Chox looked back at Charles, a small smile twisting his thin lips. ‘I can’t remember,’ he said, and left.
Virginia Moult’s cottage in Chiswick was neat and Victorian, like a set for one of those turn-of-the-century television series that sell so well abroad. The bedroom was the largest room, though that didn’t say much. By the time the bed had been fitted in, there wasn’t a lot of space for anything else. Which meant there was little point in standing around. Charles flopped onto the bed.
Virginia moved to the pile of wafer-thin stereo equipment, stacked like filing trays on a walnut table. ‘Do you like Music While You Work?’
‘If it’s good enough for the British Forces Network in Germany, it’s good enough for me,’ replied Charles, remembering the regular announcement on the famous radio programme.
Virginia slammed in a cassette and started to strip off. There were speakers either side of the headboard and the stereo was so good that Elton John was virtually in bed with them.
Virginia lay beside him, naked except for a silver whistle charm on a chain round her neck. That, with her large breasts and tightly prominent bottom, made her look like a gym mistress. And somehow Charles felt he was going to be put through his circuit training.
He reached over to her shoulder and crushed the duly satisfying breasts against his chest.
‘Hey, there’s no hurry,’ she said. ‘Weekend. You are hungry.’
‘Eat when I can.’
‘I, on the other hand, have regular meals.’
‘Come on, you said your husband was in Rome for a month.’
‘Yes, but he only left this morning.’
‘Ah. What do you do it for?’
‘Other men? Fatuous question.’
‘Just fun, you mean?’
‘That and. . He’s meeting his mistress in Rome.’
‘Oh.’
‘He’s a film producer. She’s in the movie. That’s part of the reason. Also I suppose there’s time passing.’
‘Cram as much experience in while you can?’
‘Guess so. Dear God, you’re a fat lot of good. When I want to go to bed with a memento mori, I’ll look for a skeleton. Tonight what I had in mind was a real, live man.’
‘Of course. Apologies for the maudlin turn of the conversation. Let’s start again.’ A pause. ‘Nice music.’
‘Yes, nice music. From my brand new stereo set-up. Very superior. And tax-deductible. Bought on the advice of one of my writers.’
‘I didn’t know writers were stereo buffs.’
‘This one is. Very deeply into it. Actually, I think he’s rather contemptuous of the stuff he recommended for me. He builds his own equipment. That’s what the real experts do. Oh yes, what he doesn’t know about plugs and transistors and amplifiers and leads isn’t worth knowing. I went round to his flat once — only once, he didn’t like people visiting, but I was curious — and, God, the great mound of hi-fl gear he’d got. Don’t know how his girl-friend put up with it — except she wasn’t around much. Off touring. Dancer or something.’
During this long, musing speech. Charles had found himself listening with mounting excitement. He could hardly find his voice to ask, ‘Which one of your writers are you talking about?’
He knew the answer before she spoke. ‘Paul Royce.’
‘You say his girl-friend was a dancer.’
‘Yes, with one of these pop modern lots. Not that I met her. He never brought her anywhere. I think they’ve broken up now, anyway.’
‘Did he ever mention her name?’
Again Virginia didn’t have to say ‘Janine’ before Charles’ thoughts started on a Cresta Run of their own.
‘Charles, I seem to be losing your interest again.’
‘I’m sorry. I was miles away.’ With a great effort of will he brought his mind to bear on the matters in hand. And very soon his concentration was rewarded.
CHAPTER TEN
FEED: What do you think of this idea of Pay-As-You-View television?
COMIC: It depends how much they are going to pay us.
‘Gerald, it must have been him. It all fits. He had the motive — the fact that Peaky was screwing his girl. He certainly had the violent temperament. Having seen what he did to Janine, I can vouch for that. He had the opportunity — he went backstage during the interval that day in Hunstanton. And, most important, he had the technical knowledge to commit the crime.’
‘Who did you say you found this out from, Charles?’ The solicitor’s voice down the phone was tinged with suspicion.
‘His agent, Virginia Moult.’
‘Something in your voice tells me you have been tomcatting again. I don’t know how you keep it up, Charles.’
‘Nor do I, Gerald.’ Charles picked up the innuendo with feeling. His body still ached from his protracted gym lesson.
‘Don’t be crude, Charles.’
‘Sorry. It comes of mixing with all these comedians.’
‘I think you should get back to Frances. Really organize yourself.’
‘Hmm. I must ring her.’
‘Anyway, what are you going to do about Royce?’
‘I’ll have to talk to him, confront him. There’s no way I’m going to get any proof in this case, unless there’s a missing eyewitness who’s yet to come forward.’
‘What about Janine?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Suppose she saw Royce fiddling with the wires. And he beat her up to make her keep her mouth shut.’
‘It’s a possibility. She said she was with the theatre St. John’s Ambulance man during the interval.’
‘Have you checked that?’
‘No.’
‘Well, it would be an easy life so that she could claim ignorance of what lover boy did.’
‘With lovers like that, that poor girl doesn’t need enemies.’ Gerald’s idea was a good one. The speed with which Janine had covered up her boyfriend’s identity when Charles questioned her suggested that she at least thought him capable of murder. If she had actually seen him setting up the crime, her behaviour made even more sense.
‘You don’t fancy doing that, do you, Gerald?’
‘Doing what?’
‘Checking the alibi. When you say you’re a solicitor, people’ll tell you anything.’
‘Then why don’t you get on the phone and say you’re a solicitor. It wouldn’t be the first time. Come on, aren’t you supposed to be a master of disguise?’
‘My confidence in my abilities in that direction has been rudely shaken recently.’
‘Oh, all right. I’ll have a go.’ Gerald was in fact glad of any crumbs of investigation which fell off the detective’s table. Pursuing the image for a moment, Charles reckoned he was currently proving to be a rather messy eater.
‘Meanwhile, I’ll have a word with Royce.’
‘I suppose you are likely to see him once you start rehearsal for this Lennie Barber pilot.’
‘Think I’ll see him before that. He’s up for some script-writing award at this UEF lunch.’
‘And you’re going to be there?’
‘Yes.’
‘Doesn’t sound your end of show business.’
‘No, it isn’t. Some mad idea of Walter Proud’s. Get me and Lennie Barber seen about together. He reckons this’ll ensure that the telly show is very big.’
‘Not such a mad idea, actually, Charles. Subliminal effect. You know the award show’s being televised, don’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, don’t wave at the camera, Charles. It’s very unprofessional.’
Gerald was right. It wasn’t Charles’ end of show business. As he sat in the tartan ballroom of the Nelson Hotel, a new egg-box development in Park Lane, he began to realize just how far from his end of show business it was.
For a start, there was wearing a suit, a penance which Charles avoided whenever possible. And in this gathering of glittering trendies, he was awkwardly aware of the age of his suit, which was due for a come-back when the nostalgia boom reached 1962.
Then there was the company. Charles felt he had had rather a lot of sitting and drinking too much with Walter Proud recently. To make things even more awkward, there seemed to be an atmosphere between Walter and the television company executives who occupied the rest of the table. Nigel Frisch was pointedly ignoring the producer, lavishing his attention on an actor and actress who had been nominated for awards for their parts in a soap opera about Edwardian vets. Charles wondered how Walter had managed to get the tickets for the event, since his presence seemed so much resented.