The Stone Wife (16 page)

Even the crewmen nearest to Ingeborg were mystified. “What’s the hold-up now?” one of them said.

“It’s not easy,” a woman’s voice said. “They’ve got to fit the harness.”

“And then what? Is she going for a technical run-through first?”

“Not much point. They might as well go for a take.”

And shortly after, this was confirmed. The floor manager said, “Stand by, everybody. This is take one.”

Recorded music came over the loudspeakers, a strong, clear voice soaring above a drum beat, Lee belting out the number they were creating in visual form. At the far end, the floodlit support group stepped away like the mechanics at a pit stop, leaving one slight figure alone under the light. She had dark hair to below her shoulders and was wrapped in a glittery white cloak.

Suddenly she was in motion, sprinting along the deck, her hair fanning behind her. The cloak opened and rippled into a twenty-foot train of flimsy material designed to float on the air. She was in a sequinned jumpsuit. The camera dolly moved in parallel, powered by two of the grips at full stretch to keep up.

She’d need to be fit to run the length of the deck at this rate, Ingeborg was thinking.

But then came the eye-opener. Lee Li spread her arms like wings and was airborne, lifted by unseen wires. A spotlight caught her swift movement upward between the ship’s masts, a stunt made possible with wires worked by lift operators hidden high up in the darkness. Their skill, the costume
designer’s brilliance and Lee’s grace of movement made the flying effect stunningly realistic. She swooped upwards in a great arc, poised for a split second at the limit of the movement, bunched her legs, stretched and somehow got her feet on one of the mainmast yardarms and came to perch there like a gull. The music stopped.

The crew applauded. Someone even gave a yelp of appreciation.

“Nice one,” the floor manager said. “Let her down gently and tell her we need at least one more take.”

The descent was less graceful. The lengths of muslin had wrapped themselves around the performer and she was more like an insect trapped on a web than a bird. But to her credit it was definitely Lee Li herself who had performed and not a double. On the deck, people were waiting to disentangle her and unstrap the harness from her chest and thighs. She shook off the last pieces of loose fabric and began walking back to where she had started.

Setting it up again would take twenty minutes or more. Ingeborg’s moment had arrived. She stepped out of the shadows.

“Miss Li.”

The star glanced over her shoulder.

“I won’t hold you up,” Ingeborg said, hurrying to draw level. “Ingeborg Smith. Sylvie May told me to introduce myself between takes.”

“The writer?”

Ingeborg nodded. “You were sensational.”

“Do you mean the track?” Lee had her priorities right. Commercially, the quality of the music mattered more than the aerial acrobatics.

“Loved it. I can’t wait to hear more.”

“It’s a change of direction for me. I’m trying out new things. Variety is the spice of life.”

“Obviously. But I mustn’t interrupt.”

“You can stay and talk while they fix my hair. I have to do the flying at least once more.”

“You’re so cool about it.”

“We’ve been here all week. They rehearsed me Sunday
night, six times, I think. You feel ridiculous when you get it wrong and start spinning. With all the practice we should be able to get it right each time.”

Ingeborg remembered reading about the aerial accidents that once plagued the Broadway production of
Spider-Man
—a thought she would keep to herself.

They’d returned to the start point. A chair was produced for Lee so that the people from make-up and wardrobe could get busy. The director, a tall, bearded man with an air of importance, said, “That was spot on, Lee. We may get away with two more takes to get the extra angles we need.” He turned to Ingeborg. “And who are you, if I may ask?”

Lee said, “It’s okay, Marcus. I invited her. Ingeborg is doing a photo feature about me for a colour magazine.”

“Does she have permission to be on set? If so, I wasn’t told,” Marcus said.

“She has my permission.”

“I don’t see any camera.”

“With my phone,” Ingeborg said, tapping her pocket and wishing she sounded more believable.

Lee came to her aid. “It’s the latest thing, a record of a day in my life, meant to look up-close and personal. A picture is worth a thousand words. Isn’t that right, Ingeborg?”

“Well, yes. The photography won’t be anything special, but it’s the look that matters. It’s supposed to bring more integrity, like hand-held camerawork.”

“Which has been done to death,” Marcus said, turning away with a sniff. “Listen to me, people. You may be thinking we have all night, but I felt a spot of rain just now. Can we go again on the hour?”

