Ghost Song (36 page)

‘That is our famous British truth,' said Hal coldly. ‘Reznik, I will do what I can to help you with the practicalities of your brother's death if you wish it—perhaps there are papers that would be needed—papers you do not have…' He let the sentence remain unfinished, and Flora saw at once that this, even more than Hal's Foreign Office standing, had struck some kind of chord in Anton. His eyes flickered, but he did not speak. After a moment, Hal said, ‘And so you must accept what I have said.'

‘I will accept it for the moment, for I do not waste my time fighting what cannot be defeated. I will deal with my brother's death by myself.' He broke off, then looked from Hal to Flora. ‘But one day I will destroy you,' he said. ‘One day I will destroy both of you for what happened to my brother.'

I
T WAS A MATTER OF
mild interest to those who moved in thespian circles or in the raffish world of the music halls, that the Tarleton was being refurbished and electrified that November. The management was looking towards the Christmas season, said people, and hoped there would be a lively panto this year. The Tarleton's rivals said sneeringly that if the place were to be plastered with silver and gilt and given electricity from roof to cellars, it would still be what it had always been: a gaff, a former blood-tub, fit only for the vulgarians.

Another section of the community was currently wondering whether there was any truth in the rumour that Sir Hal Chance had made moves to acquire the freehold of the theatre, and with an air of elbow-nudges and sly winks, asked if his deepening
friendship
with the infamous Flowered Fan could possibly have anything to do with this.

‘I don't know how these things get out,' said Hal to Flora over lunch at Kettner's. ‘There've even been a few comments in the newspapers.'

‘I know. I'm sorry about that,' said Flora. ‘It's the juxtaposition of our two names more than anything else. The sum is greater than the parts.'

‘I don't mind it, you know. And that photo of us in the
Morning News
was rather a good one, I thought. Well, it was good of you, at any rate.'

Flora said the
Morning News
was a gossipy old rag and Hal grinned.

‘In any case, it's perfectly true that I'm interested in buying the Tarleton,' he said. ‘That's why I invited you out today to tell you about it properly. I've made an approach through my solicitors, to enquire if the present owners might negotiate a sale.'

‘And will they?'

‘They're being a bit guarded but the signs are very good indeed,' said Hal, eating partridge au choux with apparent enjoyment. ‘They've already agreed to make last year's accounts available to my solicitor.'

As the main course plates were removed and the pudding brought, Flora found herself struggling against a feeling of inadequacy. Hal Chance had a title and a house in Kensington and an office in Westminster. He helped his masters deal with diplomats and people in foreign embassies, and he prepared reports for cabinet ministers about far-flung places with outlandish names which were part of the British Empire. He had solicitors who did his bidding and provided him with complicated-sounding balance sheets. I wouldn't know a balance sheet from a laundry list, thought Flora, and I wouldn't know how to go about buying so much as a potting shed.

I suppose I may as well go to bed with him if he asks me, she thought, dismally eating Kettner's exquisite charlotte russe; it's all I'm likely to get and at least I'd have it to remember when I'm old. Because Minnie will be proved right: when it comes down to it, all he'll want is four bare legs in a bed and no marriage lines on the mantelpiece.

Then Hal said, ‘It's a massive undertaking, buying a place like that. If I think about it too much it rather daunts me. I've never actually bought any property before—I inherited the house I live in at the moment, so things have been handed to me in a neat parcel so far.' He smiled at her and Flora instantly felt better. ‘But I'd like to buy it if I can,' he said. ‘Providing it isn't ridiculously expensive and the fabric's sound. Somehow, I always think of it as your theatre.'

So it wasn't entirely a question of a good investment after all. Flora said carefully, ‘That's not because of what happened there that night, is it?'

‘Stefan Reznik's death? No, certainly not.' He paused, and then said, ‘That's all over, you know. The inquest brought in the verdict I expected.'

‘Death by misadventure. Yes. I did think,' said Flora, speaking very carefully, ‘that Anton would have made more trouble for you—for us. He was sick with grief that night, but those threats he made were very strong.'

‘Anton didn't dare draw too much attention to himself at the inquest or anywhere else,' said Hal drily.

‘Didn't he? That night you said something about him needing papers that he might not have. I didn't entirely understand that. Is he some kind of criminal? Were you telling him you knew something about him? Something discreditable? Illegal?'

‘None of those things, really.' He thought for a moment, then said, ‘Flora, Magna Carta, praise its ancient old parchments, grants Englishmen and women the freedom of movement and departure. In other words, we can come and go in this country and most other countries to our hearts' content. And thank God for it. But not all countries permit that. The Tzar, for instance, is a bit jealous of his subjects' movements. I believe it's quite difficult to leave Mother Russia—and one or two other countries besides—without very specific permission.'

‘Is Anton Russian?'

‘I don't know what he is, but if he isn't Russian he's probably from somewhere in Eastern Europe,' said Hal. ‘Hungarian or Romanian, perhaps. In certain circumstances it can be very useful to be vague about nationality. And if Anton and Stefan left their native shores without permission—or because they were in some kind of trouble there… When I said that about papers, it was a bow drawn at a venture. Nothing more. But it struck home—we both saw that. And whatever the truth behind it all, it seems to have prevented him from making trouble. But, Flora, I wouldn't have said it if I hadn't known you and I were entirely innocent of Stefan's death. And neither of us bear any blame or any responsibility for what happened.'

