Seven Eight Play It Straight (Grasshopper Lawns Book 4)

by EJ Lamprey

  ‘Well, I think he’s pretty keen on you, so don’t marry him unless you love him. You can’t carry on doing that to people.’

  ‘That’s an odd comment.’ Edge, who had been looking for her Kindle in her handbag, looked up, surprised.

  ‘Not at all. I resented you when Daddy married you, because he made such a fool of himself doting on a wife half his age, but I hated you after you married Alistair.’

  ‘Oh, Fiona. That was so long ago! To be honest, if Alistair had thought you and he would make a go of it, he’d never have joined that introductions club.’

  ‘I didn’t mean that.’ Fiona drummed her restless fingers on the train table and looked mulish. ‘You let Daddy love you. If you had once—once!—looked at him the way you used to look at Alistair, he’d have been a happy man. I hated that he loved you so much, and you were just a gold digger.’

  ‘That’s extremely unfair. I loved James, and he was happy. We were both happy. Anyway, how on earth do you know how I looked at Alistair?’

  ‘Oh, we had a detective following you, Jamey and I, when we were trying to break the tontine. All water under the bridge now, but I’ve got photos of you gazing at each other. I can dig them out and send them to you, if you’d like.’ Fiona glared out the window at the scurrying countryside. ‘Anyway, that’s why I hated you. Not only for taking Alistair from me, but for loving him so much more than you loved Daddy. I don’t think you love Brian, and I’m just saying you can’t carry on marrying people because it suits you at the time.’

  ‘I’ll keep that in mind,’ Edge said coolly. ‘In the meantime, I’m going to read my book until we get to Edinburgh.’ She opened her Kindle and pretended to read but the words danced meaninglessly in front of her angry eyes. How dare Fiona deliver her unasked and unwanted opinions? She glanced up briefly and saw that her stepdaughter was still staring out the window, her cheeks wet with tears.

  First interlude, Edinburgh

  a scene which has nothing to do with the play

  ‘What do you want first, the good news or the bad news?’ Sarah’s personal assistant withdrew, leaving their coffees, as Edge’s agent opened the folder lying on her desk. She was a beautifully-groomed American woman in her late forties, extremely good at her job, who had represented Edge for nearly ten years. Edge, who found her a little intimidating, was intrigued to see that she looked more animated than usual. ‘And don’t look so worried. There’s no real bad news.’

  ‘Well, start with that first, then. Are we talking about the Pick Up Sticks synopsis? Did the Beeb say no?’

  ‘Yes, we are and no, they didn’t, they haven’t said anything yet. Nothing odd about that, you know yourself it can take ages to get a reply. But you’d said you wanted to be involved in the project, so the bad news is that I’ve had an approach from a network that wants to develop it themselves, their way.’

  ‘Oh, right. Well, you’re right, it isn’t exactly bad news. Which network?’

  Sarah was looking pleased with herself, and refused to be rushed. ‘I really liked the idea and the synopsis, you know that. A series about characters on the senior singles websites has real comic and dramatic potential, so I also put out feelers across the pond. Two of the bigger US networks are making noises, and I think I can push at least one into an offer. They’d want total rights to the concept. The other network wanted to know if you’d be up for going there for development meetings, if you were asked. Two to three weeks. They’re also talking, even more vaguely, about you being involved for the first year of the series as a consultant, and if it works out, maybe further. So what do you want me to do? Push for the sale or find out how interested the second lot really are?’

  Edge was bolt upright. ‘Sarah! Are these serious options?’

  ‘Definite interest,’ Sarah qualified, looking amused. ‘But I had to find out where you stand before I go any further. The way I see it,’ Sarah put her elbows on the desk, held up her beautiful hands, and bent her first finger back, ‘your options are to stick with the original plan, hope the Beeb or a local network picks it up and you can play with it on home ground. Perfect world, work on the scripts, have a say in casting, even get on the production team and have a financial stake as one of the producers. Right?’

  Edge nodded dumbly and Sarah bent back her second beautifully-manicured finger. ‘Or a quick cash deal, and trust me to make it a good one. I negotiate with them and you walk away with a nice little lump sum.’

