‘Are you the owner?’
‘I’m staff. Mr Melmot is in the orangery, around the building to your left.’
‘What’s he wearing? We haven’t met.’
‘You can’t miss him.’
This begged a question Diamond didn’t ask.
Now that the awkwardness of arriving was over, he found himself mellowing a little. He couldn’t fail to respond to the glories of an English garden on a summer afternoon, a precious break from the dark confines of the theatre. The owners of all those cars were scattered across several acres of lawn and it didn’t seem crowded. His mood was improving by the minute.
He found the orangery, a large octagonal Victorian structure. No oranges were visible, but there was a sizeable lemon tree and a sizeable man – around six foot eight – in a white linen jacket and pink shirt was standing beside it speaking to visitors with an air of authority. Showing patience that was unusual for him, Diamond awaited his turn.
‘This isn’t a question about the garden,’ he said when his chance came. He introduced himself.
‘Detective superintendent? What on earth…?’
‘Following up on the fatality in the theatre.’
‘The dresser? Tragic, yes, but hardly a matter for the police. She took her own life.’
‘We still have to check in case it’s a suspicious death.’
‘I can’t see how. She jumped, obviously. And you’ve driven all the way here to talk to me?’
‘I was hoping to catch you at the theatre, but you’d left.’
‘There was no more I could do, I’m sorry to say.’ Francis Melmot made an effort to be more agreeable. ‘Extremely distressing, the whole thing. Shall we speak somewhere else? One’s voice carries in here.’ This was true, particularly as he was so tall that nothing obstructed his outflow of words.
Somewhere else: Diamond’s thoughts turned to the terrace and the famous lemon drizzle cake. Instead, Melmot steered him through a walled vegetable garden to an open area with a sunken lawn.
‘We use this as an open-air theatre for local groups. You’ve heard of Storm on the Lawn, I expect?’
‘No.’
‘Good Lord! Where have you been living? It’s been running more than ten years. The Youth Theatre summer school, a series of marvellous open-air productions at Prior Park. The first was loosely based on The Tempest. Hence the name Storm on the Lawn. It stuck and has been used as an umbrella title ever since. Well, the Melmot Hall open-air shows aren’t up to that standard. We get the local am-dram groups. Farce on the Grass, we call it in the family, whatever the show, and it’s usually the Dream. Muddy fairies and mosquitoes.’ He grinned. The extreme distress he’d mentioned seemed to have evaporated.
‘You’re heavily involved in the theatre,’ Diamond said.
‘Yes, everyone says I should have played some kind of sport, for obvious reasons, but I’ve always been drawn to the footlights. The trouble is that there aren’t many actors male or female comfortable going on stage with a beanpole like me, so I have to make my contribution in other ways. Even then, it’s difficult. Pity the unfortunate person seated behind me in the audience.’
‘So you became a trustee?’
‘When one is in a position to help out, one should, I feel.’
‘A responsibility, being chairman?’
‘Indeed, and much more so in times of crisis.’
‘I was told that the trustees had a hand in the casting of Clarion Calhoun.’
The first hint of ill humour surfaced on Melmot’s face. ‘Who told you that? Shearman, no doubt. Theatre politics. He’s touchy on this subject.’
So are you, Diamond thought. ‘But is it true?’
‘Broadly, yes.’
‘And is it usual for the board to make decisions like that?’
‘Commercial decisions. This was a commercial decision. She’s hugely popular, as I’m sure you’re aware. It was democratically decided. The trustees are realists. They know we need at least one sell-out production as well as the pantomime to stay solvent.’
‘You get Arts Council support?’
‘Not a penny. We’re truly independent, very good at fund-raising and constantly raising our sights.’
‘I Am a Camera is a sell-out, I was told.’
‘Absolutely.’
‘I was also told that Clarion can’t act.’
Melmot’s blue eyes bulged suddenly. ‘That’s hardly fair. She didn’t get the chance.’
‘I heard she was poor in rehearsal.’
‘That’s not unusual. You know the superstition. Bad dress rehearsal, good first night. She went through drama school.’
‘A long time ago. The critics would have savaged her. You were putting the theatre’s reputation at risk.’
‘You shouldn’t take everything Hedley Shearman says as gospel. His pride took a hammering. He thought he was in overall charge of the casting and he usually is. I don’t accept that Clarion was heading for poor reviews.’
‘I didn’t get it only from Mr Shearman,’ Diamond said. ‘Everyone I’ve spoken to says she was rubbish.’
‘The wardrobe mistress, I suppose,’ Melmot said. ‘Kate is not a happy woman. This is the problem. People are quick to take sides in a community like ours that lives off its nerves. You get cliques and conspiracies all the time. You’ve heard only one side of the argument.’
‘Are you telling me you had a hit on your hands?’
He gave an impatient sigh. ‘This isn’t getting us anywhere. Why don’t you concentrate on the matter in hand, the suicide?’
‘All right, let’s do that. It isn’t entirely clear why Denise Pearsall, an apparently well-adjusted, happy woman, decided to end it all.’
‘That’s plain enough, isn’t it? She was responsible for the damage to Clarion’s face. Apart from the personal tragedy, it has deeply worrying implications for the theatre.’
‘The possibility of a law suit?’
‘For obvious reasons, I’d rather not discuss that.’
‘Clarion seemed ready to discuss it when I spoke to her this morning.’
He took a step back and almost fell down the slope in his surprise. ‘You’ve seen Clarion?’
‘At Frenchay.’
‘I was told she was surrounded by security.’
‘She is. She wouldn’t want a visit from anyone else. She’s instructing her lawyers, she told me. Suing for disfigurement and loss of earnings.’
A sigh that was almost a groan marked Melmot’s reaction. ‘I feared as much. Years of good housekeeping and fund-raising could be undone by this.’
‘You heard about the caustic soda?’
‘Yes, I did, and I was speechless. Madness. I can’t think what drove the woman to it. She was with us for six years.’
‘Happy in her work?’
He gave a shrug that was meant to be reassuring. ‘There were some personal issues in the wardrobe department, but we’d dealt with them. By all accounts she was good at her job and in command, as you say. Was it a dreadful error? How could it possibly have happened?’
Crucial questions, as yet unanswerable, as Diamond showed by spreading his hands. ‘Let’s talk about Clarion. You said the decision to use her was democratic. Who was it who first suggested her for the part?’
‘I did.’
‘You?’
‘I’d better qualify that. I suggested her as a name for the summer season. The choice of play came later.’
‘What gave you the idea?’
He smiled. ‘I’m a fan.’ Difficult to credit, but the way his face had lit up seemed to make it believable that a middle-aged owner of a stately home should be into the pop scene. ‘Followed her career almost since she started. She’s an amazing performer. I remembered reading somewhere that she’d been through drama college and also that she thought Bath was the loveliest city in England. Putting two and two together, I mentioned her name at a board meeting and they were as excited about it as I was. The next thing was choosing a part that would tempt her and someone came up with Sally Bowles.’