Dead Room Farce (27 page)

‘I don't care how he treated her. He was always nice to me. But once she'd walked out, she wouldn't let us see him. The other two didn't mind, but . . .'

‘Did you try to get to see him?'

‘It was difficult . . . being away at university and . . . He didn't get in touch much. And I was worried . . . I didn't know whether he wanted to see me.'

‘And was that . . . I mean, when they split up . . . was that when you started to get ill?'

‘I'm not ill,' said Claudia Lear, with total conviction. ‘I'm fine.'

‘Well, when you started to lose weight . . .'

‘Maybe.' She shrugged. Then she let out a little laugh. ‘Mummy's livid about it, you know. To match her new, tarted-up image, what she wants her daughters to be is three perfectly groomed designer accessories.' She opened out her skeletal arms, and said with a note of triumph, ‘Well, she can't take me anywhere, can she?'

‘No. Going back to what I was saying, Claudia . . .'

‘Hm?'

‘Why didn't you tell your mother about your father's call?'

‘Because it was nothing to do with her. All she cares about is this bloody insurance. Daddy wasn't a person for her, just a means of getting some more money.'

‘So, if you did have proof that he didn't commit suicide, you wouldn't tell your mother about it?'

‘Why should I? Let her sweat. I hope she doesn't get the insurance money.'

‘It's not her you'd be doing out of it, though. It'd be you and your sisters.'

The bony shoulders shrugged. ‘Who cares? We'll get plenty of money one day.' She chuckled. ‘I don't mind paying a bit to see Mummy pissed off.'

‘And do your sisters share your view?'

‘God knows. I doubt it. They're a couple of mercenary bitches, just like Mummy.'

‘Hm . . . And when your father rang you, Claudia, that afternoon, would you say he sounded suicidal?'

‘No. If he had, I'd have told everyone. Mummy would've been really furious.'

‘So how did he sound?'

Claudia Lear drew her thin lips together as she tried to think of the right word. ‘Kind of . . . resigned, I think.'

‘Resigned to the fact that he was going to die?'

‘Maybe, but he didn't say that. I mean, he was very drunk and sleepy, so it was difficult to say exactly what he meant.' She looked at Charles with sudden pride. ‘He did say he loved me, though.'

‘I'm sure he loved you, Claudia.'

‘Yes.' She nodded with quiet satisfaction.

‘So . . . what exactly did he say?'

‘Well, he rambled, but . . . He said he'd got himself into something he couldn't get out of . . . that he was locked in . . .'

‘“Locked in”? He did actually use the expression “locked in”?'

‘Yes. I suppose he meant some business thing he'd got involved in . . .'

‘What else did he say? Did he mention anyone by name?'

‘Tony. He mentioned someone called Tony. Tony . . . Delaney?'

‘Delaunay.'

‘Yes, that's right. He said: “Tony Delaunay's got me locked into this, and there's no way out.”' A nostalgic smile came to the girl's thin lips. ‘And then he said he loved me.'

INSPECTOR CRUTTENDEN looks with amazement at Nicky, then back at Bob and Gilly
.

INSPECTOR CRUTTENDEN: But let me get this straight.
(He points at Bob
.) If you're not having an affair with this young lady, Nicky, who are you having an affair with?
Bob looks round the stage in desperation. He looks hopefully at Willie
.

WILLIE: No, no, you can't be having an affair with me.
(He smiles winsomely at Ted
.) I'm having an affair with Ted.

TED: No, you're not. This whole thing's a ghastly misunderstanding.

WILLIE
(taking his hand)
: Don't you worry your pretty little head about it.

TED: Ooh-er.

INSPECTOR CRUTTENDEN
(to Bob)
: So who are you having an affair with?

BOB: Erm . . .
(brainwave)
I'm having an affair with Ted too.

WILLIE
(slapping Ted's face)
: You two-timing slut!

TED: Ooh-er.

WILLIE
(turning on Bob)
: And you're no better, you . . .
(slapping Bob's face)
. . . you Judas!
During the ensuing dialogue, Ted creeps away to hide out of sight under the table, which he approaches from behind
.

LOUISE: Look, for heaven's sake, can we get some sense into all this, please! Ted is my husband . . .

