“Oh, I should imagine so. One never really retires fully from that sort of thing, does one, especially in times like these?”
9 4 P E T E R
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“I wouldn’t know,” said Banks, feeling his scar begin to itch. “What do you mean? What was it exactly that he did?”
Edwina sipped her gin and tonic and remained silent.
“Edwina,” Banks said in exasperation. “You’re keeping something from me. I can tell. You were doing it last night, and now you’re doing it again today. What on earth is it? What are you holding back?”
Edwina paused and sighed. “Oh, very well. It
My son, Laurence Silbert. He was a spook.”
M A R I A W O L S E Y ’ S f lat reminded Annie of where she had lived when she was a student at Exeter. She glimpsed an unmade mattress on the f loor in the bedroom, and the bookcases in the living room were made of planks separated by bricks. Posters of Arctic Monkeys and The Killers vied for space with playbills for the RSC and the Eastvale Theatre on the walls. The armchairs they sat in needed reupholstering and the mugs they drank their coffee from were chipped and stained.
Maria, it turned out, had only left the University of Bristol, where she had studied drama, a year ago. Eastvale was her first job, and she hoped to use it as a stepping stone to move on to higher and better things. Like Mark Hardcastle, her interest was in theater history, costume design and set production.
“You could say Mark was a sort of mentor to me,” she said, cradling her mug against her chest. The dark- rimmed glasses she had on made her look both older and more of an intellectual. She wore a loose off-the-shoulder top, and her straight brown hair hung over her pale skin.
She sat in the chair with her legs crossed, feet bare below the frayed hems of her jeans. In the background, a girl with a wispy voice was singing and playing guitar on the stereo.
“Did the two of you spend much time together?”
“Quite a bit, yes. Usually after work, or on a lunch break, you know. We’d go for a drink or a bite to eat.”
“So you were close? Is that why you rang me?”
A L L T H E C O L O R S O F D A R K N E S S
9 5
Maria’s brow furrowed. She put her mug down on the arm of the chair. “I didn’t want to talk in front of everyone. And Vernon acts like he’s the boss, you know. He’s always putting me down. I think he feels threatened by a competent woman.”
“What about a competent gay man?”
“Come again?”
“Vernon. How did he feel about working for Mark?”
“Oh, that. I see. Vernon’s like a lot of men. He thinks he’s okay with it, but really he’s a homophobe. The whole idea of it terrifies him, threatens his manhood.”
“What’s he doing working in the theater then?”
Maria laughed. “Only job he could get. He’s not a bad carpenter, but there’s not a lot of demand for his skills elsewhere around here.”
“Did he get along all right with Mark?”
Maria twirled a strand of hair as she thought for a moment. “I guess so. I mean, basically Vernon’s a do-as- you’re-told-and-get-on-with-your-work sort of bloke. Salt of the earth, as they say. He was just uncomfortable sometimes, that’s all.”
“Did Mark make him feel that way?”
“Not deliberately, just by what he was.”
“Can you give me an example? Did Mark tease him or anything like that?”
“No, nothing like that. It was just . . . Like, Mark was a great mimic. He could take off just about anyone. You wouldn’t believe how funny he was when he got going. You should have heard his Kenneth Williams, or seen him do his gay John Wayne or his effeminate Barnsley coal miner. Talk about laugh.”
“Did Vernon find this amusing?”
“No. I think it embarrassed him when Mark started doing his out-rageously gay routines. I mean, most of the time he was just . . . you know . . . ordinary. Well, I don’t mean ordinary, because he was a great bloke, really special, but he didn’t have any affectations or exaggerated mannerisms.”
“I think I understand,” said Annie. “Was Vernon at the theater all Friday afternoon?”
“We all were.”
9 6 P E T E R
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“During the
“Yes.”
