by Judy Nunn
‘I was wondering whether anyone might have been asking for me. A man.’ She looked demure, girlish, hopeful—everything that might appear alluring.
‘Yes, Miss Frances. About quarter of an hour ago. He asked what dressing room you were in. I said I’d ring through and tell you he was here but he didn’t want me to. Went on about how much he admired you—I thought he was just another fan.’
‘Oh.’ Maddy was puzzled. Douglas had said he’d slipped by unseen. ‘What did he look like?’
‘Late twenties, stocky, short dark hair.’
So Douglas had an accomplice. Behind Sam’s head, she saw a tall shadow slip silently out through the stage door. ‘Yes, that sounds like him, thank you, Sam.’
‘I’m sorry, Miss Frances, I didn’t know …’
‘It’s perfectly all right,’ she reassured Sam. ‘He’s shy; he’s probably waiting for me outside.’ And Maddy ran back to her dressing room.
Barely five minutes later, when she dashed out the stage door in her street clothes with her makeup scrubbed off, Sam felt a little concerned. He hoped he hadn’t messed things up for Miss Frances and her young lover.
Maddy arrived at the Grafton Hotel ten minutes before six. It was a small, attractive Georgian building not very far from her flat. She strolled about the downstairs bar and restaurant, looking at the cocktail lists and menu and, four minutes later, went to the foyer and pressed the lift button.
At exactly five to six she stepped out of the lift on the third floor and waited for Douglas. Twice the lift stopped on the way up, but Douglas was not in it. The third time it stopped, at precisely one minute to six, and Douglas appeared. A young woman was with him. He didn’t even look in Maddy’s direction, so she pushed the other lift button and pretended she was waiting to go down. She tried to tell herself the situation was becoming as ridiculous as a B-grade spy movie, but her pulse was racing and the palms of her hands were sticky.
Douglas studied the room number signs for a moment and, as soon as the young woman took the right corridor, he took the left. Maddy heard a key turning in the lock as the young woman let herself into a room several doors down from the lift and, a second after the door closed, Douglas was at her side.
‘Hi,’ he said.
Maddy didn’t answer as she saw one of the other doors open further down the corridor and a man step out. She expected Douglas to turn aside and ignore her, but he didn’t. He watched the man.
The man was in his late twenties, average height, well built, with short, dark hair. He and Douglas looked at each other for a split second. The accomplice, Maddy thought.
The man rubbed the right side of his nose with his right index finger, then walked past them to the staircase beside the lift and started jogging down, the easy jog of a person in training.
Douglas took Maddy’s arm and led her to the room. They went inside and he locked the door after them.
It was a nice room, tastefully furnished, with large windows overlooking the bustle of Tottenham Court Road.
‘Well,’ said Maddy, turning to him, ‘where do we—’ She didn’t get any further. His arms were around her and he was kissing her. Deeply, longingly. And she was kissing him back. But it was wrong, Maddy knew. It was wrong.
‘No,’ she said, and it took every ounce of willpower to break away. ‘This isn’t where we start. I need answers, Douglas. I need answers now.’
‘Yes, I suppose that’s fair enough,’ he replied. ‘Drink?’
Maddy nodded. ‘Just a tonic water thanks.’
As he opened the refrigerator door she noticed for the first time how tired he looked. She watched silently as he poured himself a large Scotch, added ice cubes to her tonic water then crossed to her, handed her the drink and clinked their glasses together.
‘I’ve missed you so very, very much,’ he said.
Maddy didn’t dare answer. They looked at each other and Maddy had to fight the urge to embrace him, to put his head on her breast and stroke his hair. ‘You look very tired,’ was all she said.
He nodded, downed the Scotch in one gulp and indicated for her to sit down. ‘Answers,’ he said.
She sat quietly on the bed and waited.
‘My name is Douglas Mackie. I am thirty-nine years old and I was born in Glasgow. I’ve never lied to you, Madeleine.’ Tired as he looked, it was obvious Douglas couldn’t relax. He paced about the room—keeping away from the window, Maddy noticed.
