Silent Scream

by Lynda La Plante

  ‘So beautiful,’ he murmured softly.

  A Mercedes with dark tinted windows drew up outside the church gates. Colin O’Dell, wearing a denim jacket, jeans and a T-shirt with a silk scarf wrapped around his neck, hurried from the car, his French girlfriend rushing to catch him up as he kept his head down to pass the waiting photographers. He was quickly followed by Andrea Lesser and Andrew Smith-Barker, who held her elbow tightly as they made their way inside. Next came Scott Myers in a tailored dark suit and dark glasses, accompanied by his wife Fiona.

  The photographers surged forwards, but were held back by the ushers who were on hand to guide in the latecomers. Then came Rupert Mitchell, and Felicity and Jeannie from Amanda’s flat. Anna recognised them from photos at the Yard. Unlike the star turns, Jeannie was keen to pose for photographers, but now there was a crush of mourners standing shoulder-to-shoulder in the small entrance.

  The sound of a light bell began to ring as the coffin arrived and was carried towards the altar. It was unusual, like a woven wicker basket, the top laden with white lilies; it seemed so tiny and light. The bell continued to ring as the Archdeacon in full robes moved down the centre aisle to step onto the raised rostrum beside the choir. He looked surprisingly young, with a ruddy complexion, and as he spoke his voice rang round the church.

  When he asked the congregation to stand to sing the first hymn, Anna caught her first glimpse of Amanda’s parents in the front pew. Her mother was wearing a wide-brimmed black straw hat and black suit. Her father, in a charcoal-grey suit, held onto her arm, his face drawn.

  Anna, sitting so close to Langton, found his nearness uncomfortable, and as they stood to sing side-by-side, she wished the service would end as quickly as possible. None of it felt real; the body in the wicker-basket coffin had been murdered – and yet the entire service was more fitting for a wedding. There were prayers and eulogies from various actors and then it was Jeannie Bale’s turn. Dressed in a low-cut cream chiffon dress, her arms bare, she walked up to the front.

  ‘I am going to read for Amanda her favourite poem. It is by Meredith Kinmont.’ Jeannie’s voice wavered as she paused and opened a typed sheet of paper, as if she were auditioning.

  Langton leaned close to Anna. ‘How long is this going on for?’

  She gave him a stern glance and he sighed.

  I am the green grass

  I am the blonde hair caught between your fingers

  I am the light in your eyes when you look at me

  I am the light gone out of your eyes when you look away

  Don’t look away

  I like you

  See, I am smiling

  Don’t go away

  Stay

  You want to stay, don’t you?

  Take off your shoes

  You love me, don’t you?

  I can tell

  You’ve always loved me, haven’t you?

  You can’t help it

  I am the secret you daren’t whisper

  I am the green grass.

  During the reading, Anna took a covert look around. Both Amanda’s parents bowed their heads. Colin O’Dell hung his head low, as if trying to hide his face from view. Scott Myers was openly crying, and Andrea Lesser held a tissue to her eyes. Right at the back was one of the unit drivers Simon had interviewed. She watched closely as he stood poker-faced, but with tears trickling down his cheeks.

  Jeannie finished reading in her soft sweet voice and it was as if she expected applause but none came, just silence and the odd sound of muffled weeping. The Archdeacon came to stand in front of the coffin.

  ‘Amanda Mary Delany,’ he said, and turned to the large photograph and raised his hand. ‘We must celebrate her short life and feel compassion for her family and friends gathered here today. She was a star, a rare beauty cut down in the prime of her life. As success and stardom made Amanda known to many, loved by many and admired by all who knew her, we must also pray that she rests in peace. To have been taken from us, so brutally, is cause for us all to feel untold sorrow and anguish that we should lose such a treasured young woman.’

  On cue, Colin O’Dell moved from his pew to stand on the rostrum. He seemed nervous, mumbling his words and barely looking up. Afterwards he returned to his seat and knelt in prayer, holding his face in his hands.

