Hattie Brings the House Down, page 12
‘You mean… commit suicide?’
Moira tutted. ‘Don’t call it that. Only crimes are committed. Leaving early is a choice.’
‘But the police said… I mean, do you think that’s what it was, then?’
‘I’d have thought so,’ shrugged Moira. ‘By herself, in a theatre. That’s how I’d do it, y’know? Here you go.’
Hattie accepted the cup and took a sip. The long-life milk made it taste pretty vile, but beggars can’t be choosers.
‘Anyway, what can I do for you? Is this about the fur coats? Cuz I told Steve, I can get them for way cheaper if you just leave it with me.’
‘Oh really? Sorry. He didn’t pass that on.’
‘Oh… well maybe I didn’t tell Steve. Either way, I don’t mind it coming out of my budget, but if it is, at least let me save some money on it.’
‘Of course. Sorry, I did mean to call you about it earlier, but… this week has been a bit mad.’
‘No bother,’ said Moira, starting to limp back towards her studio.
‘Actually the real reason I’m here is I wanted to check whether you’d been paid now.’
Moira stopped and gave her a suspicious look.
‘You came all the way out here to ask me about that? You could have just rung.’
‘I know, I know, it’s just… well, on Friday a lot of people got riled up about the whole thing.’
‘Did they? I suppose if people had been banking on having the cash sooner… but you’d have thought they’d have double-checked before making assumptions.’
‘I think it was more that some people thought it was unfair that the cast got treated differently from the crew even though the contract was the same.’
Moira rolled her eyes.
‘For God’s… They are different. I swear, I don’t know if it’s everyone getting woke or something, but the whole industry’s getting more and more pissy about treating everyone identically. It’s mad.’
‘So you’re not fussed about the payment thing?’
‘God no. Rag-tag production like this, I’m just glad to be getting paid at all. Now that Joan’s not about, I need to take the Tavistock off my list, it’s just not worth the bother. Keith’s fine, and I wish him well, but…’
Moira made a face, and then resumed her slow walk back to her studio. Hattie looked at her hobbling form. No way, she thought. There’s no way this woman broke into a theatre and nicked an expensive piece of jewellery. This had been a wasted trip.
*
Having spent most of her afternoon hopping around London, and with her hip complaining at her, Hattie took herself back to ACDA, and decided to do the rest of her check-ins by phone. She rang Miguel, on the pretext of double-checking that he had now received his first week’s pay. She used a similar line to the one she’d tried on Moira and Steve, emphasising that now that the money had been sorted it would be better for everyone if things could go back to the way they were. He seemed as much bewildered as anything else, and she came away from the call with no clearer sense of whether he had anything to do with the mask disappearing.
She also finally managed to get hold of Regine, who claimed to have spent Sunday night at a meet-up for aspiring female theatre directors. Apparently it was as much an emotional support network as a networking event. Hattie could well believe it: the world of directing was famously cut-throat, and the industry was still one where men had all the top jobs, so being a woman automatically put you at a disadvantage, and left a certain sort of (normally male) producer feeling that, as a result, he was entitled to take advantage of any woman who dared try to get a foothold. In such a climate one did well to find allies. More pressingly, here was an easily verifiable alibi, and furthermore, Regine scoffed as soon as she mentioned pay.
‘The money is the least of my worries. Being blunt, it became clear pretty quickly that Hashi’s coat-tails aren’t ones to attach yourself to. No one has a good word to say about him, and frankly, being his AD was starting to look like a black mark on my CV. I’m much happier to be doing this project as an actor, to be honest. Not that I’m happy about… you know… the circumstances, of course.’
After that, Hattie was about to settle down to some actual show work when Kiki called.
‘We’ve, um, we’ve had a bit of an upset here,’ she said without preamble.
‘What happened?’
‘Bums found a note.’
‘As in… a suicide note?’ asked Hattie hesitantly, thinking back to her conversation with Moira.