‘There’s a wealth of things I haven’t told you about myself, but I’ve never lied.’ He poured himself another Scotch. ‘I’m in the army—Major, Special Air Service Regiment.’ He took a sip of the drink and turned to look at her. ‘I know there have been times when you thought I was involved with criminals or the IRA or God knows what, but it was actually safer for both of us to let you believe that.’
He waited for her to say something but she didn’t so he continued. ‘The 22 SAS is the covert operations arm of the SASR. Our briefs are top secret and our missions are always carried out undercover. Our identities need to be protected for our own safety and the safety of our families and friends.’
Maddy was about to say something, but this time he stopped her. ‘Jenny has never been in danger because of me, I swear. The dummy bomb in the theatre was a crazy coincidence—it had nothing to do with me or my work with the SAS. There was never any danger as long as my identity was unknown.’ He finished the Scotch and put down the glass.
‘And now it isn’t?’ Maddy asked quietly.
He shrugged, ‘We can’t be sure, but it’s quite possible the newscast in Armagh may have blown my cover. At least that’s what my superiors think.’ He took a deep breath. ‘So they’re posting me to Hong Kong for a year. A cushy desk job while the heat dies down. Then they’ll put me out in the field again with a new ID if necessary.’
Maddy couldn’t take it all in. ‘When do you leave?’
‘Tomorrow morning. In the meantime I’m to see or contact no one. Especially you.’
‘Why especially me?’
‘You’re the only person I’ve seen on a regular basis for the past four years. The army would therefore assume that you are the person of major importance to me and therefore the person most likely to pose a security threat to them. And they’re right on both counts.’
What a strange way to tell somebody that you love them, Maddy thought vaguely.
‘They’ve posted a marker to be with me at all times. He booked this hotel room and he sticks by my side all the way to Hong Kong.’
‘A marker?’ Maddy asked. ‘The man who came out of this room?’ She rubbed the right side of her nostril with her right index finger.
Douglas nodded. ‘That’s the all-clear sign. He’d checked the room out for me.’
‘Surely he doesn’t approve of this,’ Maddy said.
Douglas allowed himself a slight smile. ‘Oh, Col’s pretty understanding. We’ve worked together a lot—he knows I’d do the same for him. As a matter of fact, the big brass probably know I’m going to try to see you one last time but they also know if Col and I are looking after each other we’ll be careful.’
One last time. The words had an awful ring of finality about them. ‘Hong Kong for a whole year,’ she said. ‘That’s a hell of a long time.’
Douglas sat on the bed beside her. ‘It’s a hell of a place. Fancy joining me there?’
Maddy stared at him, amazed. It was the last thing she’d expected. ‘Are you joking?’ she asked.
‘No. But I’m probably wishing. I certainly don’t expect you to say yes.’
Maddy was confused. She was still trying to comprehend all he’d told her, and now he’d landed her with an instant decision which would affect her whole life.
Instinctively she started backing off. ‘Well, there’s Jenny,’ she said. ‘What about Jenny?’ (Jenny was safely in boarding school and could easily come to Hong Kong for holidays. In fact she’d love it.) ‘And there’s my … life here.’ (Why had she guiltily stopped hersel
f from saying ‘my career’?) ‘I mean, Dad and Alma and my flat, and …’ (Dad and Alma were a world unto themselves; her flat was just a flat.) The excuses petered out lamely.
‘I know, Madeleine, I know.’ He kissed her gently, then held her to him. ‘Don’t feel guilty because your work is so important to you. It’s part of you, it’s part of what I fell in love with.’ He smiled. ‘With you it’s the theatre, with me it’s the army. We’re very alike.’
He had never once told her he loved her. Maddy felt like screaming, ‘I’ll go to Hong Kong with you, I’ll go anywhere in the world with you’. But she didn’t. She kissed him instead. And the kiss wasn’t so gentle this time. Suddenly they were making love. Fiercely, passionately. And just as suddenly, it was over and they clung hard to each other, their bodies shuddering from the impact.
‘A whole year,’ Maddy murmured when they’d got their breath back and lay staring up at the ceiling.