  ‘That was a good performance,’ Langton whispered to Anna as he stood to sing the next hymn. He had a terrible voice, offkey and too loud; it made Anna cringe. Then it was the turn of Scott Myers. He was more eloquent than Colin O’Dell as he read a short poem by Rossetti, before returning to sit beside his frozen-faced wife. Another hymn and then Andrea Lesser walked from her seat with what looked like a thick wad of notes. Anna glanced sideways at Langton, who took a discreet look at his watch. It was by now incredibly hot and uncomfortable and people were fanning themselves with their service sheets. Andrea Lesser held a tissue in her hand, as she put on some reading glasses.

  ‘Amanda was asked by a journalist, when doing some promotional work for her last film, if she would describe her own funeral. Little did any of us who loved her so dearly, know that in so short a time her life would be taken. Amanda described the unusual wicker casket and with the help of her friends we have endeavoured to make this sad day the one she would have wanted. The hymns, the flowers and the church lit by hundreds of candles, even the poems read by her friends, were Amanda’s choice. I thank you everyone for coming and hope she rests in peace …’ She had to stop and swallow back the tears.

  ‘I’m so sorry, but Amanda was like a daughter to me. Having represented her since her career began, we spent so much time together and as her career became successful we formed a strong bond of trust. She will be forever in my mind and now I would like you to listen to Amanda reading a poem she recorded. I think it will make us all understand how much of a loss she is. Thank you.’

  There was a pause before Amanda’s voice was heard from speakers positioned directly behind her photograph.

  ‘My name is Amanda Delany’ – her voice was low, with a slight gravel tone – ‘and this is one of my favourite poems by Meredith Kinmont, one I have loved since I was a child. If ever I had to say goodbye to this world, this is how I would like to be remembered … going with a smile.’

  There was another pause and then her voice seemed to lift, clearer, sweeter, as if she were about to break into laughter; it was very moving.

  Not many people see the funny side of things these days.

  Most people only laugh when everyone else does

  so as not to feel left out

  In fact, not many people laugh much at all

  these days, except at rather sad things

  Not many people, for instance, would have the slightest idea

  how funny

  how madly

  utterly

  absurdly

  absolutely

  outrageously

  hysterically funny it is

  for me to be here

  with you’

  It was brilliant sunshine outside, after the service, and the press were still there in force. Amanda’s parents stood side by side, thanking the mourners for coming, Andrea Lesser beside them, wiping her eyes. As people exited from the church, there was an overall feeling of relief and the babble of voices rose, mixed with loud laughter. The press had a field day; flashlights were popping more in tune with a movie première than a funeral.

  Langton held Anna by her elbow and leaned down to whisper to her: now was the time to ‘mingle’. Already Mike Lewis could be seen close to the altar, looking at all the floral displays, noting down the names on the cards beside them. Barolli was outside, moving unobtrusively from group to group as people waited for their cars. Then Anna realised her mobile phone wasn’t in her pocket. She remembered turning it off just as Langton had joined her in the pew; it must have fallen from her pocket when she knelt to pray.

  It was eerie inside the now-empty church; only a cleric remained, extinguishing the candles with
a long silver snuffer. Anna hurried towards the pew she had occupied and then bent down low, looking for the phone beneath the bench. There it was, kicked further back under the pew. As she reached for it, she heard voices.

  ‘Come on – we’re waiting, we’re by the gates. Where’s the car? If it’s close, we’ll walk to it as the fucking press are all over us.’

  ‘Sorry, I was going to leave the back way but the door’s locked.’

  Anna recognised the first voice. It was Colin O’Dell’s, but she couldn’t see who he was talking to, since that person was hidden behind Amanda’s photograph.

  ‘I’m parked on a meter by Covent Garden tube station; it’ll take me two minutes,’ the stranger’s voice said.

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ O’Dell said as he moved closer to where Anna crouched, hidden.

  ‘You getting a quick snort in, are you?’ the other man asked.

  ‘Leave it out.’ O’Dell moved even closer, then turned to see the cleric still snuffing out the candles. He lowered his voice. ‘You scored for me?’