INSPECTOR CRUTTENDEN
(taking out notebook to make notes)
: Right.

GILLY: And Bob is my husband . . .

INSPECTOR CRUTTENDEN
(making a note)
: Right.

LOUISE
(turning to look at Nick y)
: And Nicky is . . .

GILLY:
(also turning to look at Nick y)
: Yes, Nicky is . . .

INSPECTOR CRUTTENDEN: Come on, the young lady must be somebody's mistress.

LOUISE: Yes, yes, she's . . . erm . . .

GILLY: I say, you wouldn't like her to be your mistress, would you, Inspector?

INSPECTOR CRUTTENDEN
(looking lasciviously at Nicky and really attracted by the idea)
: Well, I wouldn't say no. Wouldn't mind a bit of . . .
(recovering himself and going back into his mournful mode)
No, I am very happily married to Mrs Cruttenden. Worse luck.
(turning beadily on Louise and Gilly)
Now come on – who's this young lady's lover?
Suddenly, as if goosed from behind, Aubrey shoots out from under the tablecloth, where he has been hidden since Act One. He still has his trousers round his ankles.

AUBREY: Ooof!

GILLY AND LOUISE
(triumphantly turning to point at Aubrey)
: He is!
During the ensuing dialogue, Ted emerges from beneath the table. Pulling the tablecloth over him as if it can make him disappear, he tiptoes towards the French windows.

AUBREY: What am I?

GILLY
(pointing to Nick y)
: You're this young lady's lover.

AUBREY: Am I?
(looking at Nicky and very much liking what he sees)
Fwoor! You know I've always fancied the younger woman.

NICKY
(looking at Aubrey and very much liking what she sees)
: And I've always fancied the older man.
They go into a clinch.

GILLY
(beaming at Inspector Cruttenden)
: So everything's turned out all right.

LOUISE
(also beaming at Inspector Cruttenden)
: Yes, and you can go back to the station.

INSPECTOR CRUTTENDEN: Yes.
(He turns to go to the front door, then suddenly stops and has a thought. He turns back
.) Except . . .

GILLY: Except what?

INSPECTOR CRUTTENDEN: I came here looking for an escaped convict.

LOUISE: Ginger Little.

INSPECTOR CRUTTENDEN: That's right, who is known to be in this vicinity, dressed as an Arab terrorist.

LOUISE: Oh yes.
By this point, Ted has reached the French windows, and is about to open them. With the tablecloth over his head, he does indeed look like an Arab terrorist.

GILLY
(pointing at him)
: Look, there he is!
Ted tries to escape, as the rest of the cast chase him round the stage. He trips, and all the rest of the cast pile up on top of him in a breathless heap. Ted's head is covered with the tablecloth. There is a moment's silence, then Ted lifts up the edge of the tablecloth and looks out at the audience.

TED: Ooh-er.

THE CURTAIN FALLS FOR THE END OF THE PLAY.

That was the fifth ending they'd tried. They'd introduced it for the Brighton week, which followed on from Birmingham. It didn't work any better than the previous four endings. Bill Blunden, however, was not disheartened. He knew his plays took a long time to get right. If
not on your wife!
didn't come together this time round, he was quite reconciled to the thought of its doing another tour the following year.

For Charles Paris, the continuation of the tour was not relaxing. Though he'd spelled out in considerable detail to Cookie Stone that their relationship wasn't working and needed to end, she seemed unable to take this idea on board. He would still continually find her looking at him wistfully with her soulful, surgically debagged eyes, waiting for some sign of his relenting. She clearly believed it was only a matter of time before he saw the error of his ways and came back to the haven of her waiting arms.

Being out of a relationship with Cookie was, in its own way, as exhausting as being in one. Charles Paris couldn't wait for the tour to come to an end.

Cookie Stone wasn't the only reason he felt that during the Brighton and Newcastle weeks. There was also the unresolved problem of Tony Delaunay.

Charles had had to be careful how he handled Claudia Lear. The girl's antipathy to her mother was so strong that he had to try to keep Lavinia out of it. Eventually he decided his only possible approach was complete honesty. He shared his suspicions with Claudia, told her he thought that Mark Lear had been murdered by Tony Delaunay.

