by Celia Imrie
Like everyone else in the fondue house, Jason had not yet received his rehearsal pay, so his antennae were up.
What Reg told him did not sound good for The Importance company.
But if Reg thought Jason’s presence at some silly party might save the day, naturally he would go.
Suzy herself had persuaded him to go.
Jason knew he had the gift of the gab, along with a great talent for flattery and being charming. So, of course, he believed that he could win the day. He did have an idea exactly what Reg had had him lined up for, but he believed that he could wiggle out of that, stay on for a drink or two and leave, and, by so doing, he would oblige Reg and hopefully help save the company from being cheated of their pay.
Still working through Jason’s tale, Suzy moved over to lie on the bed. She glanced at her watch and realised it was now too late for her to take her place for formal dinner. She had spent hours going back over everything Jason had said this afternoon, rolling it around in her head, wondering what to do next.
Back in Zurich, Jason had arrived at the producer’s party at around 10 p.m. The room was dimly lit. A few unattractive older men sat expectantly on leather sofas. Stan was one of them.
But when Jason had walked in, the guests seemed rather disappointed to see him.
From the look of the assembled company Jason had presumed that this was one of those meetings where people who put up money for a show were given a free drink and a chance to meet a few of the actors. At this point it didn’t seem odd to him that there were no women present.
Jason accepted a glass of wine.
When no one seemed interested in talking to him, Jason had got bored. He decided to wait until Reg arrived then he would cut and run.
He wandered out on to the balcony and stood alone in the dark, admiring the lovely view over the lake, with its twinkling lights, small boats and ruffled wavelets. It was cold and the wind numbed him, so he didn’t stay out there for long.
When he came back inside the atmosphere in the room had totally changed. There was a buzz of excitement. The men were standing now, chattering enthusiastically.
As he came further inside he saw that some other people had arrived. Standing nervously in the centre of the men were two teenage boys.
Jason instantly recognised one of the boys as April McNaughten’s sixteen-year-old son, Declan. Declan’s mother had been Jason’s own friend and guardian when he was ten, filming The Dangerous Season.
Jason managed to get near enough to Declan to chat with him, asking him how his mother was doing.
‘Hands off,’ said one of the men. ‘That one is marked for me.’
Jason didn’t understand what was happening, but when he looked around, the other boy was out of sight. Then he saw that Declan’s friend was chatting with Stan; he watched as Stan led him into another room. The door closed.
Jason asked Declan if the other boy knew Stan well. Declan shook his head. ‘We’ve never seen him before in our lives. Isn’t he one of the producers? Auditioning for this big shoot in Zurich?’
‘No. He’s an actor, working here with me on The Importance.’
‘Are you trying to get into the movie too?’
‘What movie?’ Jason wondered whether there was going to be a screening.
‘They’re casting a huge movie. And all the producers are here tonight.’
Jason surveyed the room. One thing was certain. These men had nothing to do with the movie industry.
‘How did you get here?’ Jason asked.
‘We’re both in Zurich touring in King and I. We’re playing the King of Siam’s children,’ said Declan. ‘Well, two of them.’
‘I mean here, to this event, tonight?’
‘Oh. There was this man in the foyer of the hotel who told us if we came here with him there was a big movie going on which was looking for young actors. Are you up for it too?’
‘Is that man here?’
‘No. He was at our hotel. In the foyer.’ The boy shrugged. ‘He said he was working for my mum.’
‘And your mum was with you?’ Jason asked.
Declan said that his mother was in her hotel room rehearsing with the actor playing the King of Siam, and that he and Tim had grown bored watching TV and slipped out of their room to wander around in the hotel. They’d gone up to the roof bar but were chucked out for being underage, then they’d knocked on April’s door and said they were going out to explore Zurich.
‘She told us not to be long or wander too far,’ said Declan. ‘When we got down to the foyer this man was waiting by the lifts. He asked if we were part of King and I, and when we said yes he asked us if we wanted to be seen for this big movie which is shooting here.’ Declan shifted from foot to foot. ‘And he said he would give us a lift in his new sports car. I told him I’d better tell my mum, and he said she already knew all about it.’
