‘How would that set him off?’
‘He thinks I see too much of you. If I said I’d had lunch here …’
Harry grinned. ‘Poor old Ben.’
‘Not so much of the old,’ said Libby. ‘And now I’ve got to go back and start making sure he’s a happy bunny this evening.’
‘Why this evening?’
‘Rehearsal again.’
‘Well, he has to rehearse as well, doesn’t he?’
‘I know, but he’s already at the sighing stage. You know: “All you ever think about’s the pantomime.” And now I’m the fairy as well it’s even worse.’ She swung her cape round her shoulders. ‘Good job I don’t have to get involved with Cy or his panto, really. I’d never have the time.’
Harry opened the door for her. ‘Bet you still think about it, though,’ he said, with another grin. Libby made a face at him and went away feeling guilty.
She was surprised, sometime later, with the fire lit and a casserole simmering in the Rayburn, to receive a phone call from Colin.
‘I hope you don’t mind me ringing,’ he said, ‘but Cy still can’t speak very clearly, and Harry was sure you wouldn’t mind.’
‘No, of course not,’ said Libby, feeling slightly bewildered. ‘I heard about the other member of the society. Tragic.’
‘It was wasn’t it? But at least we now feel those letters and the attack weren’t personal. It’s a weight off Cy’s shoulders, I can tell you.’
‘And yours, I should imagine,’ said Libby.
‘Well, of course, but it wasn’t me who was getting the letters, or me that got beaten up. No, what we wanted to ask you was about the panto.’
‘Oh,’ said Libby.
‘We didn’t say anything the other day, and neither did you, but I suppose you know we’re doing your “Cinders”?’
‘I do now,’ said Libby, amused. ‘I’ve just found out.’
‘Oh, you didn’t know?’ said Colin, sounding surprised.
‘No. My old society hire out the scripts and sometimes forget to tell me.’
‘That’s not right, dear. You need to be making money out of it. I shall get on to them.’
‘Thank you,’ said Libby meekly.
‘Anyway, dear, what we wanted to ask you was this. Now I know how busy you are with your own, directing and being the fairy and all – Harry told us – but we wondered if you could find time to come and have a gander at ours? You see,’ he rushed on, giving her no chance to reply, ‘everyone’s just shocked out of their boots about Cy and Patrick, and last night there was even talk of cancelling the whole thing.’
‘Patrick?’
‘Yes, it was Patrick who was murdered.’
‘Oh, dear,’ said Libby, but Colin was already talking again.
‘So Cy tried to make them see how much work had already been put in, and what a waste it would be. Well, I interpreted, obviously. Sheila backed us up, bless her, and then Cy had the idea that if you could come down and see a rehearsal and talk to them, it would be a bit of a boost.’ At last he fell silent.
‘Right,’ said Libby slowly, after a moment.
‘He didn’t say anything then, of course, because if you couldn’t come they would be even more let down. So what do you think?’
‘Well,’ said Libby, and paused. ‘I could I suppose, but I wouldn’t want to interfere with your production.’
‘No, no, we’d just like you to say if there are any – I don’t know – hints or tips, I suppose, from when you did it. It would be such encouragement for them.’
‘Yes, I suppose it would, under the circumstances, but I’m not famous or anything, you know.’
‘You are in a way,’ said Colin. ‘But it would just be the thrill of the writer coming.’
‘When do you rehearse? I’m rehearsing at least three nights a week myself at the moment, actually four from next week.’
‘Oh, dear.’ Colin sounded mournful. ‘I don’t suppose you’d fancy driving over here on a Sunday afternoon? Or do you rehearse then, too?’
‘No to both questions,’ laughed Libby. ‘Sundays are sacrosanct. But if you’re rehearsing tomorrow I could probably make it.’ If Ben doesn’t get mad, she added to herself.
‘Oh, that would be perfect! We’ve got a rehearsal tomorrow, and we called the whole cast and crew because of the situation. Oh, just wait until I tell Cy!’
‘I’m glad you’re pleased,’ said Libby, ‘but I will have to check with my partner in case he’s already booked something in.’
‘Oh, of course,’ Colin said. ‘But otherwise, we’ll expect you any time you like after eight, shall we? Do you know where we are?’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Libby. ‘Right opposite where the other victim, Patrick, was found.’
