Stage Fright (18 page)

I thought about this. ‘Yes, I think so. You think maybe Kevin got louder and she got quieter?'

The carpenter and his mate took away the wall containing the door.

‘I'm on next,' Clive said. He slipped away.

Stan clomped back down the steps to the stalls.

The laughter must have effected some kind of release, because the mood was less tense now. But it was also flatter. The cast were holding back. Not that it mattered too much: this rehearsal was mainly concerned with getting the lights right, making sure that the changes of set went smoothly and that all the props were to hand. There were constant stops and starts and it was 12.30 before we finished the first act.

Stan called everyone up on the stage. Jake and Geoff joined us.

‘OK, everybody.' She clapped her hands to get everyone's attention. ‘Not bad, not bad at all. We'll break for lunch now. Back here at one-thirty.'

‘What are the chances of Kevin being back by then?' Jake asked. ‘I mean, they can't keep him at the police station indefinitely, can they?'

Stan glared at him. But now that the question had been asked, it couldn't be ignored. The cast were looking hopefully at her. They, too, wanted to know.

‘When Richard last rang the police station, he was still there. Apparently the police can hold him for thirty-six hours if they want to.'

‘And then they'd have to charge him, wouldn't they?' Jake said.

There was a little cry. We all turned round to look at Belinda.

‘Charge him?' she said. ‘But why … what's happened?'

There was a moment's silence.

‘Oh, Lord,' Clive said. ‘No one's told you, have they. Melissa's car has been found in London.'

‘Her car? In London?' Belinda looked stunned.

‘Not very far from the flat in Camberwell,' I said.

Belinda was struggling to make sense of this. ‘But when she went missing, that was up here – and Kevin was down there, so … I mean, how could he have anything to do with it?'

‘Yes, sweetie,' Clive said as patiently as if he was talking to a child, ‘that is what he says and I'm sure it's true.'

‘But did anyone see him?' Jake said. ‘Can he
prove
it? The police aren't just going to take his word for it, are they? After all he
could
have gone back to Cambridge or Ely, couldn't he? Caught the train or something.'

Belinda's face was dead white. Her eyes looked enormous.

‘Oh, God, Jake,' Stan said, ‘how can you to be so tactless?'

‘Sorry!'

Belinda put her hand to her throat. Her eyelashes fluttered. Her eyes swivelled up into her head and her knees buckled. Stan got to her just in time to get an arm round her waist and break her fall. Between them she and Clive managed to lower her on to the sofa. Her practice crinoline billowed up around her legs.

‘A real Victorian swoon. The most convincing thing I've seen all day,' Clive remarked. ‘Should we give her smelling-salts or burn feathers under her nose?'

‘Stop playing the fool,' Stan snapped. ‘Run and get the first-aid kit and ask Fred to bring the brandy. Get back everybody! Give her room to breathe. And that means you as well, Jake. Switch that bloody camera off.'

She knelt by the side of the sofa and started loosening Belinda's corset. By the time Clive got back Belinda was coming round. She struggled into a sitting position.

‘I'm sorry, Belinda,' Jake said. ‘Didn't mean to give you a turn.'

‘I've got some Rescue Remedy in my bag,' Phyllida offered. ‘You know, the Bach Flower Remedy. It's good when someone's had a shock.'

‘Might be better than brandy,' Stan agreed.

‘Or a nice cup of tea,' Clive said.

‘I don't want anything,' Belinda wailed. ‘Please. I've got to go. Kevin needs me.'

I saw Stan and Clive exchange glances as if this merely confirmed something that they had suspected.

‘There's nothing you can do for him, lovey,' Stan said gently.

‘Oh yes, there is. I know where Kevin was that night. I've got to tell the police.'

*   *   *

Stan and Belinda went off to the police station, leaving behind them a buzz of speculation. I needed to get away from that and be alone for a while. I slipped out of the stage door and for a few moments I was dazzled by the midday sun. It was disorientating, like coming out of the cinema when it's still light. The world outside seemed less real than the world of the theatre.

