Curtain Call (32 page)

‘Hmm. That probably tells you something. By the way, he wanted cash – and he was quite particular that you should deliver it.'

‘Why me?'

Jimmy pulled a
who knows
face. ‘Maybe he took a shine to you. In any case, just think – once he gets his money you can drive us to the Café Royal for dinner!'

He looked to Tom in the expectation of a dry response, but his companion was staring into the dark distances ahead, brooding.

STEPHEN WAS ON
his way to Tite Street when the headline leapt out from a news-stand at him.
TIEPIN KILLER CLAIMS FOURTH VICTIM
. He hurried up the stairs to his studio, a copy of the
Chronicle
in his hand, sick to his stomach with curiosity.

Another prostitute, this time found strangled in an alleyway off the Strand. Like the girl before, she had also been badly beaten. He was still reading the report when the telephone rang, making him jump. It was Ludo Talman.

‘Have you seen the newspaper?'

‘I'm just reading it now,' said Stephen. ‘Shocking, isn't it?'

Ludo paused before he spoke. ‘Yes . . . I suppose it is.'

‘It's obvious the police don't have a clue.'

There was another pause, then Ludo said in a hesitant voice, ‘I'm not sure we're talking about the same thing.'

‘Oh . . . I'm reading about the latest Tiepin murder.'

‘Er, no. Not that. You may want to sit down for this.'

Stephen felt a sudden lurch within. ‘Tell me.'

‘I've got
The Times
, but it's also in the
Telegraph
and the
Mail
. Carmody has been leading you a dance. That dinner you attended – the fund-raiser – it wasn't for the Marquess Theatre at all. It appears to have been a front for something called the British People's Brigade.'

Stephen had anticipated those last three words before Ludo had spoken them. He swallowed hard. ‘I see.'

‘Some reporter has been investigating him. He's got it in black and white, bank records, payments diverted from one account to another. The worst of it is they've published a list of Carmody's backers. I'm afraid you're on it, Stephen.'

‘What?'

‘You wrote him a cheque?'

Oh Christ
, thought Stephen. The cheque. He hadn't even remembered that. ‘Yes, but on the understanding that it was for –'

‘The question is, did you make it out to the fund, or to Carmody himself?'

Stephen's silence acknowledged the mistake. How could he have been so naive? When Ludo next spoke it seemed to come from a long distance.

‘I presume you have a lawyer.'

Stephen heard himself say his name.

‘He's good,' said Ludo. ‘He can probably make a case for fraud.'

‘I thought I was supporting a theatre . . .'

‘Of course. But you've made it difficult by writing a personal cheque. Your name is linked to his.'

Another long pause intervened as Stephen glimpsed a blighted future. Whatever help he might get from the law, the court of public opinion was swift to condemn. He realised Ludo was thinking precisely the same thing.

‘It looks bad, doesn't it?'

Ludo gave a sighing exhalation. ‘People will think “no smoke . . .”, what with this
and
the photograph of the handshake. The club will make a stink about it. I have to tell you, the committee has just called me in for a meeting.'

‘Already?' This was more precipitate than Stephen had imagined.

‘Stephen, listen to me. I know you're not to blame for this, and I will offer a proper defence on your behalf. But these things gain their own momentum. It takes just one member to voice his disapproval, then they all join in.'

‘Even if I'm innocent?'

‘Yes. Even then.'

They talked for a while longer, though Stephen took little of it in. He felt himself being harried towards a cliff edge, with disgrace lying at the bottom. What on earth could he do? Put an advertisement in the paper denying involvement in Carmody's chicanery? Too late for that. He traced back his error in stages. He had written the cheque just before the Carlton Hotel dinner. He had been at the dinner only because Carmody had hinted at the possibility of blackmail, having spotted him with Nina that afternoon. And he had been with Nina because – well, on that score he
was
guilty. Retribution had simply taken its time coming round.

