dressing room door, he seemed very much in command of their relationship.
‘Come, let’s away, my fair one, and we’ll be there in two twos.’
Relief, and the expression of amazement on Mort Verdon’s face, reduced Charles to helpless laughter. As amazement changed to concern, he realised he was hysterical.
‘Oh God,’ he finally managed to say, ‘I’ve never been so glad to see anyone.’
Mort Verdon flicked an eyebrow with his little finger. ‘I bet you say that to all the boys.’
Charles giggled again and then sobered up. ‘You look a worried man, Mort.’
‘I am, boofle, I am.’
‘Why?’
‘Always the same when you’ve got something valuable in the studio. It gets nicked.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘The samurai sword has completely disappeared, dear. Completely.’
‘Oh, my God!’ Charles realised that his ordeal was not yet over.
‘That’s why I’m going round the dressing rooms and — ’
‘Mort,’ said Charles.
‘Yes, dear.’
‘Would you mind walking out with me?’
Mort Verdon’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Well now,’ he said, ‘there’s a novelty!’
There was no sign of the Bentley or its owners as they left the dead stillness of W.E.T. House, but a cruising taxi was passing and Charles hailed it. He’d feel safer inside than exposed on the streets.
He was going to give the Hereford Road address, but suddenly panicked that Aurelia might know it. He felt certain they’d be out to get him, but he didn’t know how. Perhaps there would be a clue in the R. Q. Wilberforce books. He asked the driver to take him to Hampstead.
Stanley Harvey objected that it was very inconvenient and ill-mannered, but Charles was in no mood to be stopped. He bulldozered his way into the little man’s library and flicked quickly through Death Takes A Short Cut.
It was unhelpful. Then Charles remembered Stanley Harvey had mentioned some other R. Q. Wilberforce papers in the filing cabinet, and he demanded to see them.
It was the only thing he could think of. Perhaps there would be some further clue, some pointer that might help him avert the final tragedy.
With bad grace, Stanley Harvey opened the filing cabinet. Charles riffled through the piles of manuscript and letters at speed, not certain what he was looking for, but convinced that there must be something.
In a few minutes he found it. A pointer, yes, but it didn’t point in the way he had expected.
There was just one sheet. It was headed as if it were the start of a new book, but at the bottom of the page, a thick line had been ruled. All that was written below that was the date, 30th January 1944.
DEATH TAKES THE HONOURABLE COURSE
by
R. Q. Wilberforce
CHAPTER ONE
THE TRIUMPH OF EVIL
Maltravers Ratcliffe looked at his wife as he put down the ‘phone, and felt the glow of wonder and gratitude that her visage always aroused in him. The golden hair! The heavenly blue eyes, more precious than a Rajah’s treasure store! Eithne’s small face was set in the lines of courage, as together they listened to the distant, ominous boom of the guns.
‘London has fallen, my angel,’ he announced with his same old debonair carelessness.
She gasped: though it was the news that she had feared, to hear it confirmed was still a profound shock to her sensibilities.
‘So von Strutter has triumphed!’
‘Triumphed over this sceptred isle,’ her husband rejoined with the spirit, ‘but never over Maltravers Ratcliffe!’
‘It is inevitable that the Teutonic devil will seek you out to exact his ghastly revenge.’
‘Inevitable,’ he confirmed. ‘But let him seek! To seek is not to find! Come, my angel, we will go for a drive! Tell Wallace to provide a luncheon-basket and tog up in your gladdest rags!’
They drove towards the South. The Bentley swallowed the miles keenly, relishing the open road. Never had the Garden of England looked more beauteous! Never had Maltravers and Eithne Ratcliffe been so much together, so equal in their love! They took their luncheon in a flowery dell and chattered amiably of cricket and of their happiness.
Then the great Bentley, smoothly seeming to sense its destination, headed towards the sea, towards those white cliffs which, until this last devil, had hitherto daunted every foreign invader.
As they neared the cliff-top, Maltravers Ratcliffe, without diminishing the great car’s speed, took his wife’s small hand in his. ‘Take heart, my angel!’ he cried cheerily. ‘We may thank our stars that we have had each other. Onward now, my fair one — and we’ll be there in two twos!’
The news of Aurelia Howarth and Barton Rivers’s fatal car crash was on the radio the following morning. It wasn’t the first item. That was of course the ITV strike.
Dame Aurelia Howarth
The death of Aurelia Howarth, who died in a car accident together with her husband, Barton Rivers, robs the British theatre of one of its most glittering and best-loved stars. Born Anne Howarth, she was the daughter of a grocer and spent her early years near Guildford. Her great natural talents led to her enrolment in the stage school from where she progressed to the chorus of a West End revue, Careless Rapture, at the tender age of fifteen. She was ‘spotted’ in this show by the great Andre Chariot, who gave her solo spots in some of his revues, and later taken up by the impresario C. B. Cochran, one of the most famous of whose ‘Young Ladies’ she became. Her biggest successes of this period were in Parisian Trifles, Only the Night and Shimmering Stars. It was in this last show that she first sang I Dream of Dancing, the song that she made her own and which virtually became her signature tune. She also went with Shimmering Stars to Broadway where, under the title of Box of Tricks, it became one of the hits of the season, and established Aurelia Howarth as an important new star in America. During the Thirties she played leading roles in many British films, of which the most memorable are probably Lovers’ Moon, Princess of Dreams and Tomorrow’s Gone. During the War she worked indefatigably entertaining the troops, services which were recognised by a CBE in 1947. In the post-war years her career took a new turn and she started to build a reputation as a straight actress. Long runs in the West End in such shows as The Long Climb, Here We Go A- Wassailing and The Former Mrs Wellington demonstrated her versatility. Then, at an age when many people contemplate retiring, Aurelia Howarth started to work in the growing medium of television, where she proved very popular, particularly in the role of the scatty Mrs Strutter in the comedy series, What’ll The Neighbours Say? She was working on a new series in the same character at the time of her death. Throughout a long career in the theatre, Aurelia Howarth was one of the few performers who commanded universal love and who never did a malicious action to anyone. Both in the profession and with the public, her popularity never waned. She was created a Dame of the British Empire in the recent Birthday Honours List. She married Barton Rivers, a revue performer, in 1918 and their one son, Hilary, was killed in action in 1944.