  Anna watched as he disappeared from view for a few moments behind the photograph. Then he reappeared, pocketing a small white envelope as one of the unit drivers from Gaslight came into view. He was putting money into a wallet.

  ‘Come on – let’s get going,’ Anna heard O’Dell say. ‘Sooner I’m out of this the better.’

  ‘You going for the drinks at the Ivy Club?’

  ‘No way, I’ve had enough crap to last me for today.’

  The two men walked along the aisle and out of the church before Anna stood up. She followed after a moment, not wanting them to see her, and by the time she made it outside, there were few people left and none of the team from the station. So the actors employed the unit driver for private use, did they? She couldn’t help wondering if this was the same driver who had taken Amanda to Le Caprice to meet Josh Lyons.

  Just as Anna reached the church gate, a Bentley drove past. Andrew Smith-Barker was in the driving seat, Andrea Lesser next to him. Neither saw her. Anna recognised Jeannie Bale up ahead, walking with Felicity Turner and heading towards Garrick Street. She hurried to catch up with them.

  ‘Hi, I saw you in the church,’ she said rather breathlessly.

  Felicity gave Anna a blank-eyed stare, while Jeannie smiled politely at her.

  ‘I thought you read the poem beautifully,’ Anna continued.

  ‘Oh, thank you, but I wish I’d known that there’d be a recording of Amanda reading one too.’

  ‘It didn’t matter; your poem was very moving.’

  When Jeannie then asked if she was going to the post-funeral drinks at the Ivy Club, a few minutes away in West Street, Anna jumped at the chance.

  At the bar, on arrival, they each took a glass of champagne. Jeannie nudged Felicity, warning her to behave herself, and then smiled at Anna.

  ‘Are you with an agency?’ she asked.

  Anna shook her head, but Jeannie was so busy looking around the crowded bar she didn’t even ask who Anna was. By this time she was obviously eager to mingle and soon moved off. As Felicity had gone to the loo, Anna followed Jeannie’s lead and started looking for someone she could have a conversation with, but as the champagne flowed, she was ignored. She recognised some faces from the film unit, amongst them the director Julian Pike, and Emma Field, the standin, looking very attractive and laughing with Scott Myers. As Anna spotted them, Fiona Myers, who had obviously had too much to drink, barged in between them.

  ‘My God, I can’t leave you alone for a minute,’ she said aggressively. ‘Who’s this little tart?’

  Anna circled around them, not wishing to be seen, and moved deeper into the room towards the exit onto the roof garden. Several guests were outside smoking. Carol and Cynthia, the make-up girls from the film, were standing to one side talking to Mike Reynolds, the line producer on Gaslight. He was just turning away from the women when he saw Anna.

  ‘Hi, there,’ he said jovially, then: ‘Help me out. I know you, don’t I?’

  ‘Anna Travis, Detective Travis. We met on the set last week.’

  ‘Ah, right, sorry. Were you at the funeral?’

  ‘Yes, I was. Look, can I ask you something?’

  He nodded. His eyes never met hers, but constantly flicked around the room.

  ‘The unit drivers – are they also hired by the artists privately?’

  ‘Yes, I’d think they would be. They can do with the extra cash. Not a lot of movies up and rolling at the moment – the British film industry is in a real slack period.’ He smiled across the room to Emma Field and then excused himself without waiting for a reply, leaving Anna standing alone again. She watched Reynolds make a play for the very attractive Miss Field, then turned as a soft voice from behind her said her name.

  ‘Detective Travis.’

  She looked up at Andrew Smith-Barker.

  ‘Can I get you a refill?’ he asked.

  ‘Er no, I’m fine, thank you.’

  ‘I’m sure you are. Here, let me take your glass.’ He reached out and took her half-full glass, giving her a cold arrogant smile as he moved off. She knew she had better make a quick exit as he was heading towards Andrea Lesser. Anna skirted around the crowd and felt her elbow tugged.

  ‘I want to go and I can’t find Jeannie. She’s somewhere schmoozing and I’ve not got any money on me.’ Felicity had obviously had more champagne. Her face was flushed, her vacant eyes were even more glazed.

