Love in Another Town. Barbara Taylor Bradford

we did it at Bennington all those years ago,’ Maggie cut in knowingly, smiling. ‘That’s it, isn’t it?’

      Samantha sat back in her chair and regarded her friend intently for a moment, then she shook her head slowly. ‘No, not at all.’

      ‘And I thought you’d chosen it for sentimental reasons.’ Maggie made a face and shrugged. ‘Oh silly me.’

      ‘Sentimental reasons?’ Samantha echoed.

      ‘Of course. We were nineteen and rapidly becoming fast friends. Best friends, actually. We’d both fallen in love for the first time; also, we were treading the boards for the first time. In The Crucible. It was a very special year for us, but you’d forgotten, hadn’t you?’

      ‘No, I do remember that year at college. It was 1971. In fact, I thought about it only the other day. And in a way you’re correct. When I selected The Crucible I was playing it a bit safe, because I do know it so well. But when I said I chose it for another reason it was because Arthur Miller lives in Connecticut and we’re a Connecticut theatrical group. So, call me sentimental if you like, Mag.’

      ‘You are a sentimentalist at heart, even though you like to pretend you’re not,’ Maggie answered.

      ‘Maybe I am,’ Samantha agreed and laughed. ‘Although there are those who call me bossy.’

      ‘Oh you’re that all right!’ Maggie shot back, laughing.

      ‘Thanks a lot, friend. Anyway, getting back to the play, you know it pretty well too, and that’s going to be a decided advantage when you start designing the sets.’

      ‘You do realize I’m very worried about this whole project, don’t you, Sam? I can’t imagine how I ever let you talk me into it. I’ve never designed a stage set in my life.’

      ‘But you have designed some beautiful rooms, especially lately, and anyway there’s a first time for everything. You’ll be okay, you’ll do fine.’

      ‘I wish I felt as confident as you sound. To tell you the truth, I’m not sure where to begin. I read the play through again last night and my mind went totally blank. In fact, I balked at the project. Are you certain there’s no one else to do the sets for you?’

      ‘There isn’t, Maggie. Besides, you’re only suffering from a touch of stage fright, and that’s quite normal. Look, you’ll be fine as soon as you pick up your pencil and start sketching. Trust me.’

      ‘I’m not so sure I should do that, Sam. When I’ve trusted you in the past it’s only got me into a heap of trouble.’

      ‘No, it hasn’t,’ Samantha countered and pushed her chair away from the card table. She stood up, walked across the stage, gesturing as she did.

      ‘You’ll have to create some sort of major scenic backdrop here, Mag, and the furniture must be representative of the period. Early American, obviously. But you’re an expert on furniture, so I don’t really know why I’m even mentioning it.’

      Samantha swung to face her old friend. ‘I see something dramatic in my mind’s eye, something really unusual for the backdrop. Black and white, maybe even a few greys, something like a painting in grisaille. What do you think?’

      Maggie rose and went to join her, nodding as she did. ‘Yes!’ she exclaimed, sounding excited by the project for the first time. ‘I know exactly what you mean. It needs to be stark. Bleak almost. Certainly sombre, very eye-catching as well. I think the set has to be a little offbeat, not the usual thing. Let’s take the audience by surprise.’ Maggie raised a brow. ‘Don’t you agree?’

      Samantha grinned at her. ‘I sure do and I knew you’d catch the bug, once I got that clever little brain of yours working. You’re so talented, Maggie, and very imaginative, and I’m certain you’ll come up with exactly the right thing.’

      ‘I hope so, I’d hate to let you down –’ She broke off, looking thoughtful, then added, ‘You know, I think I’ll drive into New York later this week, pick up some books on theatrical design and stage sets.’

      ‘Yes, do that. No, wait a minute, there’s no need to go into Manhattan. Try the bookstore in Washington and the one in Kent. I know they’re both well stocked. They have everything from soup to nuts.’

      Maggie laughed, as always amused by her friend’s colourful expressions, as she had been since their college days.

      The two women stood centre stage, discussing ideas for the backdrop and the sets for a few minutes longer. At one moment Maggie went and got her notebook, began to sketch rapidly, all the time listening to Samantha and nodding.

      Both women were forty-three and good-looking, but they were strikingly different in appearance and personality.

      Samantha Matthews was of medium height and slim, with prematurely silver hair cut short with a fringe. The silver colour did not seem at all ageing since she had a youthfully pretty face and a fresh complexion. Her large eyes, set widely apart, were dark brown and full of soul.

      Energetic, enthusiastic and gregarious, she had an outgoing personality and a friendly nature. Somewhat given to taking control, she liked to be in charge. Nonetheless, she was kind, good hearted and easy to get along with.

      In contrast, Maggie Sorrell was tall, willowy, with the brightest of light blue eyes that were, at times, highly appraising. Her thick mane of chestnut hair was shot through with auburn lights and she wore it brushed back and falling to her shoulders. Although her face was a little angular and arresting rather than pretty, she was attractive and appealing in her looks.

      Maggie had a fluidity and a gracefulness when she moved and she appeared to take things at a more leisurely pace. But she had as much energy and vitality as Samantha. Very simply, her style was slightly different. It was calm, controlled, and she was the quieter and more reserved of the two. And yet she was a vibrant woman, full of life and optimism.

      Even in their style of dressing they were true to themselves. Tonight Samantha wore what she termed her uniform: well-tailored blue jeans, a white cotton shirt, a black gabardine blazer with brass buttons, and highly polished black oxfords with white socks.

      Maggie, who tended to be less tailored, was dressed in a full, three-quarter length skirt made of brown suede, matching suede boots, a cream silk shirt and a brown cashmere stole flung over her shoulders.

      Both women had a casual style about them which reflected an understanding of clothes and what suited them; it also bespoke their privileged backgrounds.

      Best friends since college days, they had remained close even though they had been separated by thousands of miles for many years. They had managed to meet quite frequently, at least twice a year, and they had spoken to each other on the phone every week for as long as they could remember. Maggie had moved to Connecticut eight months ago, after a dreadful upheaval in her life, and they had become inseparable again.

      The banging of a door at the back of the theatre startled both women, made them jump. Automatically they swung around, peering into the dimly lit auditorium.

      ‘Oh, it’s only Tom Cruise,’ Samantha said immediately, a look of pleasure settling on her face. She waved with a certain eagerness to the man walking down the aisle towards the proscenium.

      ‘Tom Cruise,’ Maggie hissed, grasping Samantha’s arm, following the direction of her gaze. ‘Why didn’t you tell me, for God’s sake! Has he moved here? Is he taking an interest in the theatre group? Oh my God, I hope he’s not slumming, doing a part in the play just for kicks. I’ll never be able to design the sets! Not with a real pro around.’

      Samantha burst out laughing. She said, in a low voice, ‘As far as I know, Mr Cruise is still living in Westport. The guy walking towards us could be him though, and that’s why I call him Tom Cruise.’

      Maggie let go of Samantha’s arm as the young man walked across the stage to join them.

      ‘Sorry