But as she climbed the stone steps leading to the front door, her foot slipped on the wet and she lost her balance. She tried to grab the railing, but her hand slid off the slimy surface and she found herself tumbling backwards. She landed with a thud at the bottom, knocking the wind from her lungs. Pain hit her in several places. Hard concrete dug into her back. Her right hand was twisted beneath her.
For a moment, she didn’t move. She couldn’t – it hurt too much. Rain dripped onto her face, her hand stung like crazy and her throat constricted with self-pity. Her aunty and cousin had a habit of falling over, or tripping up, but she’d always considered herself fortunate not to have inherited the family’s ‘clumsy’ gene. But maybe she had? It had just taken longer to surface.
A more likely explanation was that she was suffering with new-job jitters.
Rolling onto her front, she dragged herself upright. She was soaking wet, covered in dirt and bleeding. She glanced down at the damage. The top layer of skin was missing from the palm of her right hand. Just what she needed.
She limped up the steps, her hand shaking as she opened the ornate wooden door. Thoughts of strong tea, disinfectant, and a set of waterproof plasters kept her going. But logic should have warned her luck wasn’t with her this morning. As she unbuttoned her mud-splattered coat trying not to dirty the floor, a cold chill tickled the back of her neck.
Sensing movement, she turned sharply and came face-to-face with… Boggin’ hell! The Woman-in-Black. She’d seen the stage play; she knew her fate. Death awaited anyone who saw the apparition. Except, on closer study the woman didn’t appear to be a ghost. For a start, there was a strong waft of perfume radiating off her and her attire wasn’t eighteenth-century widow, more twenty-first-century couture.
‘May I help you?’ The woman’s gaze homed in.
‘I’m Jodi Simmons. I start work here today.’
The woman’s expression was as sharp as the edges of her black asymmetric bob. ‘I doubt that very much. I’m the front-of-house manager. If a new member of staff had been taken on, I think I would know.’
Okay. How was she supposed to respond to that?
And then a horrible thought occurred. Maybe Carolyn had changed her mind? Or worse, she’d forgotten she’d made Jodi the offer? Oh, hell.
Thankfully, her new boss appeared at that moment. ‘Darling, girl. Welcome to the Starlight Playhouse.’
Carolyn Elliot-Wentworth was still a force of nature – tall, blonde and beautiful. She was dressed in a floaty summer dress with a long woollen cardigan shoved over the top. The belt of the cardigan had come loose and was dragging on the floor behind her, but she didn’t seem to notice. Her hair was knotted at one side, but she was smiling and looked genuinely happy to see Jodi – even if there was a slight falseness to her exuberance, as though her flamboyance was driven by an external force.
She ushered Jodi into the reception area. ‘Come inside, you’re drenched.’
Jodi experienced a rush of relief. It hadn’t been a horrible misunderstanding. She was expected. ‘Thank you so much for this opportunity, Mrs Elliot-Wentworth. It’s a real privilege to be working at the playhouse.’ Which was entirely true. Quite apart from gaining some much-needed work experience, it was the most amazing building she’d ever seen…damp patches and musty smell aside.
‘Please, call me Carolyn.’
The Woman-in-Black didn’t look happy. ‘May I have a word, madam?’
Madam? Jodi wondered whether she should call Carolyn that too?
‘Can it wait, Vivienne? I need to show Jodi around and introduce her to the team, and then I have a meeting.’ She paused. ‘At least, I think I have a meeting. Do I have a meeting?’
When Carolyn looked directly at her, Jodi blinked, wondering if it was a trick question. ‘Err…I don’t know.’
Carolyn’s frown indicated this was the wrong answer.
Jodi swallowed. ‘Maybe it’s noted in your diary? Would you like me to check?’
‘Oh, I don’t keep a diary. It’s all in here.’ Carolyn tapped the side of her head.
Clearly it wasn’t, but Jodi wasn’t about to point that out.
Thankfully, Vivienne diverted Carolyn’s attention. ‘The accountant has phoned again, madam. He’s yet to receive the last five months’ accounts. This is the seventh time he’s called in the last week.’
