A Night in Belgravia

A Night in Belgravia

The conversation upstairs did not go well. A nasty exchange. "I thought we made it clear to you last time," said Fagot. "After Evita... You thought we wouldn't come back? You thought we wouldn't notice anything? You don't think that fire near the Albert Hall was an accident, do you?" There was silence from the sofa. It was all a bit much being lectured by a scarecrow. History repeating itself.

This odd scene may not mean anything to you, but to the figure on the sofa it was all too familiar. Years of planning gone out the window, which was beginning to bend and shudder as the wind picked up outside. Four o'clock and all's not well, he thought. It was a disaster. The Tartar horsemen are shaking their spears on the glass.


Fagot continued, "This time you wanted to steal the whole damn thing? Behemoth is still upset over Cats and Margarita hated Evita. The Master can't even bring himself to see Jesus Christ Superstar." He paused then went on, "You're just lucky Woland finds Phantom so amusing, and he's pleased you've done a sequel. But don't think you can make a musical about Harlequin. Stick to bad Hollywood movies." Fagot stopped beside the Russian masterpieces on the wall of the study. Copies all, except for the Picasso. Unsellable... The trophy wall. Fagot looked at him more gently: "But we did like your idea of casting Amy Winehouse as Margarita. How nice that you wanted to save her. She was one of ours you know."

Side quest: pick your musical: Jesus Christ Superstar, Cats, Evita or Phantom of the Opera...


His checkered visitor left the way he came in, out the window, which now was thrown open and a dark wind poured into the room. A rook on the balcony laughed raucously before flapping off into the dark after its boss. Our hero closed the window, then went over to the computer and sat down. Perhaps he could blame Otto, the cat. Perhaps it ate his music. No one would believe that but it was an amusing thought. He typed: "I’ve decided it’s un-doable. It’s just too difficult for an audience to contemplate. It’s a very complicated novel."


Across town, a fire was breaking out in Oxford Street.