‘Probably a lot longer,’ he said. ‘I don’t know where they’ll send me after Hong Kong.’ He leaned up onto his elbow and looked at her. ‘That’s why I asked you to join me.’
There was something awful and final in the air and she waited for Douglas to tell her. He stroked her hair as he did.
‘I think we should assume that it’s over, Madeleine.’
Even though she’d known what he was going to say, a sick feeling engulfed her.
‘I refuse to leave the army,’ he continued, ‘and you refuse to leave the theatre.’ She tried to interrupt but he wouldn’t let her. ‘No, no listen to me. If you came to Hong Kong, it wouldn’t work and you know it. I don’t want to change you, Madeleine, just as you don’t want to change me …’
‘Oh hell.’ He slumped on to his back and stared up at the ceiling again. ‘I don’t know what else to say. Maybe time will change us. Maybe one day I’ll want to leave the army, maybe one day you’ll want to leave the theatre—I don’t know, I really don’t.’
‘I don’t know either,’ Maddy said as she put her head on his shoulder.
A minute later she sat bolt upright. ‘Christ alive, what’s the time?’
Douglas laughed and it was such a healthy sound. ‘It’s fifteen minutes before the half, don’t worry you’ll make it. Why don’t you stay sweaty?’ he called as she leapt naked for the shower.
‘Phone for a taxi,’ she yelled back.
Five minutes later she kissed him goodbye and said, ‘I’ll come back here straight after the show.’
‘No.’
‘What?’ She looked at him, puzzled.
‘I’m leaving in five minutes myself. I arranged this room just for us, now. The army has a safe house lined up and …’ He shrugged. ‘It’s better this way.’
‘So this is it?’ No, it’s too sudden, something inside her was saying. I want to stay up all night and talk. I want to watch the dawn together and cry when you leave.
‘Yes, this is it. Now hurry up, you’ll be late for the half.’ And he bundled her out into the hall.
She turned back but the door was already closed.
As she hurried through the foyer she saw Col ‘the marker’ in the cocktail bar. He was seated near the door reading a newspaper, but she knew he saw her.
As she climbed into the taxi she looked up at the third storey window. No one was there.
That was it then. It had all happened so quickly.
She was five minutes late for the half. She busied herself with her make-up and wig preparation. She held her breath for Maria to tighten the laces of her stays. She climbed into her crinoline. And all the while she kept her mind blank. There was no room for distraction; she had a performance before her. Douglas had been right. It was better this way. She felt the same at interval. And after the curtain call. And in her dressing room as she washed her make-up off. Even in the cab ride home she looked at the river as they crossed Waterloo Bridge and she looked at the people as they drove through the West End and her mind remained numb.
But when she opened the door to her flat she opened the floodgates. There was nothing left to distract her. All she could think of was Douglas and the thought that she would never see him again and she was utterly miserable.
After a restless night she awoke feeling exactly the same way. She wished it wasn’t Sunday, she wished she had to go to the theatre.
Try as she might Maddy couldn’t talk herself out of her despair. She told herself that, in the four years of their relationship, Douglas had been away from her as often as he’d been by her side and she’d survived quite happily in his absence. But it didn’t work. This time it was different and she knew it. And Jenny would know it too. She wouldn’t be able to hide her misery from her daughter.
She was grateful when Alma answered the phone. ‘No, I don’t need to speak to her,’ Maddy said, ‘just tell her something’s come up. Take her for a picnic to Windsor Castle, she always likes that.’
Maddy spent three hours walking around Regent’s Park. It was a damp, cold day. She fed the ducks and the walk did her good but the sight of so many couples hugging each other to keep warm didn’t.
She’d been home about an hour when the door opened and Jenny barged in.
‘What’s going on?’ she demanded. She looked closely at her mother’s face. ‘You’ve been crying.’
‘What on earth are you doing here?’ Maddy tried to evade the scrutiny by tidying up the weekend newspapers which had been strewn all over the flat since Saturday morning.
‘I bet it’s Douglas, isn’t it?’ Jenny demanded. ‘He’s come back, hasn’t he? What’s happened?’