‘I know.'

‘It doesn't alter the Tarleton for us, does it? When I said I thought of it as your theatre, I meant the successes you've had there,' said Hal. ‘The pleasure you've given audiences.'

‘Oh. Yes, I see.' Flora felt even better.

‘I don't know the first thing about running a theatre,' he said, ‘so I'd rely on people who did and just keep a—a controlling interest. I've been hoping you could give me your advice on that side of things.'

This was intensely pleasing and so interesting that Flora forgot about her pudding, and said she would try to provide some possible names. ‘But the one person who comes instantly to my mind is Rinaldi. You really couldn't do better for a stage manager. He's quite young, but he's very good, very knowledgeable and reliable. He's been there ever since he was about twelve: he learned the work from his father, I think—he was the Tarleton's stage manager as well. It's a kind of backstage dynasty.'

‘Yes, Rinaldi is a good idea.' He smiled at her. ‘Shall we walk along Burbage Street and take a look at the old place with an acquisitive eye?'

‘Now?'

‘Well, finish your pudding first.'

As they went towards Burbage Street, Flora suddenly said, ‘Hal, why are you doing this? Your work's with the Foreign Office. Even with a management board, a theatre's a very long way from the things you're used to.'

He took a moment to reply, then said, ‘Let's pose a theory. Let's say you and I thought of getting married. That's a purely theoretical assumption at the moment, you understand.'

‘Yes?' said Flora. It came out quite calmly, but her heart had given a thump of delight.

‘If that situation were to arise, I can't see how you could combine your stage career with being my wife. That's an old-fashioned outlook and it isn't mine, I'd like you to know. The world's changing, but I'm afraid it's not yet changed enough, and a lot of people would find it unacceptable for Lady Chance to dance on a stage.'

‘I know that,' said Flora.

‘And government circles—Foreign Office circles—are very hidebound indeed. For myself, I wouldn't care. I'd be proud of you. My God, Flora, if the prime minister himself challenged me, I'd tell him to— I'd say it was none of his business,' said Hal temperately. 
‘
And I like theatre people—I've liked the ones I've met through you. But I can't, in all honesty, see that it would be accepted.'

‘You mean me continuing to dance on a stage and consort with vagabonds and strumpets, while you spend your time with embassies and diplomats,' said Flora, hoping this did not sound catty.

‘They'd all make you out to have been far more daring than you actually are,' he said, ‘and it would end in ruining both of us. They'd strip you down to just sequins and ostrich feathers and precious little else.'

Flora thought, and is that what you really want to do to me, I wonder? Strip me? Is this just an elaborate ploy to get me into bed? How far can I trust what you're saying?

‘It sounds as if I'd expect you to give up your career in favour of mine,' he said, apparently seeing nothing odd about having this discussion in the middle of a Southwark street in the Tarleton's shadow. ‘I wouldn't expect it, but—'

‘But the world—your world—would?'

‘It has to be said that it would. And assuming this theory about marriage might be acceptable to you—'

‘It would be,' said Flora at once.

‘Would it? Good. I wasn't sure about that, you know. Well then, you'd have to be very generous about abandoning your stage life. And you'd have to be very sure indeed that you wouldn't resent that loss. That's what I'm grappling with,' he said. ‘It's why I'm skirting round this with theories and unromantic plans because I'm worried you might resent it sometime in the future. I think you're one of these remarkable new women: after a time, marriage in itself wouldn't be enough for you. But for Lady Chance to have a—an interest in the managing of a theatre might go some way to…'

‘Fill the gap?' Lady Chance, thought Flora. Oh God, I'd be Lady Chance. Is that terrifying or exhilarating?

‘Yes, exactly that.'

He appeared to wait for a response, and Flora said carefully, ‘Speaking purely theoretically, and always allowing for the unexpected, it sounds rather a good theory.'

‘You think so?'

‘I do,' said Flora. She saw his eyes narrow in the smile that was becoming familiar and beloved and she had to fight not to gaze besottedly at him or let him see that as far as she was concerned, heaven had just opened up in the middle of Burbage Street.

‘Perhaps you could be part of some kind of governing board,' said Hal. ‘Involved in the administration. It would be thought unusual—even a bit eccentric—but it would be acceptable. And it would still allow you a life within the theatre.'

‘Respectable eccentricity,' said Flora. She thought, but I can't manage a theatre! I wouldn't know where to begin! And then, with the feeling that she was mentally squaring her shoulders, or could I? Couldn't I learn?

‘There's another rather old-fashioned custom,' said Hal. ‘Although it's a nicer one, I think. That's the tradition of a new wife being given a dowry by her husband.'

‘I don't think…'

‘Dowries can take all forms,' he said, speaking rather rapidly. ‘Sometimes they can even take the form of a piece of property—such as the Tarleton.'

Flora felt as if she had experienced the extremes of several wildly differing emotions in the last ten minutes, but she tried to match his tone and the mood of this extraordinary conversation. ‘Wouldn't that be a—rather an expensive dowry?' she said.

‘Well, it will need quite a lot of money spending on it,' said Hal. ‘In fact—' He broke off in what was clearly mid-sentence, and said, ‘Oh hell— Flora come here,' and pulling her into his arms, began to kiss her so thoroughly and so passionately that Flora had to cling to him to prevent herself from falling down from sheer ecstasy.