‘I wish. I mean, I don’t wish that, but honestly… this was like something out of a slasher movie. There was a piece of paper left in her handbag. It’s got a couple of quotes from the play on it, all about death, and also: Atlanta didn’t make the cut. I wonder who else will have corpsed by opening night…’
‘Bloody hell,’ said Hattie, after a pause. ‘How did the cast react?’
‘Dramatically, as you’d expect. Some of them wanted to call the police right away. Bums has gone full-on Famous Five, and is launching her own investigation. She’s started drawing up suspect lists and all. I think I’ve managed to convince them all to let us handle it. But I wanted to check in with you before anything else.’
‘Thank you. Crumbs.’
‘So… should we call the police?’
Hattie thought about it.
‘Well, it’s weird, I’ll give you that. But it’s not exactly a threat, is it? Or a confession?’
‘So… what? Do you think it was some sort of prank?’ asked Kiki.
‘Is there any chance Bums could have written the note herself?’
Kiki thought about it.
‘I mean, it’s possible, I suppose. She’s a bit self-involved, but that seems extreme even for her.’
‘I just don’t know,’ said Hattie, screwing up her face. ‘OK, tell you what: you tell the cast that we’ll handle it. Then let’s chat about it in tomorrow’s production meeting. I don’t want to go overreacting here.’
‘Fair enough. Unless… you don’t think anyone’s in any imminent danger, do you?’
‘I may live to regret this, but… no. I don’t think so.’
‘OK,’ said Kiki, still somewhat hesitant. ‘OK, we’ll figure it out in the meeting tomorrow.’
‘Last thing on that, though: was the note handwritten in Sharpie on an A4 piece of paper?’
‘Handwritten on A4, yes, but no, this was written in biro, not Sharpie. Why?’
‘Oh… no reason,’ said Hattie. Was there a connection to the note left in Keith’s office? There was no real way of knowing, was there?
Her call with Kiki complete, Hattie decided to ignore the work piling up in her inbox and allowed herself to go home. She cooked some pasta, spooned in a splodge of pesto, and ate at the little kitchen table as she worked her way through a crossword. From time to time she’d look up in thought, and invariably her gaze would land on the mantelpiece through the doorway in the sitting room, and the little box that sat on it. On days like these it was particularly hard to resist, but she held firm. Merlot and pesto were to be her only vices tonight. Well, and one of those posh yoghurts from M&S, the ones that are as much cream and sugar as they are yoghurt. A girl needed some comforts, after all.
11
On Friday, late in the morning, Keith called her back to the Tavistock. She resisted, pleading a heavy workload, but he wouldn’t be swayed.
‘Some things should always be talked about in person,’ he insisted.
There was no way Hattie could put him off without saying an outright ‘No’ of the sort that a lifetime’s training had taught her reflexively to avoid. So she trotted to the Underground and took a train up to see him.
When she arrived, she found Robin in the office, but Keith nowhere to be seen. Hattie felt she had yet to get the measure of Robin. There was something unnerving about him. Whether it was his slightly clammy complexion and sagging posture, or whether it was the way he tended to hover in silence in the background, he just made Hattie feel ill at ease. She decided to try to understand him a bit more.
‘Oh hello,’ she offered as an opening gambit.
Robin smiled shyly.
‘I think he’s just gone to the loo,’ he replied. ‘I’m sure he’ll be back in a second.’
‘That’s fine,’ smiled Hattie. ‘OK if I make a cuppa?’
‘Of course! Um, would you like me to…’
‘No, no, don’t mind me, I’m always happier if I can make my own,’ said Hattie, crossing the room to root around in the PG Tips boxes behind the kettle, looking for one that wasn’t empty. ‘So how are you enjoying working at the Tavistock?’
‘It’s great!’ replied Robin. ‘I mean, I’m learning so much, and meeting so many people. It’s really… great.’
‘Good, good. I’d imagine it’s mostly just you and Keith in the daytimes, is it?’