‘He’d got permission from your mum?’
‘He said she’d sent him to find us.’ Declan looked at his feet. ‘The man said it was Mum’s idea. She’s a movie star herself.’
Jason thought about this for a moment or two. He wondered if this really could be some odd kind of casting session. He’d done quite a few interviews in hotel rooms himself. Perhaps The Importance producer really was involved in a forthcoming movie. If so, Jason wanted to be seen. Maybe that was why they’d specifically asked for him to be here, after all. He had to make some enquiries.
‘Don’t go anywhere …’ Jason strode across to Appenzell and asked him outright if he was producing a movie.
Appenzell leaned in and, smirking, whispered to Jason, ‘It’s a line which obviously worked to get them here! These tender peaches are not usually so easy to persuade.’
With a frisson of horror, Jason realised the truth of the situation. There was no movie. There was no casting. He suppressed his urge to tell Appenzell what he thought of him there and then. But the most important thing was to remove the two boys from the apartment as quickly as possible. So he smiled at Appenzell and walked calmly back to Declan.
‘How old is Tim? Same age as you?’
Declan shook his head. ‘Fifteen. But he pretends to be sixteen.’
‘That’s it. We’re going.’ Every warning light was now flagged up for Jason. ‘Whatever happens, Declan, stay with me. I am serious. Do not leave my side,’ he said, marching towards the door through which Stan had vanished with Tim.
He hammered on the door, calling Tim’s name, instructing him to open up, now.
Appenzell crept up behind Jason and hissed in his ear, telling him not to be so greedy. There would be other ‘tasty morsels’, he said; boys even younger would be arriving soon.
Jason turned around and punched Appenzell in the face. Appenzell staggered backwards cupping his nose, just as the key turned and the bedroom door opened up.
Tim stood there, bewildered.
‘Is the screen test over now?’ he said. ‘It’s not a porno film, is it?’
Jason looked past him and saw that Stan had his trousers down round his ankles. Not being able to move his feet, together with the piles of exposed flab, prevented Stan from holding on to Tim or stopping him reaching the door.
‘We’re going, Tim. Now!’ Jason grabbed Tim by the hand and steered him back into the main room, leaving Stan, underpants caught round his knees, squeaking like a fat, purple pig.
Despite the outraged attempts of Appenzell to snatch at them, Jason and the two boys ran down the stairs and out to the street, where they bumped into Reg, standing on the doorstep, ringing the bell.
Reg didn’t believe what Jason told him was going on upstairs in Appenzell’s apartment, and told him to go back up there and ‘do his bit’ for the company. ‘They’re sixteen, aren’t they?’ he asked. ‘Age of consent.’
‘No,’ said Jason sharply. ‘Tim is fifteen. And they’ve been brought here under false pretences.’
‘Everyone’s pay depends on this,’ Reg reminded him. But when Reg added the tr
ite phrase ‘After all, boys will be boys’, Jason saw red, and he hit Reg too, shoved him to the ground, strode into the middle of the road, hailed a taxi and took both boys back to April McNaughten’s hotel.
Declan led Jason to April’s room. At first delighted to see him, April was horrified when he told her how he had come upon Declan and Tim.
Jason had told her that he wanted to phone the police there and then, but April stated firmly that she would not have her own name or her child’s dragged through police stations, or law courts, and would not let either of them endure the ensuing garish publicity. If that happened, she explained to Jason, Declan and Tim would live their whole lives being ‘the kids who escaped from the Swiss paedophile’s party’. She swore Jason to secrecy, for the children’s sake. She reminded Jason that, when he had been assaulted by the actor playing the jolly innkeeper in The Dangerous Season, she had done the same thing with him, otherwise he would unfortunately be well-known only as the kid who had been molested by a now-reviled national treasure (a man incidentally currently serving time in Stafford Prison).
