Stagestruck

‘Her job, you mean? By Shearman?’ Ingeborg said.

‘Or the chairman of the board.’

‘Melmot?’ She seized on the possibility. ‘Yes, perfect. He’s the smarmy sort who’d pour you a glass of wine and sack you at the same time. I can see it.’

Diamond was less enthusiastic. ‘Why would Melmot invite her up to an empty dressing room? There’s a management office.’

Nobody had an answer.

The flow of suggestions dried up. Diamond looked at his watch. It wouldn’t be long before preparations started for the evening performance. It was a strange experience sitting here on the stage among the scenery and bits of furniture. He could imagine the curtain going up and the lights on and the actors speaking their lines, creating a drama out of words someone else had written. He found it hard to credit that people did this from choice.

‘Let’s get out of here. You finished the search, you said?’

‘We looked everywhere,’ Ingeborg said. ‘Shake a leg, Fred.’

Dawkins heaved himself off the sofa and performed a theatrical bow.

Ingeborg said, ‘Why don’t you show us a few steps? You’re in the right place.’

‘Wrong shoes.’

‘A soft shoe shuffle. Go on, Fred. The boss doesn’t believe you can do it.’

‘Difficult on a carpet.’ But the showman in Sergeant Dawkins couldn’t resist. He performed a few stylish steps, a double turn and a slick finish. No question: he’d done this before. He was a good mover.

Ingeborg clapped and Diamond gave a grudging nod. ‘Where did you learn?’

‘The obvious place.’

There was never a straight answer from this man.

‘It was a simple question, Fred.’

‘Let me hazard a guess about you, guv. In your youth you spent Saturday mornings kicking a football in the park.’

‘Sometimes.’

‘My parents sent me to dance school. At the time I didn’t appreciate the opportunity, but later I saw some Fred Astaire films and took it up again.’

‘Top Hat?’

‘That was one of them.’

Diamond was more at ease now. ‘And less well known, Flying Down to Rio, The Gay Divorcee, Follow the Fleet?’

Surprised that he could reel off all these titles, Ingeborg said, ‘Are you a dancer as well, guv?’

‘Get real, Inge.’

‘You seem to know a lot about it.’

‘Old films, I know about. If you haven’t seen Astaire dancing with Ginger Rogers, I’m sorry for you.’ Now that he’d started, Diamond couldn’t suppress the nostalgia. ‘He would have danced all over this set, and I mean all over – the sofa, the chairs, the bed.’ He looked around the set and his eyes lighted on the tiled stove. ‘The only thing that might have defeated him is that ugly great object. Does it have a part in the play?’

‘It’s a period piece, I expect.’

‘Typical of Berlin in the thirties, is it?’

‘Probably,’ Ingeborg said and took a couple of steps towards it. ‘I don’t think it’s ugly. The tiles are quite pretty.’

‘But you wouldn’t want it in your living room. Is it real, or made specially?’

Dawkins spoke up. ‘It can’t be genuine.’

‘How do you know, cleverclogs?’ Ingeborg said.

‘The genuine kachelofen is built of masonry, to conserve the heat passing through. It would be too heavy for the stage. The tiles may be real.’ His expertise was impressive, but didn’t cut much ice here.

‘It looks real to me,’ Ingeborg said, with a wicked urge to prove him wrong. She reached for the handle of the small square oven set into the tiles and was shocked by the door coming away in her hand and falling on the floor. Dawkins had been right. It was wood, painted to look like metal. ‘Jesus, I’ve broken it.’

‘No, you haven’t,’ Diamond said. ‘Pick it up and push it back in the slot.’

He could have saved his breath. Ingeborg had suddenly become more interested in the space she’d uncovered. She reached inside. ‘Hey, what’s this?’

‘The powder box?’

‘No. Various bits of paper.’ She took out several sheets and glanced at the top one. ‘It’s only the stage plan for this set,’ she said in disappointment. ‘And a couple of pages from a script. I expect someone was cleaning up and put them in here rather than binning them.’

‘I don’t suppose they’re needed now,’ Diamond said.