Martyn was always bitching—he played Lord Darnley in the current production, Mary Queen of Scotts, and it had struck me more than once that if Darnley had been much like him, I didn’t really blame Mary for blowing him up.
I challenged, “Why? Because I’m late?”
Martyn sat on the Director’s chair, crossed his graceful legs and smiled. “I suppose he figures if he can make nine o’clock rehearsals, so can you.”
“He has a point,” I allowed. “I suppose I should go and grovel…”
“Suppose you should,” Martyn drawled.
“He’s in the office,” Liz said.
“Hauled Jen in with him, to pick her brains about you,” Martyn added.
I blinked. “Why should he do that?” I demanded, already hurrying across the hall to the door at the back.
“Probably afraid you’re the type to take advantage.”
Take advantage of what? Fortunately, I didn’t say it. I’d fed him enough lines for one morning. Apologising to Menzies—for last night and for being late this morning—was already on my to-do list, but somehow it had never entered my head that the rest of the cast and crew might have noted our departure from the party together last night. I couldn’t tell them he hadn’t come home with me. I couldn’t even tell them we were an item and Martyn would bloody well have to live with it—it wasn’t my fault Menzies wasn’t gay.
Instead I was going to have to face the fact that I’d blown my chance with Menzies. And being late for one of the last and much needed rehearsals was not the best way back into his good books. If there was any way back in there for me…
Through the swing door at the back was a small corridor with an exit door opposite, a cleaner’s cupboard on the left and what counted as the theatre office on the right. It was an old converted tenement building in the Old Town, several stories and rooms made into one big, bare auditorium with two audience balconies. Ours was the first major act to perform there.
Stopping at the office door, I lifted my hand to knock, and at the same time, jammed my ear to the door to see if I could gage his mood.
But Jen was talking, damn her. It sounded like “Loyal sort of person.”
“Hmm,” Menzies grunted. Encouragingly, he didn’t sound angry, so I pulled back my knuckles again to knock. “What’s the story with her ex?”
Again, my hand remained poised above the door. Were they talking about me?
Not necessarily. Lots of people had exes. I wasn’t their only mutual acquaintance…
“Rab?” said Jen with odd reluctance, and my heart sank and galloped at the same time.
Don’t talk about Rab, please don’t talk about Rab, not now! I really don’t want to think about him. Especially not the crazy ghost stuff and the shooting and the ridiculous phone call I’d made to the Glasgow police last night. I cringed at the thought of that. Wasting police time was an offence.
“They married too young, I suppose,” Jen said. “Met at university, married at graduation and repented at leisure. They’re divorced. Why?”
“Is he in acting, too?”
“God, no! He’s a geek. Computer wizard. Writes amazing games you can live in for months.” She coughed. “According to my brothers.”
“What went wrong?”
“Christ, I don’t know. She never said, but I think she passed up a lot of opportunities in order to stay up here with him. I heard from a mate about at least one television part she knocked back. Maybe she resented it deep down. From what I can gather, he spent most of his time doing nerdy things with his mates. Their working hours didn’t exactly coincide, so they didn’t see much of each other, and when they did they fought. I guess they’d nothing in common any more. People change and grow up! I didn’t realize you were so insecure. Rab’s out of the picture, has been for two years.”
“Is he? Is she over him?”
“Shit, you’ll have to talk to Lili about this stuff.”
I’d heard more than enough. Knocking loudly, finally, I pushed open the door and stuck my head round.
“So sorry I’m late. Couldn’t sleep last night, then I slept in. Hi, Jen.”
It wasn’t bad: light, a bit bubble-headed, but sincere. I thought it worked. But as Jen passed me in the doorway, she murmured, “Good luck with that one.”
Menzies, seated on the edge of his desk, motioned with his hand, so I slid into the room and shut the door.
“I’m sorry about last night,” I said feebly. “I really did want to be with you. Drank too much, I suppose.”
He smiled. “Me, too. Shall we try it again sober some time?”