Carolyn waved her hand about. ‘He’s so pushy. I’ve told him I’m dealing with it. Tell him I’ll call him back later today…or maybe tomorrow. Thursday at the latest.’ She went to walk off and then abruptly turned back. ‘Oh, silly me. I haven’t made the necessary introductions. Jodi, darling. This is Vivienne King, our front-of-house manager. And Vivienne, this is Jodi. She’s our new business manager.’
Jodi smiled.
The Woman-in-Black didn’t.
Carolyn lowered her voice in a conspiratorial fashion. ‘Vivienne helps me with the paperwork sometimes. Do let her know if you need anything. I’m sure she’d be happy to assist.’
Jodi seriously doubted that.
A feeling compounded when the woman’s beady eyes took in her state of disarray. ‘You seem to have met with an accident.’
Jodi followed the woman’s gaze down to her muddied coat. ‘I’m sorry, yes. I fell.’ When she glanced back up, the woman was staring at her hair, which had probably started to frizz thanks to the rain.
‘So it would appear.’ In a movement so smooth it was almost feline, the woman turned her back on her. ‘You’ll find a sink in the toilets adjacent to the café, Ms Simmons. Please ensure you clean up after you.’ A waft of perfume filled the air as she glided away, disappearing into the shadows in a manner that would make Mrs Danvers seem positively warm.
Carolyn took hold of Jodi’s hand. ‘Don’t mind her. She’s a sweetie really.’
Jodi felt this was highly unlikely, but she was happy to be proved wrong.
‘Now, where were we?’ Carolyn gave her another expectant look.
‘You were about to show me around and introduce me to the team?’
‘Oh, that’s right. I was. This way.’ She hooked her arm through Jodi’s and manoeuvred her down the corridor.
Jodi had hoped she might be able to stop off at the loos and tidy herself up, but Carolyn seemed to have forgotten her battered state. The stinging in her hand was getting worse, not helped by her new boss gripping it. There was a slight tremor to Carolyn, accompanied by a sweet cloying smell that radiated off her as they walked together. Jodi was no expert, but along with the slightly slurred speech and inconsistent walking pace, she suspected Carolyn still had issues with alcohol.
They arrived at the café, which was empty. Unsurprising really, considering it was only nine a.m. The noise of a hedge trimmer drew their attention outside. A burly middle-aged man was up a ladder tending to the bushes lining the large courtyard.
Jodi’s eyes fell on the ornate statue of a lion, minus an ear. Shame dragged her mind back to the summer of 2005 when she’d climbed up the thing, showing off to her mates by pretending to ride it, before toppling off, taking its ear with her and landing with a thud on the solid concrete. She couldn’t blame clumsiness for that one; it had been pure drunken anarchy.
Surprisingly, when faced with an inebriated teenager wreaking havoc at her playhouse, Carolyn hadn’t called the police. Instead, she’d arranged for a taxi to take her home. Jodi hadn’t appreciated Carolyn’s kindness at the time, but she certainly did now.
Carolyn opened the French doors and waved at the man up the ladder. ‘Eddie, darling? Can I introduce you to someone?’
The man cupped his ear, indicating he couldn’t hear. He climbed down, and walked over. Actually, walked was the wrong word. It was more of a meander, slow and controlled, like a cowboy in an old film. He was wearing an Indiana Jones hat, which he tipped upon reaching them. His overcoat was dripping wet.
‘This is Jodi…’ Carolyn’s face scrunched up in concentration as she clicked her fingers, trying to remember he
r new worker’s surname.
Jodi helped her out. ‘Simmons.’
‘Simmons, that’s it. Jodi Simmons.’ Carolyn put her hand on the man’s arm. ‘This is the wonderful Eddie Moriantez. He’s been here for years and looks after the grounds and does a bit of maintenance.’ She turned to Jodi. ‘He used to be in the navy,’ she added, her pretence of a whisper failing.
‘Oh…right. Great to meet you.’ Jodi held out her injured hand and braced herself.
Thankfully, the man declined. ‘I won’t, if that’s okay. I’m filthy.’ He held up his hands, which looked clean enough. She suspected he’d noticed her injury and was letting her off the hook. ‘Muddy work.’ He smiled, his expression both relaxed and amused. She decided Eddie was going to be a lot easier to get along with than Vivienne.
Carolyn immediately turned back to Eddie. ‘We won’t keep you,’ she said, already shutting the doors. ‘I’m sure you’re eager to get back to trimming the bushes. There really isn’t anything worse than an untidy bush.’
