by Liz Fielding
Yet not quite here. Not feeling quite like this.
This was like being fifteen, knowing nothing and kissing a girl for the first time all mixed up with those years of experience. The combination was so heady that he didn’t even hear the door opening behind him. It took a low cough to warn him that they were no longer alone, to drag him back from the dangerous territory into which he had strayed.
It took a moment longer before he focussed on the figure standing in the doorway. Mac had seen him before and he didn’t much like him. His brain began, slowly, to click into gear. Redmond. Phillip Redmond, the theatre manager.
‘You sent for me, Claudia?’ Redmond said, with the barest touch of something insolent in his manner. ‘I did knock.’ But he hadn’t waited for her to answer and he had interrupted them when anyone with an ounce of good taste would have simply closed the door and gone away, Mac thought. No, he didn’t like him. And he fully expected Claudia to tell the man to get lost in her own inimitable style.
Instead she took a little shuddery breath, Mac felt it beneath his hands before she gathered herself and not quite managing to meet his eyes, turned away from him, putting a yard of distance between them. It felt like a mile, a great yawning empty space.
‘Yes, Phillip, I did.’ Mac took comfort from the fact that her voice shook just a little and that she sat rather suddenly on her dressing stool. ‘I want to know the progress you’ve made so far in your enquiries about what happened on Saturday.’ She avoided looking in the mirror, Mac noticed, avoided looking at him, while Redmond fussed around picking up the cuttings that had slipped from her hands. ‘Leave those,’ she said, impatiently. ‘I’ll pick them up later.’
She wasn’t quite in control, Mac thought, but she was getting there. Phillip Redmond, however, was too intent on the photograph in the newspaper to notice Claudia’s lack of poise.
‘Your mother would never have done that,’ he said, holding it out to her.
She didn’t take it. ‘It was just a kiss, Phillip,’ she said, blushing a little. Mac was surprised that she felt the need to explain herself to the theatre manager. He was even more surprised by the blush. ‘It was just a bit a fun to raise money for Fizz’s charity.’
‘Your mother raised a great deal of money for charity without the need to make an exhibition of herself,’ Redmond replied. ‘But then, she was a lady.’
Claudia finally took the paper, looked at it for a moment and then at Redmond. The sudden flush of colour had been leached from her skin and she was perfectly still. ‘Just what does that mean, Phillip?’ she enquired, softly. ‘That my mother was more competent at raising money for charity than me?’ Her pause was epic. ‘Or that I am not a lady?’
CHAPTER NINE
THERE was a horribly long moment when the tension was so thick that it could have been cut into wedges and served with whipped cream. Mac finally broke the silence.
‘Miss Beaumont asked you a question, Redmond.’ His voice was scarcely above a whisper, but it was the kind of whisper that would have hit the back wall of a hushed theatre, Claudia thought, and no one would have been left in any doubt about his feelings. ‘It would be ill-mannered to keep a lady waiting for an answer.’
A lady? Used by Mac to describe her, the word caught her by surprise. She fought back the urge to look at him and read his face, see if he really meant it. It was too important. She cared too much. So she kept her eyes fastened on Phillip Redmond.
But Phillip was defensive, rather than apologetic. ‘I didn’t say that, Claudia. You know I didn’t mean to imply-’
‘Didn’t you?’ With his mean-spirited attempt to justify himself something snapped. Claudia knew the way Phillip felt about her mother. He’d placed the image of Elaine French on a pedestal a mile high and worshipped at her feet.
It had been obvious from the first that he bitterly resented Melanie’s presence. She had told Mel that Phillip would get used to her, but it was quite obvious that he had been getting more, rather than less difficult during the run and, Claudia realised with a sinking heart, she was partly to blame.
With the benefit of hindsight she believed her father had been unwise to bring Phillip in to work on Private Lives, a play so much associated with the Elaine French legend, although heaven knew that he would have been terribly hurt if he’d been left out of the team and her father had preferred to overlook his behaviour, excusing it as a slightly irritating eccentricity instead of confronting it.
