A Question of Guilt

by Janet Tanner

  I said that I hadn’t, and explained I was at home recuperating from a skiing accident, and was at a loose end. I wouldn’t be looking to take an acting part, but I’d be happy to help out in any way I could behind the scenes.

  Delyth, as the membership secretary was called, told me the meeting time was seven thirty p.m.

  ‘We probably won’t get started until nearer eight,’ she said, ‘but if you get here on time it will give you the chance to get to know a few people before you get thrown in at the deep end.’

  Dad, bless him, had agreed that I could borrow his car again, and when we’d had tea I got myself ready and set off in good time. I was hoping I’d find a parking space in the High Street or the Square at this time of day – I really didn’t want to have to walk too far if I could help it – and I was in luck. There were a couple of vacant bays in the Square; I reversed into one and sat for a few minutes’ waiting time.

  The lights were still on in Compton Properties, I noticed – surprising, really, given that it was past seven, and I couldn’t imagine they’d have late viewings at this time of year, when it was dark by five, or even earlier if it was overcast. Could be office cleaners, I supposed. But as I watched, the lights in the upstairs windows went off, and then most of the downstairs ones as well, leaving no more than a dull glow that I presumed was from the security lights. Then the door opened, and two figures emerged. One was recognizable as Lewis Crighton, though his back was towards me as he checked that the door was securely locked. The other was Sarah, the girl who had dealt with the items I’d taken in for auction.

  Why that surprised me so, I really didn’t know. There could, after all, be a perfectly reasonable explanation – that they had both been working late. But there was something in their body language that suggested to me that it was more than that. The angle of her head, as if she was looking up at him adoringly, although of course I wasn’t close enough to see if that was the case, the way he put a hand on her back as he turned away from the door and steered her across the Square, looking both ways a couple of times although there was no traffic about – as if he was checking to see if they were being observed, I thought. Lights flicked on a parked car twenty or so yards up the Square from where I was parked, and Sarah got in. Lewis waited until she had pulled away, then walked further up the Square. A few moments later a Range Rover drove past me from the same direction; by the light of the street lamps I could see it was Lewis driving.

  I was agog by now. There might be a perfectly innocent explanation for what I had seen, of course, but somehow I didn’t think so. Much more likely they had been ‘carrying on’, as Mum would have called it, in the empty office after hours. Lewis was twice Sarah’s age, at the very least, but when had that been a deterrent? He was also distinguished, undeniably handsome, and her boss. A man who liked his staff to look like fashion models, which suggested he had an eye for a pretty girl.

  My thoughts were racing now, so fast I could scarcely keep up with them. If Lewis Crighton was having an affair with Sarah, then she might not be the first. Perhaps it was something he made a hobby of, and exactly the same thing had happened with Dawn. I’d suspected her of having an illicit affair – it was one of the things that might well provide the motive for her death. Could it be that Lewis Crighton was the man she’d been involved with? If so, it would explain the brick wall I’d encountered at his office, and why Alice was so reluctant to talk about Dawn.

  It would be more than her job was worth to gossip about her employer’s liaisons. That could very well be the reason she had shut up like a clam when Lewis had appeared on the stairs on the first occasion when I’d visited and begun asking questions, and why she had failed to return my calls. But for all that Lewis fitted the bill very neatly for an illicit lover, I really couldn’t see him as a fire raiser and a hit-and-run driver. He was too suave, too polished. The idea of him creeping about in the middle of the night with a can of petrol was almost laughable.

  The clock on the dashboard of Dad’s car was showing twenty-two minutes past seven – time for me to get to the meeting of the Compton Players. I locked up the car and headed for the town hall.

  As I neared it, however, I realized I might well have a problem. The lights were on in the upper hall, which I knew was reached by a long, curving flight of stone stairs. How stupid of me not to have thought of that before! I’d assumed the Players met in one of the downstairs rooms, but why would they? There was a stage in the upper hall – of course that would be their venue.

  The prospect of getting myself up all those stairs was a daunting one, but I couldn’t give up at the first hurdle. One of the big double doors appeared to have been left on the latch; I pushed it open and went inside.

