‘Spooky.’ He tried to sound convinced.
‘Isn’t it? A butterfly has appeared for almost every panto they’ve put on.’
‘In the depth of winter?’
‘It’s taken to be an omen of success. Sometimes they appear on stage. When Leslie Crowther was in Aladdin one Boxing Day, the butterfly actually perched on his left shoulder. At the end of the show he told the audience why it was so special.’
‘Always a tortoiseshell?’
‘Always. Most of the stars will tell you their butterfly story if you ask. Honor Blackman, June Whitfield, Peter O’Toole.’
‘O’Toole? What was he doing in pantomime?’
‘Sorry. I’m not telling it right. In his case it was Jeffrey Bernard Is Unwell. But this was in October, when the butterfly season is supposed to be over. On the opening night he was on stage and the butterfly settled on the newspaper he was reading. Being such a pro, he ad libbed a chat with it, saying it was welcome to stay there if it didn’t get pissed and make a noise. When it finally fluttered off, it got a round of applause.’
‘That was a first, I reckon.’ He was starting to be impressed. ‘The butterflies are a tad more persuasive than the grey lady.’
‘Only a tad?’
‘I can believe in butterflies out of season. I’ve seen them myself. Never thought of them as good omens, but why not? Actors are superstitious, aren’t they?’
‘You’re not wholly convinced, then?’
‘I’m an old sceptic, as you know. Something is going on, for sure. What matters is that people in the theatre believe it. And I suppose if a live butterfly is good news, a dead one isn’t. I can see why Titus fainted.’
‘Does he remember why?’ Paloma asked.
‘He didn’t say a word about it, and he’s not the sort to keep quiet. I expect the fainting acted like concussion and blotted out the immediate memory.’
‘It’ll prey on his mind if it does come back to him.’
‘What do you think? One dead butterfly. Is it like Death knocking on your door?’
‘I don’t know,’ Paloma said. ‘We’re only too pleased to spot the good omens, but if we believe them we ought to be concerned about the bad ones. Have you told anyone?’
‘No, and I don’t think I will.’
‘What about the butterfly? Is it still there?’
‘It will be unless the cleaner has been by. I wonder how long it’s been there. Apparently the room was full of people trying to be helpful after Clarion got hurt. Someone will have noticed, surely. From all you’ve just told me, plenty of people have heard the story.’
‘Everyone who works there gets to hear it.’
Diamond found himself thinking about the mischief that could be done among superstitious theatre people. One dead butterfly could create quite a panic. ‘I wonder if the understudy has moved into the number one dressing room. It’s a status thing, I believe.’
‘They may not want the room disturbed,’ Paloma said. ‘Like a crime scene.’
‘But it isn’t a crime scene. There’s no official investigation. The management were playing it down this morning.’
‘They would, wouldn’t they?’
‘Carry on as usual. The show must go on. That’s why I’m thinking the understudy may have moved in.’
‘On the other hand, if they’re playing it down they may decide to keep the room undisturbed in case Clarion gets over her problem and is ready to return before the end of the run.’
‘How long is the run?’ His brain was racing.
‘Only a week. They move on to some other theatre after Saturday night.’
‘I doubt if she’ll be back.’ He took the mobile from his pocket. ‘Do you mind? I need to call Ingeborg urgently.’
Paloma sighed and shook her head. Their walks were supposed to be the chance to get away from it all. And how ironic that she’d bought him the phone as a present. ‘Go on. It must be important.’
He got through and issued instructions to Inge.
After the call was over, Paloma said, ‘You could have gone yourself instead of sending Ingeborg.’
‘But I’m with you.’
She smiled. ‘Has that ever got in the way of police business?’
They walked in silence for a short way, each reflecting on that last remark. They’d reached the other end of the gardens and the towpath stretched ahead through an eighty-metre tunnel under Beckford Road. There was light at the end, but it was not an inviting place to walk through. ‘I’m not proud of this,’ he said, ‘but to tell you the truth I don’t like going into that theatre. It has an effect on me.’
‘I noticed, the only time we’ve been there together,’ she said. ‘You made a huge effort that evening, didn’t you? I appreciated it.’
‘It’s not as if I’m a wimp. I’ve attended some gruesome scenes in my time and not turned a hair. Step in there and I can’t wait to get out. I’m sure my body temperature drops several degrees.’
‘Is it just the Theatre Royal?’
‘Any theatre.’ He sniffed. ‘But we don’t have to talk about my hang-ups.’
‘There must be a reason for it.’
‘Whatever it is, it’s deep-seated. My parents gave up trying to take me to pantomimes.’
‘You must have had a bad experience as a child.’
‘If I did, I don’t remember. No, it’s more about my personality. Theatre is make-believe and I’ve never wanted to have anything to do with it. I’m a logical guy. I prefer the real world.’
She shook her head. ‘Forgive me for saying this, Peter, but that’s bunk. You’re rationalising, giving in to this hang-up, as you call it.’
He was silent. Not many people could talk to him like that and get away with it.
‘And you’re missing so much. For me, that moment when the house lights start to dim is magical. I’d hate to be deprived of it.’
‘Bully for you and I understand why, but it doesn’t alter the feeling I get each time I go there.’
‘How are you going to head this investigation, then?’
He laughed. ‘With difficulty.’
‘Would you like to overcome your problem?’
Now he exhaled sharply. He was wary. ‘I’m not sure. What do you have in mind?’
‘I know someone who helps people with phobias – ’
‘I wouldn’t call it a phobia,’ he said at once, ‘and I certainly don’t want to see a shrink.’
‘Raelene isn’t a shrink. She’s an earthy Australian, probably the wisest person I know. She can help you, I feel sure, but you have to be willing to unblock whatever it is that your brain is hiding from you.’
‘I don’t want to do this.’
‘Fair enough. Think it over.’ She looked away, across the canal, and changed the subject. ‘I may be stating the obvious, but could the Clarion incident be a case of stage fright?’
He shook his head. ‘The burns must be genuine, or she wouldn’t have been moved to Frenchay.’
‘I mean if she was terrified of appearing, really terrified, she could have induced the burns herself. How’s this for a theory? She makes her entrance, does the screaming fit, gets off the stage and covers her face with the towel, giving her the chance to apply some chemical that burns.’
‘There must be less painful ways.’
‘It would explain the delay in her reaction. You said the make-up was thought to be the cause, but if that was the case, she’d have been hurting before she got on stage.’
‘You’re quite a sleuth yourself,’ he said. ‘Yes, the delay has to be explained, but until we get the make-up analysed we won’t know for sure.’
‘You must be champing at the bit.’
‘We’re ready to go, yes.’ They had almost reached Candy’s footbridge, spanning the canal and the railway. ‘Shall we change the subject?’ he said. ‘What’s the project that’s taking up so much of your time?’
‘Oh, it’s a costume piece. Sweeney Todd.’