“Taxi! Taxi!”
It wasn’t going to stop. “Taxi!” cried Simon in despair.
He forced himself to run. It pulled into the curb.
“Oh, thank God,” he said. He got into it and gave the address. “I’m stone-cold sober,” he said, “but, my God, I’m tired.”
Bruce Barrabell fastened his awful coat and pulled on his black beret. He was going to drop Nina on his way home. She was coming to the Red Fellowship meeting next Sunday and would probably become a member. Not much of a catch but he supposed it was something to have a person from the Dolphin company. He must try to keep her off her wretched superstitious rigmaroles, poor girl.
He lit a cigarette and thought of the killing of Dougal Macdougal. Just how good was this Alleyn? A hangover from the old school tie days, of course, but probably efficient in his own way.
We shall see, thought Barrabell. He went along to Nina’s dressing-room.
The sun was high and reflected from the river.
“I wonder,” said Emily, “what the Smiths are doing.”
“The Smiths?” asked Crispin. “What Smiths? Oh, you mean William and his mum,” he said and returned to his book.
“Yes. He was sent home as soon as they realized what had happened. I think he was just told there’d been an accident. They may have said, to Sir Dougal. There’s nothing they could have read in the Sunday papers. It’ll be an awful shock for them.”
“How old is he?” asked Robin, who lay on his back on the windowseat, vaguely kicking his feet in the air.
“Who? William?”
“Yes.”
“Nine.”
“Same as me.”
“Yes.”
“Is he silly and wet?”
“He’s certainly not silly and I don’t know what you mean by ‘wet.’ ”
“Behind the ears. Like a baby.”
“Not at all like that. He can fight. He’s learning karate and he’s a good gymnast.”
“Does he swear?”
“I haven’t heard him but I daresay he does.”
“I suppose,” said Robin, bicycling madly, “he’s very busy on Sundays.”
“I’ve no information. Shall I ask him to come to lunch? You could go over in a taxi to Lambeth where he lives and fetch him. Only an idea,” said Emily very casually.
“Oh, yes. You could do that, I suppose. Do that,” shouted Robin and leaped to his feet. “Ask him. Please,” he added. “Thrice three and double three. Two for you and three for me. Please.”
“Right you are.”
Emily consulted the cast list that Peregrine kept pinned up by the telephone and dialed a number.
“Mrs. Smith? It’s Emily Jay. I’ve got two sons home for half-term and we wondered if by any chance William would like to pay us a visit today. Robin, who’s William’s age, could come and collect him for luncheon and we’d promise to return him after an early supper here. Yes. Yes, would you?”
She heard Mrs. Smith’s cool voice repeating the invitation: “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” she added and William’s voice: “I think so. Yes. Thank you.”
“Yes, he’d like to come, thank you very much.”
“Robin will be there in about half an hour depending on a cab. Lovely. Mrs. Smith, I suppose William told you what happened last night at the theatre? Yes, I see… I’m afraid they were all in a great state. It’s Sir Dougal. He’s died… Yes, a fearful blow to us all… I don’t know. They’ll tell the company at four this afternoon what’s been decided. I don’t think William need go down. He’ll be here and we’ll tell him. Tragic. It’s hard to believe, isn’t it?… Yes. Good-bye.”
She hung up and said to Robin: “Go and get ready,” and to Crispin: “Do you want to go, Cip? Not if you don’t.”
“I think I’d like to.”
“Sure?”
“Yes. I can see the infant’s on his best behavior, can’t I?” Robin from the doorway gave a complicated derisory noise and left the room.
“There’s always that,” said their mother. “There’s just one thing, Cip. Do you know what happened last night? Sir Dougal died — yes. But how? What happened? Did you see? Have you thought?”
“I’m not sure. I saw — it. The head. Full-face but only for a split second.”
“Yes?”
“Lots of people in the audience saw it but I think they just thought it was an awfully good dummy, and lots didn’t. It was so quick.”
“Did Robin?”
“I’m not sure. I don’t think he’s sure either but he doesn’t say. He doesn’t want to talk about it.”
“The thing is, young William didn’t see anything. He was waiting offstage. He only knows Sir Dougal is dead. So don’t say anything to upset that, will you? If you can, keep right off the whole subject. Right?”
“Yes.”
“That’s fine. Here he comes.”
Crispin went out to the hall and Emily thought: He’s a nice boy. Old for his years but that’s rather nice too. She went up to the ex-nursery and hunted out a game of Chinese Checkers, one of Monopoly, a couple of memo pads.
Then she went downstairs and looked out of the window. No sign of her sons so they must have picked up a cab. She went to the kitchen and found her part-time cook making a horseradish sauce. There was a good smell of beef in the air.
“Richard’s spending the day with friends but we’ve got an extra small boy for lunch, Annie.”
“That’s okay,” said Annie, whose manner was of a free and easy sort.
“I’ll lay the table.”
“Will the boss be in?” asked Annie.
“If he can make it. We’re not to wait.”
“Okeydoke,” said Annie. “All serene.”
Emily couldn’t settle to anything. She wandered downstairs and into the living room. Across the river the Dolphin stood out brightly from its setting in the riverside slums. Peregrine was there now, and all the important people in the Dolphin, trying to reach a conclusion on the immediate future.
I hope they decide against carrying on, she thought. It would be horrible. And, remembering a halfhearted remark of Peregrine’s to the effect that Gaston would be good: It wouldn’t be the same. I hope they won’t do it.
She tried to think of a revival. There was Peregrine’s own play about the Dark Lady and the delicate little Hamnet and his glove. The original glove was now in the Victoria and Albert Museum. They had discussed a revival, and it seemed to fill the bill. The child they had used in the original production had been, as far as she recollected, an odious little monster. But William would play Hamnet well. She began to cast it from the present company in her mind, leaving herself out. She became excited and got a pencil and paper to write it all down.
It being Sunday, there was very little traffic in their part of the world. The boys decided to walk to the main street. They set out and almost at once a cruising taxi came their way. Crispin held up his first finger as his father always did and Robin pranced, waved his arms and imitated a seagull’s cry.
Crispin gave the driver the address and Robin leaped into the taxi.
“Takin ’im to the naughty boys’ ’ome” asked the driver, “or is ’e the Bishop of London?”
Crispin laughed and Robin piped down and was quietly thoughtful. They drove through a maze of small streets, coming finally into Lambeth. Robin broke his silence to start an argument about where the Palace could be and was taken aback when they stopped in a narrow lane off Stangate Street in front of a tidy little house.
“Will you wait for us, please?” said Crispin to the driver. “You wait in the car, Rob.”
Crispin got out of the taxi and went up the flight of three steps to the front door. Before he could ring, the door opened and William came out.