Harry led his visitor through the kitchen to the spiral staircase in the back yard and Peter turned the sign to ‘Closed’.
‘Well.’ He turned and looked at Fran, Ben and Libby. ‘How unexpected.’
‘He had asked to meet Hal,’ said Libby.
‘But only this morning,’ said Fran.
‘Mr Deakin must have called him the minute Hal said yes.’ Libby began collecting plates.
‘And he came straight down? Must be urgent,’ said Peter.
‘I wonder why he hasn’t been in touch before if it is,’ said Fran.
‘Perhaps he didn’t know about Hal the same as Hal didn’t know who he was,’ suggested Libby.
‘That makes sense. Should I take them some coffee?’ Peter shook the сafetière dubiously.
‘Hal will offer, I expect,’ said Fran. ‘Come on, let’s clear up.’
Ten minutes later, Harry shouted down the outside staircase for a pot of tea.
‘Sorry, Lib, but could you make it? You’re best at it. And Earl Grey, if we’ve got it.’
Libby found the Earl Grey and a china pot.
‘Will you take it up?’ she asked Peter.
‘No. He asked for you, so you do it.’
Libby loaded pot, milk and cups onto a tray and nervously carried it up the spiral staircase. Harry opened the door at the top and grinned at her.
‘Come in.’
Libby went past him into the living area of the flat which Fran had rented for a time and Libby’s son Adam had occupied until very recently. Andrew McColl was sitting in the middle of the sofa looking tired.
‘You’re Libby.’ He smiled up at her. ‘I’ve been hearing all about you.’
‘Not that much,’ put in Harry hastily. ‘We haven’t covered much ground yet.’
‘I would like to meet you all properly. Could I take you all out to dinner?’ Andrew took a cup from Libby.
‘It’s very nice of you, but I had a night off from this place yesterday,’ said Harry. ‘I can’t take another. I haven’t got the staff.’
‘It’s Wednesday and we’re rehearsing,’ said Libby. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Rehearsing?’ Andrew McColl’s eyes lit up, and Libby blushed.
‘Oh, only an amateur show for Nethergate’s Alexandria.’
‘I’d love to hear about that.’ McColl looked as though he would quite happily sit in the flat all afternoon.
‘I’d better leave you and Harry to finish your conversation. I’m sure you’ll sort something out between you.’ Libby smiled at both men and went back downstairs, where she reported the conversation. ‘And I don’t think we’d better still be here when they come down,’ she finished, ‘or we might look too nosy.’
They duly finished tidying up the kitchen and left. Ben went back to the Manor, Peter to his cottage and Fran accompanied Libby back to Allhallow’s Lane.
‘You’re not going to go back home this afternoon, are you?’ asked Libby, as she moved the big kettle onto the Rayburn’s hotplate. ‘It hardly seems worth it when you’re coming up for rehearsal this evening.’
‘No, I told Guy I’d eat at the caff. Or the pub.’
‘Don’t be daft, you can eat here,’ said Libby. ‘I expect it will be shepherd’s pie or something equally boring. So what do we think about what’s going on back there now?’
‘I was just wondering,’ said Fran, frowning, ‘if that man found Hal so quickly today, has he been here before?’
‘You mean –’ Libby paused with mugs in hand.
‘Hal’s warning letter.’
‘I can’t see it,’ said Libby. ‘If he’s Lucifer, he’s got nothing to do with old secrets on the Island, has he?’
‘He is an old secret,’ said Fran. ‘Maybe he doesn’t want Hal telling.’
‘He was quite happy to see all of us this afternoon and announce his presence. Deakin knows, too, so he can’t mean Hal any harm.’
‘Oh, well.’ Fran perched on the edge of the table. ‘We’ll hear from Hal soon enough.’
It was another hour before Harry called.
‘He’s booking in to the pub,’ he said. ‘And eating here. I shall introduce him to Patti and Anne. Then he wants to go and watch your rehearsal. Can he?’
‘Oh, Harry!’ wailed Libby. ‘He’s a professional! He can’t come and watch us.’
‘Why not? He’s not stuck-up or anything. You’d never know he was famous. anyway, he said he’d like to join us for a drink afterwards. Anyway, half of you are ex-pro.’
