In the Still of the Night

by Charlotte Lamb

  She was shy, too. She said, ‘I slept deeply, anyway. Those pills knocked me out. I feel weird this morning.’

  She could see his chest between the wide lapels of the robe. He wasn’t wearing anything under it. These were presumably his pyjamas she was wearing. She shifted in the bed and realised she was only wearing the top, her legs were bare. The intimacy was somehow disturbing.

  There was something so very male about Sean; you could never forget his masculinity when you were with him but especially at the moment when he was almost naked and so was she. But she couldn’t think of him that way, not now. If Johnny hadn’t come back she might have … but now she never would. Her life had taken a sudden, sharp turn up another path.

  ‘I was just going to take a shower,’ she said hurriedly.

  ‘Do you feel up to working? At least it will be in the studio, not on location. We’ll be able to keep the press away from you, and it would be good for you to work, keep your mind off … everything.’

  Sean watched as she moved in the bed as if to get up, the far-too-big pyjama top slipping sideways off one shoulder, the lapels gaping, to show him smooth, pale skin, her throat and shoulder, the soft curve of her breast. He felt a stab of desire.

  He wanted her so badly it made him angry. A month ago he had been thinking that maybe soon he would make a move towards her. There had been nobody else around then.

  Now she was sleeping with this man from her past, the man whose baby she had once conceived. He hated to know that. The purity was spoilt. Seeing her, the way she had been yesterday, when she first came back from making love, her mouth like a ripe plum, her eyes drowsily satisfied, sensuality coming off her skin, she had wrecked his idea of her, of the sort of woman she was. He was bitterly angry with her.

  But he still wanted her. More than ever. Knowing he had no chance made him want to smash things. He had trouble not showing it.

  ‘I’d rather work,’ she said. ‘I won’t be five minutes – could you make some coffee while I’m showering and getting dressed?’

  ‘Sure. And toast? Or would you like some eggs and bacon? I’m not a bad cook – my father would be shocked if he saw me in my kitchen, knocking up breakfast for a woman, but then he’s old-fashioned; he believes women belong in kitchens.’

  ‘Does he live in London?’

  ‘Sure he does – he was a City of London inspector when he retired. He should have gone further – he was a good copper, my Dad, but he hated being behind a desk, and he couldn’t learn to play the political game, so he got stuck at inspector.’

  ‘So you were following in his footsteps when you joined the police?’

  He nodded. ‘It was the family trade. My grandad was a copper down at Bow fifty years ago. We’re a London family, born and bred. We don’t stray far from our patch.’

  ‘How did your dad feel when you left the force?’

  Sean grimaced. ‘Gutted. At first. He was afraid I’d been seduced by fairy gold – that the TV scripts wouldn’t succeed and then I’d be out of a job and on the dole. My dad just couldn’t believe that people like us could get into that world – actors, television, playwriting. He despised it all. A lot of poofters, he said, playing make-believe, putting on make-up. Not for his son!’

  Annie smiled. ‘And now?’

  ‘Oh, now, he and my mum never miss an episode, proud as punch – although they’d die rather than let me see that.’

  She watched him, hearing the note of secret pride in his voice. Suddenly she realised that they had that in common – they both came from the same background, working-class, respectable, with fierce ambitions for their children.

  ‘Where do they live?’

  ‘Islington, the same house I grew up in. My Dad has taken up gardening in a big way and exhibits at flower shows, and sits out in the garden shed smoking his pipe and watching his seeds grow.’

  ‘And your mum?’

  ‘She’s doing an Open University course in geology.’

  Annie’s eyes opened wide. ‘Geology?’

  ‘She has been working her way slowly towards taking a science degree for three years, a course at a time. As she says, there’s no hurry, and she’s made a lot of new friends at the weekly class she attends, and at the reference library. Mum has always been ambitious.’

  Annie watched him curiously. ‘For you as well as herself?’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘Have you got any brothers and sisters?’

  ‘A married sister.’ Sean looked at his watch. ‘Did you want some breakfast or not? I think I ought to get a move on.’

