Death of a Dancer

by Anthony Litton

  Chapter 13

  ‘An extreme move, surely? Was it because of your husband’s affair with Ariana?’ Calderwood asked, his brows raising in surprise.

  ‘Partly, but, major event though that was,’ she added drily, ‘it was, in itself, little more than the straw that broke the camel’s back.’ She paused and raised her teacup to her lips. It was a gesture that in anyone else would have looked contrived, the theatricality a deliberate ploy, using the slight delay in telling an interesting tale to add yet more interest and suspense to what followed. It was, though, Calderwood realised, totally natural in her.

  ‘It was, I think, merely the extension of the disinterest he’d had both in the family and in the theatre, which he’d never gone near from when he was a very small boy. So, the change of name was, in his mind, just a more public way of washing his hands of the family!’

  ‘But you don’t know why, exactly?’

  ‘He said that he was determined to make his own way in the world; just be an ordinary – though the word he used, was normal! – person and not be beholden to either the family, or its name.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ he accepted. ‘Did the name change mean he also severed links with you all?’

  ‘No, not entirely,’ she said after a moment. ‘He phones me occasionally, very occasionally. He’s in touch more frequently with Arabelle,’ she added.

  ‘Your niece?’ Calderwood said, hiding his surprise.

  ‘Yes, although there’s a good few years between them, they’ve been close since they were children. He’s now sixty-six and Arabelle’s fifty-seven,’ she added in response to his look of enquiry. ‘He’d always looked after her, more like an older brother than a cousin,’ she continued, smiling softly. ‘I remember once – about the time everything else was happening to the family! – she’d fallen on the slope behind the theatre, and knocked herself out. He’d found her and carried her home. He was so sweet and didn’t even bemoan the fact that she’d ruined a new jacket that was his pride and joy!’

  ‘So he was about sixteen, and she around seven, when your husband disappeared. Difficult ages, particularly for your son,’ he said quietly.

  ‘Difficult for us all, Inspector! But yes, you’re right, particularly for the children.’

  ‘It must have been, to lose their father in such circumstances,’ he commented.

  ‘Yes, but not just our children. The children of all the families,’ she continued, seeing his confusion. ‘Another of Gerald’s few good points was that he was superb with all the nephews and nieces; and, as most of the clan then still lived on either this or adjacent roads, it meant we saw a lot of all of them; the house was rarely empty in those days,’ she ended quietly. ‘We were quite a prolific lot, then!’ she continued sadly. ‘ But the whole extended family is now reduced to five offspring: my three, Arabelle, and Alistair, my sister Dinah’s, son. Here’s Edgar’s, address,’ she continued, giving him an embossed card. ‘Do you have contact details for Alistair?’

  Calderwood nodded. ‘Yes. I think we have everything we need from you now, Mrs DeLancy, so thank you for your time, and do rest assured we will be in touch once we have a positive identification for the body.’

  Not that you seem too bothered, thought Bulmer sardonically, as he put away his notebook.

  Chapter 14

  ‘No, thank you, Miss DeLancy,’ replied Calderwood, politely refusing Arabelle’s offer of more refreshment. They were seated in a small sitting room adjoining her bedroom on the first floor. ‘Arabelle uses it when she wants some peace from me!’ her aunt had said, laughing, as she’d rung the bell to let her niece know that her own interview was finished.

  Arabelle had appeared with her usual, almost noiseless, approach and, with little change in her demeanour, led them up the stairs into a surprisingly large, simply furnished room. Entirely free, the detectives noticed thankfully, of any dead wildlife.

  ‘We shan’t keep you long, Miss DeLancy,’ Calderwood continued, ‘but, as we explained to your aunt, we’re trying to discover as much as we can about the time your uncle and Miss Kujenikov eloped.’

  Arabelle nodded, so slowly that the action verged on slow-motion, as did the raising of her arms in a helpless gesture. When she began to speak, her voice, though not halting, was almost as slow as her gestures. ‘I’ll be glad to help, Inspector, but I’m not sure how much I do recall. It was so long ago and I was still a child,’ she murmured, with a vague flourish of her hands, as she leant back into the depths of a large armchair.

