‘Do you know if it’s still running?’
‘I’m not sure. Why don’t you call the theatre?’
I dug out my mobile, called the network directory to retrieve the number, and called the box office. I was in luck: Rory Roseberry was still playing Willy Loman. (A little young for the part, I thought, assuming that he was in the same age ball-park as Madeleine. I hoped the makeup department was up to it.)
‘Fancy a night in Pitlochry?’ I asked Ewan.
‘Why not?’ he exclaimed. ‘Arthur Miller is one of my gods, and I still have a taste for the exotic.’
I booked two tickets and pre-show dinner, then told Conrad that I was borrowing Mary’s car for the night.
Dinner at Pitlochry was excellent, better than I’d expected. Even on a Monday the restaurant was busy, and Ewan and I were aware of more than a few glances in our direction. Eventually, once we’d finished eating, a middle-aged bloke sidled over to us and asked us, diffidently, if we’d sign his menu. We did, and that kicked it off: we wound up touring all the tables and signing every menu in the place, including four for the staff.
The play was okay, but I’d been right in my guess about the casting. In a less taxing role, Rory ‘Sledge’ Roseberry would have been a capable actor, but he wasn’t up to playing a man in his mid-sixties, for all the efforts of the people who’d applied the slap. He looked as if he’d been embalmed, rather than made up. Ewan was more critical that I was: he sighed when Rosebud first appeared and I heard several tuts and soft moans escape him during the performance. The supporting cast were good, and probably saved the day, although an extra, playing one of two women picked up in a restaurant by Willy’s sons, kept peering into the audience as if she was looking for someone. I guessed that word of our presence had spread backstage.
When the curtain fell we stood and everyone else took our lead. I wondered how many standing ovations they’d had during the run.
As the auditorium cleared, we jumped on to the stage and found the manager, who was happy to show us to Roseberry’s dressing room. He greeted us, still in his slap, the lines etched on his forehead looking even more grotesque close up. ‘Good to see you again, Ewan,’ he exclaimed, a little too heartily. ‘It must be, what, ten years? Remember, I had a part in that highland epic of Miles Grayson’s. We didn’t have any scenes together, though, did we?’
Mr Capperauld had snapped into luvvie mode. ‘No, dear chap,’ he purred, ‘sadly we did not. It would have been a pleasure for me, and instructive, I’m sure.’ He moved on before Sledge could begin to ponder on whether the piss was being taken. ‘Do you know Oz Blackstone?’ he asked.
‘Oh, yes,’ Roseberry replied. ‘I was in Skinner’s Rules. Remember, Oz? I played Haggerty, the gruff Glaswegian copper.’
He took me completely off guard, for I’d had no recollection of the fact. I did my best to cover up, though. ‘That’s right,’ I replied. ‘You had a great line: “Aw, yis’re all fuckin’ heart and generosity through here in Edinburgh, are yis no’?” Something like that, wasn’t it?’
‘I’m impressed.’ He shouldn’t have been. I remembered it because I’d heard it so often: we’d got to take seven before Miles Grayson had been happy with his delivery, and he is not a man who appreciates wasting film stock. ‘To what do I owe the honour? Were you simply passing through or is this a special trip?’
‘The latter,’ I told him, watching his little chest swell with pride. ‘I need to ask you about someone.’
The greasepaint seemed to crack a little as he deflated. ‘Who would that be?’
‘My brother-in-law’s ex-wife, Madeleine January.’
‘Aaah!’ The sound was part exclamation, part sigh. ‘The dear Maddy. She did not do me any favours, that one. Do you know, after my fling with her turned awkward, I went for four years before I landed another part in Edinburgh? Four fucking years without a Festival appearance, just when I was beginning to be someone. I won’t say that it ruined my career but it didn’t do it any good. Your brother-in-law carries a grudge, I’m afraid, Oz,’ he said bitterly.
I couldn’t let that go. ‘I’ve got to tell you, Rory, that Harvey’s never carried a grudge in his life. If you were turned down for parts, it’s because the directors didn’t fancy you for them, end of story. But suppose he had marked a few cards, you could hardly have blamed him. If I caught anyone around my wife, I’d pound seven different shades of shite out of him.’
He raised a haughty eyebrow. ‘You think you’re up to that? You may have played a couple of tough guys, but you are only a film actor. Anyway, if a woman’s not getting enough at home, she’s fair game. You should bear that in mind: complacency is our enemy, and all that.’
I don’t think he even saw the punch, a quick straight right hand. He’d pushed my angry button and no mistake. It nailed him square on the chin, lifted him off his feet and dumped him in an armchair that was positioned conveniently behind him. Ewan didn’t react at all, other than to give a quiet wince. He’d had a go at the woman as well, so maybe he was wondering if he’d be next.
I waited until the glaze had gone out of Rosebud’s eyes, and until they were focused on me again. They were filled with fear: he had no thoughts of getting back to his feet. ‘Harvey should have done that ten years ago,’ I told him, ‘but, like I say, he isn’t that sort of guy. Now, I don’t have all night. Where is Maddy?’
‘I don’t know,’ he muttered. ‘I haven’t seen her for over five years.’
‘But you hear things, don’t you?’
‘Yes, occasionally. The last word I had of her she was with an Australian.’
‘Another actor?’
‘Not so much. This one was a singer, mostly, although he’d done some straight work on Aussie television. He had a part in the Cats revival in the Playhouse a couple of years back. That’s when they met. Maddy was doing local PR for the company.’
‘Name?’
‘Wilde, Sandy Wilde.’
It meant nothing to me. ‘Are they still in Edinburgh?’
‘No. When the run ended, she went with him. She could be anywhere now.’
12
When I started out at the bottom of the ladder of the business that’s made me rich and famous, I had a London agent. We parted company after I made the switch to movies from voice-overs for TV ads, but there were no hard feelings on either side. Sylvester ‘Sly’ Burr got me good money for the sort of work I was doing, but when the time came he had the sense to recognise his limits, and the integrity to admit to them. Nowadays the very fact that I used to be a client of his is worth a large mention on his website.
I called him early doors the next morning: I knew he’d be there, for his office is above his flat in Earls Court and he likes to be at his desk for eight, to deal with the morning mail, read the red-tops for headlines. . the more salacious the better. . involving his artist roster, and escape from Mrs Burr.
‘Oz, my boy!’ I could almost see him beam. Sly’s a bit of a caricature (if I was making a film of his life, I’d probably cast Ron Moody in the lead) and that includes an avuncular fondness for his clients, present and past. I’ve never heard him badmouth anyone, even though he exists in a world where figurative stilettos in the back are considered normal behaviour. He might be a sharp guy around a pound coin, but he made me plenty of them.
I’d have liked to chat for a bit, but I didn’t have time, so I got straight down to business. ‘I need to trace someone, Sly,’ I told him.
‘One of mine?’
‘Not as far as I know. I don’t know who his agent is, but you’re the best search engine I know, so I thought I’d run the name past you. Sandy Wilde: he’s Australian, described to me as a singer rather than an actor, with credits on television down under and in musicals in the UK.’
I waited as his brain clicked into gear. Sly never forgets a name and he has a terrific showbiz database, much of which he carries in his head. ‘Wilde, Wilde, Sandy, not Marty, not Kim,’ he muttered to himself. ‘Yes, yes, yes, I’ve got him. Big geezer, good voice, good dancer; bats for both teams.’ That took me a little by surprise: it was Sly’s way of saying that Wilde was bisexual. ‘I can’t remember who he’s with, though. You got a part for him in something you’re doing?’