The logic was correct, but inflammatory. ‘You know bloody well what I’m talking about.’
‘That, too, is questionable.’
‘You were out of order talking about time and motion. Don’t deny it, Fred. People don’t lie about stuff like that.’
‘Time and motion?’ Dawkins scratched his head and seemed genuinely at a loss. ‘Ah, I have it. I was quoting Ford.’
‘Henry Ford?’ Diamond said, thinking of car production.
‘John.’
‘Stagecoach?’ He knew his old films and he was damn sure John Ford the director wasn’t into time and motion.
‘’Tis Pity She’s a Whore.’
‘Sergeant, there’s something you’d better get very clear. We don’t go in for personal abuse in this department.’
‘It’s Jacobean.’
‘It’s offensive.’
‘It’s the title of a play.’
‘I’m not on about plays. This is about you stirring up trouble in the department.’
‘By speaking of time and motion?’
‘You’ve got it.’
Unexpectedly, Dawkins made a fist and raised it. Briefly, Diamond thought he was about to strike him, but it was a theatrical pose and the man started speaking lines. ‘“Why, I hold fate clasped in my fist, and could command the course of time’s eternal motion, hadst thou been one thought more steady than an ebbing sea.”’
One thing, and one thing only, was clear. Manvers Street nick wasn’t ready for Jacobean drama.
‘“Time’s eternal motion,”’ Dawkins repeated.
‘Ah.’
‘I can explain.’
‘Save your breath. I’m beginning to cotton on. Do you make a habit of quoting lines from plays?’
‘I would characterise it as an occasional indulgence.’
‘Knock it off, for all our sakes. It caused confusion and near panic. The only quoting we do in CID is the official caution.’
‘I shall curb the habit,’ Dawkins said, and added with an earnest look. ‘I trust I haven’t blighted my prospects… guv.’
They were blighted the moment you stepped in here in that clown suit, Diamond thought. ‘So are you a theatre-goer?’
‘One of my indulgences,’ Dawkins said.
‘I suppose it comes with the dancing. Do you know the play Clarion was in?’
‘Know it, no. Know of it, yes. I haven’t seen it, which is a pity. I was at some disadvantage questioning Mr Shearman, the manager, but I formed the impression that he wasn’t all that familiar with the script himself.’
‘It’s the same story as Cabaret, I’m told.’
‘Then you were not told the whole truth. There’s no music in I Am a Camera, no dancing and no changes of scene. The only changes are of time and costume. Putting it on at all was a risky venture.’
‘A vehicle for Clarion Calhoun.’
‘That, I think, goes without saying.’
‘You also spoke to Denise Pearsall. What did you make of her? Was there any aggro towards Clarion?’
‘Aggravation? None that I noticed. I saw anxiety in plenty.’
‘Denise was troubled?’
‘Exceedingly.’
‘From guilt, would you say?’
‘Difficult to divine. Conscience, possibly. She appeared to accept that her make-up was the likely cause of the occurrence.’
‘Did you question her about it?’
‘Minutely. She told me she used new materials.’
Diamond’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Some new brand?’
‘She meant “new” in the sense of unopened. The brand was the same she had used before without ill effect. That was made clear.’
‘She wasn’t blaming anyone else, then?’
‘The question of blame didn’t arise. If you care to look at a transcript of the interview it is now stored in the computer, as you instructed.’
‘Good. I will.’ Somehow, Dawkins was coming out of this so-called roasting better than he came in. ‘Watch what you say in future.’ Even as he spoke the last words, Diamond knew he’d used the faulty logic the man revelled in dismantling.
But Dawkins had the sense not to comment. He nodded and left the room. If there was a faint smile lingering it may have been only in Diamond’s imagination.
The notices were in and Hedley Shearman was relieved. The critics praised Gisella Watling’s performance and didn’t make too much of Clarion’s collapse. The sensational stuff had all been covered in news stories the previous day. UNDERSTUDY’S SUCCESS IN DEMANDING ROLE, went one headline. Another: GISELLA’S STARRY NIGHT. Reviews like that would keep the show afloat until the end of the week. Nobody now expected it to transfer to London unless Clarion made a miraculous recovery.
He clipped the reviews. Anything good for morale was to be encouraged. They would be pinned on the stage doorkeeper’s noticeboard where everyone would see them as they arrived. Before that, however, he would use them to boost his chances with Gisella. He was waiting inside when she arrived for the matinee.
‘Have you seen these?’ he said. ‘They loved your performance.’
She hadn’t. She was over the moon, even if she tried to appear casual. In all the mayhem after Clarion broke down, he’d missed an opportunity to get to know this young woman who had been thrust into the limelight and performed so ably. She was taller than Clarion, with less of the showbiz glamour about her. For the play, her dark hair was styled with waves and cut short at the back, a style he could quickly get to like. She wasn’t a starry-eyed beginner. She must have been on the stage some years. The concept of ensemble casting in the modern theatre ensured that she knew the role and didn’t need to appear on stage with the book in her hands. Even so, it had taken courage to go on.
‘It’s a big step up the ladder,’ he told her with a fatherly show of encouragement that often did the trick with young actresses. ‘All sorts of people will read this, especially casting directors. You never know where it will lead. Clarion’s misfortune is your opportunity.’
‘I don’t think of it like that,’ she said in a voice that could have come from a twelve-year-old. ‘I certainly wouldn’t have wanted to get the part this way.’
‘My dear, the theatre is one long story of actors seizing the moment. Did you know Shirley MacLaine was just a dancer in the chorus of The Pajama Game and doubling as understudy when the star, Carol Haney, broke her ankle? She was thrust into the limelight, took the audience by storm and got the movie role as well, because Hal Wallis happened to be in the audience. You never know your luck.’
‘I still feel bad about Clarion.’ Her eyes confirmed it. To Shearman, she appeared utterly sincere.
‘Why should you? You’re not responsible.’ After a pause he added, ‘I hope.’ He laughed. ‘Ignore my twisted sense of humour. You could move into the number one dressing room if you wish. You’ve earned the right.’
‘I’m happy where I am, thanks.’
‘Which room is that?’
‘Number eight. The one with the gloves and handbag in a frame on the wall.’
‘They belonged to Vivien Leigh, you know. It’s endowed in her name.’ He stopped himself telling her that eight had the reputation of being haunted. Various unexplained phenomena had been reported over the years by actors who had used it. ‘If it ever feels cold in there, be sure to ask for a fan heater.’
‘Thanks, but it’s comfortable. I’d better get up there now.’
‘Do you do your own make-up?’
She nodded. ‘I’m used to it.’
‘Well done. Hope there’s a good house in this afternoon with at least one butterfly. You know about the Theatre Royal butterflies?’ He was being over-friendly now, doing his best to charm her. He’d got lucky like this a few times over the years.
‘Yes, I heard the stories.’
‘I’ll come with you and show you something. It’s on the way. It won’t hold you up.’
She had to pass the fly tower to get to her dressing room. He walked close behind her, enjoying the swing of her hips. ‘Back in the nineteen-forties, when the whole butterfly thing started,’ he said, moving closer, ‘the man who had my job was called Reg Maddox and he designed a butterfly ballet for the pantomime and because of what happened one of the big gauze butterflies made as the backdrop was kept hanging in the flies as a kind of talisman. You wouldn’t know it was there unless someone told you where to look.’