All the Colors of Darkness

actors, along with jobbing actors.

The idea was that Eastvale would be their home base, but they’d tour and we’d have reciprocal visits from other groups of players. Mark would be the artistic director and he said he’d put in a good word for me with the board, so I could have the job he’s got now. Had. Like he was grooming me. I mean, I’ve got the qualifications, but it’s not just what’s on paper that counts, is it?”

“This would be a professional company, then?”

“Oh, yes. Absolutely. They’d be paid and everything.”

“And Vernon?”

“He’d do the same as he’s doing now.”

“But wouldn’t he be upset if you became head of set and costumes?

You’d be his boss then.”

“I don’t see why it should bother him. Vernon’s not ambitious.

He’d still be paid, wouldn’t he? Nothing would change for him.”

How little you know about people, Annie thought. Maria was being rather naive, given that she had mentioned earlier on how Vernon seemed to have problems working with competent women, let alone for one. “What about the amateur groups?” Annie asked.

“They’d do what they were doing before, I suppose, put on plays in the community center and church halls.”

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“And Derek Wyman?”

“He’d still be their director.”

“I know, but it’d be a bit of step down for him, wouldn’t it, after working at the real theater?”

“But it’s not as if it’s his life, is it? Or even his real job. He’s a schoolteacher. The theater’s just a hobby for him.”

Try and tell that to Derek Wyman, Annie thought, remembering her talk with him that morning. “And who was going to finance this little venture?” she asked.

“Laurence Silbert, Mark’s partner, was going to help us get started, then the idea was that it would mostly pay for itself, maybe with a little help from the Arts Council lottery money every once in a while. We were sure the board would go for it. Laurence was on the board, anyway, and he thought he could convince them.”

Vernon Ross had never mentioned this, Annie thought. But he wouldn’t, would he, if it was something that angered him or made him look bad? “Interesting,” she said. “Just how far had all this got?”

“Oh, it was still only in the planning stages,” Maria said. “That’s another reason this is all so tragic. It couldn’t have come at a worse time. Now nothing will change. If I want any sort of future in the theater, I’m going to have to look for another job. I don’t even think I have the heart to stay here without Mark being around.”

“You’re young,” said Annie. “I’m sure you’ll do fine. Is there anything else you can tell me?”

“Not really,” said Maria. “That was about all I had to say. I can offer you another cup of instant coffee, though, if you want?”

Annie looked at the cracked, stained mug with the gray-brown sludge in the bottom. “No, thanks,” she said, standing up. “I really have to be going. More reports to write. Thanks for your help, anyway.”

“Think nothing of it,” said Maria, seeing her to the door. “Just don’t tell Vernon what I said about him being homophobic and all that. I’m sure he thinks he’s the very model of tolerance.”

“Don’t worry,” said Annie. “I won’t.”

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P E T E R R O B I N S O N

E D W I N A’ S S TAT E M E N T hung in the silence ready to burst like a piece of overripe fruit on a tree. Banks had had his suspicions that Silbert was up to something clandestine, but he would have guessed that it was sexual, or perhaps even criminal. Not this. Not espionage. He knew that it changed the whole balance and focus of the case, but it was too early to say exactly how. At least he could start by getting as much information out of Edwina as he could, though she seemed immediately to have regretted her little confidence.

“I shouldn’t have told you,” she said. “It’ll only muddy the waters.”

“On the contrary,” said Banks. “You should have told me the first time we talked to you. It could be important. How long had this been going on?”

“What do you mean?”

“The spying.”

“Oh, all his life. Well, ever since he graduated from university.”

Edwina sighed, sipped her gin and tonic and lit another cigarette.

Banks noticed the yellow stains ingrained in the wrinkles of her fingers. “His father, Cedric, worked for military intelligence during the Second World War. I don’t think he was very good at it, but at least he survived, and he still had the contacts, people he kept in touch with.”

“Did he pursue it as a career?”