It had been a mistake, a mistake she had to address right now.
Phillip wanted her to behave like her mother, or at least the woman he thought she had been. No problem.
Lifting her head, she tilted it slightly to one side in the pose that was the very essence of Elaine French and then very still, very poised, she became her mother.
It wasn’t difficult. She had been brought up to it, had performed the trick as a child, for her mother’s friends, for eager photographers when they came to take “family” shots, even at school.
‘I think,’ she said, in that cool dismissive voice her mother had used when she was particularly displeased, ‘I think that you came very close to it, Phillip.’
Redmond blinked, his shoulders dropped and he took a step back, almost for a moment as if he’d seen a ghost. Then he raised his hand to his forehead. ‘I’m sorry, madam. I’m sorry. You know I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you.’ He made a helpless little gesture.
Madam. He had always called her mother that and Claudia froze, momentarily horrified by what she had done, how convincing she had been.
‘Perhaps you’d better try harder,’ Mac suggested, stepping forward, a supportive hand beneath her elbow. ‘Miss Beaumont was put in an impossible situation on Saturday. Do you think she enjoyed performing like that?’
‘Miss Beaumont? Claudia.’ Phillip stared at her for a moment and then with a long shudder turned to Mac. ‘I’m sorry. It’s just that Claudia looks so much like her mother. I can’t...’ He made a helpless little gesture, as if incapable of putting his feelings into words.
Claudia made a small sound, deep in her throat. It might have been the beginnings of a laugh. But then again, it might not, she couldn’t be sure. If Phillip had ever seen the ladylike Elaine French screaming abuse at her hapless husband because she was no longer beautiful, because she couldn’t bear to look at herself in the mirror and he was the only available target for her venom...
But no one knew about that. Not all of it.
Fizz had told Luke, and Melanie had been told just a little about why Edward Beaumont hadn’t left his deeply damaged wife to be with the girl he loved. But no one who hadn’t been there could possibly know. Who could you tell? Who would ever believe it? They had never discussed what they should do. They had each simply chosen to lock away the terrible memories and so the legend had remained intact.
She realised that Mac was looking at her, his eyes suggesting that Phillip was expecting something from her, the gentle pressure of his hand on her arm assuring her that she was not alone. Slowly, with conscious effort she came back to the dressing room, reality.
‘The standards of behaviour that my mother set were so...’ - she struggled for the right word - ‘...so taxing, that few of us can ever hope to achieve their like, Phillip,’ she said. It was as near to an acceptance of his apology as she could manage.
He didn’t appear to notice the reservation. ‘She was unique,’ he agreed, solemnly, as if that answered everything.
‘I believe she was.’ She sincerely hoped so. And she made a silent promise to herself that, no matter what the provocation, she would never, ever, impersonate her mother again. And once this run of Private Lives was over, she would never recreate one of her roles, or even allow herself to be made up to look like her.
A shiver ran through her, as if someone had walked over her grave.
Mac felt it and moved closer. ‘Claudia?’
She put her hand over his for just a moment while she gathered herself and he saw the b
rief internal struggle as she reclaimed herself, put on the public smile.
‘Darling,’ she said, with forced brightness, ‘why don’t you sit down over there. This won’t take long and then I’ll show you around.’
For the moment Mac accepted that he had temporarily lost the woman he had discovered a few minutes ago. Warm, a little uncertain, a very different woman from the one who wore her couldn’t-care-less front so convincingly. But he was concerned about her, too. Something had just happened inside Claudia’s head that he didn’t understand. She had done something to herself, something that had sent a shiver down his spine.
As he hesitated, she gave him a playful push and taking his cue from her, he reluctantly resumed his self-inflicted role as infatuated lover and retreated to the velvet covered chaise. The temptation to flatten Phillip Redmond was still making his knuckles tingle but it would serve no purpose, Mac decided, other than to make himself feel better and that wasn’t why he was there.