It wasn’t until the end of rehearsal that evening that Libby felt able to broach the subject of the Hop Hall Players to Ben.
‘Do you fancy going to see someone else’s rehearsal tomorrow?’ she said, linking her arm with his as they walked down The Manor drive towards the high street and the pub.
Ben hunched his shoulders inside his Barbour jacket. ‘In Maidstone, I presume?’ he muttered.
Libby cleared her throat. ‘Yes.’
Ben was silent for a moment, then, as they turned left into the high street said, ‘Why exactly? After what I said last night?’
Libby made a face at the pavement. ‘This is a morale-raising exercise, Ben. And they happen to be doing my Cinderella. It has been suggested that the author coming to talk to them might raise their spirits. They were beginning to lose the will to live, apparently.’
‘And that’s all?’
‘That’s what Colin said when he rang earlier.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me earlier, then?’
Libby sighed. ‘I knew how you’d take it.’
He pulled his arm free and pushed open the door of the pub. ‘You won’t need me there,’ he said.
‘But I thought we could go for a drink, or even a meal, somewhere afterwards,’ said Libby, tagging behind him as he approached the bar. He ignored her and ordered drinks. Libby waited until her half of lager appeared on the counter, picked it up and moved over to a table where other members of the company were already seated.
‘Had a row?’ Peter was perched on a tall stool by a room divider. ‘Colin been on to you again, has he?’
‘You know about it, obviously.’ Libby sipped lager.
Peter nodded. ‘He called Hal to get your number and ask if you’d mind.’
‘Well, I don’t really, but Ben’s sulking.’
Peter looked over to where Ben had stopped to talk to some darts players. ‘I can see that.’
‘Pete, I know you all think I’m barmy chasing off and investigating things, but I have been asked into investigations, or Fran has, anyway. And this time it was Harry who asked me in. It really isn’t my fault.’
He patted her arm and slid off the stool. ‘I know, dear heart. Sit on here.’ He helped her up on to it. ‘So Ben doesn’t want you going over to Maidstone?’
‘I asked him to come with me,’ said Libby dolefully. ‘They only want me to talk to the cast about my own production. Just to cheer them up a bit.’
‘Make them more depressed, I should think,’ said Peter.
‘Gee, thanks.’ Libby swallowed more lager. ‘Anyway, I thought if Ben came with me he might feel a bit better about it, and we could go somewhere for a drink on the way home.’
‘Getting out of our little cocoon here might help. It can be a bit stifling sometimes.’
‘You’re all right,’ said Libby. ‘You go up to London on a regular basis.’
‘So could you. You don’t have to stay down here, burying yourself in Kent.’
‘We’re wandering from the point, here,’ said Libby sternly. ‘What do I do about Ben?’
‘You’ve offered an olive branch, but from what I can gather, Lib, you don’t really appreciate him telling you –’
‘Asking me.’<
br />
‘All right, asking you what to do.’
‘In a way, I don’t. Harry says he doesn’t feel secure in our relationship, though, and I don’t want him to feel like that. And I do go off on my own rather a lot.’
‘You’re not joined at the hip. And you’re doing the panto together. You’re hardly ignoring him.’
‘You’re being on my side,’ said Libby. ‘I thought you’d stick up for Ben. He is your cousin.’
Peter made a face. ‘I know. But looking at the bigger picture, my sweet, it seems to me that the path of your true love has been remarkably rocky. And it’s not our Ben who’s been swerving off down the highways and byways, it’s you.’
Libby gasped. ‘I haven’t! I haven’t looked at another man –’
‘I didn’t mean that, you old trout. I meant you haven’t really decided what you want, have you? Live with, live without. Move to Steeple Farm, don’t move to Steeple Farm. Marry or not marry.’
‘That’s never been an option,’ said Libby, colouring. ‘I’ve always said I didn’t want to get married. And I knew Ben would be upset about not moving to Steeple Farm, which was why I shilly-shallied. He’s really a much nicer person than I am, you know.’
‘I know he is,’ said Peter, and grinned at her affronted expression, ‘which is why I feel I ought to protect him from you. So go off and do what you want and he might come to his senses.’
