The play was okay, but I’d been right in my guess about the casting. In a less taxing role, Rory ‘Sledge’ Roseberry would have been a capable actor, but he wasn’t up to playing a man in his mid-sixties, for all the efforts of the people who’d applied the slap. He looked as if he’d been embalmed, rather than made up. Ewan was more critical that I was: he sighed when Rosebud first appeared and I heard several tuts and soft moans escape him during the performance. The supporting cast were good, and probably saved the day, although an extra, playing one of two women picked up in a restaurant by Willy’s sons, kept peering into the audience as if she was looking for someone. I guessed that word of our presence had spread backstage.
When the curtain fell we stood and everyone else took our lead. I wondered how many standing ovations they’d had during the run.
As the auditorium cleared, we jumped on to the stage and found the manager, who was happy to show us to Roseberry’s dressing room. He greeted us, still in his slap, the lines etched on his forehead looking even more grotesque close up. ‘Good to see you again, Ewan,’ he exclaimed, a little too heartily. ‘It must be, what, ten years? Remember, I had a part in that highland epic of Miles Grayson’s. We didn’t have any scenes together, though, did we?’
Mr Capperauld had snapped into luvvie mode. ‘No, dear chap,’ he purred, ‘sadly we did not. It would have been a pleasure for me, and instructive, I’m sure.’ He moved on before Sledge could begin to ponder on whether the piss was being taken. ‘Do you know Oz Blackstone?’ he asked.
‘Oh, yes,’ Roseberry replied. ‘I was in Skinner’s Rules. Remember, Oz? I played Haggerty, the gruff Glaswegian copper.’
He took me completely off guard, for I’d had no recollection of the fact. I did my best to cover up, though. ‘That’s right,’ I replied. ‘You had a great line: “Aw, yis’re all fuckin’ heart and generosity through here in Edinburgh, are yis no’?” Something like that, wasn’t it?’
‘I’m impressed.’ He shouldn’t have been. I remembered it because I’d heard it so often: we’d got to take seven before Miles Grayson had been happy with his delivery, and he is not a man who appreciates wasting film stock. ‘To what do I owe the honour? Were you simply passing through or is this a special trip?’
‘The latter,’ I told him, watching his little chest swell with pride. ‘I need to ask you about someone.’
The greasepaint seemed to crack a little as he deflated. ‘Who would that be?’
‘My brother-in-law’s ex-wife, Madeleine January.’
‘Aaah!’ The sound was part exclamation, part sigh. ‘The dear Maddy. She did not do me any favours, that one. Do you know, after my fling with her turned awkward, I went for four years before I landed another part in Edinburgh? Four fucking years without a Festival appearance, just when I was beginning to be someone. I won’t say that it ruined my career but it didn’t do it any good. Your brother-in-law carries a grudge, I’m afraid, Oz,’ he said bitterly.
I couldn’t let that go. ‘I’ve got to tell you, Rory, that Harvey’s never carried a grudge in his life. If you were turned down for parts, it’s because the directors didn’t fancy you for them, end of story. But suppose he had marked a few cards, you could hardly have blamed him. If I caught anyone around my wife, I’d pound seven different shades of shite out of him.’
He raised a haughty eyebrow. ‘You think you’re up to that? You may have played a couple of tough guys, but you are only a film actor. Anyway, if a woman’s not getting enough at home, she’s fair game. You should bear that in mind: complacency is our enemy, and all that.’
I don’t think he even saw the punch, a quick straight right hand. He’d pushed my angry button and no mistake. It nailed him square on the chin, lifted him off his feet and dumped him in an armchair that was positioned conveniently behind him. Ewan didn’t react at all, other than to give a quiet wince. He’d had a go at the woman as well, so maybe he was wondering if he’d be next.
I waited until the glaze had gone out of Rosebud’s eyes, and until they were focused on me again. They were filled with fear: he had no thoughts of getting back to his feet. ‘Harvey should have done that ten years ago,’ I told him, ‘but, like I say, he isn’t that sort of guy. Now, I don’t have all night. Where is Maddy?’