He actually looked as if he meant it. This wasn’t Menzies acting or being obviously polite to shake me off. He really did want to see me again. Awed, I said, “I’d like that.”
“I think we need to exorcise some ghosts.”
I snorted, and turned it hastily into a cough, forcing down the hysteria.
Menzies continued, “Marriage is a funny thing, harder than some people think to throw off. All the legal decrees in the world can’t dissolve the past.”
I fidgeted, wondering how to shut him up, and he sighed. “I do understand, you know. I’ve been there myself twice now.” He touched my hand. “It will get easier, I promise you.”
“I’m well over Rab,” I managed. “I just want to move on.”
“I can help you there,” he said in such a deep, seductive voice that I began to smile.
“How?”
“A little dinner, a little romance.” It was music to my ears, food for my ego. Or at least for my libido. He said a lot more in the same vein, too, so by the time we left the room I was grinning like a Cheshire cat.
The grin stayed inside me, like the hope of personal peace and a second chance, until the police arrived.
It wasn’t a good time. Darnley and the Departmental Heads were attacking my P.A. David Rizzio outside the pub after an office night out—did I say our play was an anti-capitalist version of the Mary Queen of Scots story, set in the cut-throat world of company politics?
Anyway, poor Rizzio was clinging to my legs, and I was bravely protecting him from the bullies till Darnley pulled him away from me, screaming, and they fell on him with sticks—they would be knives on the night, obviously, but the props hadn’t arrived yet.
I commanded and begged, but they ignored me until Rizzio gave one final blood-curdling scream—and the theatre door swung open to reveal two men in anoraks, half-heartedly holding up warrant cards.
They regarded our tragic scene without expression. “Polis. Nobody move.”
“Just kidding,” said the older one, stepping forward.
“But we are the polis,” the younger one insisted.
“I paid all my parking tickets!” Rizzio (aka Matthew) protested, scrambling to his feet in outrage.
“Well, unless you’re Lilias Graham, we don’t care.”
My heart thudded. It seemed to be doing that a lot in the last twelve hours. I said, “I’m Lili Graham. What’s the matter?”
“Inspector McInnes. This is Sergeant Lovat. When did you last see your husband, Robert Connor?”
“Oh shite, he’s not really dead is he?” The words fell from my lips before I could stop them, and as soon as they were out, my throat closed up so that I couldn’t breathe.
Both pairs of police eyes regarded me affably, but they let the silence run and run. Dizzy, I found something to hang on to—an arm. Menzies’s arm, as it happened.
“What’s the problem, gentlemen?” he asked, at once dominating the scene.
Somehow, however, the police remained unaware of that fact. They continued to gaze at me.
“Not really dead,” Inspector McInnes repeated. “What makes you say that?”
“You wouldn’t believe me. So Rab’s okay?”
“When did you last see him?”
I shrugged. “Two years ago.”
“Sure about that?”
No. I saw him last night, but I’m fairly certain he w
as either a ghost or a figment of my diseased imagination…
“Yes, what makes you think I might have? Is he okay?” I asked again. Why the hell won’t they just say? I hate the police.
“Well, we’d like to make sure of that. He’s been reported as missing.”
“Missing?” Already? If he’d only “disappeared” last night, that was damned quick for anyone to notice, let alone inform the police. Unless Rab had a girlfriend now, someone he lived with. For some reason, I didn’t like that idea. Or the one that followed, which was that I wouldn’t even know if he’d got married again. Though of course I pitied any new wife or girlfriend, especially one who freaked when he didn’t come home at the expected time.
“Aye, missing,” Sergeant Lovat repeated. “Can we have a word?”
I swallowed. “Of course. Menzies, can we use your office?”
“Be my guest.” Menzies glanced at the two men without affection. “Always glad to help officers of the law. The Chief Constable of Lothian and Borders Police is a personal friend of mine.”