  ‘Do you want a lift?’ Anna offered. ‘I can give you one as I’m on my way out.’

  ‘Yes, you are.’ It was Andrea Lesser, her face tight with anger. ‘I don’t know how you dare intrude. This is a private party for close friends and associates of Amanda. I’d like you to leave immediately.’

  Anna was about to apologise, but to her astonishment Felicity pushed Miss Lesser.

  ‘Why don’t you go fuck yourself?’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Stuck-up bitch, I know all about you. Amanda couldn’t stand the sight of you, nor half the creeps who are here. It’s all a fucking sham.’

  Andrea Lesser seemed to teeter backwards slightly as Andrew Smith-Barker appeared and took hold of Felicity’s arm.

  ‘It’s time you left, young lady.’

  ‘Gerroff me, I know all about you as well.’ Felicity was so unsteady on her feet that she clung onto Anna.

  ‘This is a private party and you either leave quietly or I will get the staff to remove you.’

  ‘Fuck off.’

  Smith-Barker got a hard shove in his chest as Felicity released her hold of Anna and fell forwards. He caught her and gripped her tightly, drawing her away. The rest of the room was picking up on the fracas and now Jeannie pushed her way towards them.

  ‘What are you doing?’ she asked.

  Andrea Lesser turned on her, saying angrily, ‘Please, all of you leave. This is neither the time nor the place for anything unpleasant.’ She glared at Anna. ‘You will accompany these two girls out of here. This is an invitation-only event.’

  Now Jeannie got her own temper up and faced Miss Lesser.

  ‘You get me to read a poem, but don’t want me here. Terrific. I knew Amanda better than any of this fucking crowd, so you had to invite me, whether you liked it or not, but you don’t want anyone to know just how much Amanda hated you. She knew what you were doing, she told me, so why don’t you stop this fucking charade, and you fuck off

  Two members of the staff quickly stepped between them and took Felicity and Jeannie by the arm and led them out. Red in the face, Miss Lesser pointed her finger at Anna.

  ‘I am going to report you to your superiors. How dare you sneak your way in here?’

  ‘I’m sorry. I’ll leave now.’

  ‘I should damned well hope so.’

  Shame-faced with everyone staring, Anna followed the two girls out of the club. Two paparazzi photographers were snapping away and Jeannie was shouting out her name to them, making sure they spelled it
right. With a few flash bulbs still going off behind them, Anna waved away the doorman’s offer of a taxi. He held onto her arm.

  ‘Please take your hands off me!’ she said, annoyed. Anxious to get away, she walked a few paces down the street, noticing a number of Mercedes parked with their drivers sitting inside, one of whom she recognised. It was the man who had been with Colin O’Dell in the church.

  She tapped on his window and he lowered it.

  ‘No way, I’m waiting for someone.’

  Anna flipped open her ID and he said immediately, ‘Sorry, no offence. Didn’t know it was you.’

  ‘Can we have a quick chat?’

  ‘Here?’

  ‘Why not? It won’t take a moment.’

  Anna got into the passenger seat and closed the car door. The driver pressed himself as far away from her as possible. The engine was on; he had been watching a movie so he turned it off.

  ‘You were at the film unit, right?’ he asked.

  ‘Correct. And you’re one of the James brothers.’

  ‘Yeah. I’m Tony, the handsome one.’ But he didn’t crack a smile as he said it.

  ‘Do you also do private chauffeur work, Tony?’

  ‘Yeah, when it suits I do.’

  ‘Did you drive Amanda Delany?’

  ‘On occasions, yeah, but me older brother Harry was her driver on Gaslight. Sometimes I stood in for him.’

  ‘Did she employ you when you weren’t working for a film company?’

  ‘A few times, if work was a bit thin on the ground.’

  ‘You’re driving Colin O’Dell today, aren’t you?’

  ‘Well, I was. He went back to his hotel and I took over from another guy who got a gig out at Heathrow, so I’m here for Scott Myers and his wife now.’

  ‘But you were at the funeral.’

  ‘Yeah, out of respect.’

  ‘You seemed very distraught.’