Libby looked at him uncertainly. ‘I’m not sure what you mean,’ she said, ‘but I am sure it’s not very nice. Ben!’ she turned as he came up to her side and dropped a kiss on her cheek. Peter sighed theatrically.
‘What’s up with you?’ said Ben, putting his bitter on a shelf behind Libby.
‘He’s been telling me how I’m not good for you,’ said Libby, with more than a hint of malice. ‘Protecting you, he calls it.’
‘It’s much too late for that.’ Ben grinned and gave his cousin a friendly punch on the arm. ‘I’m a lost cause.’ He turned to Libby. ‘And we’re going for a jaunt to Maidstone tomorrow, aren’t we?’
Chapter Nine
BEN DROVE. HE’D BEEN perfectly happy about it, if not over-enthusiastic, but Libby was, in the vernacular, waiting for the other shoe to drop. She was silent all the way to Maidstone, only rousing herself to give Ben directions, as far as she could, to the Hop Hall’s rehearsal space. The satnav had been unable to help on this point, as they hadn’t been able to find a postcode for it.
It was quiet, only a striped police tape fluttering from the closed gates of the little park. There were no parking restrictions other than zig-zag lines outside the park, but opposite was a blessedly unlined roadway. Ben parked a little way down from what had been the village hall and was now the community centre, with modern extensions on both sides. Libby pushed open one half of the red-painted double doors and led the way inside.
About twenty people were dotted around the large, harshly lit space on linked plastic chairs. On the stage at the end, someone tinkled half-heartedly at an upright piano and two men stood deep in conversation in front of a half-painted flat. Colin, sitting on the edge of the stage talking to a large woman in red, saw them, waved and jumped down.
‘Hi, Libby,’ he said, bustling up the centre aisle, ‘so glad you could come.’ He turned to Ben. ‘And this is your partner?’
‘Yes, this is Ben,’ said Libby. ‘Ben, this is Colin. Where’s Cy?’
Colin shook Ben’s hand enthusiastically. Ben seemed amused.
‘Just down here, dear.’ Colin led the way down the aisle to where Cy sat with an older woman in the front row. ‘Here they are, love,’ he announced, ‘and this is Libby’s Ben.’ He waved a hand. ‘And this is our Sheila – who saved the day.’
Sheila smiled nervously, and looked at Cy. Libby guessed she was at least twenty years older than she was – odd, because somehow she’d imagined her younger – her hair a sandy and white mixture in what looked like a corner shop hairdresser’s shampoo and set. She wore a camel-coloured tailored coat and sturdy brown shoes and looked as though she would never in a million years go near anything to do with amateur dramatics.
‘Hello, Sheila,’ said Libby. ‘We heard all about your bravery.’
‘Oh, I wasn’t brave.’ Sheila’s voice had a soft, whispery quality that made her difficult to hear. ‘I just happened to come along at the right time.’
Right.’ Libby nodded. ‘And you didn’t manage to see what the thugs looked like?’
‘Libby.’ Ben spoke for the first time. ‘I’m sure Sheila’s been asked that more than enough times.’
‘Sorry,’ said Libby. ‘It’s just so awful, isn’t it? You never think it could happen to anyone you know.’
‘Oh, I know,’ said Sheila in a stronger voice, nodding madly. ‘Especially in a nice quiet area like this.’
‘So, you’ve come to give us a pep talk, Libby?’ Cy’s speech was still muffled, but he tried to smile.
‘Colin seemed to think it was a good idea,’ said Libby, wondering now if it was.
‘Oh, we do,’ said Colin. ‘Tell you what, I’ll stand up and introduce you, and then we can do a little bit of – what, Cy? First act? Then you can tell us what you think.’
‘Oh, I don’t want to criticise,’ said Libby.
‘No, no,’ said Colin, looking anxiously at Cy. ‘Just – um – what I said on the phone. You know.’
‘OK.’ Libby nodded. ‘All right with you, Cy?’
‘Ask the director,’ mumbled Cy.
‘Oh – yes.’ Colin looked puzzled. ‘Who?’
‘I think he’s joking,’ said Sheila, patting Cy’s arm. ‘The producer’s not here.’ She sniffed. ‘Never is. Cy’s done most of it.’