  I was just preparing to haul myself up the stairs when the door opened again and a girl came in. She was about my own age, with a mop of impossibly curly hair, dark-rimmed spectacles, and she was carrying a large wicker basket.

  ‘Hello! Are you lost?’ Her voice was pleasant and friendly; the lilting Welsh accent was unmistakable. Before I could make myself known, though, she went on in almost the same breath: ‘Ah, wait a minute. You must be Dawn.’

  ‘Yes. And you must be Delyth.’

  ‘For my sins! Goodness, I didn’t realize you were still on crutches! Don’t try going up those stairs, whatever you do. There’s a lift just by here. Come on, I’ll show you.’

  A lift. Well, that was new! Installed for disabled access, I imagine. It must have cost a fortune!

  ‘I might as well come up with you,’ Delyth said. ‘I don’t generally bother with it, but seeing as you’re here . . .’

  She pressed a button, a door slid open and we squashed into the tiny compartment, Delyth’s basket sandwiched between us.

  ‘So you thought you’d like to join us then?’ she asked as we clattered towards the upper floor.

  ‘Well . . . yes. As you can see, I won’t be a lot of use to you,’ I said ruefully.

  ‘Nonsense! We can always find something you can do. It’s great to get new members. There were about forty of us at one time, but numbers are slipping. People move away, you know, that sort of thing. And you won’t be on crutches forever, will you?’

  ‘I sincerely hope not! But . . .’ On the point of saying I would no longer be in Stoke Compton when my leg was healed, I broke off. I didn’t want to draw attention to the fact that I would be a very temporary member.

  The lift came to a stop and we got out. It had deposited us in a corner of the landing between the top of the flight of stairs and the door to the upper hall.

  ‘Come on in then, and you can meet the gang – well, those that turn up on time, anyway,’ Delyth said, holding the door open for me to go in.

  The hall hadn’t changed much since the days when I used to come here as a child for dancing classes. It was still cavernous, with tall arched windows and a low stage at the far end. But it had been decorated fairly recently, from the look of it – the walls were cream emulsion rather than the dirty brown colour I remembered, and the curtains – rich red velvet – at the windows and hiding the stage looked relatively new.

  About half a dozen members had already arrived; a little knot were gathered around one of the big old radiators, and a large, balding man was setting out chairs in a circle.

  ‘Come and meet John – he’s our chairman.’ Delyth laughed. ‘Chairman being a very apt word to describe him by the look of it.’

  ‘Delyth, my angel.’ The man unhooked another chair from a stack and positioned it between the others. He was wearing a scarlet sweater that stretched over his impressive paunch and baggy cords. ‘Did you get the scripts from the library, darling?’ His voice carried across the hall with all the resonance of a trained actor’s.

  ‘I did.’ Delyth put her basket down on one of the chairs and I could see it contained paperback books divided into sets by rubber bands. ‘Blithe Spirit and I Remember Mama. The Ayckbourn was out on loan, I’m afraid.’

  ‘As always. Th
at man is just too popular.’ He turned his gaze on me. ‘And who are you, my darling?’

  ‘This is Sally, a prospective new member,’ Delyth said with a twinge of pride, as if she’d recruited me herself. ‘Sally, this is John Hollingsworth. He’s our chairman, as I said, but he also directs. And acts sometimes, too.’

  ‘Sometimes!’ John rolled his eyes. ‘When have I not had to step in to fill a part? Lack of men, you see, that’s the trouble. We never have enough men. You haven’t a brother who’d be interested in joining us, I suppose?’ he asked me.

  ‘Don’t you dare scare her off, John!’ Delyth warned.

  ‘Can you act, darling?’ John looked at me over the top of his rimless spectacles.

  ‘I’m afraid not. I thought perhaps I could do something backstage.’

  ‘Producing, perhaps?’

  ‘Oh, oh no!’ I said, horrified. ‘And anyway, aren’t you . . .?’

  ‘I am the director, darling.’ He laid emphasis on every syllable of the word, giving it due importance. ‘I need a producer – someone to organize all the routine jobs, liaise with the crew, leave me to get on with the artistic side of things.’ He beamed at me. ‘We’ll see, we’ll see.’

