Setting it up again would take twenty minutes or more. Ingeborg’s moment had arrived. She stepped out of the shadows.
“Miss Li.”
The star glanced over her shoulder.
“I won’t hold you up,” Ingeborg said, hurrying to draw level. “Ingeborg Smith. Sylvie May told me to introduce myself between takes.”
“The writer?”
Ingeborg nodded. “You were sensational.”
“Do you mean the track?” Lee had her priorities right. Commercially, the quality of the music mattered more than the aerial acrobatics.
“Loved it. I can’t wait to hear more.”
“It’s a change of direction for me. I’m trying out new things. Variety is the spice of life.”
“Obviously. But I mustn’t interrupt.”
“You can stay and talk while they fix my hair. I have to do the flying at least once more.”
“You’re so cool about it.”
“We’ve been here all week. They rehearsed me Sunday night, six times, I think. You feel ridiculous when you get it wrong and start spinning. With all the practice we should be able to get it right each time.”
Ingeborg remembered reading about the aerial accidents that once plagued the Broadway production of Spider-Man—a thought she would keep to herself.
They’d returned to the start point. A chair was produced for Lee so that the people from make-up and wardrobe could get busy. The director, a tall, bearded man with an air of importance, said, “That was spot on, Lee. We may get away with two more takes to get the extra angles we need.” He turned to Ingeborg. “And who are you, if I may ask?”
Lee said, “It’s okay, Marcus. I invited her. Ingeborg is doing a photo feature about me for a colour magazine.”
“Does she have permission to be on set? If so, I wasn’t told,” Marcus said.
“She has my permission.”
“I don’t see any camera.”
“With my phone,” Ingeborg said, tapping her pocket and wishing she sounded more believable.
Lee came to her aid. “It’s the latest thing, a record of a day in my life, meant to look up-close and personal. A picture is worth a thousand words. Isn’t that right, Ingeborg?”
“Well, yes. The photography won’t be anything special, but it’s the look that matters. It’s supposed to bring more integrity, like hand-held camerawork.”
“Which has been done to death,” Marcus said, turning away with a sniff. “Listen to me, people. You may be thinking we have all night, but I felt a spot of rain just now. Can we go again on the hour?”
“Why don’t you get some shots with your phone right now?” Lee said to Ingeborg when Marcus was far enough away. “Opportunity seldom knocks twice.” Sylvie May had got it right. At some stage in her education, Lee had swallowed the Oxford Dictionary of Proverbs.
“You don’t mind?” Ingeborg said. “I was thinking of leaving now we’ve met. I didn’t want to start without your agreement.”
“You mean a contract? There’s no need for that, is there? I assume it’s the usual understanding. I get to see what you plan to publish and right of refusal. My manager would insist on that.”
“No problem. Who is your manager?”
“He’s also my partner, Nathan Hazael. United we stand, divided we fall. He’ll be along shortly. You’ve got to meet him.”
13
“Nathan calls me Lily,” Lee told Ingeborg. The conversation was easy with this buoyant young woman. “I don’t mind. What’s in a name? It was my nickname at school, so I answer to it automatically.”
“It’s cool.”
“Sure, but in the music business I’m Lee Li. It’s all about image, isn’t it? Where does your name come from?”
“Sweden, but I’m not from there. My parents are English. They picked it out of a book.”
“But your hair …?”
“… is natural, yes. I’m from several generations of blondes. My mother says I have her to thank for that. But my father, who is dark-haired, says it’s down to him because the males in the family have a genetic preference for blondes. Somehow I doubt if that’s good science.” Ingeborg had been explaining all her life that her hair colour was unrelated to her name, so she didn’t think of it as giving much away. Every word was being overheard by the team of attendants fussing over Lee’s hair, make-up and costume. At least two more takes had been ordered by Marcus. “And from the way you speak, I’m guessing you’ve spent most of your life here.”