He tormented himself with the thought of friends and colleagues hearing the story. The people who knew him would dismiss it as libellous nonsense. They knew his lofty indifference to politics. Others would shake their heads and deplore his careless choice of friends. And might there be those tempted (heaven forbid) to take him for a Fascist and gloat over his exposure? The shame of it. If he were to be damned for anything it was for self-delusion, his unthinking disregard of all the dangers that came in associating with a man like Carmody. But he could also lament his bad luck in being caught in company with Nina. And then what of his father finding out? This the man who had fought in two wars defending the freedom of his country, a freedom that the British People's Brigade and their like strove to curtail.

A few minutes after Ludo rang off the telephone went again, and he answered in the certainty it would be a gentleman of the press wanting a quote. To his relief it was Nina. She had just finished rehearsals.

‘I suppose you've seen the paper?'

‘Yes, I have,' he replied.

‘Isn't it frightful?'

Stephen, miserably aware of the ambiguity, said, ‘Best you should be specific.'

‘Why, the murder of course. He's killed another one.'

‘Ah – that.'

Nina gave a little splutter. ‘Oh, I'm sorry. Are you bored with it already?'

He winced; the corrective was deserved. He only stood on the brink of disgrace. He hadn't been beaten and strangled to death in an alleyway. ‘No. I'm sorry, darling, I had other – I've just been reading about it. Ghastly.'

‘I know – and I can't help feeling responsible. For not giving them an accurate description of him –'

‘You mustn't think that. You tried.
We
tried. Others might not have bothered at all . . . My God! I wish I'd never set foot in that hotel.'

This was said with too much feeling for Nina to let it pass. Stephen was not one to give vent to distress. ‘Darling, what's the matter?'

He told her, and Nina listened with incredulous outrage. As he related the story even he found his own part in it somewhat unbelievable.

‘You're not to blame,' she said with firmness. ‘You've been duped by a – by a
scoundrel
.'

‘– who has a cheque with my signature on it. It's his word against mine as to what it was for.' He paused. ‘And meanwhile my reputation – what's left of it – gets worked over in the papers.'

Nina had never heard him sound so low. I must be a friend to him, she thought. ‘Look, how about I come over and take you to lunch?'

‘I'd be very dull company –'

‘Which is why I must cheer you up! No, don't argue. I'll just change and be with you in an hour.'

Nina was at the theatre door and heading off to Stephen's studio when Dolly came hurrying after her.

‘Oi. It's milady on the phone.'

‘God! What does
she
want?'

Dolly pulled a face meant to suggest the eternal and inscrutable demands of womankind. With an irritated toss of her head Nina retraced her steps back down to the telephone. She picked up the receiver with a long-suffering air.

‘Mother.' At the end of the line she heard a stifled sob. ‘Mum? What's the matter?'

‘I am – I am –' she stuttered, sniffling, ‘I am the unhappiest woman alive.'

I very much doubt that
, thought Nina, who nevertheless softened her voice. ‘Oh dear. Is this about Mr Dorsch?'

Now there came a long whimper of pity, or self-pity, which in Mrs Land's case amounted to the same thing. Whatever it was she had intended to say was choked off by an attack of sobbing that no consoling words of Nina's could staunch.

‘Is Felicity with you? Or Bee?'

The gluey voice at the other end indicated that neither of her other daughters had been located. Nina, helpless, offered to come over to the house, and on hearing no objection from the distraught caller she realised, with a prickle of annoyance, that she would have to go. Damn. Stephen would wonder where she'd got to. What a morning for revelations, though!

She took a cab to King's Cross, then got the Tube to Westbourne Park. It was the first time she had visited the family home since her mother had announced it as the exclusive inheritance of her younger sister. By the time she arrived Felicity was there, with a face like the chief mourner, and Nina felt the shine had been rather taken off her mission of mercy. Her mother was propped on the sofa, dabbing her eyes; emanating a strong aura of misery, she had at least calmed down since the phone call. Felicity hovered in the background, and gave Nina a warning look with her eyes as she approached their stricken parent.

‘Hullo, Mum,' she said, settling on a gentle note of sympathy. This was a time for kid gloves. ‘Just tell us what happened.'