Without really thinking where I was going, I set off at a brisk walk down Maid's Causeway towards the centre of town. When I got to the roundabout, I hesitated. King Street or Jesus Lane? How could I put as much distance as possible between me and the theatre before I had to collect Grace from the nursery? I had an impulse to get on a bus and ride out to the edge of Cambridge and back. No sooner had the thought entered my head, than a bus appeared at the far end of King Street. I was only fifty yards from a bus stop. As I ran towards it and the bus slowed down, I saw that it was an open-topped tourist one, the kind that goes round and round Cambridge in a continuous loop. I'd never been on one before. Well, why would I? I'd never been a tourist here. The bus stopped, the doors opened with a pneumatic sigh and the driver looked questioningly at me.

‘How long does it take?' I asked.

‘About an hour or so.'

I got on board, paid the fare and climbed up the stairs. I've never quite got over that childhood excitement of finding the front seat free. I settled myself down on it with a sense of relief. I'd escaped. This was a little holiday from real life. I thought of Melissa. Was this how it had begun with her? Had she found out about Kevin and Belinda and felt a compelling need to step out of her life for a little while, to leave her unfaithful husband, and perhaps to punish him?

The bus hadn't moved off yet, and I was just wondering why, when I heard someone coming up the stairs.

A shadow fell over the seat. I looked up to see Geoff standing next to me. He gestured towards the space beside me and raised his eyebrows in enquiry. My heart sank, but what could I do? I shifted over to make room for him. When he folded himself down in the seat next to me, an aura of tobacco came with him. He was breathing hard.

‘You were going a heck of a lick down that street. Didn't you hear me calling after you?'

I shook my head. With a jerk, the bus set off.

‘Jake wasn't allowed to go to the police station,' Geoff continued. ‘He asked me to run after you and see if you'd chat about what's happened. On camera, of course.'

‘Oh, of course,' I said sardonically. ‘Something along the lines of “friend of missing woman denounces cheating husband as love-rat”? Is that the kind of thing he has in mind?'

‘That'll be a no, then?'

‘I'd rather go over Niagara in a barrel. So I'm afraid you're wasting your time.'

‘Oh, I wouldn't say that. A nice sit-down in the sun, a quiet cigarette, the company of an intelligent woman. What better way to pass the time?'

‘Don't you have to get back to the theatre?'

‘I'll tell Jake I had to track you half round Cambridge.'

‘Will he believe you?'

‘Nope. But he needs me too much to make a fuss. And anyway I've paid my fare. It would be a terrible waste of money to get off at the next stop, now wouldn't it? We Scots are notoriously stingy, as you well know.'

He seemed a different person away from Jake and I was charmed in spite of myself. I stole a sideways glance at him. He winked and settled back on the seat. He had an open face with a blunt nose, like an amiable dog, a retriever maybe. The lock of heavy tow-coloured hair that hung over a broad, bony forehead reinforced that impression. I've always liked that particular variety of West Coast Scots accent. I had a boyfriend, once … but that's another story.

Geoff shifted his hip and pulled a surprisingly smart silver cigarette-case out of his back pocket. He flipped it open and offered me a cigarette. I shook my head. He got out a cigarette, tapped it on the case and put it in his mouth. He produced a lighter that matched the case and glanced at me for permission. I nodded. He lit it and took a deep drag.

The bus turned down Jesus Lane and followed the route Joe and I had taken earlier in the week. The bus swayed as it turned into Bridge Street, throwing me and Geoff briefly together, but neither of us spoke. The bus toiled up the hill past Kettle's Yard Museum and then made a dog-leg back to the Madingley Road. This was the point at which it headed out of Cambridge, to do a loop around the American Military cemetery. We picked up speed and swept past my own college, St Etheldreda's, pristine in its Neo-Georgian red brick and white paint. We went on past the University of Cambridge Veterinary School and over the flyover that crosses the M11, and quite suddenly we were in rolling, green country.

A relaxed silence had established itself between us. It was as though we did this all the time; we were like two colleagues jolting along on the bus to work. It was curiously restful: virtually as good as being alone. I leaned back in my seat and yawned. The sun on my face, the warm little breeze ruffling my hair, and the rhythm of the bus had a soothing effect.

Geoff pulled
Thus Spake Zarathustra
out of his jacket pocket and began to flick over the pages.

‘When you visit a woman, do not forget to take your whip,' I said.

Geoff raised his eyebrows.

‘Wasn't that Nietzsche's advice?' I asked.