  She bent her third finger elegantly backwards. ‘Or I talk the second network into a lump sum, plus you get to go to the States for a couple of weeks, or a year, or even longer-term if you all like each other and work well together.’ She stopped bending fingers and folded her hands together to rest them on the desk. ‘Which?’

  ‘I’ll have to think about it and let you know. What’s your opinion, though?’

  ‘Gut reaction? Edge, you’re a bit old for a UK market. You found it yourself, on Several Seasons, and I completely supported your deciding to jump before you were pushed, leave with your dignity intact. There are good production teams out there, and producers who still think you’re a top scriptwriter. And this is tailor-made for you; you’ve never had something you could really sink your teeth into. If you sweetened the deal by investing in the show, which you said you’d consider, it could happen and it could be good, but I won’t dangle that bait until I get some firm interest. It could take months. Years. Even if I let it slip that two American networks are starting negotiations! The American market is way more dynamic, and they haven’t had a hit series with older actors for a while. They’re hungry, and they’re interested. If they see this as a potential Golden Girls, they’re going to twist your synopsis into shapes you never dreamed, and they’re not going to let you have much say. But they’ll pay. And if you want me to hold out for it, they’ll let you consult, at least initially. Go away, think about it, and let me know what order I tackle them in. I just wish you’d been named a bit more prominently in the murder investigation. That would have helped immensely.’

  Edge shook her head violently. ‘That was the last thing I wanted! The police were really good about keeping my name out of it.’