  ‘No, thanks, I don’t eat in the morning. Coffee would be great, and orange juice, if you’ve got some. It’s very good of you to go to all this trouble for me, Sean. I’ve never had a big brother before.’

  ‘What a compliment!’ he said, going out and closing the door carefully so that he shouldn’t slam it, which was what he wanted to do. How dared she try to cast him in the brother role? He did not want to be her brother.

  In the kitchen he put the coffee on and squeezed a couple of oranges, then he rang Tom Moor. As usual, Cherie answered, sounding half asleep.

  ‘God, Sean, don’t you ever ring during normal office hours?’ she groaned. ‘I was fast asleep.’

  ‘Sorry, I won’t have time later. Is he there?’

  Cherie grunted and a second later Tom’s thick voice came on the line. ‘Man, I don’t believe you’re doing this to me.’

  ‘I’m sorry, but it’s urgent.’

  ‘It always is. And before you ask, yes, I’m on your case, but I’m not getting anywhere. Your man hasn’t been seen around his old haunts, anyway, although I heard plenty of rumours. I think he may have changed his name. Actors do that a lot, I’m told. Especially if their careers are slipping. They work under another name to protect their reputation.’

  ‘OK, keep trying, Tom, but I’ve got another job for you. I want you to trace another guy. This one is definitely around – he’s working for an outfit called Real Life Crime International Magazine. He interviewed Annie Lang the other day – the studio publicity outfit may have his name and address. All I know is that he’s called Johnny something. Find out where he lives, where he has been living for the last eight years. Find out anything you can, in fact, and as fast as possible. I need to know all about him.’

  ‘OK. Can I go back to sleep now? I was planning on another hour or two at the very least. And no magazine offices will be open until nine at the earliest, OK?’

  ‘Well, get back to me by tonight with whatever you do find out, Tom.’

  Ringing off, Sean slipped a slice of bread into the toaster and found a jar of peanut butter. Annie walked in just as he was taking his first bite of toast. Sean waved a hand to the glass of orange juice he had poured her and she took it and sat down, glancing at the clock.

  ‘My driver will turn up for me as usual. I should have got in touch with the company last night.’

  ‘That’s okay, Harriet’s PA will have dealt with that. You know how efficient Harriet is!’

  ‘Poor Jason, I must buy him a box of really expensive chocolates,’ Annie thought aloud, and Sean frowned.

  ‘Who the hell is Jason?’

  ‘My driver.’

  ‘You are going to buy chocolates for your driver just because you had to cancel? You’re kidding!’ Sean stared at her as if she was crazy.

  ‘He’ll have lost his biggest fare of the day,’ Annie said. ‘And he can’t afford to.’ She started to laugh as she saw Sean’s face. ‘His mother is a fan, and his girlfriend, Angela, loves really expensive chocolates. But Jason can’t often afford to buy them for her because he’s saving up to marry her, although his mother says if he does she won’t come to the wedding, but she will. She’s a wonderful mother.’ Annie pulled a face at Sean. ‘And stop looking at me as if I’m a sandwich short of a picnic. I know what you’re thinking!’

  ‘No, you don’t. I was thinking that I had the stupid idea I knew you pretty well, but
I’m beginning to realise I hardly know you at all,’ Sean said flatly.

  Mike Waterford rang Harriet at seven o’clock; she was already at the studio, waiting for Annie and Sean to arrive. When she was told Mike was on the line, she picked up the phone with an irritated expression.

  ‘Don’t tell me! You just woke up, you’re going to be late again!’

  ‘Wrong, sweetheart! I’m up, but I’m going to be late because I’m on Breakfast with Britain this morning. Thought you might like to catch me on the show.’

  ‘Was this cleared with PR? You know you have to tell them if you do any publicity?’

  ‘I’m telling you now, aren’t I?’

  ‘You won’t talk about Derek, will you? Billy won’t like it if you do, Mike! If they ask, change the subject.’

  ‘Oh, of course,’ he said, and there was something slyly amused in his voice that raised hairs on the back of her head. ‘Don’t forget to watch. Oh – and how about today’s papers, eh? Dear me.’

  ‘What the hell are you talking about?’ she began angrily, but he had hung up.