‘I don’t know,’ he muttered. ‘I haven’t seen her for over five years.’
‘But you hear things, don’t you?’
‘Yes, occasionally. The last word I had of her she was with an Australian.’
‘Another actor?’
‘Not so much. This one was a singer, mostly, although he’d done some straight work on Aussie television. He had a part in the Cats revival in the Playhouse a couple of years back. That’s when they met. Maddy was doing local PR for the company.’
‘Name?’
‘Wilde, Sandy Wilde.’
It meant nothing to me. ‘Are they still in Edinburgh?’
‘No. When the run ended, she went with him. She could be anywhere now.’
12
When I started out at the bottom of the ladder of the business that’s made me rich and famous, I had a London agent. We parted company after I made the switch to movies from voice-overs for TV ads, but there were no hard feelings on either side. Sylvester ‘Sly’ Burr got me good money for the sort of work I was doing, but when the time came he had the sense to recognise his limits, and the integrity to admit to them. Nowadays the very fact that I used to be a client of his is worth a large mention on his website.
I called him early doors the next morning: I knew he’d be there, for his office is above his flat in Earls Court and he likes to be at his desk for eight, to deal with the morning mail, read the red-tops for headlines . . . the more salacious the better . . . involving his artist roster, and escape from Mrs Burr.
‘Oz, my boy!’ I could almost see him beam. Sly’s a bit of a caricature (if I was making a film of his life, I’d probably cast Ron Moody in the lead) and that includes an avuncular fondness for his clients, present and past. I’ve never heard him badmouth anyone, even though he exists in a world where figurative stilettos in the back are considered normal behaviour. He might be a sharp guy around a pound coin, but he made me plenty of them.
I’d have liked to chat for a bit, but I didn’t have time, so I got straight down to business. ‘I need to trace someone, Sly,’ I told him.
‘One of mine?’
‘Not as far as I know. I don’t know who his agent is, but you’re the best search engine I know, so I thought I’d run the name past you. Sandy Wilde: he’s Australian, described to me as a singer rather than an actor, with credits on television down under and in musicals in the UK.’
I waited as his brain clicked into gear. Sly never forgets a name and he has a terrific showbiz database, much of which he carries in his head. ‘Wilde, Wilde, Sandy, not Marty, not Kim,’ he muttered to himself. ‘Yes, yes, yes, I’ve got him. Big geezer, good voice, good dancer; bats for both teams.’ That took me a little by surprise: it was Sly’s way of saying that Wilde was bisexual. ‘I can’t remember who he’s with, though. You got a part for him in something you’re doing?’
‘No, I’m more concerned with something he’s got a part in. I want to trace someone through him.’
‘Male or female?’
‘Female.’
‘In the business?’
‘Not as such; this lady seems to collect actors.’
‘What’s her name?’
‘Madeleine January.’
‘January, January. Mmm.’ Sly went back to pondering. ‘I know ’er,’ he exclaimed, with a small cry of triumph. ‘She works for the Billy Dorset Agency. A year or so back she tried to poach one of my lads, Barton Mawhinney. He was giving her one and she thought he’d follow her across the street when she asked him, but he stayed loyal. When he told me about it, I had a word with Billy. He wasn’t too pleased; there’s still some honour in our business, Oz.’
‘I’m glad to hear it: there’s less in Holly
wood, I can tell you.’
He chuckled. ‘Hollywood, eh? Who’d ’ave thought it? Good for you, son, I’m really pleased, the way you’ve made it. How are things panning out with your new guy? You still happy with him?’
‘Look at my credits, Sly. What do you think?’
‘Yeah, of course you are. Look, leave this with me, I’ll have a word with Barton and with Billy Dorset, see if he’s still seeing her, and if she still works there.’
‘Thanks.’ I’d been hoping he’d offer to do that. ‘When you do, though, don’t let slip to anyone that it’s me who’s looking for her.’
‘Worry not, my son.’ He paused. ‘But what will I say? I’ll need some kind of story.’
‘Don’t say anything unless you’re asked. But if you are, tell her that Ewan Capperauld asked if you knew where to find her. Tell her that a journalist’s been looking all over Edinburgh for her.’