It was a risk, but it paid off. Though the girl had had no suspicions of foul play, once the idea was planted in her mind, it generated fury and a strong desire for revenge. She was determined to bring to book the man who had killed her neglectful but beloved ‘Daddy'.

So, that very Sunday evening, while Charles was still there, and her mother still out of the room, Claudia Lear had rung the police in Bath.

And then . . . nothing happened. Or at least, so far as Charles Paris was concerned, nothing seemed to happen. Throughout the Brighton week, he kept catching Tony Delaunay's eye, only to be further goaded by the company manager's complacent smile of immunity.

One early evening, towards the end of the Brighton week, Charles tried to enlist Ransome George's help to nail the murderer. Ran had been involved in the original recordings, surely he'd be prepared to investigate further. Charles bought his fellow-actor a pre-show drink and tentatively raised the topic.

‘Forget it,' Ran said with a complacent smile. ‘I'm doing very nicely as it is. No way I'm going to upset the apple-cart.'

‘What do you mean – “doing very nicely as it is”?'

Ransome George gave the grin that, later in the evening, would bring the house down halfway through Act Two, and confirmed Charles's long-held suspicions. ‘Look, I've known about Bernard Walton's involvement in those recordings for years, haven't I? And the more famous he's got, the more it's been in his interests for me to keep quiet about it. That's what I mean by “doing very nicely”.'

‘So you don't deny that you're blackmailing Bernard?'

‘Ugly word – blackmail,' said Ran, in a way that would drag a laugh from the most recalcitrant audience in the country. ‘Let's just say we have an agreement.'

‘How many other people do you have “agreements” with? I suppose you've been blackmailing Tony Delaunay for years as well?'

‘No. It wouldn't matter to Tony. He's gay, anyway. And, apart from that, he's not a star. Nobody's that interested in what a company manager gets up to.' Even when it's murder, thought Charles. ‘But with Bernard,' Ran went on, ‘it works just fine, has done for years. Mind you . . .' He looked with sudden suspicion at Charles. ‘Now you know all the details, I wouldn't advise you to start trying to do the same thing.'

‘What, blackmailing Bernard, you mean?'

‘Mm.'

Charles was affronted by the suggestion. ‘I can assure you, Ran, there is no danger that I would ever do that.'

‘Good.' Ransome George sat back with another sleek, complacent smile. ‘Because at the moment the deal I have with Bernard is perfect. I get regular money – never ask too much, you know, doesn't do to be greedy in this sort of business. And then he sees to it I get parts in a lot of his shows too. Same kind of deal as he does for you, eh, Charles?'

Charles Paris was so flabbergasted by the accusation that, before he realised what he was doing, he'd lent Ran a tenner.

It was in Newcastle that the situation changed. For the first few days, Charles's frustration at his own impotence was as great as it had been in Brighton. Then suddenly, on the Wednesday, Tony Delaunay wasn't there. He'd been around for the matinée, but by the time the evening performance started, he had gone. By the beginning of the following week, in Cardiff, a new company manager had been appointed by Parrott Fashion Productions.

Details of what had happened to Tony filtered slowly through the
not on your wife!
company. Plain clothes policemen had apparently arrived at the theatre in Newcastle to interview him, and he had left in their company. Nobody knew why, and, preoccupied – like most actors – with themselves, nobody was that interested in the reasons for his departure.

By the time Tony Delaunay came to trial, charged with the murder of Mark Lear, the tour was over. Individual actors may have been shocked over their breakfast newspapers, but there was no company left to experience communal hysteria.

Not for the first time in his life, Charles Paris wondered how closely the police investigations had been shadowing his own. Even though their official enquiry didn't possess Lisa Wilson's information about the studio doors having been locked, some kind of researches must have been going on, to be presented at the adjourned inquest on Mark Lear. The police too must have been checking out the phone calls he made on the day of his death. And surely they too, in time, would have made contact with Claudia Lear.

Charles didn't talk to the girl again, though he often wondered about her, and how – if at all – her self-destructive relationship with her mother would be resolved. Lavinia Bradshaw had tried to reinvent herself, but Claudia's anorexia was part of the cost of that transformation, a constant reminder that the past can never be completely cut off.