Murder by the Sea (10 page)

‘If you say so. Anyway, if you think she’s OK, that’s fine by me.’

‘I thought she could assist Fran with props. Fran’s happy with that, and as they both live in Nethergate they can share lifts and so on.’

‘Sounds all right to me,’ said Peter. ‘See you there then. Oh – and don’t interfere.’

‘As if I would,’ said Libby to Sidney as she put down the phone.

Jane arrived at twenty past seven that evening full of apologies for being late.

‘I completely missed the turning,’ she said. ‘I went sailing on towards Canterbury and realised I’d run out of village.’

‘Never mind,’ said Libby. ‘You’re here now. Drink before we go?’

‘I’d better not,’ said Jane, ‘I’ve got to drive home.’

‘Tea, then? Coffee?’

‘No, I’m fine, thank you.’ Jane looked round the sitting room. ‘Oh, what a gorgeous cat.’

‘That’s Sidney. My friends call him my familiar, but I think that’s a bit mean. He’s not the friendliest cat in the world, but quite a good guard cat.’

Jane squatted down and held her hand out to be sniffed. Sidney obliged, then tucked his head back under his paw and pretended to go back to sleep. His ears gave him away.

‘So tell me,’ said Libby, waving a hand at the armchair while she sat on the creaky sofa. ‘What happened with the prospective tenants?’

‘There was quite a fight, apparently,’ said Jane, her little face lighting up. ‘The first person really wanted it, then the second offered to pay more, which is unheard of, according to the agents. The third liked it but said it was a bit too expensive, so the agents have said whichever of the first two supplies references which can be checked immediately, gets it. Oh, and if their cheque clears, of course.’

‘Won’t they use a credit card? That clears straight away,’ said Libby.

‘Oh, I don’t know, but anyway, it looks as though I shall have a tenant at last.’ Jane smiled and sat back in the chair. ‘And all thanks to you.’

‘Nonsense,’ said Libby. ‘The agents hadn’t marketed it properly or it would have gone long before this. Did Terry take the photos for you?’

‘Yes, I meant to thank you for that, too,’ said Jane innocently. ‘He came up after you’d gone and said he’d seen you and you said I’d got a favour to ask. I never would have managed that on my own, you know.’

‘I know,’ said Libby, ‘that’s why I asked him. Would have been a bit of a setback if he’d said no, but thankfully he didn’t. So what happened?’

‘He came up with his digital camera and took some shots of the rooms, then downloaded them onto my laptop, and after we’d chosen the best, I composed an ad and sent the whole package to the advertising department. It was a bit late, but they put me in on a news page, which probably made all the difference.’

‘I’m sure it did,’ said Libby. ‘What happened then?’

‘Then?’ Jane shook her head. ‘Nothing, why?’

‘Didn’t you even give the poor lad a cup of tea?’

‘Oh.’ Jane blushed. ‘Yes, of course. Actually, we had a glass of wine.’

Good start, thought Libby.

‘And I’m taking him out for a curry tomorrow to say thank you.’ Jane’s colour was by now so high she matched Libby’s rug.

‘Excellent,’ said Libby, beaming. ‘See? That wasn’t so hard, was it? A friend. And now lets go and make some more.’

On the way to the theatre, in between Jane’s exclamations of pleasure at the quaintness of the village, Libby explained about her plan to give the props job to Fran and for Jane to assist.

‘There won’t be that much to do,’ she said, ‘especially not at first.’

‘It’s very early, isn’t it?’ said Jane, as they turned into the Manor Drive, which also led to The Oast House Theatre. ‘I thought panto was at Christmas.’

Libby looked at her. ‘Of course it is.’

‘Then why are you having auditions at the beginning of August?’

‘Because we have to start rehearsing in October and people need to know what they’re doing. If they don’t get a part in this they might want to go for something else with another company. We’ve got several people who belong to more than one group.’

‘Oh, I see.’ Jane nodded. ‘But you have one of the best reputations, don’t you? I looked you up on the group files.’

‘The group files?’

‘Yes, the group which owns the
Mercury
. I looked you up.’

