There was a cross between a moan and a cry from the set. “He quoted from the play we never mention,” Mummy wailed. “The Scottish play. Now we are cursed, doomed. Something terrible will happen.”

“It will be fine, Claire,” Mr. Goldman soothed. “The boy doesn’t know any better. But I don’t want him on set upsetting my stars. You say you’re related to the Tudors?”

“Oh, absolutely. Oodles of Tudors in the old family tree,” Algie said. He went to lean nonchalantly against a rough stone wall only to find it was a flat that teetered and again he had to be grabbed by a stagehand.

“Well, I guess we could use an extra script consultant, seeing that you know the Tudors personally,” Mr. Goldman said, eyeing him dubiously. “And that you’re a longtime friend of our Georgie.”

“Can we get on with this?” Stella snapped. “How am I supposed to stay in character if we keep being interrupted every second? And I know it must be tough for Claire too, playing such a young woman.”

A few days ago Mummy was her bosom friend, I thought. I wondered why this sudden hostility now? Perhaps Juan was showing interest in my mother. Perhaps Stella had suggested my mother for the part because Mummy was older and a has-been and thus not a threat. But now it was clear that Mummy was a better actress and looked better too. They went back to work but the tension level was still extremely high. Were they all thinking what Mummy had said about the curse of Macbeth? I knew theater people were terribly superstitious.

We broke for lunch in the cafeteria. It looked so funny to see everyone in costume eating American food. When we came back to the studio after lunch there was still tension in the air. The afternoon dragged on. I was definitely wishing I was back beside the pool and wondering if I dared summon the car when the door opened, sending a shaft of light across the set. Mr. Goldman swore, yelled “Cut!” and swung around. “What now?” he bellowed.

Ronnie came toward him, looking more worried than usual. “Real sorry to interrupt, Mr. Goldman, but I’ve just had your wife on the telephone.”

“My wife? What does she want now?” Goldman growled.

“She’s heard about your shopping spree in Europe—buying stuff for the castle,” Ronnie said, wincing as he said it.

“So? What of it?”

“She thinks you’ve gone crazy and you’re turning the place into a Gothic nightmare—her words, not mine, sir. She’s flying out this weekend to see for herself.”