assistant from under his nose. He would assume, wrongly of course, that he had succeeded where Max had failed. But it wasn’t just that, it was the thought of Tony with his practised leer bending over Ruby’s hand and complimenting her on her stage presence … No. He couldn’t stand it. So he had never introduced Ruby to his one-time colleague. They had met once and, although Tony had been unctuously polite, Ruby remained pleasant but distant. She didn’t look sad now, though she had composed her features into an appropriately serious expression. She was young and nothing matters much when you’re young.
‘Anyway,’ he said, ‘don’t think about it tonight. It’s our last show. Let’s make it a good one.’ He found himself absent-mindedly patting the cat’s head.
‘Yes,’ said Ruby. ‘It’s our last night together.’
He wished she hadn’t put it quite like that.
*
Edgar arranged for a police car to drive Tony’s parents back to north London. They waited at the back entrance to Bartholomew Square, watching as the taxis weaved their way through the narrow streets up to the station. Edgar had offered to escort the Mulhollands to Tony’s lodgings, but they had refused, looking terrified again. Edgar had been relieved. He didn’t think he could stand looking at the splintered wardrobe again. He had told the Mulhollands how their son had died and had been relieved when they had received the news in stunned silence. ‘We think the killer drugged him first,’ Edgar had said. ‘He won’t have suffered.’ He had promised to send Tony’s belongings on to them.
It was still light, but the air was chilly. Mrs Mulholland pulled her scarf round her neck. It was an incongruously cheerful affair in red and pink silk. Edgar wondered if it had been a present from Tony.
He willed the car to arrive quickly. He couldn’t think of anything else to say to the bereaved couple and they, for their part, looked as if they might never utter a word again. But, just as the squad car rounded the corner, Mr Mulholland said, ‘Were you a friend of Anthony’s, Inspector Stephens?’
Edgar would never have described himself as Tony’s friend, even during the Inverness years. Tony had always looked down on him, had never lost an opportunity totease him or pour scorn on his army career, his respectability, his supposed cleverness. It had always been Max that Tony had wanted to impress and, consequently, Max whom he had wanted to surpass. He remembered Tony saying to Max, that evening at the French restaurant, ‘I’m a comedian and Edgar’s a policeman. But you’re still a magician.’ He remembered the exact look on Tony’s face as he said this. A sort of calculated malice.
‘Yes,’ he said to Tony’s father. ‘I was his friend.’
‘In that case,’ said Mr Mulholland, ‘we’d be grateful if you could come to his funeral. It wouldn’t seem right, just being the two of us there.’
*
On stage at the Theatre Royal, Ruby flashed a smile up at the circle before disappearing behind the wardrobe door. Franz pointed to the percussion section and the drums began to roll. Max raised his sword in the air. Its blade gleamed dully in the footlights. One more performance, he thought, and then I can escape for two weeks. Two weeks of drinking Pernod and eating in seafront restaurants and talking to French girls with sly, dark eyes. He looked across at the audience and wondered what they would do if he just threw the sword down onto the boards and walked off stage.
The drums grew louder and louder.
Max plunged the sword into the cabinet.
Chapter 12
Max met Edgar on Sunday morning at a cafe by the aquarium. At first sight, Max thought his friend looked dreadful. Edgar always had a rather rumpled look, but this morning he looked almost dishevelled: unshaven, tieless, sandy hair standing up in an uneven crest. Max watched him with a mixture of amusement and disapproval. He hadn’t slept that well himself – images of
‘Anyway,’ he said, ‘don’t think about it tonight. It’s our last show. Let’s make it a good one.’ He found himself absent-mindedly patting the cat’s head.
‘Yes,’ said Ruby. ‘It’s our last night together.’
He wished she hadn’t put it quite like that.
*
Edgar arranged for a police car to drive Tony’s parents back to north London. They waited at the back entrance to Bartholomew Square, watching as the taxis weaved their way through the narrow streets up to the station. Edgar had offered to escort the Mulhollands to Tony’s lodgings, but they had refused, looking terrified again. Edgar had been relieved. He didn’t think he could stand looking at the splintered wardrobe again. He had told the Mulhollands how their son had died and had been relieved when they had received the news in stunned silence. ‘We think the killer drugged him first,’ Edgar had said. ‘He won’t have suffered.’ He had promised to send Tony’s belongings on to them.
It was still light, but the air was chilly. Mrs Mulholland pulled her scarf round her neck. It was an incongruously cheerful affair in red and pink silk. Edgar wondered if it had been a present from Tony.
He willed the car to arrive quickly. He couldn’t think of anything else to say to the bereaved couple and they, for their part, looked as if they might never utter a word again. But, just as the squad car rounded the corner, Mr Mulholland said, ‘Were you a friend of Anthony’s, Inspector Stephens?’
Edgar would never have described himself as Tony’s friend, even during the Inverness years. Tony had always looked down on him, had never lost an opportunity totease him or pour scorn on his army career, his respectability, his supposed cleverness. It had always been Max that Tony had wanted to impress and, consequently, Max whom he had wanted to surpass. He remembered Tony saying to Max, that evening at the French restaurant, ‘I’m a comedian and Edgar’s a policeman. But you’re still a magician.’ He remembered the exact look on Tony’s face as he said this. A sort of calculated malice.
‘Yes,’ he said to Tony’s father. ‘I was his friend.’
‘In that case,’ said Mr Mulholland, ‘we’d be grateful if you could come to his funeral. It wouldn’t seem right, just being the two of us there.’
*
On stage at the Theatre Royal, Ruby flashed a smile up at the circle before disappearing behind the wardrobe door. Franz pointed to the percussion section and the drums began to roll. Max raised his sword in the air. Its blade gleamed dully in the footlights. One more performance, he thought, and then I can escape for two weeks. Two weeks of drinking Pernod and eating in seafront restaurants and talking to French girls with sly, dark eyes. He looked across at the audience and wondered what they would do if he just threw the sword down onto the boards and walked off stage.
The drums grew louder and louder.
Max plunged the sword into the cabinet.
Chapter 12
Max met Edgar on Sunday morning at a cafe by the aquarium. At first sight, Max thought his friend looked dreadful. Edgar always had a rather rumpled look, but this morning he looked almost dishevelled: unshaven, tieless, sandy hair standing up in an uneven crest. Max watched him with a mixture of amusement and disapproval. He hadn’t slept that well himself – images of
Similar Books