  With that he returned to the task in hand.

  ‘Don’t mind him,’ Delyth said, not bothering to lower her voice. ‘Now come and say hello to the others, why don’t you?’

  She led me towards the group around the radiator, but others were drifting in too. A very thin girl in leggings, a fun-fur gilet and towering heels, two elderly ladies, one so fat she rolled as she walked, a gangly lad with a bad case of acne. The group around the radiator were much of an age – mid-to-late twenties – three men, and two girls, one statuesque, with beautiful ebony skin, the other a pony-tailed blonde. All were casually attired in jeans and sweaters. Delyth introduced me – none of the men was ‘gorgeous George’ and I knew I’d have difficulty remembering their names. All responded with friendly ‘hello’s, but were clearly more interested in continuing their conversation.

  ‘I’m going to put the kettle on,’ Delyth said. ‘You’d think one of them would have done it, wouldn’t you, seeing as they’re here. But no. It’s left to Muggins. Come with me, if you like.’

  ‘OK.’

  I’d already decided that of the members I’d met so far, Delyth was the one I should concentrate on. Chatty, friendly, she was the one most likely to open up about Dawn. I felt a little guilty at the thought that I was taking advantage of her good nature, but I couldn’t afford to have scruples if I was to make any progress with my investigation.

  In the kitchen, Delyth set a large kettle to boil, and unlocked a cupboard where mugs were stacked in plastic baskets.

  ‘You can put some of these out,’ she said. ‘We’ll want about twenty, I should think.’

  I did as she asked and she spooned coffee powder into them from an outsize jar, chatting as she worked.

  A head poked round the kitchen door. ‘Do you want any help, Delyth?’

  ‘No, you’re all right, Bella. I’ve already got a helper.’

  But Bella came into the kitchen anyway, and a whiff of expensive perfume came with her. She was an older woman, with perfectly coiffed white-blonde hair and was about fifty, I guessed, though she could well have passed for ten years younger. She was wearing the ubiquitous jeans, but with a great deal of style.

  ‘Ah, a new member! How lovely!’ She extended a hand, be-ringed fingers topped with scarlet nails. ‘I’m Bella Crighton.’

  For a second I almost froze.

  ‘Bella Crighton?’ I echoed before I could stop myself. ‘Are you . . .?’

  Bella arched a perfectly shaped eyebrow.

  ‘Lewis’s wife? Yes, actually, I am. Do you know him? Oh, stupid question. Everyone knows Lewis.’

  ‘I don’t know him really,’ I said awkwardly. ‘I’ve met him briefly, that’s all.’

  ‘Look, can you two talk later?’ Delyth interrupted. ‘We have to get this show on the road.’ She was loading mugs of coffee on to a battered tin tray. ‘Take these in for me, will you, Bella? And let me know if we need more. And Sally . . . you go and sit down and make yourself at home.’

  She ushered me back into the hall, where John was doing his best to persuade everyone to take a seat in the circle of chairs he’d set out. The two elderly women were already seated; one of them was knitting, her wool in a bag on the floor beside her chair. I took a seat between Delyth and the gangly youth; John was clearly in pole position, with a suitable gap on either side of him to highlight the fact that he was the one in control. He coughed loudly and clapped his hands.

  ‘Shall we make a start? I thought we’d begin with Mama. Gillian – will you begin by reading Katrin? And Bella – Mama. We won’t worry too much about the Swedish accents at the moment, but if you do feel like attempting it, then so much the better. And of course we’ll have to exercise some imagination when it comes to the children’s parts . . .’

  The play-reading began and I was surprised at just how good they were. Bella, in particular, was amazing, putting on an impressive foreign accent I assumed must be supposed to be Swedish. To my horror, John asked me if I would read one of the children; I couldn’t see any way I could get out of it, and struggled through. But there was no danger that I would be cast, I thought ruefully, even if I hadn’t been on crutches!

