Grace smiled to herself and sipped thoughtfully from her coffee mug.

Gliding back to the kitchen, she rinsed her mug in the sink and started back across, pausing in the doorway to decide what she wanted to do. Across the wide stretch of lawn that separated her house from the Osborne's, Daryl casually peered around the window drapes, catching her in a backlit stance, her long body a tantalizing shadow behind the lacy negligee. He let out a slow breath, pushing his face closer to the glass, devouring the provocative image.

"Don't get your tongue on the glass, darling, it leaves a smudge."

Daryl jerked backed guiltily, turning to find his wife sitting at the table applying ointment to the inside of her thigh.

"I was just looking at the grass. We seem to have some ah- a few more weeds than usual."

"Right."

"What are you doing there?" He walked over and sat down across from her.

"Putting some antibiotic on this little cut." She massaged the greasy substance into her leg, looking up at him past her eyebrows.

"How'd you do that?"

"I don't know. Something bit me I guess." She smirked, recalling Allen's muffled apology for his exuberance.

"Well don't blame me," he chided, trying for a little jocularity. "Did you see the invitation from the Richardsons?"

"Ellen gave it to me last night. I said we'd be there, okay?"

"Sure, if you want." He toyed with the salt and pepper shakers. "I'll drink all the asshole's liquor; teach him to vote against me at council."

"I'm sure Ellen heard the same friendly comments when she told him you were invited. Try to be civil for a change, Daryl. After all, we are neighbours and Ellen is a friend." Tiffany put her leg down and screwed the top back on the tube of cream.

"Is ah, everyone on the street invited?"

She gave him a slow, studious look, her lips curled in a smile beneath flat eyes. "Yes Daryl, everyone has been invited."

"Mmmmh,okay. Good." He stood and started out of the room, unable to resist anotherpeek through the window at Grace's house.