“Not all of it,” Lee said. “I was born in Taiwan. My parents brought me over. They had an import-export business in London. They’re both dead now. I thought you already knew my life story from Sylvie’s article. You’re doing a picture feature, right?”
“I am, only I like to hear about the lives of the people I photograph. Have you trained as a dancer? You managed the flying as if you’d been doing it all your life.”
Lee twitched her shoulders. “I enjoy anything physical. Athletics, gymnastics, karate.”
“I won’t pick a fight with you, then,” Ingeborg said, actually thinking it would be fun. She was a black belt herself and Lee was a good mover and probably no slouch at karate. It was weird to be more relaxed with this stranger—even with all these people listening—than she had yesterday with Sylvie. Lee was calmer than Sylvie, which was remarkable considering the heart-stopping feat of agility she had just performed, and was due to repeat in a short while. “Will there be more flying in the video?”
“Quite a bit. Most of it’s in the can already. What you saw is just one tiny sequence—the last of many. We wrap tonight.”
“All of it featuring you?”
“And some genuine seabirds.” She smiled. “They’re smarter than me. They do theirs in one take. And they refuse to work nights.”
“That’ll be the seabirds’ union,” Ingeborg said.
Lee’s laughter was a joy to hear, a true expression of delight. “It’s such a pity you’ve come at the end of filming. I don’t know what else I can show you about my day that will make a good picture feature for you.”
“Not a problem,” Ingeborg said. “What my readers really want to see isn’t you in performance. Plenty of magazines cover that. This is about the everyday things you take for granted, your mealtimes, hobbies, pets, sports, the house you live in, your bedroom, all that stuff.”
A guarded tone entered Lee’s voice. “Some of that might not be possible. I’ll need to talk to Nathan first. He can be a little touchy about visitors. He’s a rather private man.”
“But I expect you have parts of the house you can call your own.”
“Sure. I have a purpose-built studio to practise my singing and there’s a gym that Nathan never uses, so I have that all to myself.”
“Would he mind if I took shots of you there?”
She hesitated. “We can ask him. If he isn’t happy about it, we’ll need to think of somewhere else.”
“I really want to photograph you at home,” Ingeborg pressed her. “That’s the premise for the series and as you’re my first interviewee this will set the standard for everything that follows.”
“I understand,” Lee said with an effort to be helpful. “I’ll have to persuade him, won’t I? After all, it’s not as if he has anything to hide.”
Ho-hum was Ingeborg’s silent comment on that.
The director called from across the deck, “Two minutes. Let’s have you at your mark, Lee, and make it snappy.”
“Listen to old bossyboots,” Lee said. “You’d think it was World War Three, the way he carries on. Take your time, ladies. Slow but sure wins the race.”
“Wouldn’t it be easier for you if I’m not around when Nathan gets here?” Ingeborg asked.
“Not at all. I want him to meet you and see what a sweet person you are. He wouldn’t say so to me, but he’s partial to blondes. I’ve watched him give them the eye.”
Marcus called to her a second time. “For Christ’s sake, Lee. Everyone is
waiting for you—again.”
“How can he be so mean?” Lee said without moving a muscle. “Am I looking good?”
“You’re done,” said the make-up woman.
The dresser nodded as well.
Lee yawned and stretched. “Help me into that horrible harness, then. The sooner begun, the sooner done.”
The two minutes had long gone by when she ambled to her mark.
Nathan’s face was well known to Ingeborg from mugshots. He’d been photographed after his arrest by Bristol CID three years ago—the abortive court case that sent a shockwave through every police authority in the country. The look said it all, the gaze of a man in custody who knew he was still streets ahead of his captors. Dark, cavernous, intimidating eyes. A suspect under arrest will often stare back at the camera as an act of defiance. This was something else, total disdain. He knew he would come out the winner.