Jodi and Eddie exchanged an amused look. ‘I best get back to it then,’ he said, tipping his hat. ‘Can’t have an untidy bush.’ He ambled off, chuckling.
Yep, she was going to like Eddie.
‘Kitchen next.’ Carolyn steered her towards a set of swing doors to their right.
The kitchen was cold and uninviting with a severe lack of modern appliances. A huge iron range with various copper pots hanging down from the surround dominated the far wall. An island filled the middle of the room with a rack above. She half expected to see a selection of game hanging from it, like in an episode of Downton Abbey, but there wasn’t any. She couldn’t see a dishwasher, but there was a microwave and a coffee machine next to the deep ceramic sink. Cooking in there wouldn’t be particularly easy, she imagined.
A man was standing at the island chopping. He didn’t look up when they approached.
‘Petrit, I’d like you to meet my new assistant, Jodi…’ More clicking of the fingers.
‘Simmons.’
‘Simmons!’ Carolyn laughed. ‘Why do I keep forgetting?’
Jodi felt it wouldn’t be prudent to answer.
‘Petrit Manaj is our resident chef. He looks after the café.’ Her voice lowered. ‘He’s from Romania.’
Jodi was starting to realise that everyone who worked at the playhouse had a tagline. She wondered what hers would be? This is Jodi…she has a criminal record. God, she hoped not. She’d just have to hope Carolyn’s poor memory extended to Jodi’s antics as a teenager.
The man carried on chopping, the large knife slicing down on the board as if he was trying to obliterate the coriander.
‘Petrit, stop a moment, will you. My head’s banging.’ Carolyn covered her ears.
The chef dropped the knife, making it clatter. He turned and gave Jodi what could only be described as a death stare. He had deep-set eyes that burned beneath a thick unibrow. His face was angular and covered in unkempt stubble. But it was the disdain in his expression that gave most cause for alarm. Jodi recognised the look. It was the same look the lad from the restaurant had given her the other night, the one who’d shouted abuse in the street.
Refusing to be intimidated, she held out her hand. ‘Pleased to meet you.’ She held eye contact, daring him to refuse her offer of introduction.
Her resolve weakened slightly when he gripped her hand, making her flinch. ‘You contaminate my kitchen,’ he said, marching over to the sink and washing his hands.
She wondered if he’d still have washed his hands if there’d been no blood? Sadly, she suspected he probably would have.
Carolyn frowned. ‘Are you bleeding? How on earth did you do that? We need to get that sorted.’
Jodi was sensing a pattern.
Carolyn gave Petrit a friendly wave and then ushered Jodi out of the kitchen. ‘He makes the most delicious goulash,’ she said, hooking her arm through Jodi’s. ‘Now, I think that’s everyone.’ And then she stopped. ‘No…I’ve forgotten someone. Who have I forgotten?’ She looked at Jodi, waiting for an answer.
Jodi wondered if this was some kind of initiation test. If it was, then she suspected she was failing.
‘Leon!’ Carolyn’s exuberance almost knocked Jodi off her feet. ‘Of course, silly me. Our gorgeous bar manager.’
Supporting a swaying Carolyn, Jodi was led through to the adjacent bar area, which was basically a narrow counter with a few tables overlooking the gardens. Jodi’s hand was stinging and she wished she could tidy herself up, but her boss wasn’t done with the introductions. She’d just have to hope that the bar manager was politer than Petrit…
And then she saw him.
The impact was hard and fast. She hoped her sudden intake of breath hadn’t been audible.
‘And that’s Leon.’ Carolyn sighed. ‘I told you he was gorgeous.’
Gorgeous didn’t come close.
The guy behind the bar looked to be of similar age to Jodi and with similar colouring. His hair was shaved short, with neatly trimmed facial hair that made his eyes stand out. And boy, did they stand out. They looked almost green…no, light brown…or maybe hazel? It was difficult to tell in the dismal light with the rain pounding against the windows. Whatever the colour, they bored right into her, pinning her to the spot, igniting such heat she half-expected steam to start rising from her damp coat.
And then he smiled.
Boggin’ hell. It was the kind of smile that could stop traffic.