Libby sighed. ‘Just don’t tell me if he does come.’
‘All right, you silly mare.’ Libby could hear the smile in Harry’s voice.
‘How did it go, anyway? What did he want?’
‘Fine. He didn’t want anything, really, just to know me. Matthew didn’t tell him anything about me, just as I didn’t know about him. But there’s more to tell, so he’s going to stay around for a few days. We won’t be able to discuss it tonight, but I’ll tell you what I can tomorrow.’
‘I’ll die of curiosity before then,’ grumbled Libby.
‘Sounds all right, then?’ said Fran, chopping onions for the shepherd’s pie.
‘Yes. Not sure we’ll get all of it, though,’ said Libby, staring out of the window into the conservatory, where her easel stood, reproaching her.
It was while Libby, Ben and Fran were preparing to leave for the theatre that Harry called again.
‘Andrew and I thought we might all have a drink in the theatre bar after rehearsal, then we can talk about everything.’
‘Like we did with Ian,’ said Libby. ‘Poor Anne and Patti. They’ll think we don’t love them any more.’
‘I’m going to explain. They’ll be here any minute.’
‘Do you think this Andrew will have any light to shed on our mysteries?’ asked Ben, as they walked to the theatre.
‘No idea. He’s known – or rather, he knew – Matthew longer than anyone else except the sisters.’
‘And those other old people from the Island,’ said Fran.
‘Yes. We’ve still not met Lady Bligh or the elder Clippings, have we?’ Libby sighed. ‘And Andrew won’t have done, either.’
‘But Matthew might have told him about them,’ said Ben.
‘Hmm,’ said Libby doubtfully.
Peter was making a lighting plot to take to the technicians at the Alexandria, and causing an interesting effect of colours to play across the cast as they sang their way through Victorian and Edwardian seaside songs.
‘Can you stop for the soloists?’ Libby shouted up to the box at the end of one chorus set. ‘They’ll fall off the stage.’
‘Remarkable you haven’t done so already,’ came an amused voice from the back of the auditorium.
Libby shaded her eyes and saw a small figure waving.
‘Mr McColl? Is that you?’
‘Andrew, please. I hope you don’t mind.’
She turned back to the stage to see the entire cast wide-eyed and open-mouthed.
‘Andrew McColl?’
‘The Andrew McColl?’
‘The actor?’
‘Him that was in that Austen serial?’
‘Oh, glory!’
‘Look, he’s here as an old friend of – of –’
‘Matthew DeLaxley’s.’ Andrew had come up to the stage. ‘I’ve come to see Harry and Peter – and Libby, too, of course. Please don’t worry about me. Ignore me. I’ll just carry on sitting at the back.’ He turned away, then turned back. ‘Oh, and Libby, I’m enjoying it!’
The soloists were, quite naturally, nervous about performing in front of so illustrious an actor, so Libby took them through another chorus set to give them confidence. This set concentrated on pub and drinking songs, which allowed everyone to become slightly more rowdy and raucous, so the soloists were suitably warmed up by the time their turn came.
At a quarter to ten Libby called a halt.
‘See you all on Friday and we’ll run it,’ she said. ‘Onl
y a week more of rehearsal and then it’s for real.’
As the cast drifted out and Libby collected up props and music, Andrew strolled up to the stage again.
‘Most impressive,’ he said. ‘Surely everyone isn’t an amateur?’
‘Most of them,’ smiled Libby. ‘Some are ex-pros, some were trained but never broke through. Most of our techies are pros, although Peter isn’t. Even my Ben did a stint as a pro stage hand and a tour with a TIE company.’
She called into the backstage area and Ben appeared, turning off lights as he passed them.
‘You’re pro, though?’ said Andrew, as Libby and Ben joined him in the auditorium.
‘Ex,’ said Libby. ‘Now I’m a director of this theatre with Ben, here, and Peter. We don’t get paid, but we love it.’
‘What about this show you’re doing for another theatre?’
‘The End Of The Pier Show,’ said Ben with a grin. ‘We did it for the Alexandria in Nethergate last year when they were let down by another booking, and it went so well we’re back again. This time we’re doing Fridays and Saturdays for the whole of August, though. It’s a big commitment for people with day jobs.’