  ‘I appreciate that, Miss DeLancy, but it’s sometimes surprising just how much we do pick up as children,’ responded Calderwood, very aware of the strong, competing smells of peppermint and brandy. ‘It must have been a distressing time, shocking even, to lose an uncle and a theatre at virtually the same moment,’ he added.

  ‘Yes, in some ways,’ she agreed with a slow nod of her head, ‘but I was never really close to my uncle; and I never went to The Dolphin, anyway,’ she added.

  ‘Oh? I understood that Mr DeLancy was close to all the children in all the families.’

  ‘Really? Who...? Oh,’ she added, her eyes drifting down to the ground floor. ‘Maybe he was; like I say, it was a long time ago and one forgets, doesn’t one?’

  ‘And you say you didn’t go to The Dolphin. Do you mean to its shows, or just visiting with the family?’

  ‘Both. I mean, I can’t recall any shows I went to, nor any family visits,’ she replied, pursing her lips, shaking her head and pushing her hair back with her fingers.

  ‘Why was that? I understood the theatre was very central to the whole family.’

  ‘Was it? I suppose it was, to most of them, but not to me,’ she replied with unexpected firmness.

  ‘Was there any reason for your lack of interest?’

  ‘No, none particularly. I just wasn’t swept up into it, that’s all.’

  ‘Didn’t the theatre put on any shows for children?’

  ‘I think it must have, but nothing that appealed, I suppose,’ she responded, still vaguely, rubbing absently at a small scar on her temple.

  ‘And you can’t recall any family visits, say, when someone went to check that a new show got in OK, that sort of thing?’

  ‘No, none, though I suppose I must have done, mustn’t I?’

  Bloody hell! This one’s hard going, Bulmer thought, as he, as ever, admired his boss’s unflappable calmness and courtesy.

  ‘Would you say the family, the whole extended family, I mean, was close?’

  ‘Oh yes!’ she responded, this time quite quickly, ‘I mean... it was seen as one of our greatest strengths; made us what we were, didn’t it?’ she added, with a vague nod and another wave of her hands.

  ‘Did you know Miss Kujenikov?’

  ‘No. I never met her, though I did see her going into the theatre once, I think,’ she added.

  ‘How did you know it was her?’

  ‘I’m sorry?’ Arabelle, asked after a moment’s silence.

  ‘You say you didn’t know her, and, with you not visiting the theatre, you’d not have seen her perform, so I just wondered how you knew it was her and not another of the performers?’

  ‘Oh, yes, I see. I suppose someone told me. Yes, that’s it, someone did,’ she nodded, almost to herself.

  ‘Can you recall who?’ he asked, intrigued by her hesitation.

  ‘No, I can’t, I’m afraid,’ she murmured, after another moment or two.

  ‘Did you pick up on any of the rumours and gossip swirling around about her and your uncle?’

  ‘No, I can’t say I did, really. I do vaguely recall occasions when some of the adults would suddenly stop talking when I, or one of the other children, entered a room, that sort of thing, but what it was all about, I didn’t pick up on at the time.’

  ‘You yourself were one of the younger children, weren’t you, so that’s understandable; but what about the other, older ones? Were they not more aware of what was going on, and, as children will,
tell you younger ones?’

  ‘If they did, they never told me anything,’ she added fretfully, looking round her; for a glass, preferably with something in it, Bulmer assumed. ‘I’m sorry I can’t help you more,’ she added after a short pause.

  ‘That’s no problem, Miss DeLancy. Should anything come back to you, you can call us on either of these numbers,’ Calderwood said, handing her a card, as he had to her aunt. ‘And of course, we may think of something ourselves, in which case, we’ll be back in touch in any event,’ he added quietly.

  ‘An interesting couple of ladies,’ he murmured, as they drove away from the big house.

  ‘You can say that again, Guv,’ muttered Bulmer, shaking his head. ‘Verging on ruddy weird, I’d say!’ he added, in his usual forthright way.

  ‘Really? Both of them? What makes you say that?’ Calderwood asked, as always, keen to hear Bulmer’s insights.

