Murder of a Movie Star

by L. B. Hathaway

  ‘Talking of men, there’s something important you should know. A secret. And I know I can trust you both with it. But it’s seriously off record.’ She indicated to Posie’s notebook. ‘If you don’t mind?’

  ‘Not in the least.’ Posie put down her paper and her pen. Nothing could get much stranger.

  ‘Robbie Fontaine is not my boyfriend. We loathe each other. I’m glad you think Robbie is a rat, Posie. And an idiot. I heard you talking in the car to Lady Cardigeon before you saw me. It’s true: he is. He’s both those things. Always was. Always will be.’

  ‘What?’ gasped Dolly, almost dropping her cigarette. ‘My gosh! But the whole world thinks you two are a couple! You’re very convincin’. You’re always together at press events, and in interviews, and you always play opposite each other in your movies. Like this one. You have done for years, since the war… The nation is holding its breath for an engagement announcement any day now!’

  Silvia rolled her eyes at the ceiling.

  ‘They’ll wait forever then. It’s all show! All for the cameras. Pure acting. Robbie is plain old Glaswegian Robbie Doone; he has a wife called Sheila who he married fifteen years ago when he worked as a riveter at the Govan Dockyard. He was an amateur wrestler back then, too, winning prize fights in his local area, and going on to catch the eye of a talent scout for a film company. Robbie was always easy on the eye, even covered in bruises. Sheila was his manager’s daughter, from way back in the early days. They were from the same world, you see. Very much lower class.’

  So Silvia was a snob. But with those plummy vowels was it really so surprising? Posie found herself cooling just a little towards the girl; after all, one couldn’t help where one was born. Posie smiled, but there wasn’t as much warmth in it as before.

  ‘And you? What was your world?’

  Silvia laughed. ‘Oh, I was always Silvia Hanro – that is my own name, surprisingly – but I’d also had a romantic life of my own before I was a movie star: a boyfriend from my early acting days, Tom.’

  A look of brief pain passed over Silvia’s face.

  ‘You see, both Robbie and I agreed to leave the past behind us when we signed up with Brian Langley and Sunstar Films. Brian understood we would be cinema dynamite, together. We sell films as a couple, Robbie and I. And so the Robbie and Silvia show goes on and on. It has done for at least five years now.’

  Posie tried to understand:

  ‘And so Sheila and Tom had to disappear? Is that right?’

  Silvia nodded. ‘Except they didn’t, of course. They’re both still here: they were relegated to the shadows when we signed away our right to happiness with the people we loved. No-one knows who they are. But they’re always present: just part of the scenery.’

  ‘That must be tiring. Not to mention awkward for you. For you all,’ said Posie sympathetically.

  Silvia nodded briskly. ‘That’s the problem when you go plucking stars out of the gutter. First you have to brush off the dirt, and let me tell you, Robbie Fontaine definitely came from the dirt. Talk about a rough diamond...’

  Posie frowned: the thought of Robbie Fontaine, glimmering and gorgeous, like an unwelcome spectre, rose in front of her eyes. ‘But why did you send Mr Fontaine to collect me today, especially if you loathe him so much?’

  The movie star cast a worried look over in the direction of the ice-box and shivered.

  ‘I wasn’t free this morning to come into central London, and neither was Brian, but Robbie wasn’t due to film until now, you see. Brian told him to come and get you, not to call you. We might be movie stars and paid a small fortune, but we’re creatures of Brian Langley, through and through: if he wants us to wait on tables, we do it; if he wants us to help him on the cutting-room floor, we do it; and if he wants us to dash around London collecting people, we do it. He paid for us and he gets his pound of flesh. I suppose that Brian thought if you simply saw Robbie you’d come running and do his bidding.’

  Dolly laughed. ‘He miscalculated there, then. Posie must be the only person in London not to recognise the “Eighth Wonder of the World”!’

  Silvia smiled. ‘Quite.’ The actress checked her delicate silver wristwatch for the umpteenth time. She was slowly gathering her things together, including a big marked-up script.

  But Posie was miles away, worried: all this talk of secrecy and discretion, and no phone calls to warn her, but Len had mentioned that a phone call had come through to Grape Street from Worton Hall Studios that morning. It had been a man with a Scottish accent, which meant that it was, in all probability, Robbie Fontaine who had made the call.

