Situation Tragedy

And, in every case, whoever had actually committed the crime, behind it, masterminding the operation, had been ‘the evil genius of von Strutter’ (usually followed by an exclamation mark!).

And so, in these old blue volumes were prefigured the deaths of Sadie Wainwright, Scott Newton, Rod Tisdale and Robin Laughton. Their individual identity had not been important; so long as they were connected with the series called The Strutters they had earned the right to die.

Charles returned the four volumes to their shelf long before Stanley Harvey’s deadline. He didn’t look at Death Takes A Short Cut. He knew what happened in that one.

Someone got impaled on a Japanese samurai sword.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The tower block of W.E.T. House looked unchanged, modern, impassive, but internally it was crippled. There was no canteen or bar service, the security men’s go-slow continued and members of other unions formed little mumbling groups. The company was like a very old man’s body, in which no one knew which organ would fail next. Senior management sat like anxious doctors in their offices, waiting for the loudspeaker announcement or phone call that would signal the end, or at least the lapse into coma, of their patient.

But Peter Lipscombe was not the man to let that sort of atmosphere get him down. With Boy Scout brightness he welcomed each member of The Strutters cast into the building, and assured them all that everything was okay.

And so indeed it seemed. Costumes were laid in dressing-rooms, make-up girls waited to administer their tantalisingly short caresses, cameramen and sound-boom operators drifted towards the studio, Vision Mixer and PA to the control box, Sound and Vision Controllers to their adjacent stations. The set was up, and there seemed to be no reason why the rehearse/recording of Episode Eight of The Strutters should not start on camera at ten o’clock as scheduled.

Charles Paris wasn’t there on the dot of ten, because, from force of habit, he had gone to the big Studio A, where Wragg and Bowen were having an uphill struggle with new directors and scriptwriters, and beginning to question the wisdom of their hugely expensive transfer from the BBC. (Why did they think they could change the inalienable law of television — that no comedy star was ever improved by moving from the BBC to ITV, and that for most a commercial offer was a sure sign that they had passed their peak of popularity?)

Charles realised his mistake as soon as he saw the set of garish tinsel and dangling silver bicycle wheels. As he turned to leave, he nearly bumped into a familiar, and not unattractive, figure. ‘Jay!’

Actually, I call myself Jan Lewis now. It looks better on the roller caption.’

‘Uh-huh. Well, how are things?’

‘Fine. This Wragg and Bowen show is so complicated. There’s lots to learn.’

‘I’m sure.’

‘Did you hear what happened yesterday?’

‘Don’t think so.’

‘Oh, it was an absolute disaster. You know, this programme for the elderly. .’

Oh yes, the Franchise-Grabber. He nodded.

‘Well, you know they’d got this wonderful old boy in to front it. Ian Reynolds, he’s nearly eighty.’

‘Yes, I had heard.’ A few times.

‘Well, yesterday was their first day in the studio and when he got in front of the cameras — he dropped dead.’

‘Oh dear.’

‘Yes, they lost the whole studio day.’

Charles tut-tutted appropriately.

‘They’re going to get Robert Carton in instead. I’m sure he’ll do it awfully well.’

‘Oh, I should think so.’ There was a silence. ‘It’d be nice for us to get together again soon.

‘Charles!’ She looked at him as if he had made an improper suggestion. Which indeed he had. But not one that had worried her before.

‘What’s the matter?’

‘But, Charles, I’m on a different programme now.’

His dilatoriness in getting to Studio B didn’t matter. He had checked with Mort Verdon, who assured him that the samurai sword would be kept locked in the prop store until required for the final scene. ‘Can’t leave things like that lying around, boofle. For a start, it’s worth a few bob, and things have been known to disappear, you know. . Also, it’s an extremely businesslike weapon, dear. Very sharp. If somebody started fooling about with that, there could be a very sudden influx of new members to the Treble Section. .’

Maybe Mort Verdon’s protective eye would be sufficient to ward off any ‘accidents’, but Charles knew Barton Rivers was cunning in his madness, and didn’t feel confident. As soon as the sword appeared on the set, he would watch Barton Rivers’s every move. Any attempt to touch it and he’d pounce. He needed evidence to ensure that the old maniac was put away where he belonged. But he’d have to be quick. He wanted evidence, but he didn’t want another corpse.

Studio B, when he found it, looked quite a bit smaller than Studio A, but he was informed that it had the same floor area. The difference was that the larger studio had permanent audience seats, while when Studio B had audience shows, banks of seats were brought in, thus reducing the acting area. The seating was built in situ on frames of bolted metal sections, and stood up in great wedges away from the studio back wall. (A large gap had to be left between this wall and the back of the bank of seats because of fire regulations.)

Charles slouched in the front row and watched the recording with mild interest. The atmosphere was different to the usual studio day. Normally the tension mounted as the day went on, building to the mock-climax of the Dress Run, and then the final release of the end of the recording. On the revised schedule, each scene was rehearsed until satisfactory, and then recorded. It made everyone more relaxed. In spite of the industrial stormclouds outside, in the studio all was cosy. Many of the actors commented how much they’d rather rehearse/record the show every week, forget the moribund studio audience and either dub on the laughs or — heretical thought to any traditional Light Entertainment mind! — dispense with them altogether.

Peter Lipscombe explained at considerable length how much more expensive this would be because of the cost of VTR machine time, but soon lost his audience in a welter of budgetary jargon.

Through the slow processes of the morning Charles kept an eye on Barton Rivers. The old man sat in the audience grinning inanely and watching the every move of his wife. Whatever had happened to his mind, his devotion to Aurelia seemed absolutely genuine, a devotion reflected in such overblown and dated terms by the relationship between Maltravers and Eithne Ratcliffe.

Once again Charles wondered who on earth Hilary could be and where she fitted into the bizarre picture.

At one point he chatted to Barton. The old man, with his zany politeness, used a lot of ‘dear boys’, commented that doing the show this way was ‘a rummy business’ and asked Charles what chance he thought our chaps had against the Indians at the Oval.

Now that he had the key, Charles could hear the intonations of Maltravers Ratcliffe in every word. And, remembering the photograph of the fine young man in the Bentley, he could see that, if ever the filming of Death Takes A Short Cut had been feasible, Barton Rivers would have been ideal casting for it.

He contemplated challenging the old man with all he knew, but he didn’t think it would work. The ruined mind would not be able to respond. No, he had to wait for the sword and see what happened.

They proceeded quickly on the new schedule and by lunchtime had recorded the bulk of the show. Of course, there were no canteen facilities, but Peter Lipscombe demonstrated that he did have his uses by laying on large supplies of take-away food in the dressing rooms. Mort Verdon was of the pessimistic opinion that this might be construed as strike-breaking and twitched visibly every time there was an announcement on the loudspeakers.