It wasn’t subtle, but I was grateful for the attempt. Until the inspector said, “That right, mate? You know the Chief Constable of Strathclyde too? Apparently they can’t stand each other.” He didn’t wait to hear Menzies’s answer to that, for which I suspect we were all grateful. Unlike me, Menzies hadn’t spotted the officers’ accents—they were from Glasgow which was Strathclyde, not Lothian.
“So you’re doing a play in the Festival?” asked the sergeant.
I nodded. “We open in the Fringe on Sunday night.” Pushing at the office door, I waved them inside. “What’s going on? Who reported Rab missing? When?”
“A friend. A Mr…Ianucci,” said Lovat, consulting his notebook.
“Tony?”
He glanced back at his book. “Stewart.”
“Tony,” I agreed. He wasn’t the only Glasgow Italian called Tony, whatever their given names. Stewart Ianucci, aka Tony, had been best man at our wedding, and was Rab’s most frequent partner in crime, generally known as the MCDC (Most Constant Drinking Companion).
“Mr. Connor failed to meet Mr. Ianucci yesterday evening as planned. He became worried when he couldn’t raise him either at home, work or mobile and contacted us.”
My mouth fell open all by itself. “Tony contacted you because Rab was late for a drinking session?”
“That surprises you?”
“It stuns me,” I said frankly. “Rab’s not exactly Mr. Reliable. Tony wouldn’t bat an eyelid if he didn’t turn up.”
“Are you saying we shouldn’t be worried?”
I honestly didn’t know the answer to that one, but I was getting a very bad feeling about all of this.
I swallowed. “I think I’m saying Tony shouldn’t be worried. It’s not like him. Anyway, if you’re really looking for Rab, Tony knows his favourite haunts better than I do.”
“According to Mr. Ianucci,” said Inspector McInnes, glancing at his notebook again, “Mr. Connor’s plan was to meet him in the pub on Friday night at nine. And on Saturday he planned to come to Edinburgh. To see you.”
I blinked. “Bollocks.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Rab’s got loads of friends here. He’s got no reason to come and see me. We’ve been divorced for two years—no kids, no baggage.”
“But you are about to star in a play.”
That actually made me laugh. “A play about Mary Queen of Scots, updated to be set in a cut-throat commercial company? Trust me, not Rab’s scene.”
“That right?” The older cop actually looked interested. “How does that work then? You’re playing Mary, right?”
“I’m the managing director of a large company called Scotts. I inherited my shares. Darnley is my husband, also a director, jealous of my power. J. Menzies plays Bothwell, who becomes my lover and kills Darnley in a plot hatched with the other directors and departmental heads. What you saw was the earlier murder of Rizzio, made to look like a pub mugging gone wrong.”
The inspector’s eyes were very steady behind their continued affability. “Does that ring true to you, aye?”
I shrugged. “It’s a common theme, women struggling in a man’s world. Neither afraid to use sex if they think it will get them somewhere.”
“Interesting…isn’t it, James?”
The younger policeman closed his mouth. “Oh aye.”
His colleague stood. “Thanks for your time, Mrs. Connor.”
“Graham,” I corrected, unreasonably annoyed.
“Sure. Well, if Mr. Connor shows up, I hope you’ll let us know. Here’s my number—you can call any time.”
I nodded, taking the card from him, and watched as they vacated the office. I followed them at once, frowning in concentration.
“All right?” Jen asked low as I strode across the hall in search of my bag.
“I just have to make a quick call.”
I still had the number on my phone for some reason. Laziness. Turning my back to the gossiping actors, who were clearly using the opportunity for a tea break, I hit Tony’s number and prepared to wait.
He answered immediately, which was so surprising that I said, “Tony?” in the sort of voice you only use when you’re not sure you’ve dialed the right number.
There was a quick catch of breath, a pause, then, “Lili? Looking for Rab?”
“The days I feel obliged to go looking for Rab are, fortunately, well gone. Actually, it’s the police who’re looking for him now. Which is what I’ve phoned you about.”
“Aye?”
“Aye. What did you sic them on to me for? And what in the world possessed you to go to them in the first place?”
