control.
The scarred flower beds and uprooted shrubs charted its passage down the hill. The jack-knifed TIR lorry from Spain showed what it had met when it reached the main road.
And, because there was nothing else in sight that could be it, the shapeless mass like crumpled kitchen foil must have been the silver Porsche.
CHAPTER SIX
West End Television Ltd,
W.E.T. House,
235â9 Lisson Avenue, London NW1 3PQ.
30th May, 1979.
Dear Charles,
Just a note to fill you in on developments on
The Strutters
front. Obviously we were all very shocked by what happened but we mustnât let our imaginations run away with us. People are talking about our two misfortunes and saying they must be connected and that itâs a bad luck show and . . . All rubbish! The show must go on and the show will go on. There is no danger of anything stopping the advance of this very exciting project.
I am delighted to be able to tell you that we now have a new Director for the series, and even more delighted to say that heâs Bob Tomlinson, whose work Iâm sure you know from such hit series as
No Kidding, OâReilly and Truly, Last, But Not Least
and, last but not least, that smashing show set in a municipal rubbish dump,
Hold Your Nose and Think of England!
From that list of credits, I donât need to tell you that Bob certainly knows his stuff when it comes to sit com!
I canât think that Bobâs going to want to make major changes to the schedule, but Iâm sure youâll hear in plenty of time if any of your calls are different. I look forward to seeing you at the read-through next Monday, 4th June, and am confident that, after this rather unfortunate start, we are going to have a really exciting and successful series.
With the warmest good wishes,
Yours sincerely,
Peter
PETER LIPSCOMBE
Producer
The Strutters
The payphone on the landing at Hereford Road rang the morning Charles received the letter. The various Swedes were out at their various Swedish occupations, so he answered it.
âHello, Charles, itâs Walter.â
âOh, hello. How are things?â
âSo-so. I hope you donât mind my ringing, but I want to pick your brains.â
âYouâre welcome to anything you can find there.â
âItâs a slightly ticklish thing, actually. I read in the paper about that poor boyâs terrible accident . . . you know, your Director. Obviously I was terribly shocked, but I couldnât help thinking, you know, the way one does, that that must leave your series without a Director. So I thought I might give Peter Lipscombe a buzz and see what gives, but I though Iâd check with you first, just to make sure nothingâs been sorted out yet.â
Charles didnât like the drift of the conversation, and said rather shortly, âIâve just heard. Weâve got a new Director.â
âOh. Who?â
âBob . . . Tomlinson I think it was.â
âAh, yes. Heâs never out of work. Yes, of course. He would be free. He was going to do that series about the dance band called
Hands Off My Maracas
, but itâs been cancelled because of problems with the Musiciansâ Union. Oh well, never mind . . . We must meet up for a drink again sometime, maybe.â
âSure.â
âAnd you will let me know if you hear anything coming up, wonât you?â
âYes. Of course.â
Charles went back into his room feeling depressed. Of course Walter had to follow up any job possibility that might emerge, but it was unpleasant to hear him reduced to the role of professional vulture. For a moment suspicion of Walter returned. Certainly he was someone who might hope to gain from Scott Newtonâs death, and heâd made no secret of his resentment of the young manâs success.
But there were many arguments against casting Walter in the role of the directorâs murderer. The first, and most potent, was that he hadnât been at
C. J. Cherryh
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