‘And do you get paid for that?’
‘Well, yes. It comes to the board, and we elected to distribute among the members who are taking part,’ said Libby, as they emerged into the bar area, where Peter was already opening bottles and polishing glasses.
‘It’s quite handy, too,’ said Ben, pulling out chairs round one of the little tables as Fran joined them, ‘that soloists can slot in or out, so if someone has a wedding or holiday or something planned they can be out for a week and back in the next.’
‘How lovely to own a theatre,’ said Andrew a little wistfully as he looked round.
‘It is,’ said Libby, ‘and we’re gradually getting round the snooty people who look down on amateur theatre. We have pro companies here, too, and one-nighters. Singers and comedians, usually.’
‘I shall have to see what I can do,’ said Andrew. ‘I should love to put something on here. Your facilities seem excellent.’
‘Oh, they are,’ said Peter. ‘Because we don’t pay rent or have the huge running costs of other companies, all our revenue goes back into the building, so we can afford to keep updating lighting and sound and backstage facilities.’
‘You don’t go on yourself, then?’ said Andrew.
‘Not me!’ Peter grinned. ‘I love theatre, but I limit my involvement to fiddling about with the technical stuff, occasional writing, and directing.’
‘And Harry?’
‘No, he doesn’t appear, either, although people have said he should,’ said Libby.
‘He’ll be here as soon as he can shut up the caff,’ said Peter. ‘What will you have to drink, Andrew?’
After they had all been served with drinks, with coffee as usual for Fran, Harry appeared.
‘I’ve packed Patti and Anne off,’ he said. ‘They were most intrigued.’
‘They were a nice couple of women,’ said Andrew. ‘I was most surprised to find out that Patti was a priest.’
‘The Reverend Patti Pearson, no less,’ said Libby. ‘We got involved with her through murder, too.’
A tense little silence descended on the company, and Libby felt heat rising up her neck and into her face.
‘Sorry,’ she said.
‘Well, that as good a place to start as any,’ said Andrew with a small smile. ‘So, as you’ve all been involved in murder, as Libby says, shall I tell my tale?’
Chapter Twenty-eight
‘I met Matthew when we were both at the start of our respective careers,’ began Andrew. ‘I hadn’t yet had my breakthrough with Doctor Faustus and he was the lowliest of the low on a Fleet Street paper, which he said was a great step up from the regionals.
‘As you all know, being gay was still illegal. In fact, the terrible “cures” were still being used.’ His old face looked suddenly harrowed. ‘You can’t begin to imagine what it felt like, back then. To be attracted to someone of your own sex with the world around you telling you it was wrong, perverted, unnatural, and yet feeling yourself as if it was the most natural thing in life.
‘I was doing the time-honoured “resting” occupation of barman in one of the Fleet Street pubs when I met Matthew. He and I recognised each other for what we were straight away, although no one else knew or suspected.’ He smiled. ‘The universal “gaydar” hadn’t developed way back then. If you weren’t obviously “camp” – although that was another word we didn’t know – there was nothing to tell us from anyone else, although, of course, the theatrical profession was always suspect to a degree.’
‘You’d be surprised how little has changed in some areas,’ said Harry acidly.
‘But in general, Harry, there is acceptance. After all, you and Peter were able to have a civil partnership ceremony and are recognised in law as a couple and each other’s next-of-kin. Back then there was nothing.
‘But Matthew and I began a relationship. Harry says he knew of me as Lucifer and Matthew never told him anything about me other than the fact that I had a reputation to keep up. I never knew anything about Harry other than the fact that he was, as Matthew used to put it, his “Hostage to fortune”.’
‘What did he mean by that?’ asked Peter.
‘That Harry might cause problems at some time in the future.’
‘What?’ erupted Harry. ‘You didn’t –’
Andrew patted his arm. ‘Calm down, boy. He didn’t mean you would cause problems yourself. He meant that your existence would.’
He looked round the table. ‘I’m assuming you all know as much as Harry knows now?’
‘As much as we’ve guessed or put together,’ said Fran. ‘No one’s been able to confirm all of it.’