  ‘Well, they both, in their different ways, seem a bit over the top, to put it no higher. Also, you’d think they’d be more keen to talk after all these years, but I’m not at all sure they’ve been as open as they’d like us to believe.’

  Calderwood nodded; his sergeant’s words mirroring his own thoughts.

  ‘Let’s hope the daughter is more down to earth,’ he said, hopefully.

  As they were to discover, she wasn’t.

  Chapter 15

  Desmond’s village PA resignedly put down her notebook. She knew the signs. He was off prowling. When she joined the production company two or three months previously, she’d been startled by his habit, when faced with a particularly troublesome problem, of suddenly taking off and walking round whatever space he was then occupying. As, in this instance, that space was the rather large Dower House, she didn’t expect him back any time soon.

  She was right, but not for the reasons she thought.

  He had opened the front door, meaning to walk Huffny his golden cocker spaniel, in the hope that, besides shutting her up for the rest of the afternoon, the fresh air would clear his head and he could make some key decisions on major upcoming productions. He could tell whether his mother was in either her house or the adjoining shop, just by the dog being near him. If she was in either, Huffny, notionally his, never bothered with him, refusing to leave his mother’s side.

  As he closed the door behind him and disentangled his legs, around which the squirming dog had wrapped her lead, he caught sight of a figure hunched against the cold air, sitting on the steps of his mother’s house, a few yards away.

  ‘What the...? Bella?’ he added, recognising the large, woebegone figure of his life-long friend, sitting scrunched up against the wind. ‘What’s the matter?’ he asked, in growing alarm, as she turned her tear-stained face up to him. Stepping quickly across the short distance, his mind went back to the events of a few months previously. Like now, she’d appeared crying on his mother’s doorstep, though on that occasion it had been from happiness. Accusations against Peter, her husband, had been found to be baseless and she’d rushed round to tell Eleanor and the partners, all of whom had been firm in their support of the couple. Despite that support, it had been a painful interlude, made more so by the police’s heavy-handed approach.

  Now, here she was again, sitting on his mother’s steps looking as dishevelled and tear-stained as she had as a little girl.

  ‘What’s wrong? Is Peter alright?’ Desmond asked worriedly.

  ‘Oh yes, he’s fine,’ sniffed Bella. ‘He doesn’t know I’m here. Doesn’t know anything’s wrong, actually,’ she added dolefully.

  ‘Mum’s at the Vicarage, I think. I can ring her, if you need to talk to her urgently,’ he responded gently.

  ‘No, I’m fine now. I just panicked when I’d left the surgery, so I thought I’d call in on your Mum; wouldn’t be the first time,’ she murmured, smiling weakly.

  Desmond smiled, indeed it wouldn’t. He remembered how, when they were children, Eleanor had taken the large, ungainly girl under her wing. Bella’s own parents, though loving, were completely incapable of understanding her suffering at the hands of some of the crueller of the village schoolchildren. Hearing from Desmond and Gwilym about her torment, Eleanor invited her and a few of the two boys’ other friends to afternoon tea. Her actions, as they’d been her entire life, were noted in the village. This, allied to her gentle comments to two or three of the nastier children’s parents, rapidly brought the girl’s suffering to an end and Bella had remained devoted to her ever since.

  Being open-hearted herself, it had never occurred to her not to continue seeking Eleanor’s support whenever life threatened to overwhelm her, which, with her impulsive and guileless nature, it frequently did. Thus, she was often a fixture in her mentor’s sitting room.

  ‘Are you seriously ill, or something?’ her old school friend asked with concern.

  ‘No. No, not really, not at all in fact, she added, suddenly shaking herself. ‘The thing is, Des, I went there to confirm that I was having a baby.’

  Chapter 16

  ‘Bloody hell!’ said Desmond weakly, and sat down, rather suddenly, beside her. ‘You’re too old!’ he added, tactlessly.

  ‘Cheeky thing! I’m younger than you!’ she retorted.

  ‘Only by three days!’ he countered, laughing. ‘Do you remember how those few days were so important to us all, when we were kids?’

  She nodded, smiling weakly. ‘Yes, I do; me and you, Gwilym, Jemma, Alan and Lorraine. The arguments the six of us had over those few days! It’s funny how life turns out, isn’t it,’ she added, after a pause.

