by Clara Benson
‘What was that little pantomime between you and Cosgrove?’ he said.
‘I have no idea what you mean,’ said Gussie.
‘Rot. He’s the chap you’ve fallen out with, is that it? He’s obviously in love with you. Why don’t you go and make it up with him?’
‘Because he’s an idiot,’ said Gussie with finality. ‘Now, go and get me another drink and don’t let’s talk about him any more.’
Freddy went off to do as he was bid. After a brief search he spied a tall waiter carrying a tray of drinks, and made a bee-line for him, but the waiter just then seemed to remember something, and turned hurriedly away, so Freddy was forced to go and look for another one. The room was very hot, and the noise was getting louder. Birdie Kibble was now sitting on the piano, telling risqué jokes. She and her husband had been popular music-hall stars ten or fifteen years ago, and had made a successful transition to the screen, starring in a number of short comic films. The crowd gathered around the Kibbles laughed uproariously as Birdie lay back and played a short tune on the piano with her arms above her head.
Freddy finally managed to find a drink, and returned to discover that Gussie had already managed to procure one herself, and had entered into close conversation with another young woman. There was much giggling and glancing around, and Freddy sensed that he was no longer wanted. Taking advantage of the lull, he went out onto the terrace, which was a big one, and extended in a wide curve around the corner of the building. He wandered over to the edge. It was protected by a wall at about waist height, on top of which was a low railing. The night was clear and he could see stars. He lit a cigarette and was thinking about nothing in particular, when he slowly became aware of the sound of voices raised as though in an altercation. They were coming from around the corner, from a part of the terrace he could not see. A man said something, then a higher, female voice replied. Almost without thinking, Freddy drifted that way in case there was trouble, and was just in time to hear the woman say in an American accent:
‘Well, just you remember you were nobody yesterday, and you could just as easily be nobody again tomorrow. I could make a couple of phone-calls right now and see to it that no-one in Hollywood will ever hire you—your name will be mud. Now, what do you think of that?’
The man said something inaudible, and Freddy moved away hurriedly as he came into view. It was Robert Kenrick, who was looking almost angry—an expression which did not suit him. He threw Freddy a glance and went back indoors. Dorothy Dacres appeared shortly afterwards, a complacent expression on her pretty face.
‘Get me a drink, would you, darling?’ she said to Freddy, then swept indoors and over to the crowd by the piano. She grabbed an empty glass and a cocktail spoon, and rang for silence.
‘Well, isn’t this nice?’ she said, looking around her with an appearance of genuine pleasure. ‘Thank you all so much for coming to my little celebration. You don’t know how much it means to me to have received such a welcome here in London. Everybody has been so kind, and so I just know you’ll be as pleased to hear what I have to announce as I am to announce it. Where’s Eugene?’
Eugene Penk was located and summoned to the piano, and Dorothy touched his arm and went on:
‘I wanted to keep the news a secret just a little while longer, but I’ve been bursting to tell, and Eugene says I may. Now, you know everybody’s been talking about the film production of For Every Yesterday, and the part of Helen Harper. It’s such a classic piece of English theatre that I wasn’t at all sure I was right for the rôle, being a silly old American and all, but—well, I let myself be persuaded into an audition, and I’m so happy to tell you that yesterday I finally got the news that I’m to play the part! Now, isn’t that just grand?’
Here she paused and beamed round, as everybody burst into applause. Freddy looked around and saw Gussie Lippincott standing and staring across at Dorothy Dacres. It was impossible to read her expression, or to see what she was feeling.
‘Someone’s going to murder that woman one day,’ murmured a voice at his shoulder just then, and he turned to see Seymour Cosgrove standing next to him. It seemed as though he had been talking to himself, for he looked up and saw Freddy, then shrugged and moved away.