‘A journalist? Is that true?’
I smiled. ‘It is, Sly, in a manner of speaking.’
13
The real truth was that I hadn’t given any thought to the central question of how I’d approach Harvey’s ex-wife. But as Sly Burr forced me to think about it, a rudimentary and very simple plan began to form in my mind.
There would be a ‘journalist’: Conrad Kent.
I didn’t say anything to him, though, as we checked out of the hotel. I was still fine-tuning the approach in my mind.
I said farewell to Mary in a corner of the foyer: she’d decided to stay in Edinburgh for another day, then go back to Anstruther to adapt the house so that my dad could live on the ground floor for a while. Walking would be part of his recovery regime, but it would be on the level, for a while at least.
We hadn’t spoken about Jan since that long night in the hospital, but I couldn’t let it go at that. ‘You’re not going to let anything slip, are you?’ I asked her. ‘You sure you’ll be strong enough to keep the secret?’
‘I’ve kept it this long, haven’t I? Don’t worry, Oz, it’ll die with me. Your father will never know he was Jan’s father too.’
‘With respect, Mary, the truth won’t die with you . . . unless you outlive me, that is. I’ll have to carry it with me.’
She looked up at me. ‘How do you feel about Jan now?’ she asked me.
I felt my forehead knot. ‘I don’t know. How am I supposed to feel?’
‘Before you knew the truth, what was she to you?’
‘She was the one, the one above all others.’
‘Then let her still be that.’
‘She was my half-sister, Mary.’
‘That’s not what it says on her birth certificate, or on your marriage certificate, or on her gravestone.’
‘I know, but now I feel as if I loved her under false pretences, somehow. It’s doing my head in. If she’d known the truth, it wouldn’t have been that way . . . we wouldn’t have been that way.’
‘That’s where you’re wrong. She did, and it was; you were.’
I felt myself sway; I glanced at Conrad in case he’d noticed, but he had his back to us. ‘Jan knew?’ I whispered, incredulous.
She nodded. ‘I didn’t tell you the whole truth at the hospital. She guessed; I don’t know how, but she guessed. Sometimes I think she had special gifts.’
I’m in no doubt about that: I’ve seen Jan a couple of times since she died. Before, I didn’t believe in the transcendence of the human spirit beyond this plane of existence; I do now.
‘When did she find out?’
‘When you were in your mid-twenties; she came to me and asked point-blank if you were her brother. She told me she’d had a weird experience. She’d been washing one day when she looked in the mirror and saw your face; quite clearly, she said. She stared for a while, until you winked at her, then altered, but only slightly, and she was herself again. I couldn’t lie to her: her insight was too strong.’
‘What did she say?’
‘Nothing. I told her and she turned and walked away. We only discussed it once more after that.’
‘Mid-twenties,’ I murmured, ‘just when we drifted apart for a while.’
‘That was why. She was very clever: she made you think it was mostly your idea, but if you think about it, I’m sure you’ll realise that it was hers. She kept you at a distance, but not too far away. House-sharing with the woman Turkel was a kind of screen she built between the two of you.’
I thought back to those days and I smiled. ‘It didn’t stop her ringing my door at midnight a few times.’
‘I know; she couldn’t really live without you.’
‘What made her stop trying?’
‘Isn’t it obvious? Primavera. All your other flings she regarded as harmless, but when you met her, Jan saw that it was different. When you went off to Spain with her, she came to me; that was the only time I ever saw her cry as an adult. She said to me, “I don’t care, Mum. I don’t really care about anyone or anything but Oz.” And so I told her, “Then get him back.” And she did. And she was happy again, until the day she died.’
She reached up once more, and touched my face, as she’d done in the hospital. ‘Let it rest, Oz. You were very special together, you two; you should be proud of that. Bloodlines aren’t everything: it’s love that counts. Cling on to that thought, and enjoy what’s left of your life: there’s at least half of it in front of you, with luck.’
‘Susie?’ I asked. ‘Did she ever tell you what she really thought of Susie?’