‘Hi,’ he said, leaning on the bar, the outline of his toned arms visible beneath his casual shirt. ‘Leon Malone.’
‘Jodi Simmons.’ Her voice sounded calm. She wasn’t sure how – her heart was hammering away.
His gaze travelled down to her hand. ‘Do you need something for that?’
Observant too.
‘It’s only a scrape. Nothing major.’
He handed her a paper napkin. ‘Looks painful.’ His hand brushed hers and she could almost feel the electricity firing up her arm. Bloody hell.
Get a grip, she told herself. She was here to gain work experience, not flirt with the staff. Swooning after a fit bloke would be a distraction she didn’t need. She hadn’t spent the last seven years turning her life around to be derailed on her first day.
‘There’s a first-aid box in the office. You’ll find plasters and antiseptic cream inside. Let me know if there isn’t. The contents don’t always get replaced,’ he said, glancing at Carolyn, who didn’t seem to notice.
Jodi wondered which was going to be the bigger challenge: dealing with a rude chef, the icy front-of-house manager, or trying not to swoon over the hot barman.
‘Jodi used to come here when it was a youth club.’ Carolyn leant against one of the bar stools. ‘She made quite an impact.’
Oh, God. Jodi wanted the ground to swallow her up.
‘Is that right?’ Leon raised an eyebrow. ‘How so?’
Jodi couldn’t believe Carolyn was about to shaft her and tell the gorgeous bar manager about her wayward youth. How did she even remember?
Carolyn laughed. ‘Blowed if I know. I can’t remember what I had for breakfast. Whatever it was, it made quite an impression on my son.’
Phew. Of sorts, anyway. Did Tom know she was working here? Somehow, Jodi doubted it.
Leon looked right at her. ‘I can imagine.’
Carolyn clapped her hands. ‘Introductions over. Time to get to work.’ She slid her arm through Jodi’s. ‘Now, tell me what you know about QuickBooks. I haven’t a clue and I have a stack of invoices that need entering.’
Five months’ worth, by the sounds of it.
And then Carolyn stared down at her bloodstained hand. ‘Goodness me, how did I do that? I’m bleeding. Leon, where’s the first-aid box?’
Jodi held up her hand. ‘I think it’s my blood, Carolyn.’
Carolyn’s gaze switched from her own hand to Jodi’s. ‘When did you do that?’
It was official. Jodi was starring in her own version o
f Groundhog Day. ‘I fell down the steps outside.’
‘Well, why didn’t you say something? We need to get that sorted.’ She took Jodi’s arm and headed in the direction of the office.
Jodi glanced back at Leon. ‘Thanks for the napkin.’
A wry smile played on his lips. ‘No worries. Good to have you on board.’ He resumed drying glasses, leaving Jodi to wonder whether working at the Starlight Playhouse was going to be even more challenging than she’d imagined.
Chapter Six
Wednesday 13th September
Becca had learnt early on in her career that being a dancer wasn’t a glamorous existence. From dusty, dirty rehearsal rooms, to dressing rooms that needed more than a lick of paint. Not to mention the touring, getting home late at night, the money that you weren’t paid and the endless physical hard work. You had to sacrifice a social life. You had to get used to being told no a lot, taking criticism, being told you weren’t good enough. The love you had for dancing had to be bigger than all the negatives. And she’d dealt with that. She’d been stoic, dedicated and resilient…but nothing could have prepared her for the horror of teaching a class of seven-year-olds.
The trial lesson last Saturday hadn’t started well. Mrs Morris had been so relieved a potential replacement had finally been found, that she’d packed up and gone home. Talk about landing her in it. But she hadn’t let this dent her confidence, and had set about trying to win over a group of tiny tots. Her plan was to begin with the basics, assess their abilities and then build on their technique, as her teachers had done with her. Which was fine in principle. It was just in practice that it failed.
Half the kids hadn’t turned up for the class. The ones who did were unruly, wouldn’t listen to instructions and spent the entire hour running around the studio making an absolute din. Far from reining in their unruly offspring, the parents had stood around the room glaring at Becca, clearly holding her responsible for their children’s lack of discipline. One boy nicked a girl’s hairnet and refused to give it back, making her cry. Two other girls started bickering and ended up crying, and one kid ran across the studio so fast he smacked into the mirrors, resulting in more crying.
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