  So what was that all about?

  Something wasn’t right and it nagged at her. Everything to do with Robbie Fontaine seemed wrong, somehow. Posie made a note to explore the business of the telephone call later. She turned and smiled, smoothly, professionally.

  ‘Just quickly, who do you think wrote the notes?’

  Silvia swallowed nervously. She was fanning herself with her script.

  ‘I don’t recognise the writing, if that’s what you mean. And as for who might have written it, well…I think it could be Robbie. But there’s a couple of others.’

  ‘Sorry? Robbie Fontaine?’

  Silvia nodded, her painted face flushed with anxiety. Or was it something else?

  ‘I told you, we loathe one another. We’re from opposite ends of life. And with me dead he’ll be rid of me at last and free to be with Sheila, who’s the love of his life, goodness only knows why. They can live together out in the open as man and wife then. I’m just an obstacle in his way. He’s also insanely jealous of me; I’m the bigger movie star, and he hates it. He’d become even more famous with me dead.’

  ‘NO!’ exclaimed Dolly. ‘I don’t believe it! He’d be nothin’ without you!’

  Posie frowned. ‘But why would Mr Fontaine choose to do this now? To kill you at a Wrap Party on a film which might be the highlight of his career? Why mess that up? Are you serious? You mentioned there were others?’

  ‘I wouldn’t rule him out. But you’re right: the timing is odd. And, yes. There are others.’

  ‘Go on.’

  Silvia bit at her lip savagely. ‘I have an estranged sister, Pamela. She hates me. We became estranged before the war; she was a suffragette and had got herself quite a name for her troublesome ways. Hated me because I didn’t support her. It got worse when I became famous, of course. And last year she begged me for a sizeable amount of money. Fifty pounds, twice over. She said if I didn’t pay it, she’d go to the papers with stories of our past: she’d expose the truth about Robbie not being my real boyfriend. Explain about my boyfriend, Tom, from back in the old days. She said if I paid the money she’d leave me alone forever.’

  ‘Blackmail?’

  ‘Call it what you like. I paid it, twice, and I haven’t heard from her since. I haven’t seen her in years, and I have no idea even where she lives. I paid the amount directly into her Savings Account at the big Post Office on the Strand. As she told me to.’

  ‘So perhaps she’s run out of money and wants more?’ said Dolly, her head cocked on one side like an inquisitive purple-painted robin. ‘But why the finger? That’s really horrible. It doesn’t make sense, does it, Posie?’

  Posie looked up from her notepad and shook her head. ‘No, it doesn’t. And it sounds as if you’re more useful to your sister alive than dead. Unless Pamela benefits from your death? Does she get anything under your Will, Silvia? Do you even have a Will?’

  Silvia nodded. ‘Oh, yes. I made it a couple of years back. And no: Pamela gets nothing. Everything I have, every last bean goes to a children’s charity.’

  ‘Nothing for your boyfriend, Tom?’

  Silvia shook her head. ‘I’ve provided for him already, bought him a small flat a few months ago. That’s enough. He doesn’t expect more.’

  ‘Who else could have written the notes? You said there were a couple of others…’

  ‘I do have the obligatory
stalker. A fan, really.’

  Posie nodded, remembering Brian Langley mentioning the stalker to her. ‘Go on.’

  ‘He’s very into the theatre and the cinema, but he’s particularly interested in me. He’s nice enough when I’ve met him for real, but he’s quite odd. He’s called Hector Mallow, and he manages to sneak in pretty often. He’s done it for almost every movie I’ve worked on over the last few years. The truth is, security’s a bit lax with Sunstar Films, and he either manages to disguise himself as a cameraman, or a runner, or, more often than not, as one of the extras. He’s turned up several times these last few weeks on Henry. Often I’ll turn around and he’ll be right next to me, dressed as a sixteenth-century peasant and grinning away. It’s quite maddening.’

  ‘Goodness! How alarming. Can’t they get rid of him?’

  ‘Oh, they do. Security come and throw him out. But he always seems to come back. A few days later, there he is again. The trouble is, he’s very good at disguising himself: he’s a plain sort of man, in his mid-forties, I’d say. But every time I see him he manages to look slightly different. He’s a bit of a chameleon.’