“Why don’t you get some shots with your phone right now?” Lee said to Ingeborg when Marcus was far enough away. “Opportunity seldom knocks twice.” Sylvie May had got it right. At some stage in her education, Lee had swallowed the Oxford Dictionary of Proverbs.

“You don’t mind?” Ingeborg said. “I was thinking of leaving now we’ve met. I didn’t want to start without your agreement.”

“You mean a contract? There’s no need for that, is there? I assume it’s the usual understanding. I get to see what you plan to publish and right of refusal. My manager would insist on that.”

“No problem. Who is your manager?”

“He’s also my partner, Nathan Hazael. United we stand, divided we fall. He’ll be along shortly. You’ve got to meet him.”

13

“Nathan calls me Lily,” Lee told Ingeborg. The conversation was easy with this buoyant young woman. “I don’t mind. What’s in a name? It was my nickname at school, so I answer to it automatically.”

“It’s cool.”

“Sure, but in the music business I’m Lee Li. It’s all about image, isn’t it? Where does your name come from?”

“Sweden, but I’m not from there. My parents are English. They picked it out of a book.”

“But your hair …?”

“… is natural, yes. I’m from several generations of blondes. My mother says I have her to thank for that. But my father, who is dark-haired, says it’s down to him because the males in the family have a genetic preference for blondes. Somehow I doubt if that’s good science.” Ingeborg had been explaining all her life that her hair colour was unrelated to her name, so she didn’t think of it as giving much away. Every word was being overheard by the team of attendants fussing over Lee’s hair, make-up and costume. At least two more takes had been ordered by Marcus. “And from the way you speak, I’m guessing you’ve spent most of your life here.”

“Not all of it,” Lee said. “I was born in Taiwan. My parents brought me over. They had an import-export business in London. They’re both dead now. I thought you already knew my life story from Sylvie’s article. You’re doing a picture feature, right?”

“I am, only I like to hear about the lives of the people I
photograph. Have you trained as a dancer? You managed the flying as if you’d been doing it all your life.”

Lee twitched her shoulders. “I enjoy anything physical. Athletics, gymnastics, karate.”

“I won’t pick a fight with you, then,” Ingeborg said, actually thinking it would be fun. She was a black belt herself and Lee was a good mover and probably no slouch at karate. It was weird to be more relaxed with this stranger—even with all these people listening—than she had yesterday with Sylvie. Lee was calmer than Sylvie, which was remarkable considering the heart-stopping feat of agility she had just performed, and was due to repeat in a short while. “Will there be more flying in the video?”

“Quite a bit. Most of it’s in the can already. What you saw is just one tiny sequence—the last of many. We wrap tonight.”

“All of it featuring you?”

“And some genuine seabirds.” She smiled. “They’re smarter than me. They do theirs in one take. And they refuse to work nights.”

“That’ll be the seabirds’ union,” Ingeborg said.

Lee’s laughter was a joy to hear, a true expression of delight. “It’s such a pity you’ve come at the end of filming. I don’t know what else I can show you about my day that will make a good picture feature for you.”

“Not a problem,” Ingeborg said. “What my readers really want to see isn’t you in performance. Plenty of magazines cover that. This is about the everyday things you take for granted, your mealtimes, hobbies, pets, sports, the house you live in, your bedroom, all that stuff.”

A guarded tone entered Lee’s voice. “Some of that might not be possible. I’ll need to talk to Nathan first. He can be a little touchy about visitors. He’s a rather private man.”

“But I expect you have parts of the house you can call your own.”

“Sure. I have a purpose-built studio to practise my singing and there’s a gym that Nathan never uses, so I have that all to myself.”

“Would he mind if I took shots of you there?”

She hesitated. “We can ask him. If he isn’t happy about it, we’ll need to think of somewhere else.”

“I really want to photograph you at home,” Ingeborg pressed her. “That’s the premise for the series and as you’re my first interviewee this will set the standard for everything that follows.”

“I understand,” Lee said with an effort to be helpful. “I’ll have to persuade him, won’t I? After all, it’s not as if he has anything to hide.”

Ho-hum was Ingeborg’s silent comment on that.

The director called from across the deck, “Two minutes. Let’s have you at your mark, Lee, and make it snappy.”

