Simon Brett - Situation Tragedy

But gradually the anoraks assembled. Peter Lipscombe was for once silent and even anxious as he counted the crew members. One by one they came in through the rehearsal room door and, with the instinct of their breed, homed in on the coffee machine and tins of biscuits.

So the Crew Run was achieved. It even went quite well. George Birkitt remembered most of his lines. Peter Lipscombe thought it was a terrific episode and the whole series was jolly exciting.

Afterwards, as everyone disbanded, the mood was cheerful. The crew had been friendly and no one doubted that the show would get made the next day.

George Birkitt, flushed with the success of his feat of memory, asked if he could buy Charles a drink. Charles conceded the requisite permission. He felt relaxed. Nothing would happen till the studio day.

‘Stupid thing came up the other day,’ said George Birkitt with a sheepish grin, as they sat outside a mews pub drinking pints of Guinness. ‘Had a call from the headmaster of my old school — asked if I’d open the school fete. I must have “arrived”, they usually get some retired Colonel or something.’

‘It’s the Colonel Strutter image.’

‘I suppose it is. Flattering in a way, mind.’

‘Are you going to do it?’

‘Oh, I’m not sure. Depends what else I have on round the date. I’ve referred him to my agent.’

‘Oh.’

‘Well, you do have to be bloody careful. I mean, you do one of these things as a favour, word gets out, and suddenly they’re all clamouring round.’

‘I hadn’t thought of that.’

‘Believe me, it happens. Anyway, it’s easier if my agent sorts out the financial side.’

‘I hadn’t thought of that either.’

‘Got to be canny, Charles, got to be canny.’

They both drank deeply into their Guinness. George Birkitt continued, ‘Rang my wife the other day.’

‘Oh, really?’

‘Do you know her? Stephanie Roscoe.’

‘I know her as an actress. I didn’t know you were married.’

‘Oh yes. We’ve been separated for a few years. You know, her career really took off when she got that part in the Royals telly series.’

‘I read about it.’

‘Made life very difficult for us. I was going through a bad patch, you know, professionally. Puts strain on a marriage, when one partner’s very successful and in demand, and the other. . ain’t. So, after a lot of fighting, we split up. Best thing at the time.’

‘Hmm.’

‘You’re divorced, aren’t you?’

‘Not actually divorced. Just separated.’

‘Uh-huh.’

‘I found an actor’s life incompatible with matrimony.’

‘It’s difficult, certainly.’

‘Must be even more difficult if you’re both in the business. When you’ve got professional rivalry to add to the other pressures.’

‘Doesn’t help, Charles. You very rarely get show-biz marriages where the two careers balance exactly. For every pair of Lunts, there must be a hundred Dobs and Bartons.’

‘Yes.’

‘Of course, I was never jealous of Stephanie. Problems were just logistical. I mean, she was — is — a sweet girl, but really no great shakes as an actress. Just had a couple of lucky breaks. So jealousy was never really appropriate.’

‘No. Haven’t heard much about her recently. What’s she been up to?’

‘Not a lot, poor darling. Got a bit over-exposed, I think, with the Royals thing. So I thought I’d just ring, see how she was.’

‘And how was she?’

‘Fine, fine. Pity about this damned go-slow. I was going to ask her to come along to one of these recordings.’

So that she can see George Birkitt’s name above the title, thought Charles, as the other continued, ‘Still, I’m taking her out to dinner in a couple of days. See if there’s anything left.’

‘Hope there is, for your sake.’

George Birkitt shrugged. ‘Doesn’t worry me one way or the other. Just be interesting to see her, though.’

‘Yes.’

‘Strange, you know, during the time she was successful with that series, while I was spending a lot of time sitting around at home while she was off at rehearsals and premieres and things, I got really paranoid about it. You know, began to doubt my own abilities.’ He laughed. ‘Even started to believe Stephanie’s publicity and think she was more talented than I was. Huh, but strange how quickly one gets like that. Most difficult part in the world, second fiddle, specially for a man.’

‘But you don’t have any worries about that now?’

‘Good Lord, no. Everything’s turned out fine recently. I really think this series could do me a lot of good, you know.’

‘I’m sure it will. Same again?’

‘That would be very pleasant.’

As Charles went into the pub with the empty glasses, he mulled over what George had said about the pressures of being second fiddle. A lifetime of it could unhinge someone. Suppose you married a wife when you were both at about the same level in the business. And then you watched her rise to international success, while your career made no noticeable advance. You saw her become the toast of London and New York, you heard her name on everyone’s lips, you saw her picture everywhere. You stood by while she became a pin-up of the Forces, you witnessed her career mature with her years, you saw her break into television with the same unerring success, you read the announcement that she had been made a Dame of the British Empire. .

That kind of pressure could drive a man insane. And who knew what revenge he might take on the world which had put him in a position of such constant inequality.

He wondered again where Barton Rivers would strike next.

With four pints of Guinness inside him, he wandered back to Hereford Road through the bleary sunlight. It was really too nice an afternoon to go back to the bedsitter, but he had a vague intention of ringing Frances. The school of which she was headmistress must have broken up by now. It would be good to speak to her. George’s words about the pressures of show business marriages had reminded him of the advantages of his own.

Then, after he had spoken to her, he might go out to the park. Walk round the Serpentine, maybe.

It was when he was inside the stuffy bedsitter that he became aware of the bulky package in his pocket. Oh yes, of course, his R. Q. Wilberforce. In his Guinness-sodden state, he couldn’t really think why he had it.

He pieced it together slowly. Oh yes, it had started with that book Romney Kirkstall had had, the biography of Aurelia Howarth in which there had been a still from an aborted film called Death Takes A Short Cut. Then later Romney said he’d seen a copy of a book with that title in a Charing Cross Road bookshop Barton Rivers had recommended to him. So Charles had gone to the bookshop, been put in touch with Gregory Watts and. . yes, yes, of course.

He took the brown padded package out. There was a little red plastic tag which would open the bag along a line of perforations.

He took hold of the tag and pulled it.

DEATH TAKES A SHORTCUT

by

R. Q. Wilberforce

CHAPTER 1

THE TRAVELLER’S RETURN

Maltravers Ratcliffe had risen and broken his fast early, so that he was already installed behind his desk, with a long black cigarette holder between his teeth, reading through his accumulated correspondence, when his wife appeared at the library door.

‘So my bonny has come back to me,’ she announced with joy.

‘Over the sea to Skye,’ he rejoined merrily, as he rose to greet her. ‘Except, in my case, it was over the sea and through the sky. I came on the aeroplane to Croydon. Podd brought the Bentley down to meet me at the ‘drome, and we fairly flew again as we drove back here!’