  Harriet buzzed for her assistant. ‘Are today’s papers in the office yet?’

  ‘No, they should be arriving any minute, though.’

  ‘Well, bring them in the minute they get here.’

  Harriet picked up her zapper and switched on the television in the corner of her office. After changing channels to find the right one, she left the sound turned down and went on with her work on the shooting script she was annotating. Every few minutes she glanced up at the TV screen.

  The intercom on her desk buzzed. ‘Annie and Sean have got here,’ her secretary briskly told her. ‘Sean’s on his way up here. Annie is going to make-up.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Harriet took a look at the TV screen again but there was as yet no sign of Mike. She was in a hurry to finish her work on the day’s script so she got back to that; she had the sort of mind that could work on several problems at once without getting confused or losing concentration.

  A tap on the door. ‘Come in,’ she called and Sean walked in, freshly shaved, his hair brushed down, looking alert and awake. He took up a perch on the side of her desk, his jeans-clad leg swinging.

  ‘Hi. Annie’s in make-up.’

  ‘Great.’ Harriet felt a leap of awareness at his proximity; he was not a man you could ignore when he was in the same room, but close up he was dynamite. She felt her mouth go dry. A pity he didn’t feel the same way. It took two. She knew from his absorbed expression that he barely realised she was a woman. At least Billy noticed that. Impatiently, she asked, ‘Everything OK with Annie? Did she sleep?’

  Sean didn’t pick up any vibes from Harriet; he was too busy thinking about Annie. ‘Yes, she’s a little shaky this morning, but I think she’s OK. The police will want to talk to her later. I suggest we ask them to make it at midday, then we can get a morning’s work done.’

  ‘Good thinking.’ Harriet relaxed, gave him an approving smile; work was what mattered most to her too. If Sean didn’t fancy her, well, too bad. She turned back to her script but a moment later out of the corner of her eye caught sight of Mike’s face on the TV screen and reached for her zapper, turned up the sound.

  Sean looked across the office, grimaced. ‘What’s he doing on that show?’

  ‘Being charming, I hope to God,’ Harriet said with feeling. ‘And nothing else.’

  ‘You don’t think he’ll say anything about Fenn, or Annie?’ Sean stood up, his body tense. ‘I’ll kill him if he does!’

  The presenter was talking about Mike with gushing enthusiasm. ‘Star of “The Force” … one of the top names in television … Mike Waterford. Here today to talk to us about his shock over the violent and tragic death of his colleague on the series, Derek Fenn.’

  Mike looked sincere and shocked.

  ‘One of his three expressions,’ said Sean.

  ‘Don’t be unfair to Mike. He can act.’ But Harriet was grinning.

  ‘He can’t act. He just exercises his sex appeal on television!’

  Mike suddenly disappeared from the screen – apparently there was another item first, one with a man with a hat full of baby chicks which kept escaping and running all over the table in front of the two presenters. Harriet turned down the sound again as her secretary rushed in with a pile of the day’s newspapers. Her expression told Harriet that the news was bad.

  Snatching up the top tabloid, Harriet looked at the front page and groaned.

  ‘Oh, my God!’

  ‘What do they say?’ Sean took another paper and began to read, making furious noises. He threw the paper on the floor and grabbed another. He read that, muttering angry words, screwed it up and hurled it across the room.

  ‘They’re all the same,’ Harriet said unhappily; she had read several too. ‘You don’t even need to read between the lines – they’re practically accusing Annie outright of being this woman who was seen with Derek in a pub. The way they’ve written the story, you’d have to be stupid not to get what they’re saying.’

  Mike’s face was back centre-screen. Harriet hurriedly turned the sound up and his voice came into the room.

  ‘Favourite with the viewers … a wonderful actor with a long and honoured career behind him … Derek will be very much missed.’

  ‘The rumours must be very worrying for everyone in the series,’ said the presenter. ‘What was the relationship between Derek Fenn and your co-star, Annie Lang?’

  ‘It’s true they were close, very close.’ Mike paused, his eyes half veiled, his mouth curling at the edges in a cynical smile that made Sean swear.