‘Well, I don’t know about that,’ said Libby, preening nevertheless. ‘My old group had one of the best reputations, and we had several pros and ex pros on both the technical and acting sides. I borrowed quite a lot of them when we did our first production here.’

‘Oh, that was the play when the murder happened, wasn’t it?’

‘Yes.’ Libby pushed open the glass doors of The Oast House Theatre. ‘Here we are.’

Impressed, Jane looked around. ‘I didn’t expect anything like this,’ she said.

‘It helps when the son of the family who own the building is an architect,’ said Libby proudly, looking round with satisfaction.

‘And who is also the best beloved of the company’s best director,’ said Ben, coming up behind them and putting an arm round Libby’s shoulders. ‘You must be Jane.’ He held out his hand. ‘I’m Ben.’

‘It also helps, of course, when the nephew of the family happens to be the best playwright and second best director,’ said Peter, descending the spiral staircase from his favourite place, the lighting and sound box.

‘Oh.’ Jane looked slightly overwhelmed as she shook hands with them both.

‘And you’re going to be our new props assistant,’ said Peter.

‘Well, I –’ began Jane, but Peter clapped her on the back.

‘Excellent,’ he said. ‘Ben, can I have a word?’

Later, when the auditions were well under way and Libby could slip away, she took Jane on a tour of the theatre.

‘This is the play that will be on stage next,’ she said, waving a hand at the jigsaw of pieces which would eventually make up the set. ‘Wycherly’s
Country Wife
.’

‘Oh?’ Jane looked blank.

‘Restoration piece,’ said Libby. ‘Some of the group members wanted to try something serious, although
The Country Wife
is hardly serious. Very bawdy, in fact. But classic English drama.’

‘Ah,’ said Jane. ‘Anyway, look, here’s what I wanted to show you. Their props table.’

Set in the wings, but well back from the stage was a long trestle table, laden with odd items, tankards, handkerchiefs and parchment letters.

‘There’s another the other side of the stage,’ said Libby, ‘and a props cupboard in the corridor by the dressing room.’

‘It’s all a bit complicated,’ said Jane, looking scared.

‘Nothing to it,’ said Libby. ‘We have two tables, and it’s the responsibility of each actor to pick up his or her personal props before going on stage. Large props are sorted out by the props team, and in the panto, that’ll be you and Fran.’

‘Right,’ said Jane looking round at the stage and up into the flies. ‘Will they have finished the audition yet?’

Peter had the harassed look of someone who had heard the same thing too many times over. Libby waggled her fingers at him and he sat up straight.

‘Right, thank you,’ he said to the actors before him, who stopped mid-sentence. ‘Now we’ll try something with our pre-cast members and see how you all get on with them.’

This part of the audition turned into an entertainment in itself, and Libby was gratified to see Jane laughing heartily. When invited for the customary drink afterwards, in the theatre bar rather than the pub, she accepted happily and was made a fuss of by several of the middle aged men, who should, she said to Ben, have known better.

‘But at least she’ll feel accepted,’ said Ben, ‘and that’s what you wanted.’

‘Yes, but I don’t want her to lose out on Terry,’ grumbled Libby, seeing her matchmaking plans

melt away.

‘Who’s Terry?’ Ben looked bewildered.

‘Oh, never mind,’ said Libby. ‘Come on, let’s rescue her.’

‘I don’t think she wants rescuing,’ said Ben with a grin. ‘But as you know, I always do as I’m told.’

Libby quelled him with a look.

Chapter Ten

THE KING’S ARMS WAS near the market cross in the very middle of town. A black and white building notable for its carved wooden beams, much like The Swan in Nethergate, it was a favourite venue for Bruce and his ilk. Fran peered in to the restaurant bar as she passed, in case Chrissie and Bruce had stolen a march on her and were enjoying preprandial cocktails, but they were nowhere to be seen, so she struggled up the wide, shallow staircase with her case, looking forward to a refreshing shower and change of clothes before she presented herself for inspection.

As it happened, Chrissie pre-empted her by knocking on her door at five to eight, while she was peering short-sightedly into the mirror to re-apply her lipstick.