Instead he picked up a programme to flick through idly as though the business of the theatre bored him rigid.
Nothing could be further from the truth.
Phillip Redmond interested him a very great deal. He was clearly obsessed with Elaine French and obsessive characters were dangerous. Especially when the object of that obsession, apparently reincarnated in the shape of her daughter, refused to conform to the proper standards of behaviour.
Mac wasn’t a psychologist but to his layman’s mind it had all the hallmarks of a disaster waiting to happen. Or maybe it had already happened. The destruction of the dress would have presented no difficulty for Redmond and he undoubtedly knew where both Claudia and Fizz lived.
He could have followed them easily in the heavy traffic of London and once he had seen they were headed for Broomhill he wouldn’t have needed to stay on their tail.
The photograph in the parachute was more difficult.
‘That’s it?’ Claudia looked up as Phillip finally came to the end of a long list of names. ‘Wasn’t there anyone who was unaccounted for?’
‘Well, there might have been someone. We’re not quite sure. Jim says he caught sight of someone hurrying out through the door at about half past six.’
Even from the other side of the room Mac felt her tense up. ‘A man or woman?’ she asked, carefully.
‘A woman. Quite tall with long blonde hair. He just saw the back of her and assumed it was one of the staff dashing out for something before the second performance. But he doesn’t remember her coming back.’ He gave a small shrug. ‘That, of course, means nothing, Jim is about as reliable as a weather forecast, but there are quite a number of girls who could fit that description.’
‘Perhaps you could check with them, see if anyone went out about that time?’ Mac suggested, impatiently, tossing the programme to one side and giving a fair impression of a man tired of waiting for the woman in his life. ‘Or just call the police and leave it to them. It’s their job after all.’ Mac expected Phillip to protest that calling the police would be bad for publicity. He didn’t.
‘I wanted to call the police, but Claudia won’t hear of it. I imagine she thinks this attack is by someone she knows, someone who needs help rather than punishment. All very noble I’m sure, but that costume cost a fortune.’ He seemed to take the loss personally.
‘It could just have been a dissatisfied customer,’ Mac offered, flippantly.
Phillip Redmond clearly didn’t think that remark worthy of an answer. ‘I’ll ask everyone to account for their movements,’ he told Claudia, just a little testily, making it clear that while Mac might be Claudia’s personal champion, this wasn’t any of his business.
He had quite recovered his aplomb, Mac noticed. Beneath that lugubrious, faintly subservient manner, the man had an ego as big as the Eiffel Tower and that made him uneasy. He’d read somewhere that the one thing murderers had in common was an over-developed sense of their own importance.
‘But a lot of the staff won’t be in until later,’ he pointed out.
‘They’re the front of house people,’ Claudia, intervened, in an effort to smooth things over. ‘Box office, usherettes, programme sellers, bar staff. And on matinee days, like Saturday, there are cleaners as well.’
‘Why on matinee days?’
‘Think about it, darling. You wouldn’t want to pay a fortune for a seat that was knee deep in someone else’s ice cream cartons and chocolate wrappers, would you?’ She turned on a mischievous little smile. ‘And we don’t like to provide dissatisfied customers with the ammunition with which to demonstrate their feelings, eh, Phillip?’ The man attempted a smile but it really didn’t suit him and Claudia stood up, indicating the meeting was at an end. ‘I’ll leave it with you, Phillip,’ she said. ‘Has the replacement costume arrived?’
‘It’s in the office, with Angela and Pam. I didn’t want to leave it unattended. The spares will be here by the end of the week. There’s quite a bit of post, too, maybe you could look at it.’ He glanced back at Mac. ‘If you can spare the time.’
‘No problem, I came in early for that very reason. Mac? Are you ready for that tour I promised you?’
‘Sure,’ he said, noting the switch back to Mac. He’d have to remind her that they had moved on, but in his own good time. ‘There’s no hurry if you have things to do. Why don’t you look in at the office first in case there’s anything urgent? Maybe Redmond could give you a hand.’
