Who could have wanted Saul dead?
BY EIRIN THOMPSON
WHEN it happened, I was assistant to the assistant stage manager at the Dewbury Arts Theatre.
What, you might ask, are the duties of the assistant to an assistant stage manager?
Good question.
I can’t speak for other theatres, where I’m pretty sure the role doesn’t even exist, but my job was basically dogsbody, making tea and soothing fractious relationships.
The production in rehearsal was a magic show by the much-admired Saul Selshion.
Saul was a master of his craft. He did everything from card tricks to escapology, and he was launching a new tour – four weeks in the provinces, then straight to London’s West End.
He’d chosen our theatre to get the show ready, which was exciting for us.
I liked Saul. He had a dry sense of humour and treated even the lowliest worker, like me, with courtesy.
“Saffy, go and fetch Mr Selshion a cappuccino,” Hattie, our ASM, instructed me one afternoon.
“Don’t bother,” Saul piped up. “I’m going to catch forty winks in my dressing-room before the dress rehearsal.”
“Certainly, Mr Selshion,” Hattie replied. “Let us know if you require anything else.”
As Hattie couldn’t bear me not to be busy, she told me to brush and mop the stage.
Dogsbody: I wasn’t joking.
It was while Saul was taking his nap that a glamorous woman came striding into the auditorium, looking very determined.
“Who’s that?” I asked Hattie, who was sitting in the front row sipping a latte as I worked.
Hattie turned to look.
“That is Mrs Saul Selshion – Jennifer, to her friends.”
“It looks like she’s on the war path,” I observed.
“Hi, Mrs Selshion,” Hattie called out. “Mr Selshion is in the star dressing-room. Would you like me to show you the way?”
“I’ll find it,” Mrs Selshion snapped back and went marching off.
“She’s not exactly friendly, is she?” I remarked.
“Really? I didn’t notice,” Hattie replied, unable to admit to being snubbed.
I was just thinking about changing the murky water in my mop bucket when we heard it – three quick bangs, right out of the blue.
“Those sounded like gunshots!” I exclaimed.
“Don’t be silly,” Hattie scoffed. “Who would be firing a gun round here?”
Before we could speculate on what else might have made the sounds, Saul’s producer, Eric, came running into the auditorium, closely followed by Nick, who devised the stunts.
