Danny checked his bank statement, which had arrived, along with a credit card, in the morning post. Four thousand pounds would make a very large dent on the bottom line and Danny wondered how long he could survive before he would have to throw in the towel; it might have been a cliche but the expression did remind him of happier times in Bow.
During the past week, Danny had bought a laptop and a printer, a silver photo frame, several files, assorted pens, pencils and erasers, as well as reams of paper. He had already begun to build a database on the three men who had been responsible for Bernie's death, and he spent most of the first month entering everything he knew about Spencer Craig, Gerald Payne and Lawrence Davenport. That didn't amount to a great deal, but Nick had taught him that it's easier to pass exams if you've put in the research. He had just been about to begin that research when he received Munro's invoice, which reminded him how quickly his funds were drying up. Then he remembered the envelope. The time had come to seek a second opinion.
He picked up
Danny opened his laptop and googled
Danny thought he'd take them by surprise, but not today, because he was going to the theater, and not to see the play. The play was not the thing.
Danny had never been to a West End theater before, unless he counted a trip on Beth's twenty-first to see
He had phoned the Garrick the previous day and booked a seat for a matinee performance of
He opened his program and read for the first time about how Oscar Wilde's play had been an instant hit in 1895 when it was first performed at the St. James's Theatre in London. He had to keep standing up to allow other people to take their seats in row H as a steady stream of ticket holders made their way into the theater.
By the time the lights went down, the Garrick was almost full and the majority of seats seemed to be occupied by young girls. When the curtain rose, Lawrence Davenport was nowhere to be seen, but Danny didn't have to wait long, because he made his entrance a few moments later. A face he would never forget. One or two of the audience immediately began clapping. Davenport paused before delivering his first line, as though he expected nothing less.
Danny was tempted to charge up onto the stage and tell the assembled gathering what sort of a man Davenport really was, and what had taken place at the Dunlop Arms the night their hero had stood and watched Spencer Craig stab his best friend to death. How differently he had acted in the alley from the swaggering, confident man he now portrayed. On that occasion he had given a far more convincing performance as a coward.
Like the young girls in the audience, Danny's eyes never left Davenport. As the performance continued, it became clear that if there was a mirror to gaze in, Davenport would find it. By the time the curtain fell for the interval, Danny felt he had seen quite enough of Lawrence Davenport to know just how much he'd appreciate a few matinees in jail. Danny would have returned to The Boltons and brought his file up to date if he hadn't found to his surprise how much he was enjoying the play.
He followed the jostling crowd into a packed bar and waited in a long queue while one barman tried manfully to serve all his would-be customers. Finally Danny gave up, and decided to use the time to read his program and learn more about Oscar Wilde, who he wished had been featured on the A-level syllabus. He became distracted by a high-pitched conversation that was taking place between two girls standing at the corner of the bar.
'What did you think of Larry?' asked the first.
'He's wonderful,' came back the reply. 'Pity he's gay.'
'But are you enjoying the play?'
'Oh, yes. I'm coming again on closing night.'
'How did you manage to get tickets?'
'One of the stagehands lives in our street.'
'Does that mean you'll be going to the party afterwards?'
'Only if I agree to be his date for the night.'
'Do you think you'll get to meet Larry?'
'It's the only reason I said I'd go out with him.'
A bell sounded three times and several customers quickly downed their drinks before drifting back into the auditorium to take their seats. Danny followed in their wake.
When the curtain rose again, Danny became so engrossed in the play that he almost forgot his real purpose for being there. While the girls' attention remained firmly focused on Dr. Beresford, Danny sat back waiting to find out which one of two men would turn out to be Earnest.
When the curtain fell and the cast took their bows, the audience rose to their feet, shouting and screaming, just as Beth had done that night, but a different kind of scream. It only made Danny more determined that they should find out the truth about their flawed idol.
After the final curtain call, the chattering crowd spilled out of the theater onto the pavement. Some headed straight for the stage door, but Danny made his way back to the box office.
The box office manager smiled. 'Enjoy the show?'
'Yes, thank you. Do you by any chance have a ticket for the closing night?'
'Afraid not, sir. Sold out.'
'Just a single?' said Danny hopefully. 'I don't mind where I sit.'
The box office manager checked his screen and studied the seating plan for the last performance. 'I do have a single seat in row W.'
'I'll take it,' said Danny, passing over his credit card. 'Does that allow me to attend the party afterwards?'
'No, I'm afraid not,' said the manager with a smile. 'That's by invitation only.' He swiped Danny's card, 'Sir Nicholas Moncrieff,' he said, looking at him more closely.
'Yes, that's right,' said Danny.
The manager printed out a single ticket, took an envelope from below the counter and slipped the ticket inside.
Danny continued to read the program on the tube journey back to South Kensington, and after he'd devoured every word on Oscar Wilde and read about the other plays he'd written, he opened the envelope to check his ticket. C9. They must have made a mistake. He looked inside the envelope and pulled out a card which read:
Danny suddenly realized the importance of being Sir Nicholas.