‘Er, well people are always dropping in. But yes, basically I’m shadowing Keith all the time. I’m sure he’s sick of me by now.’
‘I’m sure he isn’t. And what, er, what do you want to end up doing? In the theatre, I mean.’
‘Oh, goodness,’ said Robin, his eyes widening. ‘Well, I mean I suppose the dream would be to one day have my own theatre to run, like this. But I don’t know whether that means doing a bunch of producing, or starting off as a director, or whether I could start off in the office of a bigger theatre doing, I don’t know, marketing or something. I don’t really know, I just want to be a part of it all.’
Hattie nodded, knowingly. Another moth to the flame. She felt she was beginning to get the measure of him now.
‘When you’ve got the theatre bug there’s no point resisting. But have you ever considered working backst—’
‘There she is!’ announced Keith, shaking the last droplets of water off his hands as he entered the office. ‘Bloody hell, making your own tea? Sort it out, Rob my boy. Whatever am I paying you for?’
‘You’re not,’ replied Robin with a hint of cheekiness in his voice, and they smirked at each other. Hattie suspected this was a running gag between them. She was glad that Robin seemed comfortable around Keith. Personally, the idea of being locked in this cramped room with him day after day made her skin crawl ever so slightly. But if anything, this epicene young man seemed rather too comfortable. Hattie forced herself not to wonder what exactly went on between the two of them, tucked away together in this office
‘I don’t suppose the mask has reappeared overnight, has it?’ she asked. ‘I spoke to everyone yesterday.’
Keith made an expansive gesture, showing his empty hands.
‘I’m as maskless today as I was last night.’
‘Ah well.’
‘And you spoke to our four suspects again?’
‘I’ve ruled out Regine, and the other three… well, none of them gave any sign of having taken it, and if I’m honest I really don’t think—’
‘I know you don’t, my love, because you’re an optimist, and you want to see the best of people. But at the moment I’m afraid I don’t need compassion. I need my bloody mask back, or the theatre will be bankrupt before your show can even finish its run.’
‘I thought you said you weren’t planning on selling it.’
Keith gave a condescending eye-roll.
‘I’m not, my love. But you don’t have to sell things to get value from them. I really don’t have time to explain the fundamentals of finance to you.’
Hattie didn’t care for Keith’s tone, but if he was determined not to tell her why the mask was so important, there wasn’t much she could do.
‘Did you hear about the new note?’ she asked, changing the subject.
‘What note?’ replied Keith suspiciously.
‘They found it in the rehearsal room. It said something ominous like “Atlanta didn’t make the cut.”’
Keith’s face fell.
‘Oh, so nothing to do with the mask, then?’
‘Well, not explicitly, but I thought because it was another note—’
‘Yes, yes, yes, two pieces of paper with words on them, very obviously connected, great sleuthing and everything… Come on, Hattie. I thought we’d agreed: Atlanta’s accident, tragic though it was, had nothing to do with the mask.’
Hattie was slightly unnerved by the knee-jerk certainty with which Keith rejected any connection between the death on the Saturday and the theft on the Sunday. She had to admit that at the moment the evidence for such a connection was fairly wobbly, but it didn’t seem rational to dismiss it out of hand.
‘You just worry about the mask,’ continued Keith. ‘And let the coroner deal with Atlanta.’
‘All right then,’ said Hattie. ‘But I don’t really see what else I can do.’
‘Well, leaving aside Moira, Steve and Miguel for the moment, you can check some of these stories you’ve been given about Sunday night by the others. Take, for example… Davina,’ he said, with sudden intensity. ‘Can you actually prove it wasn’t her?’
‘Davina? Well, I don’t think she knew about the mask, she didn’t seem all that fussed about the pay issue, and she was watching a play at the Menier on Sunday. But, I mean, other than that…’
‘Forget what you think she thought and knew. Can she prove she was at the Menier?’
‘Maybe, but there’s no way I could find out about it without asking some pretty direct questions, and she’d of course want to know why I was asking.’