“Listen to old bossyboots,” Lee said. “You’d think it was World War Three, the way he carries on. Take your time, ladies. Slow but sure wins the race.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier for you if I’m not around when Nathan gets here?” Ingeborg asked.

“Not at all. I want him to meet you and see what a sweet person you are. He wouldn’t say so to me, but he’s partial to blondes. I’ve watched him give them the eye.”

Marcus called to her a second time. “For Christ’s sake, Lee. Everyone is waiting for you—again.”

“How can he be so mean?” Lee said without moving a muscle. “Am I looking good?”

“You’re done,” said the make-up woman.

The dresser nodded as well.

Lee yawned and stretched. “Help me into that horrible harness, then. The sooner begun, the sooner done.”

The two minutes had long gone by when she ambled to her mark.

Nathan’s face was well known to Ingeborg from mugshots. He’d been photographed after his arrest by Bristol CID three years ago—the abortive court case that sent a shockwave through every police authority in the country. The look said it all, the gaze of a man in custody who knew he was still streets ahead of his captors. Dark, cavernous, intimidating eyes. A
suspect under arrest will often stare back at the camera as an act of defiance. This was something else, total disdain. He knew he would come out the winner.

And now she saw him in real life, standing in the shadow of the ship’s funnel watching the third take. His eyes caught the glare of the floodlights and glinted with all the arrogance of the police photos. Nothing was going to faze Nathan Hazael, not the technical wizardry of the production, nor the sight of his protégée being swung upwards by unseen wires. Smart, in a black overcoat with a velvet collar, he kept his arms folded, feet slightly apart. His hair was cropped so close that it was difficult to tell what colour it was.

Behind him waited two large men wearing shades who certainly weren’t anything to do with the film unit.

Ingeborg, standing among the make-up team and hoping to appear as if she was one of them, had a momentary loss of nerve. If police officers of far more experience had taken on this ogre and lost, what hope did she have? Then she reminded herself that she wasn’t in combat with Nathan. She was after intelligence about the shooting in the auction room and the source of the weapon. Nathan might be an accessory, but someone else would have fired the fatal shot.

Even so, it had become obvious already that she’d need to deal with him in person. Any hope that Lee Li knew about the supply of the murder weapon had vanished with that last remark:
it’s not as if he has anything to hide
. The singer was so absorbed with her own career that she hadn’t worked out—or wasn’t willing to admit to herself or anyone else—that she was living with a crime baron.

For tonight, at least, Ingeborg would keep her distance from Nathan. She’d settle for the introduction she’d been talked into and keep it as brief as possible. She would rely on Lee Li to get her inside the house in the next day or so. The rising star’s eagerness for publicity would play to her advantage.

Applause broke out for the third successful take.

Marcus announced, “All right, boys and girls, we’ll wrap on that. Thanks for being so patient and professional.” Which sounded like a strong dig at Lee Li.

All the lights came on and the clear-up started. The make-up team were the first to return below deck, leaving Ingeborg isolated if she remained where she was. She stepped out of Nathan’s field of view behind the nearest mast.

From above, Lee was lowered slowly to the deck. Two of the wardrobe people stepped forward and released her from the muslin drapes. Unhitched from the wire, she ran across to Nathan. Ingeborg couldn’t resist peering around the mast to see the embrace. It didn’t happen. Nathan kept his arms folded.

“How was I tonight, then?” Lee said, eyes shining.

“You finished?” he asked, ignoring the invitation to compliment her. “It’s late.”

“I know. Before we go, I want you to meet Ingeborg. She’s still here—or she was a moment ago.”

This couldn’t be ducked. Ingeborg broke cover and crossed the deck. Considering that Nathan was supposed to be partial to blondes, the introduction was a letdown. They didn’t shake hands. He condescended to give her a nod and a glance with the nail heads that were his eyes.

Chilling.

Ingeborg settled for, “Hi.”

Lee said, “She’s a journalist doing a piece about me.”

Nathan behaved as if he hadn’t heard.

“Covering a typical day in my life,” Lee went on as if unaware how offensive the man was being. “It means taking lots of pictures. Ingeborg was recommended to me by that nice woman who wrote the beautiful piece in
South West
magazine. You won’t object if she comes to the house tomorrow and shadows me? You and I might think my day is boring, but I’ve just been told the ordinary stuff is what the magazine readers want to see. East, west, home’s best.”