Dorothy was still talking, demanding everyone’s congratulations, gushing that she hoped she could do justice to the rôle of Helen, when it had always been meant for an Englishwoman. Freddy glanced around again, but Gussie had disappeared. He hoped she was not too disappointed, although he feared it must have been a blow to her. Perhaps he would take her another drink and commiserate with her. He was not sure of the correct thing to say in such circumstances, but at least he could try. He glanced around for a waiter, but there was none nearby. Everybody was still watching Dorothy Dacres. At that moment, Freddy spotted the tall waiter he had seen earlier, standing by a door, looking about him surreptitiously, and his jaw dropped. The waiter had not seen Freddy, and slipped quietly into the next room. Freddy followed him.
On the other side of the door was a bedroom. It was surely not palatial enough to be that of Dorothy Dacres, but it was certainly luxurious, for a large bed dressed with silk cushions stood in the centre of the room, while the curtains were of thick velvet, and the dressing-table and other furnishings were of expensive-looking polished walnut. The man was busy searching through the dressing-table, and did not hear Freddy come in. At last he shut a drawer with a sigh, then glanced up and into the mirror, whereupon he caught sight of Freddy’s reflection behind him. The start he gave was almost comical, and he whirled around.
‘What the devil do you think you’re doing, Corky?’ said Freddy.
Corky Beckwith looked as though he were about to deny everything, but since he had been caught red-handed in the very act of rifling through a drawer in a private hotel-room, he thought better of it and decided to brazen it out.
‘Freddy, old chap!’ he exclaimed. ‘How simply spiffing to see you. Delightful party, what?’
‘Why are you dressed as a waiter?’ said Freddy.
Corky looked down at himself in affected surprise.
‘Oh, this,’ he said. ‘It’s a very long and tragic story, and all starts with the death of a great-aunt of mine. We’d rather been relying on the will, but it turned out she’d hidden all her money in the hollow of her wooden leg, and didn’t think to tell anybody before she died. It wasn’t until she’d already been cremated that we found the letter under her pillow explaining where she’d put it. So, being as I am somewhat embarrassed for funds at the moment, I have been forced to take a job on the side, as it were, in order to make ends meet.’
‘Rot,’ said Freddy. ‘You’re up to something. Did the Herald send you, or are you free-lancing? Do they know you’re breaking into people’s rooms?’
‘I haven’t broken into anywhere. If people will leave doors unlocked then they must expect others to enter.’
‘But what are you looking for?’
‘I couldn’t possibly tell you,’ said Corky. ‘Go and find your own story. Goodness knows, I’ve had to tell enough lies to get this job, and I’ve been getting up at half past five in the morning for three weeks now—’ here he shuddered, ‘—so if you think I’m going to give all that hard work away and let you barge in and steal the glory you’ve got another think coming.’ He regarded Freddy’s dinner-suit with some disfavour. ‘I see you managed to stroll in here with an invitation. Go and talk to your society pals and see what they’ll tell you. But I expect you already know all about it and are keeping quiet.’
‘Keeping quiet about what?’
Corky pursed his lips and wagged his finger infuriatingly.
‘You’d better spill the beans,’ said Freddy, ‘unless you want me to blow your disguise. I don’t know how the Abingdon will take it if they find out one of their employees has been gaily burgling the patrons, but I imagine the police will come into it somewhere.’
> ‘You wouldn’t!’ said Corky, aghast. ‘Why, squeal on a man who’s just trying to earn an honest living? What sort of a rotter are you?’
‘The sort who gets his stories on the up-and-up, without rummaging through people’s underthings,’ said Freddy shamelessly. ‘Now, tell me what you’ve got, or else.’
Corky looked sulky.
‘It’s nothing much,’ he said. ‘Only we’ve had a rumour that snow is falling in high places, if you catch my meaning. These film people fling the stuff about all over the shop, as I’m sure you’re very aware. As a matter of fact, I shouldn’t be a bit surprised to discover you were up to the eyes in it yourself. You have that red-rimmed look about you at times, and some of your copy is quite frankly incomprehensible, especially on a Monday.’
He gave an insinuating leer that showed all his teeth, and looked Freddy up and down.
‘I see,’ said Freddy. ‘You want to catch someone in the act, have them arrested and get a nice little moralizing piece out of it.’