And now she saw him in real life, standing in the shadow of the ship’s funnel watching the third take. His eyes caught the glare of the floodlights and glinted with all the arrogance of the police photos. Nothing was going to faze Nathan Hazael, not the technical wizardry of the production, nor the sight of his protégée being swung upwards by unseen wires. Smart, in a black overcoat with a velvet collar, he kept his arms folded, feet slightly apart. His hair was cropped so close that it was difficult to tell what colour it was.
Behind him waited two large men wearing shades who certainly weren’t anything to do with the film unit.
Ingeborg, standing among the make-up team and hoping to appear as if she was one of them, had a momentary loss of nerve. If police officers of far more experience had taken on this ogre and lost, what hope did she have? Then she reminded herself that she wasn’t in combat with Nathan. She was after intelligence about the shooting in the auction room and the source of the weapon. Nathan might be an accessory, but someone else would have fired the fatal shot.
Even so, it had become obvious already that she’d need to deal with him in person. Any hope that Lee Li knew about the supply of the murder weapon had vanished with that last remark: it’s not as if he has anything to hide. The singer was so absorbed with her own career that she hadn’t worked out—or wasn’t willing to admit to herself or anyone else—that she was living with a crime baron.
For tonight, at least, Ingeborg would keep her distance from Nathan. She’d settle for the introduction she’d been talked into and keep it as brief as possible. She would rely on Lee Li to get her inside the house in the next day or so. The rising star’s eagerness for publicity would play to her advantage.
Applause broke out for the third successful take.
Marcus announced, “All right, boys and girls, we’ll wrap on that. Thanks for being so patient and professional.” Which sounded like a strong dig at Lee Li.
All the lights came on and the clear-up started. The make-up team were the first to return below deck, leaving Ingeborg isolated if she remained where she was. She stepped out of Nathan’s field of view behind the nearest mast.
From above, Lee was lowered slowly to the deck. Two of the wardrobe people stepped forward and released her from the muslin drapes. Unhitched from the wire, she ran across to Nathan. Ingeborg couldn’t resist peering around the mast to see the embrace. It didn’t happen. Nathan kept his arms folded.
“How was I tonight, then?” Lee said, eyes shining.
“You finished?” he asked, ignoring the invitation to compliment her. “It’s late.”
“I know. Before we go, I want you to meet Ingeborg. She’s still here—or she was a moment ago.”
This couldn’t be ducked. Ingeborg broke cover and crossed the deck. Considering that Nathan was supposed to be partial to blondes, the introduction was a letdown. They didn’t shake hands. He condescended to give her a nod and a glance with the nail heads that were his eyes.
Chilling.
Ingeborg settled for, “Hi.”
Lee said, “She’s a journalist doing a piece about me.”
Nathan behaved as if he hadn’t heard.
“Covering a typical day in my life,” Lee went on as if unaware how offensive the man was being. “It means taking lots of pictures. Ingeborg was recommended to me by that nice woman who wrote the beautiful piece in South West magazine. You won’t object if she comes to the house tomorrow and shadows me? You and I might think my day is boring, but I’ve just been told the ordinary stuff is what the magazine readers want to see. East, west, home’s best.”
Nathan spoke again. “She’s not coming to the house.”
“Late in the day,” Lee said, continuing to pour out words. “It had better not be before noon. We always sleep in after a night shoot, don’t we, my love?”
“I don’t have press in my house,” Nathan said. “Tell her to piss off.”
“She’s not from a newspaper. She’s a freelance showbiz writer.”
“You heard me.”
There was a pause of several uncomfortable seconds. “But I need the publicity,” Lee said. “It’s essential in my work. My fans want to read about me or they won’t buy my music. Why do you think I’ve been busting my ass every night this week? Give me a break, Nathan.”
“Are you going to change out of those stupid clothes, or what?” Nathan plainly wasn’t impressed by his lover’s moving appeal.
“You’re my manager,” Lee tried to remind him. “You should be celebrating when I get the chance of a photo feature. Listen, my love, why don’t we talk about this in the morning?”