  Sarah sighed. ‘Honey, I can see your point, as an individual. But as a scriptwriter, you have to grab every chance to get your name out there. I wish you’d taken my advice and not given early retirement as your reason for leaving the Seasons. People don’t remember early. They remember retirement. And you live in a retirement village. Your profile is, well, it isn’t easy to promote. I know this project is tailor-made for you, and you could kick serious ass with it, but do me a favour, get an exciting lover, hit some headlines, be seen out and about looking glamorous, okay? Give me something to work with. Think about it.’

  ~~~

  Edge trotted down the steps into Charlotte Square feeling slightly dazed. Definite interest, and from a big US network, two US networks, was thrilling. Being bluntly told she came across as dull and old was a shock, and she wondered how Brian would react to being told he’d need to squire her out and about to the kind of events he’d normally avoid like the plague. The thought made her gasp with laughter, and she gave an involuntary little skip, got an odd glance from a couple walking past, and sobered. Think about it? How could anyone think about anything else?

  Except that it was time to go to the hospital to meet Fiona, and Fiona would be the very last person in the world to be pleased for her. She glanced at her watch, decided against walking, and flagged down a passing taxi. After all, if any of this went through, she could afford any number of taxis. If it didn’t, and there had been promising beginnings before which came to nothing, it wasn’t the end of the world. She would have to be sensible. Practical. And as soon as this particular family drama was out of the way, plan a campaign of action. . .

  Edinburgh Royal Infirmary

  The Infirmary was dauntingly large but fairly well organized, and Edge found her way to the correct section with a little help from friend
ly staff. Go straight up to the ward, or wait for Fiona? She glanced around and saw her stepdaughter approaching. Fiona ignored her completely and stalked past to the elevators, angry spots burning in her cheeks. The police interview had obviously not gone well, and Edge felt herself deflating. She followed her stepdaughter meekly into the elevator and they rode upwards in silence.

  JJ looked very white and unhappy when they came into the ward, but tried to smile at the sight of his sister. He was surprised but pleased to see Edge, who hung back politely while Fiona darted over to the bed to hug him fiercely.

  He and Edge had always got on reasonably well—without Fiona’s resentful influence they would probably have been friends—and he clung to her hand when she would have moved back after kissing his cheek. He was in his early forties but looked younger, a shadowy slender version of James, particularly when he smiled up at her.

  ‘I kept meaning to come visit you when we moved back to Edinburgh to live, but time kept slipping by, and T-Tim wasn’t sure if you’d accept us. His own family didn’t. They’d virtually disowned him until his brother died and they had to make peace with him again. They hate me so much. I was lying here, trying to c-come to terms with it all, and I suddenly thought. . .’ Tears welled in his eyes, and he dashed them away impatiently with his free hand. ‘I realized—they’re not going to let me go to his funeral.’

  ‘Funerals are public!’ Fiona looked furious. ‘They can’t stop you going!’

  ‘They’re not like weddings, which have to be open door,’ Edge remarked doubtfully. ‘I think you can have a private funeral. But JJ, were they really so anti? Fiona said you’ve been together years. Surely they couldn’t refuse to invite someone so central to his life?’

  ‘They hate me,’ JJ repeated helplessly. ‘When Fee and Darren divorced, and she came to live with us for a while last year, his mother told Tim he should marry her so at least the three of us could live together without shaming their precious name.’

  Fiona barked an angry laugh. ‘I’d have done it, too, but Tim refused to hide what he was. He said Jamey was the only person he wanted to marry. The police would have loved it if I had, can you imagine. That would have given me a real motive for murder, to become a wealthy fucking widow.’ She glanced at Edge but didn’t add any barbed comments.

  ‘Was he wealthy? Had he even made a will?’ Edge asked to bridge a slightly awkward pause.

  ‘Years ago we made a joint will leaving everything to each other, but no, he wasn’t. He would have been, at some point, as there’s some sort of inheritance when his father dies, but he used to joke about it and say his father would cut him out if he possibly could. He hated his family and they hated us.’ He shifted restlessly, his face bitter. ‘His parents are very country, shocked to the core that he was queer. There was one uncle who was okay until he married his assistant, a tart with a chip on her shoulder the size of the Forth Road Bridge. She used to live in the staff quarters under the house. She dragged Tim into her room while he was still a teenager, scared him near to death. She’d tried it on his brother as well, screws everything in pants and broods about being a Murdoch. She’d have married one of the dogs to get into the family. Bitch.’

  JJ’s uncharacteristic spurt of venom left him suddenly exhausted and the two women weren’t surprised to be chased out when a nurse came in shortly afterwards. They waited in silence in the corridor until she reappeared and shook her head reprovingly at them.

  ‘He’s doing surprisingly well, but he really does have to rest as much as possible. He’ll be here for a week at least. You can come back tomorrow.’

  Fiona tried to argue, but the nurse was implacable and they had no choice but to leave. Edge glanced at her watch as they emerged into watery sunshine. ‘We’ll have to pay more if we travel now, it’s peak hour. Do you want to pay the difference, or is there anything you need to do while we’re here?’

  ‘We could go to the show, see how they got on without me? I’d like that.’ She intercepted a departing taxi without waiting for Edge’s reply, and directed it to a pub near the little makeshift theatre where they found the small production team celebrating. The one-woman show was on every day throughout the Festival, with the young wife of the writer stepping in for Fiona’s rest days, and they were celebrating the publishing of her first, and excellent, review.