  There was still no sign of ‘gorgeous George’, but I wasn’t too bothered. If there had been a mystery man in Dawn’s life, I was beginning to doubt that it was him. It seemed to me that Lewis Crighton fitted that role perfectly. And now I’d happened upon yet another link to Dawn – his glamorous, rather hard-faced wife was a member of the same drama group that Dawn had been in.

  I cast a sidelong look at her when my nerve-wracking stint of reading was finished. She was so confident, so polished and self-assured. I wondered if some of that poise might slip a little if she knew that her husband and the pretty Sarah had been ‘working late’ and left the office together. And just how ruthless she could be if she thought her marriage was under threat.

  This wasn’t the time, though, for turning over the various possibilities. What I needed to do was establish myself as a bone fide would-be thespian so that when I began to ask questions no one would suspect I had any motive other than curiosity.

  We broke for another cup of coffee about nine, everyone piling into the kitchen this time, where Delyth was rattling a jam jar and collecting twenty pence in payment. When I went to drop mine in, she covered the jar with her hand.

  ‘Not tonight, Sally. You’re a guest. Next time, but not tonight.’

  Again I felt a stab of guilt that I was deceiving these people who had accepted me so readily.

  ‘No George again tonight?’ one of the girls said as she took her coffee.

  ‘No, don’t know where he is.’

  ‘It’s strange for him to miss two meetings in a row. Though he’s never been as regular as he used to be since we lost Dawn . . .’ The speaker moved away, and with the buzz of conversation I was unable to hear any more.

  Coffee finished, we all returned to our places and play-reading resumed. Thankfully, John didn’t ask me to take a part again, and I was able to study the others and think about the conversation I’d just overheard. Perhaps I was wrong to be so certain Lewis Crighton was the leading man in this mystery – certainly it had sounded as if George and Dawn had been involved in some way. At this stage I really must keep an open mind.

  The meeting broke up at about a quarter to ten.

  ‘Some of us go for a drink in the Feathers,’ Delyth told me as we were putting on our coats. ‘You’re welcome to join us if you’d like to.’

  The Feathers was a pub in the Square, but tempting as the invitation was, with the opportunity to be a party to more conversation and general chit-chat, I didn’t think I should take Delyth up on the invitation tonight. Mum and Dad would be expecting me home and would be worried if I was late. I didn’t want to take advantag
e, either – I couldn’t afford for Dad to decide not to let me borrow his car again.

  ‘Thanks, but I think I’d better not. Next time, maybe?’

  ‘I certainly hope so.’ Delyth smiled at me. ‘There will be a next time, won’t there? We haven’t completely put you off?’

  ‘Not at all! Next Monday?’

  ‘Oh, we’ll be meeting on Wednesday, too. We always meet Mondays and Wednesdays. Can you make it then?’

  ‘Yes, of course. I’ll look forward to it.’

  Too late I remembered. I had a date with Josh on Wednesday. Well, I’d just have to postpone it. I couldn’t miss the opportunity to become part of the scenery here sooner rather than later, and hopefully he’d understand.

  People were drifting out now, some saying their goodbyes, some calling: ‘See you in the pub’ as they went. Delyth left me by the lift, going down the stairs with the lanky youth, who had been waiting to speak to her about something. Only John was left in the hall, going round checking lights and slotting a chair someone had left in the middle of the floor on to an already towering pile.

  The lift arrived, I got in, and a few moments later was making my way back to my car. At the corner of the Square I glanced back; the town hall was now in darkness.

  A very interesting evening, I thought, unlocking Dad’s four-by-four and clambering in. All in all it had given me a lot to think about, and hopefully that was just the beginning.

  I pulled away, out of the Square and into the two-way system. Traffic was fairly light, but the traffic lights were red and, as I waited for them to change, another car came up behind me.

  Naturally enough, I thought nothing of it. It was only when I’d negotiated two mini-roundabouts, taken a right turn on to the road home, and clocked the fact that the headlights were still behind me that I began to take notice. Even then I still felt quite relaxed about it, expecting the vehicle to peel off into one of the residential roads or the new estate on the outskirts of town. It didn’t. As I left the built-up area and headed out into the country, the lights were still behind me, reflecting from the central mirror into my eyes.