‘You’re supposed to be having a picnic at Windsor Castle,’ Maddy said weakly.
‘Mum, do you know what the bloody temperature is out there?’
‘Don’t swear,’ Maddy replied automatically.
‘Alma knew there was something wrong the moment you suggested it. And I’m too old for picnics at Windsor Castle, anyway.’
Maddy stopped feigning distraction and stared at her. ‘You love picnics at Windsor Castle.’
‘Only because it means it’s Sunday and you’re not at the theatre and I can be with you! Windsor Castle bores me witless and the weather’s usually ratshit!’
Maddy forgot the reprimand and continued staring at her daughter.
‘Mum,’ Jenny said gently, her smile verging on maternal, ‘I’m not a baby any more, I’m nearly fourteen. Now come on, tell me, what’s he done?’
Maddy burst into tears. ‘He’s gone. And I love him. And I don’t think I ever knew how much.’
Jenny cuddled her and Maddy wondered when her daughter had grown so tall. ‘And I’m sorry I’m such a bloody rotten mother,’ she sobbed.
‘Don’t swear.’
Harold Beauchamp was dying. Finally. Four years after they told him he would.
‘Well, I certainly milked that curtain call, didn’t I?’ he joked to Alex when he was hospitalised for the final time.
Harold was ready to go. Bouts of chemotherapy had kept the cancer at bay but finally the treatments had ceased to be effective. Drugs which had previously dulled the pain were no longer strong enough and Harold was actually relieved when they hospitalised him for the end. He floated in and out of a drug-induced state. During his moments of lucidity, he was not only at peace with himself but obviously finding the whole process rather interesting and very flattering.
He regularly received visitors in his private room and such occasions were an opportunity for him to give a starring performance to the many people who flocked to see him. He loved them for it. Even when he wasn’t fully conscious, when he was only vaguely aware of their presence on the other side of the blur that surrounded him, he was grateful. Actors, directors, writers and others he’d worked with over the years trooped in.
The press was already carrying stories of his illness and tributes to his long and impressive career. His death would make page one and the obituaries were bound to be plentiful and highly complimentary. Alex and Julian religiously cut
out the articles, brought them to the hospital and read them to him. And it was Alex and Julian who spread the word that Harold welcomed visitors.
One of the most cheering aspects of the whole business, Harold decided, was that it was bringing his boys back together. If his death could serve to reunite such a beautiful friendship, then it was well worthwhile.
The rift between Julian and Alex had not been repaired. Certainly not as far as Julian was concerned. As far as Julian was concerned it never could be. He told himself, however, to be sensible and not allow it to jeopardise his career. It would be foolish to ignore the fact that he and Alex were a highly successful theatrical partnership. He allowed Alex to produce his next two plays, although he refused to direct them himself. A playwright could keep a far greater distance from the producer than a director was able to.
Both plays were black comedies and both plays were satisfactorily successful. They weren’t the hit that his first play had been, though, and Julian was aware that he should vary his style.
There was always his drama, of course. The one about a man obsessed with death. The one that had resulted from the events at Berchtesgaden and Aviemore. Hard as he’d tried to ignore the play, Julian had been compelled to write it. And the experience had been cathartic. When he’d finished, he felt eased, happier that he could now see things from a clearer perspective.
He convinced himself that he’d overdramatised the events. Alex was a selfish shit and a twisted one at that. But Alex hadn’t wanted to kill him. And how could he ever have thought Alex had an ulterior motive in wanting him to write the perfect murder? Alex didn’t want to kill anyone, for God’s sake—he just wanted a good hefty drama. And, because his rather warped mind was obsessed with death, that was the theme he wanted. Simple.
So why did Julian balk at giving Alex the play? Why? It was good. In Julian’s opinion quite possibly the best thing he’d ever written.
But there was something vaguely evil about the play. Julian knew it. That was why he couldn’t bring himself to show it to Alex. And the Machiavellian leading role was so clearly based upon Alex himself. It didn’t seem right to feed Alex’s obsession with death or to encourage his predilection for manipulating people.