Mrs Land closed her eyes with a look of martyred anguish. In broken sentences the story came out. Mr Dorsch – ‘Eric' – had taken her out to dinner, just the two of them, by which point she had become convinced he was about to propose. He did indeed have a proposal for her – ‘Annabel' – something he had been pondering ‘for a while', he explained. Their long friendship, of more than twenty years' standing, had been one of the most important in his life. And it had become doubly so after his dear wife Monica had departed this earth. The challenges of living alone had been mollified by Annabel's companionship; moreover, he had realised in the years since his bereavement that she was blessed not only with a tender nature (Nina heard this without a change of expression) but a capable and forthright one. Such a talent for succour could not be ignored. Which was why he hoped she would accept an offer he believed would bring out the very best in her: the post of chief administrator to his Spanish orphans' charity.

Nina glanced up at Felicity, wondering if she might discern on her face the tiniest twitch of amusement at this unforeseen climax. But whatever her sister felt was unreadable beneath her mask of concern.

‘I just don't understand it,' whimpered Mrs Land, tears still glistening in her eyes. ‘How . . . could he?'

‘Oh, Mum,
there
,' said Felicity. ‘I'm sure Mr Dorsch didn't mean to mislead you. He's too kind-hearted for that. He just wants to do right by the orphans –'

‘Damn and blast those orphans!' cried her mother, a snarl in her voice. ‘What about doing right by me? Has he not heard of charity beginning at home?'

The sisters were too startled by the vehemence of this to know how to respond. After a pause Nina said, ‘I'll go and make us all a cup of tea,' indicating that Felicity should accompany her. Once they were in the kitchen together they gave one another a ‘you first' look, and Nina obliged.

‘Goodness. I wasn't expecting
that
,' she said, dropping her voice low.

‘Well, nor was Mum, evidently,' replied Felicity, matching her volume.

‘No, I mean that little outburst just then. Orphans! How very thoughtless of them to lose their parents and upset her marriage plans.'

Felicity pursed her lips, demurring. ‘She's lonely, Nina. I know she can be rather selfish, but perhaps she didn't entirely imagine Mr Dorsch's interest in her.'

‘Didn't she? All I saw at that dinner was him behaving with perfect good manners towards an old friend. If she thought it was anything more then –' Nina decided to bite back her sarcasm.

‘We see what we want to see,' conceded her sister leniently. ‘What she needs now is our love and support.'

Nina stared at her. ‘I'm sorry? What do we owe her of love and support after the way she's behaved to us? I think it's pretty bloody amazing we're still on speaking terms.'

Felicity busied herself with the tea things, which allowed her time to consider a reply. When it came her tone was more critical. ‘You sound awfully bitter, you know.'

Nina choked out a disbelieving gasp. ‘Bitter? Let me remind you, it was entirely based on her deluded expectation of a proposal that she willed this house to Bee and cut us off. So yes, I
am
bitter, if you must know.'

‘Shh, lower your voice. I wonder whether you'd feel so aggrieved about this if there was someone in your life. I think you blame Mum for what happened with Pa, and you're upset that any man should show an interest in her.'

Nina was for a moment too stunned to speak. It was not merely the accusatory thrust of the words that pierced her, but that it had come from Felicity, whose tolerant good nature had always helped keep the peace. She stared more closely at her, hoping to see a softening in her gaze, but there was none.

She tried to hold her voice steady. ‘I knew this would happen. I knew the minute Mum told us about the will it would cause an argument, sooner or later. Only I thought it would be with Bee, not with you. Fliss, please, don't be angry. I thought you were on my side.'

Felicity clicked her tongue in irritation. ‘I'm not on anyone's “side”. I'd just like this family to get along with one other. You think Mum fooled herself and has now got her comeuppance – well, maybe she has. But instead of gloating you should feel sorry for her.'

The teacups and spoons rattled on the tray as Felicity picked it up, their brittle chimes underscoring her disapproval. Nina, stung by this exchange, had one last stab at defending herself. ‘By the way, you may find it hard to believe, but I
do
have someone in my life.'