‘Oh, I see.’ Libby wondered how good it was going to be under these circumstances. Worrying.
She needn’t have worried. Colin made a moving little speech about the death of Patrick Stephens, the man who had been murdered, the attack on Cy and the morale of the panto, finishing with the rather standard trite message that Patrick would have wanted them to go on, as indeed did Cy, and it was up to them all to do the best they could.
A small chorus of women in their thirties and forties gathered on stage, apologising that the dancers trained separately so it wouldn’t look as good as it would eventually, and the pianist, who turned out to be the musical director, struck up a lively opening number.
Cinders, Buttons and the Uglies came on in quick succession after the opening chorus and, apart from some very obvious blocking and rather more delivery problems, Libby was satisfied that the Hop Hall Players had at least a viable production on their hands. She made a few modest suggestions and asked all the principals about their own parts. It was Cinderella who surprised her.
‘I don’t think I’m going to be able to do it,’ she said, drooping her head. A very pretty head, too, thought Libby, and an acceptably pretty voice. Not that strong, but Cy, or the original producer, had been sensible enough not to give her difficult songs.
‘Why do you say that?’ asked Libby. ‘You look great and you sound great.’
‘This is Lisa Stephens, Libby,’ said Colin quietly. ‘Patrick’s sister.’
Silenced, Libby gaped in astonished embarrassment. Lisa Stephens lifted her head and gave her a half smile.
‘You weren’t to know. And Mum told me not to come tonight, but I wanted –’ Her voice wobbled and suspended. Libby, horrified, put her hand over Lisa’s and looked wildly round for support. It came, oddly, from Ben, who put his arm round the girl and led her away, surrounded by a twittering group of chorus members. A sulky young man watched from the back of the hall. Disgruntled boyfriend, thought Libby.
‘Why didn’t you tell me before?’ she whispered to Colin and Cy. ‘And why on earth is she here?’
‘You heard her,’ said Colin miserably. ‘She wanted to come. It was a sort of – I dunno – exorcism, if that’s the right word.’
‘Bloody stupid idea, if you ask me,’ said Ben, returning to th
em. ‘And no, Lib, I’m not blaming you this time. You weren’t here to question anyone and you didn’t. But what the hell she thought she was doing –’ He broke off and shook his head.
Libby nodded and looked at Cy. ‘Is there more to this than meets the eye?’ she asked. ‘What did she think she could achieve by coming here tonight? She shouldn’t even be in the production any more.’
He sighed. ‘If you’ve finished here, come and have a drink.’
Libby looked at Ben.
‘OK,’ he said. ‘Where?’
‘Ours,’ said Colin promptly. ‘Someone else can lock up here. Sheila, you coming?’
But Sheila shook her head, and gathering her camel coat round her tip-tapped purposefully over to the group surrounding Lisa. Elbowing the crowd unceremoniously aside, she took the girl by the arm and led her to the side of the room where coats hung on a rail. The disgruntled boyfriend hunched a shoulder and left.
‘That’s all right, then,’ said Colin gratefully, watching as Sheila helped Lisa into her coat. ‘Sheila’ll take her home and check on her mum, too.’ He shook his head. ‘Poor bloody family. Lost their dad only last year.’
‘Oh, my God,’ whispered Libby. ‘Oh, Cy, this is so awful.’
He attempted a smile and patted her arm. ‘I know.’ He stood up, wincing and holding his ribs. ‘Come on.’
Ben drove them all round the park and up the little hill to the bungalow. Colin bustled ahead to open the door and turn all the lights on, while Cy offered to take coats. Ben waved him away and threw his and Libby’s on to a chair in the front room. Colin appeared with a tray on which stood various bottles. Ben looked away.
‘Got any coffee?’ he said plaintively. ‘I’m driving.’
‘Oh, sorry, pet,’ said Colin. ‘I didn’t think.’
Ben didn’t even wince at being called pet. Libby decided it must be long exposure to his cousin and Harry that had de-sensitised him.
When they had all been provided with their beverage of choice, Colin, at a nod from Cy, began to speak.
‘It seems Patrick had been getting letters, too,’ he said.
Murder Imperfect Page 6
