Sandy ascended – not too emotive a word – giving queenly gestures, tears of exaltation running down his gilded cheeks. He would describe this for ever now, in pubs all over East Anglia: 'Did you see me ...?' He'd send photographs to us all, then try to charge us for them when we'd chucked them away.
'Nobody else could perform like this, Lovejoy!'
Maud's eyes glistened with moisture, adoring it. I kept looking for familiar faces. My erstwhile team of actors arrived, Tina leading them into the theatre. Jules was one.
Conquistadores, on their way to new lands. I thought, once an actor, always.
On the balcony, the mayor – can you believe bloody politicians? – laid a golden laurel wreath on Sandy's brow. The background music burst into the Hallelujah Chorus from the Messiah. Lot of Handel about tonight, him and Gilbert and Sullivan busily adding to Sandy's majesty.
'Ladies and gentlemen!' the mayor shouted. 'Your saviour and mine, Sandy. . .'
Pandemonium. Ecstasy, the elation of people whose jobs were spared and wages secure. People all about shook hands and hugged. I bet they wouldn't give each other time of day on the street in the morning, but tonight was gala time. Mel – he must have run up the theatre stairs – held Sandy's hand aloft, champion boxer pose. Sandy bowed to the multitudes – see? Loaves-and-fishes talk gets even the most cynical after a bit.
The crowd roared. I saw Tex the Mighty Hex like a beaming Alp, head above the crowd.
'He could finish up emperor,' I told Maud.
'Oh, stop it!' she cried. 'Enter the spirit of the thing! Come on. We'll be late.' Impatiently she pulled me through the throng.
'Lovejoy?' Mrs Domander took my other arm. She held Peshy. It looked even more smug than usual, but I noticed it darted nervous glances at the sky as more fireworks went off. 'Could I sit with you?'
'Ta for the offer but I've to see the brigadier and Quaker.'
Her lower lip trembled a moment, though it could have been a Shimmering Cascade that just then made silver firefalls from the theatre windows.
'Only, I need to hand over your notes from the antiques sweep. Remember?'
Notes? We kept no notes. 'Did you get your motor back from Alanna?'
'Tinker brought it round.' Her mongrel snarled at me, not an all-time first. When did I ever do what it wanted?
'Good, love. Well, maybe tomorrow, eh?' I bussed her, carefully avoiding her wolfhound, and moved on.
'She's a pest, Lovejoy,' Maud said with satisfaction. We went towards the theatre with the crowd. 'You must watch her.'
Odd, though. I hadn't made any notes on our antiques sweep. Nor had she. And how had Tinker delivered her motor, when he'd no idea where she lived? Alicia was a wanderer. Local hotel owners give her a spare room, night and night about. It's pure chance where she kips. You have to leave her messages in the wall of Cramper Evans'
ruined chapel. After the pubs close she calls on Cramper to find out which bedroom she'll lodge in, giving a new meaning to the term No Fixed Abode. The thought almost made me look back, but Maud urged me on.
'Look, Lovejoy! There's Quaker!'
I failed to see her husband. We reached the theatre foyer just as the commissionaires started to close the doors. Maud waved tickets. Others exclaimed in distress at being shut out. I felt smug: you poor inadequates are excluded, whereas I'm among the gentry. Satisfaction always quells sympathy.
'Where?'
'Gone on ahead,' Maud told me. One or two people said hello. Many more said hello to Maud. She looked superb, radiant. I recognized the occasional face as we climbed the stairs, but Maud was the centre of attention.
'We have a balcony box, Lovejoy. We're not with the rest.'
New snobbery took hold and I went willingly. The auditorium was packed, newcomers filing in, a few discreet arguments starting up of the polite is-that-my-seat-madam kind.
Clearly a festival scene made for rejoicing. Were these all investors? I heard glasses clinking, corks popping, laughter. The stage's red velvet curtain was glaringly lit. To each side, Tramway had placed potted white flowering almond trees, the sort that go red and look sore at the twig tips, like chapped fingers that need cream when you're little.
'Isn't this exciting?' Maud whispered, hugging my arm. She hadn't let go. I felt in chains, Lovejoy in vincula. 'This is what I've really been waiting for!'
'Who on earth went to all this trouble?'
Her smile dazzled. 'Why, me, silly!' she said, and my chest went cold.
The orchestra struck up, 'Three Little Maids From School Are We'. The curtains parted, and Sandy came on with Mel and, wrong guess, that toe-rag Dennis who'd tried to get the lads to hang me when this whole thing started. In gymslips, false pigtails, spectacles and blacked-out teeth, they sang the song doing hockey-stick actions. The crowd went wild. Maud fell about, thought it was a scream. I was trying to think, kept looking about the audience.
No sign of Alicia Domander or Peshy now, though Sep Verner was on the front row. The dignitaries were in expensive boxes, champagne flutes on the balcony rims. Where was Mrs Thomasina Quayle when I needed her? Instead I get Serious Fraud Officer Petra Deighnson across from us, smiling at the stage. Familiar faces everywhere, Jenny Blondel and her Aspirin, astonishingly with Paul the birdman. Wasn't he divorcing her?
Maud squeezed herself like women do when they're enjoying events.
'You'll not regret it, Lovejoy. I promise.'
'Will I not?' was the best I could do.
'We'll be happier than I've ever dared to hope, darling.'
Sandy's trio minced from the proscenium blowing kisses. Such hilarity. Usually the Quay Theatre is Elektra and one-voice Sanskrit versions of The Cherry Orchard.
The audience quietened. And on came Lanny Langley-Willes, another bad guess, smooth and wholly at ease with the world. Professional killers are. It's only amateur killers get the shakes. I saw Maud's eyes shining with rapture. It was a good night for her, everything coming just so. The house lights slowly dimmed and Lanny began to speak. Like I say, you've got to admire class.
37
HE SPOKE HIS introduction so calmly, with such accomplishment, that I almost came to share Maud's adoration.
'This is a celebration. Our backing syndicate is secure,' he began, immediately raising his palms to quell the gratitude that rose from the audience. 'This gala night celebrates
– let's not put too fine a point on it – wealth.'
The wave of admiration was too warm to be suppressed even by his grandiloquent gestures. The audience stood and cheered. Numbed, I thought, but this is East Anglia for Christ's sake. We don't do this kind of thing. This behaviour creates political coups, guerrilla warfare, bodies beside dusty roads. It simply doesn't happen here. Maud's eyes glistened. Everybody sat and rustled to stillness. Lanny's voice resumed quieter.
He was good value, for a scam.
'I mean your wealth, the town's wealth. No!' It was a gunshot command for silence.
The audience didn't move. 'Please listen.'
He stood in the spotlight, smart evening suit, tall, elegant, everything you'd want a leader to be.
'Our syndicate promised to underwrite your new developments – town centre, housing, leisure complex. Then.' He paused, voice mellifluous and falling an octave, and held it.
'Then the rumours began. People began to doubt. That the syndicate – your syndicate
– was unable to stand by its commitment.' He sneered, holding attention, gazing round the auditorium.
'We are here tonight to renew our undertaking. We have a source of valuable antiques to back up every claim we ever have made.' His smile moved row by row. 'We present a short demonstration, more as entertainment than to convince. But you are bright enough to realize the consequences.'
'Isn't he wonderful?' Maud whispered. 'We were at school together!'
'Wonderful.'