film.'
'I notice you don't suggest looking at the film itself,' said Pascoe.
'Why not? Look away!' said Toms. 'I'll sit and look with you.'
'You have a print of the film, sir?' asked Pascoe.
'I think not. They'll all be out, I expect.'
'All?'
'We usually make a couple of prints, sometimes three. It depends on the kind of demand we envisage.'
'And in this case?'
For the first time the shadow of a smile appeared on Gerry Toms's face.
'Two only, I think. You see, I'm realistic. This kind of social allegory isn't altogether what the modern cineaste is looking for. Yes, there were two, I now recall. But only one survives. I remember there was some trouble, a consignment went astray at our distributors. It sank without a trace. It's the kind of people one has to employ these days. So the only surviving print is the one you must have seen. Presumably it's moved on elsewhere now. Never fear. It will be easy to catch it up.'
'Not too easy, sir,' said Pascoe. 'I'm afraid that's gone too. There was a fire at the Calliope Kinema Club where it was showing. Perhaps you heard about it?'
'No, I didn't. Good lord, that means, unless the last copy surfaces, it's goodbye Droit de Seigneur. Or perhaps I should say Adieu.'
'You don't seem worried,' said Pascoe.
'Why should I be? A film director writes on water, Inspector. And besides, that period of my life is dead. Now I'm into escapism. Symbolic romance.'
'Elinor Glyn?' enquired Pascoe.
'What? Oh, I see,' said Toms glancing at the tiger skin rug and nodding approvingly, as at a sharp pupil. 'No, but nearly right. We're doing a little squib loosely based on the tales of Baroness Orczy. It's about a group of noble ladies who are smuggled out of the shadow of the guillotine disguised as filles de joie in a travelling brothel. We're calling it The Scarlet Pimp.'
'Oh God,' said Pascoe.
'Oh Montreal,' said Toms. 'Is that all, Inspector?'
'Just a couple of other points. What time did you get back on Friday?'
'Oh, I don't know. Ten, eleven p.m.'
Pascoe did a couple of quick calculations.
'Did anyone see you when you arrived, sir?'
'What? Of course they did. I'm not invisible, you know. Customs men, taxi-driver, hotel receptionist. Am I establishing some kind of alibi?'
'I meant, did anyone see you when you got back to Harrogate?'
Toms began to smile.
'I'm with you, I think. You've misunderstood me, Inspector. It's true I should have been back in Harrogate early Friday evening. But we got held up. Barcelona was absolutely fog-bound. It was London I reached on Friday night. I didn't get back to Harrogate till Saturday lunchtime.'
The door opened and Penelope Latimer came in.
'Generator's arrived, darling.'
'Great,' said Toms. 'Any way I can help, Inspector, you've just got to ask. Will you excuse me?'
He left. Pascoe smiled to the woman and said casually, 'Mr Toms was telling me he got held up in Spain.'
'Yes. Bloody nuisance. We lost a day. Should have started this lot on Saturday, you know.'
'Where is it he stays in London? I meant to ask.'
'The Candida,' she said. 'I think he'd be there. Yes, he definitely was. Their switchboard girl put him through to me when he rang.'
'He rang? Why?'
'To say he was delayed, of course. What's all this about, Peter?'
'Nothing. Nothing,' said Pascoe. 'Interesting ideas your partner has, though.'
'You think so? He sees himself as the poor man's Warhol. Or do I mean the rich man's Warhol? But he's certainly got what it takes for this business.'
'Talent, you mean?' said Pascoe.
Penelope laughed her joyous laugh.
'Talent! Gerry could stick his talent between the cheeks of his tight little arse and it would fall out when he stood up. No. He knows which way to point a camera, and up from down, but his real asset is face. Sheer bloody effrontery. He got this place for us from old Lady Campsall. There was a bit of bother when her agent latched on to what kind of outfit we were, so Gerry went along and saw her. 'Ma'am,' he said. 'What we are making are vulgar films for vulgar people. It's a new form of peasant taxation, and as such, you owe it your keenest support.' She bought it. That's Gerry's real talent. Not film-making, but getting out of jams when they occur, which in this business is every two minutes. I know a dozen guys could make a better film than Gerry with one eye closed, but they couldn't get it put together within a time limit if the leading actor had a hernia, the banks foreclosed and a drunken lab-assistant peed in the hypo tank. Gerry could, would, and has done.'
'I begin to see his value,' said Pascoe. 'You said he owned a third of the company.'
'Did I?'
'On the phone. You own another third, I presume. Who's the other lucky shareholder?'
'No one really,' said the woman. 'It was just a manner of speaking. Gerry and me do the work. We have to twist a few arms to finance any new project, that's all I meant.'
The room suddenly began to fill up with bodies and a tangle of cables.
'Time to work,' said Penelope. 'Stay and enjoy the view.'
'Some other time,' said Pascoe despondently. 'I've other bodies to see.'
Penelope regarded him curiously.
'Look,' she said. 'I'm not sure I know what this is all about, but don't let it get to you, darling. It's a crummy planet. Crummy things happen. We can all suffer without looking it up in the Yellow Pages. So be happy and come up and see me again some time – without those official eyes. 'Bye now.'
As he sent the Riley down the dark tunnel of conifers and yew, Pascoe was not certain whether he had been comforted or warned. Either way it didn't matter. Or, to be less precise, they were equally irrelevant. To take warning, to take comfort: these were the prerogatives of the people. It was the duty of the priest class to give them, not to take them, especially not from fat women in the pornographic film business.
Still, he thought, it was a terrible thing this pure abluting. Duty meant sacrifice. It might have been quite interesting to see what the Scarlet Pimp did with that tiger rug.
On the other hand, though she did not yet know it, he had a date with a movie star.
Chapter 16
'One thing I'll give you lot,’ said Linda Abbott. 'You start early.'
'But they let us finish late,' said Pascoe, glancing at his watch. It was only nine o'clock in the morning and already he'd contrived to do – he totted it up. Very little.
Linda Abbott did not seem likely to change things. No, there definitely hadn't been another girl on the set. What would have been the point? The shooting had taken about a week, four or five days, that was. This was a lot longer than the back-street boys, three hours of an afternoon would do them, but the thing about Mr Toms was that he made real films. Some of them even had certificates and made it to Screen Three at the local Gaumont. She'd appeared in one of these, a small part. But hadn't she had to join Equity?
Pascoe sat in the bright neat kitchen and talked softly over a mug of coffee for fear of disturbing the sleeping Bert.
'How'd you get into this film business?' he asked.