  Posie nodded. She knew people, or one man in particular, her own ‘stalker’, Count Caspian della Rosa, who could be chameleon-like in his appearance. It was a deadly knack.

  ‘Is he dangerous, this Hector Mallow? The sort of man to send stray body parts to those he adores?’

  Silvia shrugged. ‘Who knows? He’s never threatened me before, he’s just written letters over the years. And sent me photographs and postcards from his holidays. I think he thinks I care for him. Sometimes he turns up at my dressing room with flowers and chocolates.’

  ‘Did you keep his postcards? Any writing from him?’

  Silvia shook her head scornfully. ‘Of course not. I don’t keep anything from anyone. That way madness lies.’

  ‘Can I keep this note? I presume you destroyed the others?’

  Silvia nodded. ‘Yes to both those questions.’

  ‘And you don’t know anything else about Hector Mallow? Where he lives? What he does with himself when he’s not following you?’

  ‘Goodness, no. Why would I? In any case, I feel his interest in me might be waning.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘There’s another actress, a gorgeous young slip of a thing, called Meggie Albanesi. Hugely talented. You might have heard of her?’

  ‘Oh, yes!’ gushed Dolly quickly. ‘She’s quite the thing right now in town!’

  But then Dolly realised her mistake, flushed red, and backtracked. ‘I mean, apart from you, of course, Silvia. Meggie Albanesi is a theatre actress, anyway: not a full-blown movie star. So she can’t be compared to you at all. Absolutely not…’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Silvia said, smiling, but slightly tight-lipped. ‘I’m not at all offended. There’s room for lots of us in this game. Anyway, Brian is interested in signing Meggie to Sunstar, but she keeps saying “no”. But he’s insistent: he’s trying to keep “in” with her, anyhow. And what he heard the other day was that Hector Mallow has been trailing around after Meggie; up to his usual tricks. So it’s quite possible he’s switched his affections from me to her. Which is quite a relief, really.’

  Silvia had her hand on the door handle of the dressing room. She looked around herself briefly. Posie and Dolly took their cue and stood. Posie kept her notebook out, and swallowed, not liking to ask her next question, but seeing it as a necessity. After all, the horrible statistic that ninety-five per cent of murderers were known to their victims, usually intimately so, demanded that she ask.

  ‘I have to ask you this, Silvia, but is everything fine with your real boyfriend, Tom? No rows? No arguments? No reason he’d wish you out of the way himself? I’m sorry if this is indelicate…’

  The star put her head back and laughed. ‘No! You’ll meet Tom. If you’re in love with Alaric Boynton-Dale then you’ll love Tom; he’s a similar type. Same good rugged looks, same enigmatic expression.’

  Posie frowned, hating the personal connection, for she liked to keep her home life and her work life separate to a fault, but Silvia didn’t notice, and just gushed on:

  ‘He’s movie star material.’ She paused, her face twisted for a tiny second into a prism of acute pain. ‘Well, sort of.’

  She shrugged. ‘Besides, we’re madly in love. Have been for years. He benefits too out of this arrangement, you know. He has a job on the team and he’s paid a monthly salary by Brian.’

  ‘To keep his mouth shut?’

  ‘Essentially. Yes.’

  ‘And what about Brian Langley himself?’ Posie asked innocently. ‘Would he want you out of the way? He seems hot-headed enough.’

  Not to mention horrible enough, somehow.

  Silvia flashed Posie a look of absolute incredulity, as if Posie had just said something verging on the blasphemous.

  ‘Gosh, no! Brian wouldn’t wish me dead. What on earth might lead you to think that? Besides, he was the one who wanted you here. He’d hardly invite you here if he was the one orchestrating the whole thing, would he?’

  ‘Oh, you’d be surprised what people do. A double bluff. I’ve come across it before. Besides, I’m just thinking things through.’

  Posie explained: ‘You see, Silvia, the motive in these things is usually one of two factors: love or money. So here I’d plump for the second: you mentioned Mr Langley might become bankrupt. I wondered if he might have some sort of insurance on your life, on behalf of Sunstar Films?’

  ‘No idea. I doubt it.’ The girl shook her head, but she was nervous, Posie could tell.