‘Hmm,’ replied Keith. ‘Then we might need a change in strategy.’
His eyes suddenly flicked up.
‘Tell you what: there’s a production meeting coming up, right?’
‘Yes, and as a matter of fact I should probably get moving if I—’
‘I’ll come too,’ said Keith. ‘Do you know which of the cast is in this morning’s rehearsal?’
‘It’s a full company call, I think.’
‘Even better. Come on, Robin, we’re off to Pimlico!’
*
The trip over was ever so slightly awkward, as Robin and Keith spent the whole journey in conversation with Robin insisting on staying on Keith’s far side and speaking so quietly that Hattie could barely make out a word of what he was saying. So she sat in silence while they murmured to each other. However, the tube got them south quickly enough, and soon they were making their way into the foyer at St Eustace’s. Hattie immediately heard a nasal, high-pitched whine. It sounded like a dentist’s drill, and it seemed to be emanating from the rehearsal room. The door was closed, but through its little round window Hattie could see a cluster of actors doing… something. It didn’t exactly look like a rehearsal. Hattie looked at Keith and gestured questioningly. He nodded, so she gently opened the door and the three of them slipped into the room to watch.
Inside, the whining sound was even louder, emanating, it transpired, from the speakers next to Miguel’s laptop. Hattie looked over, and sure enough on his screen she saw that the name of the file playing was ‘Dentist Drill 03 – Loop.wav’. Meanwhile in the middle of the room six actors were standing, all facing in different directions, all moving seemingly at random, bobbing up and down, stepping left and right, and occasionally spinning.
‘THOU ART EASIER SWALLOWED THAN A FLAP-DRAGON,’ boomed one of them, suddenly.
‘PEACE! THE PEAL BEGINS,’ responded another in hollow tones. They all spoke like bored priests reading a particularly dull communion text.
‘What the hell…?’ Keith breathed, and Robin let out an involuntary snort, which Keith then firmly shushed. In combination they made enough noise for Kiki to look round in annoyance. She made eye contact with Hattie, who gently raised her eyebrows. Kiki gave a small eye-roll in response, and nodded subtly at Hashi, who was crouching on the floor in front of the actors, apparently enraptured by their bizarre performance. The rest of the cast sat up against the walls, seemingly equally entertained by the scene. Or at least, the younger ones were. Some of the older actors were notably less engaged. Emile, in particular, was having a nap.
Meanwhile, Bums appeared to be hard at work arranging some sort of collage on the walls, oblivious to what was going on around her. Hattie looked closer, and realised that at the centre of it was a head-shot of Atlanta, around which were scattered yellow Post-it notes with the names of some of the rest of the cast and crew. Slightly higher up a piece of paper was tacked to the wall. On it was written, in blue biro:
‘Let fame grace us in the disgrace of death’
Atlanta didn’t make the cut. I wonder who else will have corpsed by opening night…
– ‘The sudden hand of death’
Then there was a red Post-it slightly higher up on which she’d written:
Second victim: ??
So that was the note. Sinister though the message was, Hattie still found herself struggling to take it completely seriously. It just seemed so… theatrical.
The performers droned on, continuing their odd bobbing and shuffling, their delivery monotonous, making no eye contact with one another, until, abruptly, they all lay down and spoke no more. The other actors started clapping.
‘Good!’ announced Hashi. ‘We’ve got the structure then. In which case we’ll crack on with act five scene two after lunch. Great work everyone.’
‘Er, Hashi my darling?’ called out Keith, and as Hashi looked round Keith gestured for him to come closer. Hashi took a couple of steps towards him, but stopped well short of halfway, leaving Keith, with a shrug, to close the distance himself.
‘What, um, what did I just watch?’ Keith asked, with an air of obviously contrived nonchalance.
‘Hmm? Oh, have you not been keeping up with the rehearsal notes?’ responded Hashi, icily pleasantly.