  Fiona was unusually silent during the drinks, after adding her congratulations. Edge felt a pang of sympathy. Getting older wasn’t easy for any actress, especially one who relied on her looks as much as her talent. To have a plum role taken successfully by someone not only a decade younger, but married to a writer who had been a prime source of good parts in the past, had to hurt. She quelled her lingering resentment from their earlier squabble and remembered that Fiona had been bristling with suppressed emotion after the police interview. They walked back to the station in silence, but she made an effort once they’d boarded the train and found seats.

  ‘The police don’t seriously think you had anything to do with Tim’s death, do they?’

  Fiona shrugged. ‘They wanted to know why it took me so long to get home from the theatre after my show. It’s the Festival, for fuck’s sake! I had a drink with the crew, like always, then I walked, and stopped to watch things. Luckily I bumped into some other actors I had met in Grahamstown, so I suppose I’ve got an alibi. I gave them the name of the show, they can find the actors and check with them. They also wanted to know how well Jamey and Tim got on, did they seem happy together. I don’t know how Kirsty can bear to be a copper, they have the most dismal fucking outlook on life.’

  Grasshopper Lawns

  It was nearly seven by the time the taxi dropped them off at the Lawns, and Edge let them into the apartment, stooping to pick up the key that had been pushed under the door.

  ‘Good, that’ll save walking down to the house. The key for your guest house. I’ll take you across now, unless you want a cup of tea or something first?’

  ‘White wine, dry, if you’ve got it.’ Fiona looked around doubtfully. ‘Or is that room service?’

  Edge pulled on the pantry doors to reveal her kitchenette instead of answering, and took a bottle of wine out of the fridge.

  ‘Oh! Now actually that’s quite sweet.’ Fiona inspected the kitchenette approvingly. ‘And well-planned. You never were a cook, anyway. But surely Aunt Vivian was, so how does she like a cupboard kitchen?’

  ‘Vivian would be miserable in one of these,’ Edge agreed as she poured wine into two glasses. ‘The apartments alternate between bachelor and studio units, which have a full-sized kitchen. I preferred having the big main room. Brian’s also in this type now and he uses the big room as his bedroom, keeps his alcove as a study and heads to the house for any social stuff. Which is what I was going to suggest for this evening, unless you want to go see a film?’

  She led the way outside to her little verandah, which was in shade in the afternoons but had a good view of the huge sunny garden, so that Fiona could have a cigarette with her wine. She waved her to one of the Havana chairs, taking the other with a small sigh of relief. It had been a long day, because of the early start, and walking miles in the hospital, and then they had walked from the pub to the station, altogether more than she was used to. She kicked off her sandals with some relief to wiggle her toes vigorously. Fiona, still in her boots, was amused.

  ‘If you wore decent trainers . . .’ she remarked and Edge gave a little shudder.

  ‘I do wear trainers, when Vivian’s dog is staying here and needs walking. The most hideous things on earth, and, I don’t care what anyone says, so uncomfortable!’

  ‘Is that the dog you offered me for my walk this morning? Why does he sometimes stay with you?’

  ‘William and Vivian don’t always go to places where they can take him. He’s always welcome here, although my cat’s not that enthusiastic.’

  Fiona was electrified. ‘Aunt Vivian and William Robertson? You have got to be joking!’

  ‘No, why?
They’ve been an item since Christmas—just before, in fact. We had a couple of murders here at the Lawns, and he helped us solve them. He and Donald. We’ve all been friends ever since.’

  ‘William Robertson!’ Fiona was enchanted. ‘He’s so—big! And so loud, and come on, Edge, so notorious! The man’s been having the most salacious sex-life from the time he was old enough to hold a stripper above his head. I’d never have seen them as a couple in a million years.’ She looked across at Edge’s slightly disapproving expression. ‘You can’t tell me he isn’t the opposite in every possible way from Uncle Gordon!’

  ‘Well, okay. He is. But he thinks she’s the best thing since sliced bread, and he makes her laugh, and anyway he’s mellowed since those days. He has to be sixty if he’s a day. Even so, I wouldn’t go on too much about his past, if I were you, around Vivian. She gets fairly fed up with people warning her he’s a bad man. If he loses interest and takes off in another direction, she’s ready for that, and until then she’s enjoying herself. So tell me about your love life, anyway. You haven’t said a word. Is there anyone special on the horizon?’

  ‘Oh, there was.’ Fiona heaved a rather theatrical sigh and twirled her wineglass between her thin fingers. ‘But he was so intense, you know? Everything had to be a drama. I like the occasional bit of jealousy and even full-blown theatricals, but not all the time. When Paddy and the others said they were bringing the show here to Edinburgh and had been let down by their headliner, it seemed the perfect time to get out of the relationship. We’d just had such a scene, he said I didn’t love him and must be in love with someone else—threatened to cut my throat and kill my lover and I don’t know what else.’ She shuddered, and lit another cigarette. ‘Spanish, of course. You know I live in Spain when I’m not on the road. And very volatile, years younger than me. I think on balance I prefer older men. Fergus, you remember my son? He was due to go to Darren for the rest of the holidays so I packed him off early, left a note for Julio, and took off to meet the others in Cyprus. He’ll have stomped around cursing for a week or two, he’ll brood for a few weeks more, and by the time I head back around November he’ll hopefully have picked up with someone else and forgotten all about me.’ She looked faintly wistful. ‘Pure fucking gorgeous, but probably certifiable.’