‘That’s about the size of it,’ agreed Corky. ‘But not only that, of course. Someone has to supply these incurable degenerates with the white powder, and I mean to find out who it is. I’m friendly with some of the chaps at Scotland Yard, and they’ve been giving me the low-down. If I can catch whoever’s been slipping the goods to these acting people, it will be the most tremendous scoop for me.’ He paused to reflect pleasurably on the praise that would be showered upon him if his scheme came off. ‘I say,’ he went on, ‘I don’t suppose you know anything you’d be prepared to tell, do you, old chap?’
‘Not a thing,’ said Freddy truthfully. ‘I barely know anyone here. Augusta Laing is an old friend of mine and I’ve come with her.’
‘Augusta Laing, eh?’ said Corky, with another leer. ‘Juicy little piece, isn’t she?’
‘I’m so glad you’ve decided not to bother with any of that class and refinement nonsense,’ said Freddy. ‘I expect the Herald has already pencilled you in to cover next year’s debutantes’ ball, yes?’
‘Oh, it has, it has. Did I tell you they’ve given me a rise? They seemed to think I’d done rather well on that little story about the Lord Chamberlain. Such a pity the Clarion never got so much as a whiff of it, don’t you think? But then, you were all probably too busy sucking up to Mrs. Belcher to notice what was going on.’
Freddy ignored this jibe, for it was perfectly true that the Clarion had done badly on the scandal.
‘This is all beside the point,’ he said. ‘You’ve been rumbled now so you’d better get out. You’ll have to find some other way to get your story.’
Corky looked mutinous.
‘But I haven’t finished looking,’ he said. ‘There’s the maid’s room to search yet.’
‘Do you really suppose the maid takes cocaine?’ said Freddy. ‘Stop being an ass and get out before I report you to somebody.’
‘But I can’t go yet,’ said Corky. ‘I can’t leave them short-handed. Strange as it may seem to you, I do take a certain pride in my work. My fellow-waiters have been so kind as to say it’s almost as though I’d been born to the business, and I don’t want to let them down. There are a hundred people out there, all wanting champagne. If I go now then Jenkins will have to do an extra shift, although he’s desperate to get home to his sick wife.’
He spoke with sincerity, and Freddy relented.
‘All right, then,’ he said. ‘Stay if you must—but just for this evening. After that, you’d better scoot, and I warn you, I shall be keeping an eye on you.’
‘You know me as a man of my word,’ said Corky gratefully, and slipped out of the room.
‘Only if the word is “fathead,”’ said Freddy under his breath. He waited a moment, thinking it might draw unwelcome attention if they both left at once, and as he did so, he noticed through a gap in the curtains that in this bedroom was another door giving onto the main terrace. He went across and peered out. This corner of the terrace was quite secluded, and out of sight of the entertaining area that led from the living-room. It was deserted. He felt a cold draught and realized that the door was ajar, and so pulled it shut, but did not lock it in case anyone wanted to come in that way. When he emerged into the living-room, he found that Gussie was still nowhere to be seen. The music had stopped, for Basil and Birdie had deserted their positions by the piano. Birdie was talking to Sir Aldridge; from across the room Freddy could hear the sound of her raucous laugh as she told some amusing anecdote.
‘I don’t suppose you’ve seen Augusta Laing, have you?’ he said to a young woman sitting in a chair by the wall. She was the girl who had arrived with Robert Kenrick, and she looked thoroughly fed up. She shook her head. Kenrick also seemed to have disappeared, and Freddy wondered whether the girl intended to stay in the same chair all evening. Under ordinary circumstances he would have taken pity on her and engaged her in conversation, but he was worried about Gussie and wanted to find her. He roved around the room, but could not see her. Corky Beckwith was hovering near another door with a tray of drinks, and Freddy eyed him suspiciously. Corky saw he had been spotted and looked momentarily cross, but then gave Freddy an ingratiating smile and moved away to another part of the room. Freddy eyed the door, wondering what was behind it, just as Eugene Penk passed him and went through it, followed by Kenneth Neale. Perhaps Gussie had gone that way too. Freddy went over and just glanced through the door into the room beyond. This, he judged, was Dorothy Dacres’ bedroom, for it was several degrees more luxurious than the other one. The room was empty, but a double glass door on the other side of it led out onto what was presumably a second terrace. The door was standing slightly open, and it looked as though Penk and Neale had gone that way. Freddy had no wish to interrupt, and so returned to the living-room and entered into conversation with Lady Featherstone. She then drifted away, and he was left to make fatuous conversation with a group of young men who appeared to have come for the free drinks.