The idea of spending any more time in Mac’s company clearly didn’t fill the man with enthusiasm. ‘Actually I’m needed up in the lighting gallery. There’s some kind of problem with the new electronic board.’
‘Then we won’t keep you. Claudia?’
‘Well, I would like to check my costume.’ She slipped her arm through his. It was nice but Mac had the impression it was more for Redmond’s benefit than for his. He caught her hand raised it to his lips. That was for Redmond’s benefit too. He wanted to check the man’s reaction.
There was none. Maybe that was because Redmond had learned his lesson. Or maybe he’d got a tighter rein on his feelings. Or maybe, Mac thought, he wanted the villain to be Redmond so much that he was simply letting his imagination run away with him. Claudia retrieved her fingers, kept them lightly tucked under his arm until Redmond was out of sight. Then she pulled away.
‘I’m hoping to hear from Beau, too,’ she went on, with a determined brightness that didn’t fool him. She was still upset about what Phillip had said.
And she wasn’t quite sure about what happened before Phillip interrupted them. He liked that. He wasn’t exactly certain what was going on, himself.
‘Your father?’ he enquired. If she wanted to be businesslike he was happy to oblige.
‘He’s due back from the States any day and I promised to pick him up at the airport.’
‘If you tell me where and when I’ll organise a car for you.’
‘Will you? I didn’t think ferrying him about would come under the job description.’
He glanced down at her, outwardly so in control, but beneath the surface he could plainly see the welter of uncertainty clouding her eyes. It hadn’t been there before. Or maybe it had. Maybe because of his new insight into her character was he just seeing her more clearly.
‘Oh, I’ll have to charge extra,’ he informed her, his face as straight as a stick.
‘Oh, well, in for a penny,’ she said, carelessly. ‘Just put it on the bill. Or perhaps you’d prefer to have your pick of my mother’s “fabulous” jewellery?’ she added, in a clear reference to his observation that her safety would be ample compensation for parting with a piece. She gave him an oblique look. ‘I’m afraid none of my “couture frocks” will fit you.’ Then, as an afterthought, she added, ‘But don’t take the diamond drops.’
‘Why? Are they a particular favourite?’
‘No. They’re fake.’
He laughed. Her sex appeal had never been in doubt, but she had a sly sense of humour, too. In fact he was in
grave danger of seriously enjoying Claudia Beaumont’s company.
‘Definitely not the diamond drops, then.’ She had known he was kidding and she was kidding him right back. It was like being hugged. ‘I’ll remember.’
*****
The office was the domain of two middle-aged ladies, Pam and Angela, who kept the accounts and the correspondence of the production company running like oiled silk. Mac was introduced, offered coffee and cake and generally fussed over.
He accepted the coffee, refused the cake and watched while the replacement costume was taken from its box and shaken out. ‘It is so beautiful,’ Pam exclaimed. ‘The lace is just unbelievable.’
‘You wouldn’t believe the price, either,’ Angela said, dryly. ‘You’d better try it on, Claudia. Just in case it needs adjustment. Five minutes before curtain up will be too late. Would you like me to give you hand with the buttons?’
‘Would you? Do you mind, Mac? It won’t take a minute.’
‘Ask him nicely and I’m sure he’ll give you hand with the buttons himself, dear,’ Pam suggested with a giggle.
Mac backed away in apparent horror, knocking over the telephone as he did so. The next time he gave Claudia a hand with her clothing he wasn’t planning to have an audience.
He bent down, picked up the telephone, made a point of checking that it was still working and grinning at his own clumsiness he replaced it on the desk. Then, his listening device planted and his main purpose in encouraging Claudia to go to the office achieved, he made his excuses.
He was quite happy to have Claudia safely occupied for a while. He didn’t want her to know about the bugs, but if he went around knocking over telephones it wouldn’t take her long to guess what he was up to.
‘Take all the time you need, sweetheart,’ he said. ‘I’ll go and get that security badge from Jim.’