  She’s scared of him, thought Posie with sudden certainty. Whatever she might say, she’s scared of her own Producer. Something in her history and in his has made her frightened of him.

  But what? And is it relevant now?

  Silvia shook her head firmly. ‘Brian wouldn’t want to kill me. In fact, Robbie and I have just signed up to Sunstar for another three years. Besides, there’s too much between Brian and I. A lot of water under the bridge.’

  What kind of water? But Posie kept her thoughts to herself.

  ‘I see.’

  Posie stared at her notebook, at the hastily-scrawled points. She had forgotten to ask perhaps the most important thing. She stood with her pen poised.

  ‘So who knows about these notes, Silvia? Who exactly? Is it known generally? Has it become set gossip yet?’

  ‘Just the inner circle: me, obviously, and Brian, and Tom. Oh, and Robbie and his wife, Sheila. Oh, and Bertie Samuelson, the owner of this place. Brian thought it best to keep him up to date, in case drastic measures had to be taken at any point.’

  ‘That’s it? You don’t think your dresser read the notes and talked about them to others? Or that Robbie Fontaine or his wife would blab about it?’

  ‘No. We’re a tight ship here, Posie. We all know too much about each other to gossip. It’s dangerous for us all. Besides, Brian made us swear on our lives and our pay packets not to speak. Robbie and Sheila need money like nothing else; they wouldn’t risk it being cut off. And Elaine’s a little nobody but she’s not a snoop. No way.’

  Posie nodded and tucked away her notepad in her carpet bag. She spied a half-eaten, twice-melted bar of Fry’s ‘Five Boys’ chocolate lurking in its depths and she grabbed at it. As if on cue, her stomach groaned.

  It was almost three o’clock and she still hadn’t eaten lunch.

  Silvia fixed her muslin wraps in place again, so that only her eyes were visible, and pulled a bright green kimono over the top of everything. She signalled to the door.

  ‘Remember, out there we can’t talk. So if you need to ask me something it will have to be later, in private. Is that okay? In the meantime, Posie, you’re to keep your eyes and ears peeled in the studio, watching people, observing. And covering my back, too. If necessary.’

  No mean feat, then, Posie thought to herself ruefully.

  ‘It sounds more like surveillance than detection to me, Silvia,’
she protested quietly. ‘I really think you need police cover. This finger business is really macabre. One lady detective on her own is simply not going to cut it, I’m afraid. I’m good, but I’m not that good. This is your life at stake here.’

  ‘I’m sure you’ll do just fine.’ Silvia nodded in a convincing fashion. ‘And anything is better than nothing, isn’t it?’

  Posie just about stopped herself from rolling her eyes in exasperation. A practical detail occurred to her.

  ‘Oh, one last thing! If I’m an old school friend of yours I need to know where we went to school, don’t I? In case anyone asks. You never know.’

  ‘Of course. I was at Wycombe Abbey.’

  Ironically, Posie hadn’t actually been to school; she had been tutored at home in the Norfolk Rectory by a succession of prim governesses after her mother had left them all in the lurch by walking out one Christmas and never coming back. Amazingly, Posie had got herself quite a good education in the end, mainly by piggybacking off the holiday lessons of her hugely clever brother, Richard. But this wasn’t the first time she had been asked to pretend to be a school friend, and she betted, sure as bread was bread, it wouldn’t be the last time, either.

  ‘Thank you.’ But something about the name of the school was ringing a bell in Posie’s mind. Her puzzled look obviously gave her away.

  ‘Yes.’ Silvia smiled, as if happy to make a connection. ‘You realised! I was at school with Alaric’s sister.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Well, Violet was younger than me, of course. But we ran with the same crowd. I remember him though, Alaric, coming to Prize Days and Sports Days and so on. A real golden boy. Everyone had a bit of a mad pash on him. Even then. You know what little girls are like… Quite some family, aren’t they? Small world, isn’t it?’

  There was that horrid flicker of fear again. Posie smiled tightly. ‘Mnnn. Isn’t it?’

  ‘Shall we go?’

  Posie couldn’t shake off her anxious mood. But secretly she was cheered on by the thought that Chief Inspector Lovelace was just a telephone call away. She was also cheered by the fact that today was the 25th July, not the 26th, and the writer of the notes had seemed peculiarly concerned about being very specific about the date.