Quintin Jardine - For The Death Of Me

He didn’t have to explain. ‘As with me and Primavera? You may have a point there, but which of us is crazy? There are differing views on that.’

‘I know which one of you I’d rely on in a crisis. I’m demonstrating that right now. If you want me to see this Goodchild woman, I will, even though it runs against all my instincts.’

‘Don’t worry about it: Alison’s ethics are as sound as yours. You tell her something in confidence and she’ll never repeat it, not even if she was under oath. . not even if it was you on the Bench demanding an answer.’

‘I’m not enjoying these images, Oz. How will you find Madeleine? You’re a busy man, and when you’re between films there’s Susie and the kids.’

‘It won’t be difficult,’ I assured him. ‘And besides, I know the very bloke who can help me.’

I still look up to Ewan Capperauld; it seems like no time at all since we met at a cast gathering in Edinburgh before we started to shoot Skinner’s Rules, which turned out to be my breakthrough movie, the one in which I realised I knew what I was doing.

Indeed, to normal people it would be no time at all, but guys like us aren’t normal. A lot has happened to both of us since then, in career terms. Mine has rocketed, while Ewan’s seems to have settled on a plateau. He’s still A list, no doubt about that, but I’ve overtaken him in every respect, choice of parts, billing and inevitably, because everything is interlinked, money. He isn’t jealous, though: he knows there’s no logic to our business. The first time we met, his luvvie side got a bit out of control, but since then he’s treated me as a friend and a professional colleague, and I’m proud of that.

I hadn’t expected him to be in Edinburgh when I phoned Alison Goodchild to arrange for her to call Harvey. . he has an interest in her business, so I asked her if she knew his whereabouts, and was surprised when she told me that he was in town visiting his parents.

He was there when I called their number, and more than happy to meet me in the Caley Hotel for a drink. In days gone by we’d have been more at home in somewhere like Whigham’s, but honestly, if we’re after privacy, places like that are no longer an option, even in a city which knows that both of us are no better than we should be.

‘Good to see you, Oz,’ he began, as we settled down at a small corner table. ‘The more I see of your career, the more gob-smacked I get.’

‘It’s ’ard to stay ’umble,’ I replied. ‘So I’ve given up trying. Seriously, though, it’s all down to Miles for giving me a start and to Roscoe Brown, my agent, for building on it.’

‘I wish he was mine,’ Ewan murmured. ‘I feel I could use a little. . added impetus, let’s say.’

‘Why shouldn’t he be?’

‘Would he take me on? I’ve never found a satisfactory replacement for Margaret, you know.’ His ex-wife had been his agent, until she had gone rather spectacularly off the rails.

‘Of course he would. He’s still growing, and on the look-out for top talent. Want me to get him to call you?’

He scratched his stubbled chin, then made a decision. ‘Yes. Why not? No harm done in talking to him. Thanks for that, Oz. Anything I can do for you in return?’

I grinned, a little embarrassed at having to admit that there had been an ulterior motive for my call. ‘As it happens there is. I’m trying to trace an actor named Rory Roseberry. He’s not in our league, but you’ve been around longer than I have so I wondered if you might have run into him way back.’

‘You don’t have a part for him, do you?’

‘Not as far as I know. No, I’m trying to trace somebody through him.’

‘It wouldn’t be Mad Maddy January, would it?’

I should have expected him to make a connection, yet I was taken by surprise. ‘As a matter of fact it is. How did you guess?’

‘I read the Scotsman, old son. I know that your sister married her ex last year.’

‘You know Madeleine?’

‘Past tense, Oz. Let’s say I knew her fleetingly, and biblically, I should be ashamed to say, about fifteen years ago. I wasn’t alone in having that distinction: she had a thing about actors. My shame comes from being aware at the time that there was a husband in her background, and from the fact that there was a wife in mine.’

‘What was she like?’

‘Wild, and captivating; bloody gorgeous. The sort of girl you just know, if you meet her early enough, is going to make some poor sod a terrible wife some day. I bumped into your in-law once, a few years later at a civic reception in the City Chambers that I attended with Margaret. She was with him, and yet not, if you know what I mean. She was chatting up some bloke on the far side of the room. I felt sorry for Harvey: I could see that he’d given up trying to cope with her. When my path crossed hers that evening, I tried to blank her, but she gave me a wink that would really have shopped me to my wife, had she seen it. Dangerous woman; it wasn’t long after that that she was caught in flagrante with Rosebud.’

‘Rosebud? Is that Roseberry’s nickname?’

Ewan chuckled. ‘Old son, it’s his real fucking name: he was christened Roderick Rosebud. His nickname is “Sledge”. How could it be anything else?’

‘That must have ruined Citizen Kane for a lot of people who hadn’t seen it before they met him. What do you know about him? Is Maddy still with him?’

‘I don’t know if she ever really was, or if it was just another fling. You’ll need to speak to him about that.’

‘Is he still around?’

‘Sure. I saw a mention of his name last week, in a review of Death of a Salesman at Pitlochry Festival Theatre.’

‘Do you know if it’s still running?’

‘I’m not sure. Why don’t you call the theatre?’

I dug out my mobile, called the network directory to retrieve the number, and called the box office. I was in luck: Rory Roseberry was still playing Willy Loman. (A little young for the part, I thought, assuming that he was in the same age ball-park as Madeleine. I hoped the makeup department was up to it.)

‘Fancy a night in Pitlochry?’ I asked Ewan.

‘Why not?’ he exclaimed. ‘Arthur Miller is one of my gods, and I still have a taste for the exotic.’

I booked two tickets and pre-show dinner, then told Conrad that I was borrowing Mary’s car for the night.

Dinner at Pitlochry was excellent, better than I’d expected. Even on a Monday the restaurant was busy, and Ewan and I were aware of more than a few glances in our direction. Eventually, once we’d finished eating, a middle-aged bloke sidled over to us and asked us, diffidently, if we’d sign his menu. We did, and that kicked it off: we wound up touring all the tables and signing every menu in the place, including four for the staff.

The play was okay, but I’d been right in my guess about the casting. In a less taxing role, Rory ