‘Wouldn’t it be better to make your point after the play is over?’ the other stagehand said. These two young women were almost certainly drama students getting experience, and they would learn from Schneider’s behaviour, but they weren’t competent to reverse it.
Titus took over. ‘I understand you had a sighting of the lady in grey. I’m Titus O’Driscoll, dramaturge.’
‘If you’re here to drag me kicking and screaming onto the stage, you’d better think again, because it won’t look pretty.’
‘Madam, I have no such intention,’ Titus said. ‘I have the utmost sympathy for you.’
‘Bad cop, nice cop, is it?’ she said with a glare. ‘That won’t wash with me.’
‘What was her appearance?’
The more vocal of the stagehands said, ‘Sir, we don’t have time. She’s needed for her first entrance.’
‘Grey. She was all in grey, with cold, glittering eyes I shall never forget so long as I live,’ Schneider said.
Titus asked, ‘Was she wearing the costume of a nineteenth-century lady?’
She became more animated. ‘Yes! It looked like a cloak, the sort of thing they used to wear over their ball gowns, with a cowl, all grey.’
Titus gasped and his voice faltered in excitement. ‘This is truly momentous.’ After a moment’s thought, he said, ‘We need to speak for longer. Why don’t you go on stage now and meet me afterwards to talk about this amazing occurrence?’
‘I’ve made my position clear,’ Schneider said. ‘I’ve been through a terrifying experience and was given no sympathy whatsoever. Until that horrible little manager man goes on his knees and apologises to me I’m not moving from here.’
‘Find Mr Shearman,’ Titus said to the stagehands with more drama than anything heard in the play. ‘Get him here fast. Tell him he’s needed by the dramaturge.’
‘There isn’t time.’
‘Young lady, if you want to stay working in this theatre, do as I say. I don’t care if you drag him feet first. Do it!’
Both of them hurried out.
‘You’re a gentleman,’ Schneider told Titus.
The DSM’s voice over the tannoy said, ‘We’ll have to manage without her.’
‘Fat chance,’ Schneider said with a smirk.
‘All she does is step on stage and announce people,’ the DSM went on.
Schneider drew in a huge, affronted gasp.
‘We’ll have to improvise. Isherwood must answer the doorbell himself. Are you okay with that, Preston?’
‘The hell he is!’ Schneider said, rising from her chair. ‘They’re going to axe me from the scene. They can’t do that.’
‘You’ll be redundant,’ Titus said, sharing her outrage.
‘It’s underhand. It’s blackmail,’ Schneider said.
‘You’d better deal with it fast,’ Titus said. ‘We can talk about the grey lady later.’
The protest came to an abrupt end. Schneider swept out of the room and beetled towards the wings, elbowing Hedley Shearman aside as he arrived to plead with her, flanked by the stagehands.
‘Is she going on?’ Shearman asked. The emergency had exacted an extraordinary toll from him. He was sweating and he’d changed physically, drained of colour, jowls quivering, voice thinner, as if he’d seen the ghost himself.
‘Under protest,’ Titus said. ‘I doubt if you’ve heard the last of it.’
‘Whatever you said it appears to have worked.’
‘The lady has my sympathy,’ Titus said. ‘The supernatural is extremely unnerving. I’ve no doubt in my own mind that the theatre ghost was among us tonight.’
‘Auto-suggestion, I expect,’ Shearman said.
‘Unlikely.’
One of the stagehands said, ‘She convinced me she’d seen something.’
‘Me, too,’ Titus said, ‘and I propose to go into the box and check for proof positive: the scent of jasmine.’
‘Not now,’ Shearman said, close to panic.
‘Why not?’
‘There’s a performance in progress. I won’t have the audience distracted. It isn’t fair to the performers.’
‘All I need is to open the door and sniff.’
‘You won’t. The box is locked on my instructions. As soon as this daft rumour started I knew some idiot would want to get in there. It isn’t going to happen.’
‘You can unlock it for me,’ Titus said. ‘I’m not “some idiot”, as you put it. I’m on the staff, and, what is more, on the creative team, not mere management.’
Even in his depleted state, Shearman wouldn’t relent. ‘For God’s sake, I’m not getting into an argument about status.’
‘See some sense, then. If I wait for the curtain, the jasmine will have dispersed.’
‘There is no ghost and there never has been,’ Shearman said, practically stamping his foot. ‘It’s a myth put about by people who ought to know better. This has been one hell of a night, and my job is to restore sanity to this theatre. I suggest you return to the Garrick’s Head, or wherever it is you came from.’
‘There’s gratitude,’ Titus said, knowing he’d lost this skirmish.
The play resumed seven minutes late, barely enough to register with the audience. Schneider may have appeared subdued compared to other performances, but she didn’t miss a cue or dry or scramble her lines. Gisella was in fine form as Sally Bowles and this seemed to inspire Preston. The second half sparkled.
From the back of the royal circle, Titus kept a vigil on the box opposite, and was disappointed. The grey lady failed to appear for him.
In the stalls, the casting director from the National Theatre studied Gisella’s performance and made a few notes. Francis Melmot loomed in the aisle, studying the casting director.
In the understage area, Kate from wardrobe found Hedley Shearman alone in the company office, hunched over his desk, his hands covering his face. The loudspeaker in the corner of the room was relaying the dialogue from upstairs.
‘Someone obviously needs more therapy,’ she said, putting an arm around his shoulders and nudging his face with her breast. ‘As a matter of fact, I feel the need myself. How would Hedley like to give his Kate another good seeing-to?’
He tensed. ‘Leave me alone.’
Stung by the reaction, she snapped back, ‘What’s your problem? Not in the mood? That’s got to be a first.’
‘We’re in deep shit,’ he said.
‘Why? What do you mean?’
‘There’s been another death.’
16
Diamond and Paloma were debating whether to finish a vintage Rioja or have it corked and take it with them. Truth to tell, he wasn’t a wine man. He’d started the evening with a beer. The wine was mainly for Paloma and he’d restricted himself to less than a glass, keeping her company. They had eaten well in the Olive Tree at the Queensberry Hotel and his thoughts were turning to a taxi ride to Paloma’s big house on Lyncombe Hill and a romantic end to the day. He was trying to persuade her to finish the bottle at home and she was arguing that he hadn’t drunk his share.
‘I know my limit,’ he said. ‘You don’t want me turning grouchy.’
‘Is that what happens?’ She was laughing.
‘Even more grouchy, then.’
‘Funnily enough, I quite enjoy your grouchy moments. You can be amusing and curmudgeonly at the same time.’
‘It’s a rare talent.’
‘So what are you going to do about Flakey White?’
Put on the spot, he said, ‘From what the Yard told me, it won’t be easy to trace him after more than forty years.’
‘But you’ll try?’
‘I suppose. I can try Hampshire, where he was convicted, and some of the adjacent police forces. Not sure what good it will do. He may have emigrated, or died. He’d be an old man now.’
‘You need to know. This can’t be shelved. It goes deep. I see it in your eyes each time it’s mentioned.’
‘I’m on the case.’ He released a long breath. ‘But it’s not an after-dinner topic.’