‘Especially Matthew’s cousins,’ said Ben, ‘yet they were the ones to call us in in the first place.’
‘Ah, yes, the cousins.’ Andrew smiled grimly. ‘Another responsibility. But one which Matthew didn’t like.’
‘But – and we’ve only just found out about this – the land, and Overcliffe Castle was all the property of the cousins’ family,’ said Libby. ‘They weren’t DeLaxleys.’
‘No,’ said Andrew, ‘but after the …’ he paused, ‘the tragedy, when Reginald died, the castle was sold. You knew that?’
‘Yes.’
Andrew took a sip of wine. ‘By that time, the family had run through most of the money. Matthew bought the land, piece by piece, as he became a voice to be reckoned with in the newspaper world. He wrote some books, too, did you know?’
‘No!’ They were all surprised.
‘Oh, very dated now, but explorations of politicism and what would now be called “Social Mores”. At the time, very well regarded.
‘Anyway, going back to the beginning of our relationship. At that time, of course, Harry was yet to make his appearance, but his father already had.’
‘Keith Franklin,’ said Peter. ‘And we heard he’d gone back to the Island because Matthew had told him about his real parents.’
‘His real mother, certainly. I doubt Matthew said anything about his father.’
Libby looked at Harry, then back at Andrew.
‘Would that,’ she began nervously, ‘have been Alfred Morton?’
Andrew nodded. ‘Harry said you’d found a newspaper clipping. The family tried to have the whole thing buried, and Matthew, although fairly new to the newspaper world in those days, did his best to keep it out of the spotlight.’
‘Not altogether, though,’ said Ben. ‘Even though we couldn’t find much about it online, my mother remembered it.’
‘Because he was Reginald Morton’s son, I expect,’ said Andrew. ‘That’s what got most publicity.’
‘Yes, that was it,’ said Libby. ‘So the sisters are all Mortons. Is that why Honoria is a sculptress?’
‘Not why, exactly, but Matthew told me they were brought up among artists, poets, writers, and in
tellectual free-thinkers.’
‘Which they aren’t now,’ said Peter. ‘They’re bitter.’
Andrew put his head on one side. ‘Well, you can’t blame them, really, can you? I’m quite sure they expected to be Matthew’s heirs, and along comes this interloper Harry taking it all away from them.’
‘But they were strange towards us before they knew about the will,’ said Libby. ‘All friendliness at first, and determined to find out what had happened to their sister Celia.’
‘But they were concerned to keep the secret of Alfred’s scandal,’ said Andrew. ‘Oh, yes, I know how they all felt about that. And I’m certain that they think someone had found out about it and that’s why Celia was murdered.’
‘And what do you think?’ asked Harry.
‘I don’t know.’ Andrew shrugged. ‘Matthew was very worried in those last weeks, that’s all I know.’
‘You were in touch with him?’ said Libby amid the gasps of astonishment.
‘Yes. We both had pay-as-you-go mobiles just for communicating with each other. I gather no mobile was found?’
‘No.’ Harry shook his head. ‘But he had another – I had the number. Neither of them were found. But –’ he frowned. ‘I thought you were dead.’
Andrew’s smiled was cynical. ‘After what’s been going on in the media over the last few years, do you blame us for keeping out of sight? We could have had our personal lives and conversations laid bare for all to read. And it wasn’t just for ourselves. I’ve my poor Fay to consider.’
‘Does she know?’ asked Fran gently, after a pause.
This time, Andrew’s smile was warmer. ‘Of course she does. Fay has been my greatest support and my best friend for the last fifty years. We have been the most faithful, the most enduring theatrical couple the world has known. Because we’ve kept our very private lives out of the spotlight. Not without difficulty, but in the main, the media have only known what we chose to give them.’
‘We did wonder if Matthew had thrown his mobile away himself,’ said Libby. ‘If he had two, would he have thrown them both away?’
‘Only if they both contained something he considered damaging. I can understand him throwing mine away, but the other one …’ Andrew frowned. ‘If he did, it was because of Celia’s death. He must have known who did it.’
LS 13 - Murder in a Different Place Page 19