‘Hallo, darling.’ Fran leaned forward to kiss her daughter’s round face. ‘How’s everything going?’

‘All right.’ A discontented frown settled on Chrissie’s unlined brow. ‘It’s hard work. I don’t know why Bruce wouldn’t pay for the removal men to do the packing as well.’

‘It costs quite a lot.’ Fran gave up waiting for an enquiry as to how she was, or how the journey had gone and went back to the dressing table. ‘I’ll be with you in a minute.’

Chrissie sat on the bed and picked at the knife crease in her tailored navy trousers. ‘If I had any money of my own –’ she began.

Fran closed her eyes and counted to ten.

‘If you’d only kept in touch with Dad,’ went on Chrissie.

‘Your father had no more money than I had, and well you know it.’ Fran put her lipstick and hair brush into her handbag and turned to face the bed.

‘Well, what about the house, then? Mountwhatsit Road? How much did you sell that for?’ Chrissie’s petulant face glared up at her mother.

‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, Chrissie,’ snapped Fran. ‘However did you become so mercenary?’

Chrissie stood up. ‘That’s not fair.’ she said. ‘I just need a bit of money of my own, that’s all.’

‘Then go out and earn it,’ growled Fran, pushing her out of the door and slamming it shut behind them.

‘Lucy doesn’t.’ Chrissie whined her way down the stairs.

‘Lucy has two small children to look after. Anyway, she’s looking for something to do now. Felix will forget to pay her maintenance if I know anything about him. So shut up and think yourself lucky.’ Fran opened the door to the restaurant and shoved Chrissie in ahead of her to where Bruce stood waiting for them, a fixed, welcoming smile on his bland features. ‘Or perhaps not,’ she mentally amended her last statement.

‘Fran.’ He leaned forward and pursed his lips in the general direction of her left cheek. ‘Lovely to see you. Pleasant journey?’

‘Very, Bruce. Thank you for asking.’ Fran shot an equivocal look at her daughter.

‘Well, come and sit down. I decided not to bother with a drink before the meal, but I’ve ordered a nice bottle of the house white to go with it.’

Fran hoped Bruce hadn’t gone the whole hog and ordered the meal for her as well.

‘And how’s Cassandra?’ Fran asked brightly, as they took their seats at a small round table overlooking the flower filled courtyard. Ten minutes later, she was sorry she had asked. Her smoked salmon – not pre-ordered by Bruce – had arrived, along with Chrissie’s predictable prawn cocktail and Bruce’s pate, and she had almost finished her first prettily chilled glass of very drinkable white wine.

‘And, of course, when the kittens are born,’ Chrissie was saying, ‘they’ll be worth a fortune.’

‘Lucy’s got a new flat, by the way.’ Fran decided she’d heard enough about Cassandra.

‘What new flat?’ Chrissie sounded indignant.

‘If you thought about anyone other than yourself you could have asked how your sister was when you mentioned her before, and then you would have known.’ Fran sipped her wine, which Bruce, unusually for him, had thoughtfully topped up. He fidgeted and looked away.

‘I bet she didn’t ask about me.’ Chrissie was sulky.

‘Actually, she did,’ said Fran, keeping her fingers crossed and ignoring the fact that she had prompted Lucy’s enquiry, ‘and Bruce.’

‘Nice of her.’ Bruce cleared his throat. ‘Moving, is she?’

‘Well, she could hardly stay in that great big house on her own, could she? And Felix won’t pay the rent on it. So she has to move somewhere smaller.’

‘So where’s she going?’ Chrissie demanded.

‘Oh, a rented flat in the suburbs.’ Fran said vaguely.

‘Why does she want to stay in London?’ asked Bruce. ‘It’d be cheaper out here, for instance.’

Fran forbore to tell him that Lucy wouldn’t live within a twenty-mile radius of Chrissie and Bruce if she could help it and gave what she hoped was a tolerant, motherly smile.

‘She’d have no friends, would she?’

‘She’d have us.’ Bruce ignored his wife’s sharp protest, which sounded, to her mother’s fond ears, like a cat with its tail trodden on.