  ‘The bastard!’

  ‘Mike has always been a master of innuendo,’ Harriet grimly said.

  Mike went on, ‘Derek gave Annie her first break, her first part on TV; they were always seen around together after that.’ He gave that smile again into camera and Sean made apoplectic noises.

  ‘I’ll kill him.’

  The presenter asked, ‘Annie has always refused to talk about her private life, hasn’t she? When we had her on the programme a few months back she would only talk about her part in The Force. And there has never been any gossip about her until now.’

  ‘I’ve never heard of any other man in her life,’ agreed Mike, then paused, added, ‘Apart from Derek.’

  ‘Were they living together?’

  Mike hesitated as if about to say yes, then softly murmured, ‘You’ll have to ask her that. But I’m sure the rumour that she had had Derek’s baby is a lie.’

  Sean swore violently.

  Harriet groaned. ‘Oh, no. How could he do that?’

  The TV presenters were firing excited questions; Mike parried them all with a half-smile.

  ‘I just said it was only a rumour, and I’m sure it isn’t true. No, I’ve never seen her with a child, but then she has kept her private life very secret until now.’

  From then on he said nothing new, and the interview was over a moment later; Harriet switched off the set.

  She walked over to the window and stared out, face blank. At last, she said, ‘If Annie is involved, you know, the series is finished.’

  ‘For Christ’s sake, Harriet, how can you even say that? That bastard got to you too, did he? I’m ashamed of you! The viewers may be stupid enough to listen to Waterford, but you know Annie. Think about her.’ Sean strode over to the wall on which hung stills from various series Harriet had worked on – he flung out a hand to point to a big photo of Annie: a pale oval face, huge eyes, delicate bones. ‘Look at her! Just look at her face. Can you see her strangling Derek?’

  10

  Harriet was desperate over the time they were losing on the schedule. The past couple of weeks had been hectic with endless rewrites and rejigging of the schedule; the scripts had been shot to pieces, they had dropped one episode altogether and substituted another, as Sean explained to Chorley that morning.

  ‘We need Miss Lang on set for a few hours. Can’t you give us that time to shoot a
t least a couple of scenes?’

  Chorley looked sullen but finally agreed when Billy and his top lawyer showed up to back Sean. ‘If I can talk to her during your lunch break, then?’

  ‘After she has eaten – it is essential for her to have lunch first, she’ll be tired,’ Sean said, looking at the lawyer for support. The lawyer nodded, murmured something in agreement.

  ‘Very well,’ Chorley said through his teeth. ‘One o’clock?’

  Triumphantly, Sean went off to the set, where Annie was just beginning work. She looked tired and pale but composed. How much more of this can she take, though? wondered Sean.

  Annie was sleepwalking through her scene; she knew the lines, she remembered the moves they had rehearsed, and she performed like an automaton, but her mind was absorbed in a confusion of memories and thoughts; she couldn’t stop thinking about the way Derek had died … she had never known anyone who died so violently before.

  These scripts they acted every week were full of violence, fights and beatings-up, deaths and rapes, but they were rehearsed and timed like a ballet – you watched them being acted out, you never believed they were real. You knew it was just a story, with actors who would get up and shower off the blood and mud, and go home to their wives, their kids, their lovers, their cats.

  This was real. Derek was dead. He would not get up and go home. She would never see him again. The shock still numbed her. He had annoyed her, irritated her, amused her, she had been grateful to him, she had liked him.

  Derek had aroused all the usual complex, changeable reactions human beings did. And now he was dead, but here she was, as usual, acting, pretending, playing a part.

  Why did she live in this crazy way, in this phoney world of make-believe, inhabited by people like Mike Waterford … what did she mean, people? He wasn’t people. He was a rat. A snake. Worse. She couldn’t think of a word low enough to describe him.

  When they broke for lunch at noon, the police refused to allow either Sean or Harriet to be present during the interview with Annie which, at Billy’s insistence, took place in the boardroom on his floor of the administration building. But they couldn’t refuse to allow the company’s lawyer to sit in on the interview, keeping a watching brief for Billy Grenaby.