  ‘It sure is,’ he agreed, thinking back to the plans and dreams they’d all had as youngsters.

  ‘I mean, who’d have thought it! Jemma now the local MP, Alan, the village doctor, you and Gwilym famous theatre people, and me, and all still living locally. Lorraine’s the only one who isn’t.’

  ‘Well, there’s not much use for a missionary round here!’ Desmond smiled, thinking of their friend, who, even as a child, had been very religious and caring. It was always clear that she’d end up as either a missionary or a nurse. In the end she’d become both and now spent years at a time in places none of them had ever heard of.

  Bella nodded absently, her mind elsewhere. ‘Another thing that we’ve all got in common, none of us has children,’ she said quietly.

  ‘Good Lord! You’re right!’ Desmond replied, much struck.

  ‘Did you ever want them?’ she asked.

  ‘To be honest, Bella, we never thought about it. I think we just accepted that being gay meant we wouldn’t,’ he replied after a moment.

  ‘I’d have liked them,’ she said, sadly. ‘Still, I’ve got Peter.’

  ‘But you just said you were pregnant!’ Desmond exclaimed, startled.

  ‘No, I didn’t!’ she replied. ‘I said I’d gone to Alan to confirm I was, but I’m not,’ she ended sadly. ‘That’s what I wanted to talk to your mum about,’ she added.

  Desmond gave a weary shake of his head, not for the first time, confused by his friend’s mental processes.

  ‘Did Peter know you might be pregnant?’ he asked gently, after a moment, suddenly acutely aware of how devastated he’d be now.

  She shook her head ‘No. Thank heaven I, for once, kept my mouth shut; surprised myself,’ she added.

  Surprising indeed, thought Desmond, silence, tact, discretion or any other similar word were not known to his impulsive friend.

  ‘Anyway,’ she continued, hoisting herself to her feet. ‘I’d best get home; he’ll wonder where I am! He was busy reading about the murder in Estwich when I left him!’

  Desmond smiled again. Her husband was one of the gentlest men he’d ever met, but that didn’t stop him from avidly following any murder investigation that hit the press.

  ‘Mmm, yes. A dreadful business… and with it happening fifty years ago, it’s going to take some solving.’

  ‘You and Gwilym found the body didn’t you?’

  ‘No,’ he replied care
fully; aware of the police embargo on any mention of the crystal sheath. ‘The police found it the day after we’d visited the site.’

  ‘Have they found out who it is?’

  ‘No, not yet. They won’t say, but I suspect they think it’s Gerald DeLancy. After all, it was his theatre and he disappeared around the time they think the body dates from.’

  ‘Gerald? No, that can’t be right!’ she said suddenly. ‘Mother saw him in the 1980s... or was it the 1990s?’ she murmured, suddenly unsure.

  ‘What! Where? In the UK?’

  ‘Oh yes, Mother never went abroad. No, it was definitely in the UK.’

  ‘Where did she see him?’ he pressed.

  ‘Well, he denied it was him, she told me. Gave her some other name, but she swore she wasn’t mistaken.’

  ‘How could she be so sure? Had she seen photographs of him, or something?’

  ‘No. Before Mum married Dad and moved to Beldon she lived in Estwich. She worked at The Dolphin from when she left school until her wedding.’

  ‘Was she there at the theatre at the same time as Ariana, by any chance?’ he asked, curiously.

  ‘Only for a few weeks; Mum left at the end of that Christmas season,’

  ‘DeLancy must’ve changed a lot since she last saw him, though,’ Desmond said. He was still dubious, even though, if his friend was right, her mother had known Gerald during the last year or so he was at the theatre.

  ‘Mum said not,’ Bella said, shaking her head. ‘She said that even his hair was the same colour, though it was dyed by then, of course, and he had all the same mannerisms, which is what convinced her she was right.’

  Fair enough, Desmond thought, remembering her mother, who, unlike her somewhat scatty daughter, had been a very shrewd and capable woman. It might be worth telling Robert and Colin, he decided ‘Where did she see him? Can you remember?’

  ‘The nursing home Aunt Lizzie was in,’