‘No. At his digs.’
‘So why should that have anything to do with the show?’
‘It’s just the coincidence of the two of them, exactly a week apart, at exactly the same time of day, both people in the show.’
‘What time of day was it?’
‘Early in the morning both times. Frederick Wooland was shot on his way to rehearsal, say at quarter to ten, and Everard Austick was found in his digs at about half past nine this Tuesday.’
‘Did you say Everard Austick?’
‘Yes.’
Charles burst out laughing. ‘You can’t be serious.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, Everard Austick is the greatest piss-artist in the business. He’s a bottle-a-day man. Always drunk out of his mind. If you think that him having a fall in his digs is a sign of foul play, you’re way off beam. I’d be much more suspicious if a day went by when he didn’t fall down something.’
Gerald looked discomfited. ‘Oh, I thought the coincidence was too great. I mean, both on the same day.’
‘Well… it doesn’t sound much to me. Listen, Gerald, I’m very grateful to you for getting me this job and certainly once I get inside the company I will investigate anything that needs investigating, but from what you’ve said, I’m not going to have much to do. Is that really all you’ve got?’
‘Well, I suppose that’s all the actual facts. But it means that the show has got off to an unlucky start and we — they don’t want anything to go wrong. There’s a lot of money at stake.’
‘Whose money?’
Gerald didn’t rise to the bait. ‘Amulet Productions are putting up most of it and they’re working in association with Arthur Balcombe, who is one of my clients. Hence my involvement.’
‘I see. All the big boys.’
‘Yes. And then of course Christopher Milton has a stake because he’s got the rights of the show.’
‘Christopher Milton?’
‘Yes, he bought it as a vehicle for himself.’
‘Really?’
‘Didn’t you know?’
‘Gerald, you didn’t tell me anything. You just asked if I would be prepared to take a part in a West End musical for nine months and keep my eyes open for any possible sabotage attempts. You’ve told me nothing about the show. But I see now, it’s this musical based on She Stoops to Conquer, isn’t it?’
‘That’s right.’
‘I’ve seen stuff about it in the Press. Now let me think…’ He mused facetiously. ‘If it’s a musical based on She Stoops to Conquer for a West End audience, then what would it be called? Um. How about Conkers? With an exclamation mark.’
‘No, it was going to be,’ said Gerald with complete seriousness, ‘but then it was decided that that didn’t really give the right impression of the sort of show it is.’
‘So what’s it called now?’
‘Lumpkin!’
‘With an exclamation mark?’
‘Of course.’
‘With Christopher Milton as Tony Lumpkin?’
‘Of course. That was another reason for the title. It means a neat billing — “Christopher Milton as Lumpkin!” See what I mean?’
‘Yes, I do. Tony Lumpkin. Of course. One of the all-time great upstaging parts. Hmm. What’s the script like?’
Gerald was reticent. ‘It’s okay.’
‘Anything to do with Goldsmith?’
‘No. He hasn’t any money in it.’
‘I didn’t mean Goldsmith the impresario. I meant Oliver Goldsmith who wrote the thing.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry. I think the show makes the occasional nod in his direction.’
‘But presumably it’s not designed for fans of Oliver Goldsmith?’
‘No, it’s designed for fans of Christopher Milton. He’s riding very high at the moment, with the telly show at the top of the ratings.’
‘What telly show?’
‘Oh, come on, Charles, don’t be affected. You must have seen Straight Up, Guv.’
‘I don’t think I have. I’m not a great telly viewer.’ He did not possess a television in his Bayswater bed-sitter. He was not enthusiastic about the medium. It was a necessary evil for his career as an actor, because it was well paid, but he had never enjoyed the work (or the product).
‘Well, let me enlighten your ignorance. The show gets massive audience figures and it has made Christopher Milton just about the hottest property around. He’s very big box office.’
‘So it doesn’t really matter what show you put him in.’
‘Ah, but it does, and Lumpkin! is just right. Could make a lot of money. That’s why I — the people I represent — are so anxious that nothing should go wrong. Either to the show — or to the star.’
‘I see. Who’s written it?’
‘Well, it’s basically a show which the Ipswich Warehouse Company put on last year to celebrate the bicentenary of Goldsmith’s death.’
‘Oh yes, I remember reading a notice of that in The Stage. What was it called then?’
‘Liberty Hall.’
‘That’s right.’
‘Book by a chap called Kevin McMahon, with music by some bloke whose name I forget. Anyway, Christopher Milton’s agent, Dickie Peck — do you know him, by the way?’
‘By reputation.’
‘Well, he went down and saw the show and reckoned it had potential for his boy, got Christopher Milton himself down to see it, and they bought up the rights. I think they got them pretty cheap. Could be a good investment. I mean, the stage show should run at least a couple of years on Christopher Milton’s name, and then there might be a chance of a film…’
‘And the script is more or less as at Ipswich?’
‘Hardly. No, there’s been quite a lot of surgery. They’ve scrapped the original music and lyrics — or most of them anyway. And got in Carl Anthony and Micky Gorton to write new ones.’
‘You look at me as if I should have heard of them.’
‘You certainly should, Charles. They’ve written a whole string of Top Ten hits. Heart Doctor… Gimme No More Lies… Disposable Man — all that lot!’
‘Really, Charles, you are square.’ Gerald prided himself on his sudden knowledge of the pop scene.
‘Some of us age quicker than others, man.’
Gerald ignored the dig. ‘The new music is excellent. It fits the style of the period, but it’s also very… funky.’ He tried too hard to deliver the last word naturally.
Charles laughed. ‘It sounds a riot. I hope I don’t have to sing anything funky. I wouldn’t know where to begin. Incidentally, I should have asked before — what part am I playing?’
‘You’re playing Sir Charles Marlow. Do you know the play?’
‘Yes, I did a production of it once in Cardiff — with Bernard Walton of all people, when he was very new in the business. He played Young Marlow — his first starring role. And I’m the father… hmm. Only comes in at the end.’
‘That’s right.’
‘Good.’
‘Why good?’
‘Last act parts are good. You can spend the whole evening in the pub.’
‘It was Everard Austick’s part,’ said Gerald reprovingly. ‘Ah yes, that was probably his downfall. A lifetime of
