'On the phone. You own another third, I presume. Who's the other lucky shareholder?'
'No one really,' said the woman. 'It was just a manner of speaking. Gerry and me do the work. We have to twist a few arms to finance any new project, that's all I meant.'
The room suddenly began to fill up with bodies and a tangle of cables.
'Time to work,' said Penelope. 'Stay and enjoy the view.'
'Some other time,' said Pascoe despondently. 'I've other bodies to see.'
Penelope regarded him curiously.
'Look,' she said. 'I'm not sure I know what this is all about, but don't let it get to you, darling. It's a crummy planet. Crummy things happen. We can all suffer without looking it up in the Yellow Pages. So be happy and come up and see me again some time – without those official eyes. 'Bye now.'
As he sent the Riley down the dark tunnel of conifers and yew, Pascoe was not certain whether he had been comforted or warned. Either way it didn't matter. Or, to be less precise, they were equally irrelevant. To take warning, to take comfort: these were the prerogatives of the people. It was the duty of the priest class to give them, not to take them, especially not from fat women in the pornographic film business.
Still, he thought, it was a terrible thing this pure abluting. Duty meant sacrifice. It might have been quite interesting to see what the Scarlet Pimp did with that tiger rug.
On the other hand, though she did not yet know it, he had a date with a movie star.
Chapter 16
'One thing I'll give you lot,’ said Linda Abbott. 'You start early.'
'But they let us finish late,' said Pascoe, glancing at his watch. It was only nine o'clock in the morning and already he'd contrived to do – he totted it up. Very little.
Linda Abbott did not seem likely to change things. No, there definitely hadn't been another girl on the set. What would have been the point? The shooting had taken about a week, four or five days, that was. This was a lot longer than the back-street boys, three hours of an afternoon would do them, but the thing about Mr Toms was that he made real films. Some of them even had certificates and made it to Screen Three at the local Gaumont. She'd appeared in one of these, a small part. But hadn't she had to join Equity?
Pascoe sat in the bright neat kitchen and talked softly over a mug of coffee for fear of disturbing the sleeping Bert.
'How'd you get into this film business?' he asked.
'It wasn't that hard,' she said. 'None of your struggling to stardom stuff. I used to be an exotic dancer. I still am when the kitty's low. I was asked if I'd like to make a bob or two doing a film. I was a bit dubious at first.'
'Why?'
'I knew right off what kind of film he meant…'
'He?'
'Chap who managed us. I was a Lulu then, part of a team, the Three Lulus. Maurice, that was the chap who ran the agency, said he could get us into films. Like I said, we knew what he meant, or thought we did. Getting humped on some flea-ridden bed for home-movies. We told him to take a jump, but he ran us out to meet Mr Toms, showed us a film he'd made. Well, it wasn't Gone With the Wind but it was a cut or two above the do-it-yourself kind. Most of the sex, he said, was put on. Them as felt like going the whole hog for a few quid more were very welcome, but there was plenty of work for well-built girls who just wanted to go through the motions. I talked it over with Bert and said all right.'
'This Maurice,' said Pascoe casually, 'does he still manage you?'
'Not really manage. When we were the Three Lulus, he was more our manager then. But you don't have proper managers in this game. If he knows of anything that might suit me, he gets in touch. If I'm a bit short, I might ring his agency just to see what's going.'
'Arany, that's a funny name,' mused Pascoe. 'Doesn't sound English. Just a business name, perhaps.'
She put her cup on the table and stared at him with blank unblinking eyes.
'What's the game, love?' she asked.
'Eh?'
'I never said Maurice's second name was Arany.'
'Didn't you? Surely you did!' said Pascoe brightly. 'Otherwise how would I know…?'
'That's the question, right enough. So what's the game?'
Pascoe was acutely embarrassed. It had been a stupid slip. Dalziel would probably not have made it – he rarely underestimated people. But if he had, he wouldn't have been in the least embarrassed.
'Association of ideas,' he said. 'Maurice Arany's name came up when I was talking with Penny Latimer of Homeric. I just put two and two together when you mentioned a Maurice.'
She laughed disbebevingly.
'Look,' she said. 'I had Lorraine the year after that first film job. Times were hard. Bert and me had a lot of financial commitments. Well, Maurice subbed me while I couldn't work. He got it all back, mind you. I didn't want charity. But there's not many as would have bothered in our game. Afterwards he helped me get back in as quickly as possible. I used to take Lorraine with me in her carrycot. I felt right daft at first, but Maurice said it'd be all right. Everyone'd love the kid. Having a baby around made them feel sort of respectable. He was right. Any road, what I'm saying is, I'm not about to say owt that could harm Maurice Arany. So you can bugger off somewhere else with your sneaky questions!'
She had raised her voice and before Pascoe could reply, there was a series of bangs on the floor above.
'Now you've woken Bert up!' said Linda Abbott.
'I'm sorry, I'm sorry,' said Pascoe. 'You've got it all wrong..’
'Just shove off,' said the woman wearily. 'No wonder they call you pigs! You revel in muck.'
Pascoe rose. At the door he said in a quiet, reasonable voice, 'Lady, you get annoyed because people think that running around without your clothes on makes you a dirty, immoral woman. Well, policemen get annoyed too when people assume that running around trying to solve or prevent crimes makes them some kind of nasty animal. The only difference is, you can tell me to bugger off and all I can say in reply is thank you very much and good morning.'
It was feeble and plaintive, thought Pascoe. And also only partly true. Under Dalziel's patient tuition, he'd learnt when to tell people to bugger off and when to keep his mouth shut. Now he felt almost as guilty as before when Linda Abbott caught up with him in the hall and said, 'I'm sorry I said that. It's your job. I shouldn't blame a man for his job. Women especially shouldn't.'
'Yes,' said Pascoe. 'A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do.'
'That film,' she said. 'Really, there wasn't another girl. Just me. And it was put on.'
'I believe you,' he said. But he didn't move; he sensed there was the possibility of something else.
'Mr Toms was very economical,' she said finally. 'He'd always want to get it right first time.'
'Just the one take, you mean,' said Pascoe.
'That's right. I think he was quite proud that all he had to do was more or less stick his shots together to make the film.'
'No editing?'
'Oh aye. I suppose he had to do a bit, but what I'm getting at is, if owt went wrong, he didn't have a lot of other takes to fall back on. I don't know much about it, mind. Just what I heard some of the others say when we were chatting during dinner break or whatever. One of the girls reckoned she'd gone to see one of the films she was in and there was a bit from another film in it, if you follow me. She wondered if she could get an extra payment.'
'And did she?'
Linda Abbott laughed.
'Some bloody hope!' she said. 'They're as careful with cash as with film. Oh God, there's Bert banging again. I'd best take him a pot of tea, see if that'll quieten him.'
'Goodbye then, Mrs Abbott,' said Pascoe. 'And good luck.'
She wished him goodbye in return but nothing was said about luck.
About two hundred yards from the house there was a telephone-box. He stopped the car, entered the box and dialled Linda Abbott's number which he had noted as they stood talking in the hallway. He got the engaged signal. Replacing the receiver he next dialled the number of Maurice Arany's agency. That was engaged too.