‘If I had to choose a philosopher to take as a practical guide to life, I doubt it would be Nietzsche.' He gave a grim little smile. ‘Mind you, I do sometimes wonder if he was so far off the mark. You see it again and again: the biggest bastards have the most women hanging around.'

‘Kevin?'

‘What do they see in him?'

I shrugged. ‘Energy's always attractive.'

‘That's what Nietzsche thought. Amongst other things.'

We were nearing the cemetery. The brilliance of the summer day gave an extra poignancy to the neat rows of white crosses that covered the sloping lawn. The bus slowed down. It stopped to let a group of American tourists off, and to take others on board. This was the limit of its journey.

Geoff sighed and took off his glasses. His eyes, a greenish hazel colour, looked small and defenceless without them, and they'd left a red mark on his nose. He massaged his temples, then replaced his glasses. He lit another cigarette, inhaled deeply and blew out a cloud of smoke.

‘And do you know the cream of the jest?' he said. ‘Kevin was jealous of
her!
'

‘How do you know that?'

‘Oh, Melissa and I know each other from way back. We're old friends. Even more than friends at one time.'

I looked at him in surprise.

He smiled. ‘Oh, it was never very serious, but I met Véronique – that's my wife – through her. The three of us used to see a lot of each other.'

‘Melissa never said.' I felt piqued that she hadn't confided in me.

‘No, well, she was careful to keep it quiet. Kevin's the kind of guy who wants to believe his wife was a virgin when he met her. When I showed up here, Melissa took me aside, told me Kevin would give her a hard time if he realized that we were once an item. And all the while he was giving Belinda one. Christ.' He shook his head in disbelief.

The bus was moving off again now. As we headed back towards Cambridge, I thought over what Geoff had said.

‘You know, I'm not as surprised as all that,' I said. ‘If you're the kind of person who grabs a bit of easy sex whenever you get the opportunity, then you probably assume that everyone else is the same. Kevin was having it off on the sly, so he probably thought Melissa would do too, given half a chance.'

‘To a man with a hammer, everything looks like a nail,' Geoff said.

‘Nietzsche again?'

He nodded. ‘What a bastard. Kevin, I mean. And another thing that makes me mad…' his voice trailed off. He took one last drag on his cigarette, dropped the stub on the floor of the bus, and ground it out with the heel of his shoe.

‘What?'

‘Oh, well, no harm in telling you, I suppose. Melissa wanted to think about Agnes, you know, who would look after her if anything happened to them? He just didn't want to think about it. Got offended and told her she was anticipating his death.'

This was another new light on Kevin, and by now I wasn't surprised to hear that underneath the
bonhomie
was a solid core of selfishness.

Geoff was still pursuing his own line of thought. ‘When a man's got a kid, he's got responsibilities.'

‘Stephen made a will after Grace was born. Actually we both did.'

‘It was weighing on Melissa's mind. She asked if I'd consider being guardian to her wee girl. She knew she could trust me to make a good job of it. I brought up my son on my own after my first wife scarpered.'

I looked at him with respect. There was far more to Geoff than I'd originally thought. It occurred to me that Melissa could have done much worse than to stick with him. In fact, wasn't it now apparent that she
had
done much worse? I was so absorbed by these thoughts that I hadn't noticed that we were back in the centre of Cambridge, travelling down Queen's Road along the Backs.

As the bus slowed down for the next stop, Geoff got to his feet.

‘This is me,' he said. ‘I ought to get back to the theatre. Mustn't leave the boy wonder on his own for too long.'

‘I'll come with you,' I said. ‘We can cut across through King's College.'

We got off the bus and set off across the grass. In spite of what Geoff had said, he seemed to be in no hurry. The warmth of the day and the beauty of the view were conducive to dawdling. Before us lay a stretch of tree-fringed meadow, then the river and beyond that the gardens of the five colleges that back on to the Cam: St John's, Trinity, Clare, King's, and Queens'. The picturesque variety of architectural styles, the glimpses into secluded gardens and the vistas of lawn and open grass were enchanting. The magnificent Gothic tracery of King's Chapel was outlined against an intensely blue sky and below it the lawn dropped down to the river with an effect like a ha-ha. The punts and their passengers were hidden from view and the top half of a young man wielding a pole and wearing a beribboned boater appeared to glide through the long grass at the river's edge.