Tony sighed. “It’s a long story. Rab’s been worried. There’s been some trouble at work.”
“Space ships kept crashing?” I said sympathetically. It had been a bug in one of the game developments I had lived through.
There was another pause. “You bothered about this, Lili?”
I didn’t resent the hint of accusation in Tony’s voice. I resented the guilt that came with it, and the self-knowledge. I raged, “I don’t give a shit!”
“You coming through then?”
I took a deep breath. “I’ll get the next train.”
Menzies wasn’t pleased. None of them were, and I couldn’t blame them. I escaped with all my teeth only, I suspect, by promising faithfully to be back for six o’clock and to be there all day Sunday for straight through and dress rehearsals as well as the Fringe parade.
I didn’t even know what good I imagined I was doing by haring through to Glasgow. But something was badly wrong, and for my own peace of mind, if for no other reason I had to find out what. And if it turned out to be some trick of Rab’s to get me over there…
Why would he do that? He’d been as happy as me to end our marriage. Happier, in fact, since his absences had ended it in effect some time before I gave it the final shove.
I didn’t want to think about the “ghost” dripping blood on my bed, lying on my sofa telling me tales of being shot, asking me for help. In the cold light of day, I couldn’t believe it had happened like that. I’d been pissed, tired, emotionally overwrought and, let’s face it, sexually frustrated. And unfortunately Rab had always been pretty hot in that department. If you could get past the crass openers like “Fancy a shag?”, “Fit me in for a quickie?” or simply, “Spread ’em!”
I wouldn’t think about that. I wouldn’t think about the ghost. Because that man couldn’t be dead.
I meant to go round to Tony’s flat, after paying a quick visit to the carpark of Rab’s work, but unexpectedly, Tony met me off the train at Queen Street, even gave me a brief hug and a grin.
“You’re looking good,” he observed.
“Artifice. You look as if you could use some of that. Up all night?”
“Couldn’t sleep,” he said morosely.
I stared at him. “For worrying about Rab? You know, you’re freaking me out.”
Tony sighed and began to walk with me across the concourse. “There’s been some stuff happening.”
“At work. You said.”
“Lots of stuff actually. Head Games is going to be sold to one of the big guys. And Rab’s one of the major attractions.”
I felt a surge of pleasure in that. It came so perilously closely to pride that I had to remind myself that Rab was nothing to do with me anymore.
“Glad to hear it,” I mumbled.
“Rab wasn’t. Corporate lifestyle doesn’t really suit Himself.”
“What, do the new guys expect him to wear a suit?” I asked, entertained in spite of everything.
“It’s the whole thing. He’s taken on a much bigger role in Head recently, not just developing stuff. He’s got his ear to the ground, knows what will appeal and what will sell, what will bomb. It’s a knack. Cultivated for pleasure, but a knack nonetheless.”
I nodded. “Is he happy doing that?”
“Up to a point. Thing is, he’d probably do it for Head, they’re still pretty small, but not for some big corporate giant. He’s been wanting to set up his own company for years.”
“Rab has?”
He smiled sourly. “Rab. That’s what he was working toward when you guys split up.”
I hadn’t known that. I hadn’t known anything about that.
“Anyway, he went back to it recently. He’s got a good few games ready for development, and loads more ideas. He meant to resign as soon as he’d finished this last project for Head. Even had a load of key programmers and artists lined up to join him. Only Head had heard about his own stuff and they wanted it. Because the new guys want it.”
“Rab told them to fuck off?”
“In a nutshell. You’re going the wrong way, Lili.”
“No, I’m not. I want to see Head’s office. What did Head say to that?”
“Nothing. But the new boys offered him some very serious money to stay and bring his new games with him. There was talk of profit share on his games—which, considering the big guys’ world-wide distribution, was bound to beat anything Rab could make from those games himself.”
“So did he go along with it?” I was having difficulty with the vision of Rab as a corporate bread-head, as he would have described it himself, but, as Jen pointed out, people change and grow up.
Requiem for Rab Page 2