“You know where the car is.” Nathan turned his wrist and checked the shiny chunk of metal attached to it, a thing more like a weapon than a timepiece. “You got five minutes. If not, find your own fucking transport.”
His eyes hadn’t returned to Ingeborg in the whole of the exchange. He’d dismissed her.
This couldn’t have got off to a worse start. Trying to contain her anger, she said to Lee, “We’ll work something out. I’ve got your number. I’ll call you.”
She expected Lee to be close to tears. Strangely, she wasn’t. If anything, her eyes had a faint gleam of triumph. Extraordinary, Ingeborg thought. Maybe she got off on treatment like this. Was she one of those women who was switched on by bullying? A willing victim? It might explain why she’d been drawn to such a scumbag in the first place.
“No problem,” the singer said with a smile, and ran down the steps to the saloon where she’d left her clothes.
Nathan turned in the direction of the gangway, closely followed by his two heavies.
Ingeborg wasn’t troubled by being treated as if she didn’t exist. She knew the criminal class don’t like journalists. If the evening had panned out the way she intended she wouldn’t have met Nathan at all. She’d have gained entrance to his house before he was aware who she was and why she was there.
She had the chance to leave now, but she didn’t. She was interested to see whether Lee would throw on her clothes and dash upstairs in obedience to her less than charming lover, or whether she’d play the pop star again and keep him waiting. If she chose to defy him, would he be true to his word and leave without her? Or was he a softie when it came to the crunch?
Here was an opportunity to get a sense of the real relationship between these two. For her own safety, Ingeborg needed to know she could rely on Lee. That look in the young woman’s eyes after Nathan had played the heavy was deeply unsettling.
She decided to go below and check the First Class Ladies Saloon for herself and presently found herself in a lavishly reconstructed, well-lit and carpeted corridor, with passenger berths at either side. Victorian grandeur was everywhere around her. She could hear voices from the end where the saloon evidently was. She entered the saloon through a gilded arch and took in more luxuriance, the white and gold columns, the arabesque pilasters, the ornate mirrors and the tiered sofas. But she couldn’t see Lee Li. One of the women she’d met on the promenade deck was packing make-up jars and brushes into a case.
Ingeborg asked whe
re Lee was.
“She’s come and gone.”
“I don’t think so. I was on deck a moment ago and she didn’t pass me on the stairs.”
“She left two or three minutes ago—definitely. She was in a hurry.”
“But I would have seen her.”
“That isn’t the only way to the top deck. She could easily have used one of the others.”
“Why would she do that?”
“Don’t ask me, love. She’s in a world of her own. I expect it’s the blood rushing to her head when she’s up there on the wire.”
Ingeborg turned and ran out of the saloon and along the corridor until she found another companionway. At the top of the stairs she found she was on the other side of the funnel on a deserted stretch of the deck. She went to the rail and looked over. Nathan’s two bodyguards were standing beside an expensive-looking black limousine a little apart from the vans that had brought the heavy equipment. Presumably their boss was inside, waiting.
In that case Lee hadn’t been hurrying to order. She was still somewhere aboard the Great Britain.
The sensible option was to remain above deck and keep watching the gangway—the only way off the ship. Ingeborg started in that direction and found a few of the TV crew packing up equipment in near darkness. The floodlights had all been turned off and were cooling and the cables were being reeled in. She asked if anyone had seen Lee. They shook their heads. None of them showed any concern. The unpunctual singer wasn’t anybody’s favourite.
Her own first impression of Lee had been positive, probably because she hadn’t had to put up with several days of lateness. She’d thought her charming and easy to get along with, but she couldn’t understand her present behaviour. Baiting her dangerous lover to this extent was asking for trouble.
The car still parked on the dockside told its own slightly different story. Lee appeared to have succeeded in calling Nathan’s bluff.
Ingeborg looked over the rail again and checked that they were still down there fully fifteen minutes after Nathan had threatened to leave without her. One of the minders was rubbing his hands to keep warm.
The Stone Wife Page 13