Suddenly Gussie was standing before him. She was bright-eyed and wearing a brittle smile.
‘There you are,’ she said. ‘I’ve been searching for you everywhere. I want you to tell me what a wonderful actress I am and make me feel better.’
‘You are a wonderful actress,’ he replied. ‘All the critics say so, and I’ve seen it myself.’
‘Never mind that. You don’t know the half of it. I’ve put on the performance of my life this evening. I’ve been simply seething with disappointment since they made the announcement, but I’ve smiled and congratulated Dorothy, and talked about how marvellous it will be to have her here in England for a month or two, and I’ve simpered prettily when people have congratulated me on getting the supporting rôle—oh, yes, to add insult to injury they’re going to make me work with the woman and watch her ruin the part that ought to have been mine—and I’ve agreed that it won’t matter if her accent isn’t right, and altogether I’ve chirped and chattered as gaily as if I’d got the part myself.’
‘Well done,’ said Freddy in sympathy.
‘I shall keep it up to the bitter end, too,’ she went on, ‘and no-one shall ever know that I’m feeling sick to my stomach about the whole affair.’
‘I’m sorry, old girl,’ he said.
‘I hate her, of course,’ she said conversationally. ‘In fact, I rather wish she were dead, but it doesn’t do to say that sort of thing in public.’
‘You can say it to me. I won’t tell a soul. And I quite understand.’
She smiled.
‘Thank you, Freddy. It’s kind of you to listen to me. I’ll get over the disappointment—after all, it’s hardly the end of the world. But Ken will be dreadfully upset too, I’m afraid. Where is he? I haven’t had the chance to speak to him about it.’
At that moment they saw Kenneth Neale come out of Dorothy’s room with a face like thunder.
‘Oh dear,’ said Gussie. ‘I shall leave him to
Patience’s kindly ministrations. I expect he’ll need some time to calm down. Come out on the terrace. I’m feeling a little hot and bothered after all this.’
They went outside. The terrace was deserted apart from two people who were standing together in conversation by the railing. One of them was Robert Kenrick, who saw them and turned away to look out over the rooftops. The other was the girl Freddy had seen talking to Gussie earlier, who glanced back at Kenrick and hurried over to them.
‘Oh, Augusta, I’m so sorry!’ she said, and burst into tears.
‘Why, whatever’s the matter, Cora?’ said Gussie.
Cora threw up her hands.
‘All this, of course,’ she said. ‘I knew, you see. I knew Dorothy was going to get the part and I ought to have warned you, but they wouldn’t let me tell. I’m so very sorry. I wish I’d never come to England. It’s been nothing but trouble from the start.’
‘Don’t give it a second thought, darling,’ said Gussie. ‘I suppose it was a foregone conclusion really. I couldn’t hope to have got the part once Dorothy came on the scene. It wasn’t your fault.’
‘She causes trouble wherever she goes,’ said Cora. ‘She lost Seymour his job, you know. He was all set to go to the States and take pictures for that magazine, but she wanted him here so she called them and told them he wasn’t coming. I’m surprised he’s here this evening. And she’s upset Bob, too.’ She indicated Robert Kenrick, who was leaning over the railing and smoking with great determination. After a moment he realized they were all looking at him and scowled, then turned away and went back inside. Cora sobbed again and shivered. The noise from inside seemed to be getting louder. They heard a shriek of laughter from somewhere nearby.
‘We’d better go back in,’ said Cora. ‘How noisy London is, even in the middle of the week. Doesn’t anybody ever sleep in this city?’