Suzy thought back to the innkeeper in The Dangerous Season. Wasn’t it always the same? The nasty-looking actors playing Nazis were not the problem. The vile man who had tried fiddling with Jason was a sweet-looking, tubby and beloved comedian. A family favourite. Everyone’s much-loved uncle.
Stan too gave the impression from afar of being a cuddly Friar Tuck figure. Suzy had seen him often on TV before meeting him, and he’d always come over as very jolly and utterly benign. Working with the man uncovered an alarmingly different side.
What a clever game Appenzell had played, Suzy realised. By becoming the producer of their tiny show for the Zurich Regal International Theatre, he got himself a certain credence. The theatre’s name was so much grander than its reality, but by adding a classic play and a British company into the mix, he had scored a bingo. And, once he saw the posters up for The King and I, which were all over Zurich, Herr Appenzell would also have known that, in whichever hotel the company was staying, there would be children galore.
Suzy let her mind run back through the next events of Jason’s night, while she was sleeping not so peacefully at the Zurich digs, dreaming of garden gnomes in boaters.
After he left April’s hotel room, and despite her warning, Jason determined that he could not let the matter rest. So, before he went out of the hotel, giving scanty details, and not mentioning either his own name or the names of the children, Jason used the public phone in the foyer to make his anonymous call to the Zurich police. He gave the names of both Appenzell and Stan Arbuthnot, along with the address of the apartment. Jason told Suzy he had felt relieved to be taking action against the perpetrators. Something which he had been unable to do himself at the time with the jolly innkeeper.
As he walked out on to the street, Jason’s phone rang. It was Reg, yelling at him, saying that Appenzell had not let him into the party, and, through the Entryphone, had informed him that never again would he mess with the theatre or theatre people and that Reg could say goodbye to his money and the show.
When Jason had tried to end the call, saying, ‘See you tomorrow,’ Reg had replied, ‘Oh no you won’t. The show’s off. You’re all going home. And I won’t hesitate to let the others know that you’re to blame.’
Jason had tried to emphasise to Reg what exactly had been going on in that flat. But Reg did not listen. He just continued shouting obscenities down the line, then hung up.
Walking back to his digs, well after midnight, Jason took a detour via Appenzell’s apartment. He could see a light on inside the flat. And the shadows of two men, cast up on to the ceiling.
But there was no sign of the police.
Muffling his coat around him, Jason waited outside, sheltering under the canopy of a news-stand across the road, hoping that somebody would soon rally to his anonymous call and come here and catch Appenzell.
In the quiet between the noise from streams of traffic, held back at the lights further along the road, then all at once released, Jason could hear something which sounded like a row going on inside the flat. ‘No! No! I will not leave!’ He recognised Stan’s high-pitched whine. ‘You promised me, Herr Appenzell! I will not leave until you give me what you promised.’
Further talking, a low murmur which Jason knew must be Appenzell, though he couldn’t make out what was said.
‘I do not want my money back,’ shrieked Stan. ‘I paid in good faith. I will stay here and scream until I am satisfied.’
And then Stan let forth his siren call.
It was while Stan was in full vocal flight that a solitary police car pulled up. Two policemen got out and rang Appenzell’s bell. The squealing got louder, then faded and stopped. A light went off in the apartment. A door slammed.
After a few minutes, a sleepy voice came on to the speakerphone. Appenzell himself! A buzzer admitted the policemen.
Heart thundering, Jason waited in the shadow of the news-stand, never taking his eyes from the balcony and the windows of Appenzell’s flat.
Two minutes later, the police came out again, got into their car and drove away.
And that was it.
Jason couldn’t believe it. He wanted to run after the car and insist on accompanying them back inside.
He looked up at the flat and watched as Appenzell sauntered out on to the balcony. He was in a dressing gown and pyjamas. He stood there, in the dark of the night, watching the lights of the police car disappear along the road. He lit a cigarette, the flare from the match illuminating his face. It was definitely him. Cool, sophisticated, suave and sickeningly immaculate.
Taking a long drag on the cigarette, Appenzell turned and looked down at the dark place in the shadows where Jason stood.
