‘Yes, I know that, but what job do you do?’
‘I don’t have a job. I came into a bit of money when my mother died, so I gave up my job. I just do the collection now.’
‘Oh, I see. And are you going to use all the material to write a book about her?’
‘Oh, no, I couldn’t write a book. It’s just an interest, you know,’ Romney Kirkstall replied in a voice which suggested that the only thing strange about the conversation was Charles’s need to ask the question.
‘So you spend your days collecting?’
‘Yes, looking around for stuff a lot of the time. I’m a lot younger than her, you see, I’m only forty-three, so I wasn’t around to collect programmes and things at the time. But I go around junk stalls and book shops. It’s an interest,’ he repeated.
Only forty-three. Charles was surprised. Romney Kirkstall could have been any age, but forty-three seemed very young to have developed this kind of obsession. Maybe, Charles reflected, it was a sign of his own age. When the loonies start looking young.
‘Actually,’ Romney Kirkstall continued, ‘I thought of you today.’
‘Oh?’
‘I was looking for some stuff in a bookshop in the Charing Cross Road — a place Barton Rivers recommended to me, actually — and I came across that book you were talking about.’
‘What book?’
‘Well, you were talking about the film, but it had the same title.
‘Oh yes?’
‘They’d got a copy of it there. I looked at it, but it hadn’t got anything to do with Dob, so I put it back. But, since you asked about it, I thought you might be interested.’
‘I am. Thank you. Who was the author?’
‘R. Q. Wilberforce. Didn’t mean anything to me. You heard of him?’
Charles grimaced. ‘It’s vaguely familiar. Think he could have been one of those Thirties detective story writers, like E. R. Punshon or Freeman Wills Croft.’
‘Never heard of them either,’ confessed Romney Kirkstall.
‘Well, if you could give me the name of the bookshop. .’
Romney supplied it. ‘I must go,’ he said. Then he hesitated, as if to impart some vital piece of information. ‘Do you know why I was called Romney?’ he asked.
‘No.’
‘My mother named me after Romney Brent. Friend of Noel Coward’s.’
‘Ah.’
‘Yes.’ Romney Kirkstall turned tail and scuttered out.
Jay Lewis was still in the bar and seemed to be looking his way. He sidled up to her and whispered, ‘What does Ernie Franklyn Junior say about PAs sleeping with the same person twice?’
‘Oh, he says that’s all right. He says it’s inevitable that relationships develop.’
‘Oh, does he? That’s very nice of him.’
Charles thought he would like to meet Ernie Franklyn Junior one day, and smash his teeth in. Or perhaps set a posse of indignant PAs on him to revenge his unflattering generalisations. Charles’s previous experience of PAs had taught him (by the unquestionable empirical method of trying to get off with them) that their inclination towards promiscuity was no greater than that of other women. They weren’t all as gullible as Jay Lewis.
But he couldn’t really complain, as he seemed currently to be a beneficiary of the Ernie Franklyn Junior teaching. He was in no position to argue.
Nor, for the first hour after they got back to Jay’s flat, was he in a position to think much either. But he was in some nice positions that didn’t involve too much thinking.
There came a lull and they lay back on the pillows.
‘You’re just using me for experience, aren’t you, Jay?’
‘Yes. Ernie Fr — ’
‘Sure, sure.’
‘You don’t mind, do you?’
‘Why should I mind?’
‘You know,’ she said slowly, ‘I may be coming off
‘Oh yes.’
‘They need an extra PA on
‘Ah.’
‘I’ll see if I can get it. Learn more on a big variety show.’
They turned the light out and dozed.
‘Oh, by the way. .’ Jay said suddenly.
‘Hmm.’
‘I did ask my flatmate about that film you mentioned and she found out about it.’
‘What did she find out?’
Was this going to be important? Was this going to be the key that unlocked the Chinese box of mysteries?
Apparently not.
‘It never got made,’ said Jay.
‘Oh.’
‘No, it was all set up in 1939. They started, did a couple of days’ filming, then war was declared and the whole production was cancelled.’
‘Ah,’ said Charles Paris, and went to sleep.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
West End Television Ltd,
W.E.T. House,
235-9 Lisson Avenue,
London NW 1 3PQ.
18th July, 1979.
Dear Charles,
Just a quick note to say how super last night’s show was and to thank you for all the hard work you’re putting into this very exciting series.
A few days rest now, which I’m sure you’ll be glad of, and then. . on with the fun! We’ve got some smashing scripts from Willy and Sam and I think the series is going to go all the way to the top of the ratings!
Look forward to seeing you at the next read-through on Friday, 27th July.
With the warmest good wishes.
Yours sincerely,
Peter
Peter Lipscombe
Producer
Good God, did the man never stop writing notes, Charles wondered. Where did he get the time? On the other hand, of course, he was a television producer and there must be a limit to the hours in the day you can spend buying people drinks.
The only other mail he had that day was something offering him a piece of leatherette if he applied for an American Express card and a photocopied sheet from the Red Theatre Co-operative, demanding workers’ solidarity against the Right Wing Fascist take-over of Equity. He put these two, together with Peter Lipscombe’s note,