Mary laughed lightly. ‘As a matter of fact she did. She said she thought of her as the other side of Primavera; that they were much the same person, only one was a cherub and the other was an imp.’
‘No prizes for guessing which was which. She was pretty generous, though, describing Primavera as a mere imp. Horns, pitchfork and a tail fit her better when she goes off the rails.’
‘In that case you can be sure that Jan’s glad you’ve wound up with the right one.’
I squeezed her hand. ‘Look after my dad,’ I said. ‘Get him through to Loch Lomond as soon as he’s ready for it.’
‘I will, I promise. Go and catch your plane now.’ Actually it wasn’t a matter of catching it: the aircraft was at our disposal. Nevertheless I wanted to see Susie and the kids again, and I had to catch up with old Benny Luker, who was, no doubt, running up a monster tab in the Columbus at my expense.
In the taxi to the terminal and eventually on the flight itself, my mind turned back to my mission for Harvey and to Madeleine January. I looked at Conrad, and imagined him trying to pretend to be a journalist. The more I did, the more trouble I had with the notion. My security manager is a very straight guy; there’s no duplicity about him.
Fortunately, I had a ready alternative, someone who was absolutely full of it.
14
I’d been phoning Susie several times every day, of course, so I knew that there were no crises at home. Prim was still there; she said that she had intended to leave the previous Sunday, but she had agreed to stay on until I got back. Susie hadn’t seen Dylan since I’d been away. I was glad to hear it, but I never doubted that I’d find him in the hotel. He had fifty thousand green-backed reasons not to leave the principality.
The flight was as uneventful as the first, but this time Conrad and I were in a mood to enjoy the personal service that came with the charter deal. As soon as we landed in Cannes, I switched on my cell-phone; the Citation was still taxiing to the terminal building when it rang.
‘Oz, where you been, son?’ Sly Burr exclaimed in my ear. ‘I been trying to get you.’
‘I’ve been a bit up in the air. What is it, Sly?’
‘I asked around about your lady,’ he said. ‘She ain’t with Billy Dorset any more, or with Bart Mawhinney. Billy fired her last year, and she dumped Bart after I shopped her for trying to poach him.’
‘What about Sandy Wilde? Are you sure he’s out of the picture?’
‘As far out as you can get without being dead: he met up with
another Aussie, a dancer in a TV show they worked on together. They went back down under together; last I heard Sandy had a part in another soap, and the other fella . . .’
‘Fella?’
‘Sandy’s a switch-hitter, I told you. His pal’s dancing in another show.’
‘So the trail’s cold.’
‘Did I say that? Billy told me that he sacked her because he had another complaint from an agent, Renée Danziger, about her having it off with her talent, an actor called Lee Kan Tong. That’s his real name, by the way: professionally, he’s Tony Lee. A lot of these Orientals anglicise their names. This time, Madeleine didn’t try to talk the guy away from Renée, but she had a reputation for it and that was enough. Billy decided she was a liability.’
‘Liability? She sounds like the ideal business-development exec.’
Sly sighed. ‘I told you, son, we don’t work that way. The big agencies might not be as scrupulous, but us small people, we all know each other, like colleagues.’
‘So is that what she’s doing now? “Developing” potential new clients for a big agency?’
‘Nah. I called Renée and asked if Tony Lee was still seeing her. Apparently he is.’
I smiled. Trust my man Sly to come up with the goods. ‘Great. Where can I track her down?’
There was a pause, too long to be anything but significant. ‘Ah, well, son, that’s the thing, ain’t it? This Tony, he was offered a job, wasn’t he? With an outfit called the Heritage Theatre Company as director. So he took it, and Madeleine went with him.’
‘Went? Went where?’
‘Singapore, mate, that’s where she is.’
The smile turned into a sigh: my mission had just taken on another dimension. ‘Singapore?’
‘Yes, it’s in the Far East.’
‘I know where it is, Sly. It’s a fucking long way, that’s where it is. You’re sure about this?’
‘Dead certain. Renée had an e-mail from him last week. He mentioned Maddy, said that she was coping with the heat, no problem.’
For The Death Of Me Page 9