It seemed as though Appenzell was staring straight at him, man to man, eye to eye.
Appenzell went on glaring until Jason could take no more. He flicked his collar up, quickly turned and strode away. He had felt so scared by Appenzell’s fiery gaze that he decided not to go back to his digs that night, and instead to walk the streets till morning.
He spent some time pacing around the railway station. Just before dawn he made another anonymous call to the police, once more giving Appenzell’s name and address, and saying that the man was a producer at the Zurich Regal International Theatre, and using that job title as a pretence to lure young boys.
Suzy remembered the rest – the lock-out at the theatre, the Swiss police arriving and enquiring of Appenzell, the phone calls, the airport, the journey to Genoa and boarding this ship.
If Jason’s story was true, it would explain why he really needed to see Stan. At the same time, Stan would have every reason not to want to see Jason here, aboard the Blue Mermaid.
Suzy sat up.
She had to find Stan. Now. She had to get to Stan before Jason found him. Hear what Stan had to say about that party. Only then could she piece together the truth.
She pulled on her shoes and left the cabin.
Jason, she knew, was now busy whirling women round in the ballroom. He’d be at work until midnight or one in the morning. In the theatre, the big magic show was on. The dining rooms were full of people finishing their desserts; others might be in the bars or the casino.
As a result, the corridors of the ship were rather quiet.
Suzy would use the rest of the evening to conduct the search. She had no idea where to start – perhaps ask Melanie, though she doubted a social hostess would hand out such information – but somehow or other she would find Stan Arbuthnot.
And, when she had the man before her, she would sit him down and talk about Zurich, that party, and Mr Appenzell. She would grill Stan, and, however much she instinctively disliked the man, get his side of the story.
*
After the magic show had ended, Amanda went with Myriam and Liliane to a cosy bar at the front of the ship and ordered a bottle of wine to share.
‘You’re so brave, Liliane.’ Amanda sank ba
ck into her bucket chair. ‘I could never offer myself up to something like that. Were you scared?’
‘I thought you were a goner, Liliane. We all did. You should have felt my heart when that horrible big hammer hit the box,’ laughed Myriam, whipping a fan from her handbag and flapping it. ‘I was absolutely putrified!’
‘But what did you feel, Liliane?’ asked Amanda. ‘Was it claustrophobic? Do you remember anything?’
‘No.’ Liliane shrugged her shoulders, then picked up her glass of wine. ‘I got into ze box, next thing I woke up with ze audience laughing at me. It was rather disconcerting.’ She waved her hand at a passing waiter. ‘Pardon me, but could we ’ave some chips, olives or nuts, please?’
‘What is this bar called?’ asked Myriam. ‘I’ve never been in here before, but it’s lovely.’
‘It’s the Seahorse Lounge,’ replied Amanda. ‘Look, the name’s on the drinks mats.’
‘So, this is the place that dreadful woman has all her parties.’
‘Which woman?’ asked Amanda.
‘You know, that awful Dorothy. Haven’t you seen it in tomorrow’s Daily Programme again? “Seahorse Lounge, 4.30 p.m., port side reserved for friends of Dorothy”. As usual. So far it’s been every single day.’ Myriam clapped her hands on her knees and gave an exasperated splutter. ‘That damned Dorothy. I can’t bear that she has all these parties and doesn’t invite me.’
Amanda said nothing.
‘Anyway,’ continued Myriam, ‘whoever she is, this Dorothy woman must be very rich. And I’ve been wondering how come she managed to get onboard at the same time as so many of her swanky friends? Did she buy them all a cabin so that they could spend every afternoon here in the Seahorse Lounge, partying like it was 1969?’
Amanda had seen the announcements for the meetings of ‘Friends of Dorothy’ and knew that Myriam had got quite the wrong end of the stick.
She was about to explain what the phrase ‘Friends of Dorothy’ actually meant, when she was interrupted.
‘Ladies! Might I offer you a bottle of champagne?’ Karl stood before them. ‘I was sitting over in the corner when I noticed you here.’