Their final decision will be swayed by the Lord Chamberlain’s attitude. If he decides that it’s a threat to public morality, there’s nothing I or anyone else can do to keep it open. An appeal to Churchill might work, I suppose. I understand that when he was young he used to champion the ladies of the music hall.”
“All this talk of the chorus girls appearing nude is sending the box office through the roof,” said Elspeth. “We’ll soon have the Christmas season fully booked. If the Lord Chamberlain does shut us there’ll be nothing else to put in after it. We’ll go dark for the first time in thirty years. It doesn’t bear thinking about.”
“If the Lord Chamberlain objects, couldn’t a compromise be reached?”
“Yes, if Miss Parole would just agree to cover up the girls’…you know…”
“What?”
“Nipples,” she mouthed at him, looking down at her chest. She dabbed a napkin at her forehead, embarrassed. “It’s so hot in here, Arthur. That scarf must be strangling you. We never overheat in the foyer, even in the middle of summer. So much marble.”
“You’re all very loyal to the theatre,” Bryant conceded. Just being outside the building made Elspeth uncomfortable. He wondered how she would cope if the directors closed the show down and fired the permanent staff. Theatre management seemed a separate breed from the acting companies, one of the oldest and least recognized London tribes, working long hours for low salaries, never in the limelight themselves, unable to imagine any other life apart from the stage. “Mr Whittaker’s like you. I’m surprised you aren’t…”
“What?”
“Well, together.”
“Me and Geoffrey?” It was good to see her smile. “God, no. The theatre would always be in the way. We’d never talk of anything else. Besides, he’s a terrible womanizer.”
“Are there really no problems between Helena and members of the cast?”
“None that I know of. The only row is with the stagehands, because of these accidents. I mean, we’re all assuming the rumours are true about Miss Capistrania suffering something similar. Everyone’s wondering who’ll be next, but they all get on with their work. It’s incredible how the press has managed to twist the whole thing around. Have you seen the article by Gilbert Riley in this morning’s edition of the
She fancies him, thought Bryant immediately. Well, why not? He had the same effect on every woman he met. Presumably it was some kind of chemical reaction, scientifically quantifiable and easily explained. Some men had it, he decided, and others didn’t.
“He’s finishing the interviews,” said Bryant, pushing his plate back and picking up the bill. “I have to submit a report to my superior by tomorrow. The process would normally take longer, but the war is speeding everything up.”
“The last fourteen months have passed so quickly,” agreed Elspeth. “So many horrors, so many changes. I just celebrated my thirty-second birthday. Not a good age for a single woman.” Her hand absently brushed her cheek. In the dusty light from the restaurant window she suddenly looked much younger, as if she had been kept all her life within the walls of the theatre, untouched by the ravages of the outside world. Bryant felt a sudden pang of desire for her. “It’s rather ironic still to be working in a shrine constructed for a man who made merciless fun of spinsters.”
“Oh, Gilbert, you mean. Yes, he was a bit hard on the ladies. But Sullivan balanced him. He loved women too much. It must have been an interesting alliance.”
“I daresay you see the parallels with your own partnership,” said Elspeth carelessly.
Bryant pretended to bridle at the thought. “Crusty curmudgeon and laconic ladies’ man, whatever can you mean?” he said.
Elspeth’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Oh, I don’t think you’re such a curmudgeon. You have the heart of someone who’s been in love. Trust me, I know the signs.”
“Well, once was enough.”
“You’re young. You have plenty of time yet, provided you can manage to stay out of harm’s way.” She checked a tiny gold watch. “I need to get back. Perhaps we can see each other when I get out.”
“And perhaps we can eat somewhere other than here,” said Bryant, paying the bill. “Their meat sauce tasted as though it had been boiled up from the innards of a horse.”
“If they keep reducing our rations, I imagine that’s what we’ll end up eating.” Elspeth rose and straightened her hat as a woman shoved past her to claim her seat.
The young detective laid a gentle hand on Elspeth’s shoulder. “I’ve overlooked something. You know the theatre better than anyone…”
“I know it well, but so does Geoffrey. And Stan Lowe, and Mr Mack.”
“Am I making mistakes? What have I missed?”
“I think perhaps…” She hesitated for a moment, studying his wide blue eyes. A connection tingled as she opened herself to him, then quickly cooled as she remembered her place. “I think you should talk to the owner of the theatre company. You might learn more than you imagine. Everyone has secrets.” She pushed open the restaurant door and glanced guiltily at the theatre. “I’ve said enough. I really must go.”
For the briefest of moments Bryant had read something in her eyes that he could not interpret: fear, mistrust, the pain of hidden knowledge. He was young, and still had much to learn about people, especially women.
? Full Dark House ?
25
THE NATURE OF ILLUSION
Every time May passed near the footlights of the Palace stage, chorus girls would peer round the wings at him and start giggling. He wondered what Betty had told them. The evening had been a lot of fun, though bloody expensive, and the pretty chorine had made it obvious that she would welcome entertainment again at the weekend. Knowing that Bryant had returned to the unit the previous night, May felt an odd sort of disloyalty to his partner. It was only the end of his third day, and he was fraternizing with potential suspects instead of working late.
“I thought I’d find you down here,” he said, spotting the unruly fringe of chestnut hair that stuck above the back of a row of stalls, six rows from the orchestra pit. Bryant was sprawled with his legs hooked over the seat in front. The stage was partially lit with Fresnel spots to reveal a hellish scene. Crimson caverns of oil and fire glittered with droplets of lava, and the petrified purple bodies of demons jutted from priapic stalagmites. The effect was, if not quite obscene, very near the edge of public toleration in 1940.
May pushed down the seat next to his partner and leaned over. “Did you know that while the theatre company is occupying the Palace, it owns the stage, the backstage area and all rights of access, but not the front of house or its offices? Those are in the control of the theatre’s owners. Each of the companies is placing the responsibility on the other, so now we’re not allowed to talk to staff on the premises. I’m trying to make arrangements to continue off site.”
“We should have done that from the start,” said Bryant grumpily. “It’ll shake them up to be questioned in official surroundings. I wish I hadn’t tried the mystery meat pie at luncheon, I feel most uncomfortable.”
May pointed at the semi-naked women cavorting with each other onstage. “I suppose all of this offends your purist sensibilities.”
“Not a bit of it,” said Bryant. “Offenbach was far from pure. In fact, he outraged the purists of his age, so he’d probably approve of the nudity, although he might think some of the sex scenes are going a bit far, even in our supposedly enlightened times.”
“Perhaps you could tell me what’s supposed to be going on” – May waved a hand at the stage – “all this operatic hellfire and brimstone.”
Bryant unbuttoned his waistcoat and massaged his podgy stomach. “For a start it’s not an opera, it’s an
