Stagestruck

Once he’d passed the checks on his own identity, the information was quick in coming. The helpful civil servant at the Yard told him that Morgan Ogilby White, a teacher, aged thirty-one, had been convicted on three counts of indecency with minors at Winchester in 1965 and sentenced to five years, of which he had served three in Shepton Mallet prison. The offences had been committed at a private school in Hampshire called Manningham Academy. White must have moved there from the junior school in Kingston where Diamond had known him. He’d been released on probation in 1968.

Hearing the details like this made it more real than getting it at third hand from Glazebrook’s Mum.

‘Is that it?’ he asked.

The voice said, ‘That’s all we have.’

‘I was expecting more.’

‘He hasn’t re-offended – under that name, anyway. Paedophiles are crafty at changing their identities and re- offending, as you know.’

‘I was hoping to trace him.’

‘Difficult. You could try the probation service. But your best bet would be the police authority where he offended. Before the new legislation came in, they kept their own intelligence on sex offenders.’

The house was more than three-quarters full that evening. Not bad, considering how bleak the prospects had been after Clarion had left the cast. Although numerous fans had returned their tickets on the Tuesday, the generous reviews and news coverage of Gisella’s success as understudy had boosted sales and numbers of those empty seats were filled.

Chairman Melmot had made sure everyone knew of Clarion’s decision not to sue. The mood backstage was upbeat as the countdown to curtain up was relayed at intervals over the tannoy. Gisella herself couldn’t wait to go on stage. She’d heard that a casting director from the National had come to see her as Sally Bowles. They were looking for someone to play the main role in a revival of Irma la Douce. If she was asked, it would be a huge opportunity, she’d informed the other leading actors. Preston, as usual, was incommunicado an hour before the show, so she’d pushed a note under his door. She didn’t have any worries about him. He could be relied on to give a strong performance. An actor was allowed to be self-absorbed off stage as long as he played his part like a professional. Whatever his secret pre-show build-up might consist of, it worked. The way Gisella saw it, Preston’s Isherwood was a perfect foil for her Sally Bowles.

Little Hedley Shearman looked in at one stage with a bunch of roses when Gisella was doing her make-up. ‘You look radiant,’ he said. ‘These are for you, my dear.’

She thanked him for bringing them up, assuming they’d been left by some admirer at the stage door.

‘They’re from me,’ he said with a smirk, ‘to spur you on.’

‘Oh… well, thanks.’ A guarded response. She hadn’t enjoyed him pawing her the day before.

He continued, oblivious. ‘We’re expecting a VIP out there tonight.’

‘I heard. Don’t make me nervous.’

‘You’ll be marvellous, no question.’ And now he revealed the reason for the flowers. ‘How about a spot of supper afterwards? I know what you actors are like. You’ll be on a high. You can’t face sleep for hours.’

‘Thanks for the offer,’ she said, ‘but I don’t like eating late. I’ll just have a sandwich at the hotel. And I have no problem sleeping, as it happens.’

‘Can I join you?’ He grinned. ‘For the sandwich, I mean. I’m supposed to be dieting.’

‘Mr Shearman – ’

‘Hedley to you.’

‘Hedley, please don’t take this personally, but I don’t want company tonight or any night.’

This awkward exchange was quickly forgotten as the beginners left the dressing rooms to take their positions. The buzz of expectant conversation out front had been audible over the tannoy and was exciting to hear from the wings. The old theatre with its gilded panels, crimson drapes and crystal chandelier created an ambience. Every performance started with favourable conditions for a good hearing. The anticipation on both sides of the curtain was positive.

Preston Barnes was already in his usual place at the table on stage, having his appearance checked by Belinda, the make-up girl. Gisella tried to catch his eye to check that he’d seen her note, but he didn’t look her way. His concentration was total, almost intimidating.

In the wings the large woman playing Fraulein Schneider waited with the lace tablecloth she would set in preparation for Sally Bowles. Everyone in the cast spoke of her as Schneider, rather than using her own name. She had an air of overweening importance on and off stage. All the other actors were lesser lights so far as she was concerned.

‘And curtain up,’ came the voice of the DSM from the prompt corner. Thursday’s performance got under way. No evening in the theatre is ever exactly like another, even though the cast speak the same lines and make the same moves. This night would stand out.

I Am a Camera was written as a three act play, but in the modern theatre a single interval is preferred, so the decision had been made to stop once, at the close of Act One, and run Two and Three together, dimming the lights between to show the passage of time. Act One ends with Sally Bowles, who is pregnant, about to go to an abortionist recommended by Fraulein Schneider. Isherwood is not the father, but he offers first to marry her and then to pay for the operation.

Shortly before the interval curtain was lowered, Schneider had an exit, followed soon after by Sally. On each other evening they had gone straight to their dressing rooms to prepare for the second half. Tonight, in the wings, Schneider blocked Gisella’s way. Something was clearly wrong. She was out of character and apparently eager to speak. Gisella’s first thought was that she must have committed some gaffe, missed a cue or blocked a sight line. It was soon clear something else was wrong.

‘Did you see it?’ Wide, startled eyes locked with Gisella’s.

‘See what?’