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Authors: David Stuart Davies
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yourself.’
Darke shook his head vigorously. ‘No, no, my sweet, I never was in any danger. You don’t think I am so irresponsible that I would put my own life at risk?’
‘Yes, I do. I saw you climb into that bag and it being set alight.’
‘Illusion. You saw what I wanted you to see. It was a trick.’
Carla looked mystified. ‘How?’
‘Simple. The sack had a secret opening which allowed me to slip through a trap door in the stage. As I did so, I slipped a rag dummy into my place in the sack. I then made my way under the stage to the wings and thus up into the flies while you and the rest of the audience gazed in wonder and horror as the rag dummy was consumed by flames. So you see, my darling, I was never in any danger.’
Carlaslapped Darke’s shoulder hard. ‘But I didn’t know that. I thought that…’
He moved forward, took her in his arms and kissed her.
‘I didn’t realise that you’d be so concerned. I just wanted to surprise you, that’s all. Do you forgive me?’
Carla could not help but smile. ‘I suppose so,’ she said warmly.
‘Good. Well let me make it up to you by treating you to supper. There’s quite a pleasant little place called Leonardo’s just around the corner from the theatre. Let me get this stuff off my face and take you there.’
Carla discovered that Leonardo’s was not just ‘a pleasant little place’ but was in fact an impressive and expensive Italian restaurant. They were greeted warmly by the head waiter, who obviously knew Luther Darke as a regular customer.
The dining room was very busy, but a table had been reserved for them at the far end by the window. Darke ordered a bottle of claret before settling in his seat. ‘I’ve hardly had a drink all night,’ he explained.
‘So, are you abandoning your career as a painter for a life upon the stage, Mr Merlin?’ asked Carla tartly as she surveyed the menu casually.
Darke chuckled at the thought. ‘I think not, my sweet. This is my first and last week as a stage illusionist. I just wanted to see if I could do it. It was a challenge. As you know, I have always been fascinated by the thin line that exists between illusion and reality, by what we think we see and what we really see. It’s been very useful in my detective work. I was just putting some of my theories to the test. And now the experiment is over. Of course, I will honour my contract with the theatre but on Saturday night, Merlin the Magnificent will pack away his equipment and his silk turban and like one of his doves, disappear from the scene.’
Theirconversation was interrupted by a sudden commotion in the restaurant. A newly arrived customer was shouting angrily at the waiter. He was a short, red-faced man with thick-set features and an arrogant gait. ‘Don’t contradict me!’ he boomed, waving his arms wildly. ‘I booked a table two days ago, damn you!’ Many diners, disturbed by the noisy outburst, turned to watch this extraordinary demonstration.
The little Italian waiter cowered away from him. ‘Apologies, sir. I will arrange a table for you immediately.’
‘I should think so,’ came the loud, ungracious response.
‘Charming fellow,’ said Carla.
‘I know the chap,’ said Darke quietly, leaning forward. ‘Well, at least I know his face. It is familiar to me…’ He snapped his fingers. ‘Ah, yes. It’s Charles Stone, the property developer.’
‘I’ve heard of him,’ said Carla, wrinkling her nose. ‘He doesn’t seem a particularly nice individual.’
Darke raised an eyebrow. ‘Name me a property developer who is?’
A waiter brought the wine. Darke declared it excellent and downed a full glass before the waiter had time to pour any for Carla. They made their choices from the menu and soon forgot about the obstreperous customer and his manic behaviour for the moment, but towards the end of the meal Charles Stone’s strident voice was heard again. This time he appeared to be complaining about his food
Darke shook his head vigorously. ‘No, no, my sweet, I never was in any danger. You don’t think I am so irresponsible that I would put my own life at risk?’
‘Yes, I do. I saw you climb into that bag and it being set alight.’
‘Illusion. You saw what I wanted you to see. It was a trick.’
Carla looked mystified. ‘How?’
‘Simple. The sack had a secret opening which allowed me to slip through a trap door in the stage. As I did so, I slipped a rag dummy into my place in the sack. I then made my way under the stage to the wings and thus up into the flies while you and the rest of the audience gazed in wonder and horror as the rag dummy was consumed by flames. So you see, my darling, I was never in any danger.’
Carlaslapped Darke’s shoulder hard. ‘But I didn’t know that. I thought that…’
He moved forward, took her in his arms and kissed her.
‘I didn’t realise that you’d be so concerned. I just wanted to surprise you, that’s all. Do you forgive me?’
Carla could not help but smile. ‘I suppose so,’ she said warmly.
‘Good. Well let me make it up to you by treating you to supper. There’s quite a pleasant little place called Leonardo’s just around the corner from the theatre. Let me get this stuff off my face and take you there.’
Carla discovered that Leonardo’s was not just ‘a pleasant little place’ but was in fact an impressive and expensive Italian restaurant. They were greeted warmly by the head waiter, who obviously knew Luther Darke as a regular customer.
The dining room was very busy, but a table had been reserved for them at the far end by the window. Darke ordered a bottle of claret before settling in his seat. ‘I’ve hardly had a drink all night,’ he explained.
‘So, are you abandoning your career as a painter for a life upon the stage, Mr Merlin?’ asked Carla tartly as she surveyed the menu casually.
Darke chuckled at the thought. ‘I think not, my sweet. This is my first and last week as a stage illusionist. I just wanted to see if I could do it. It was a challenge. As you know, I have always been fascinated by the thin line that exists between illusion and reality, by what we think we see and what we really see. It’s been very useful in my detective work. I was just putting some of my theories to the test. And now the experiment is over. Of course, I will honour my contract with the theatre but on Saturday night, Merlin the Magnificent will pack away his equipment and his silk turban and like one of his doves, disappear from the scene.’
Theirconversation was interrupted by a sudden commotion in the restaurant. A newly arrived customer was shouting angrily at the waiter. He was a short, red-faced man with thick-set features and an arrogant gait. ‘Don’t contradict me!’ he boomed, waving his arms wildly. ‘I booked a table two days ago, damn you!’ Many diners, disturbed by the noisy outburst, turned to watch this extraordinary demonstration.
The little Italian waiter cowered away from him. ‘Apologies, sir. I will arrange a table for you immediately.’
‘I should think so,’ came the loud, ungracious response.
‘Charming fellow,’ said Carla.
‘I know the chap,’ said Darke quietly, leaning forward. ‘Well, at least I know his face. It is familiar to me…’ He snapped his fingers. ‘Ah, yes. It’s Charles Stone, the property developer.’
‘I’ve heard of him,’ said Carla, wrinkling her nose. ‘He doesn’t seem a particularly nice individual.’
Darke raised an eyebrow. ‘Name me a property developer who is?’
A waiter brought the wine. Darke declared it excellent and downed a full glass before the waiter had time to pour any for Carla. They made their choices from the menu and soon forgot about the obstreperous customer and his manic behaviour for the moment, but towards the end of the meal Charles Stone’s strident voice was heard again. This time he appeared to be complaining about his food
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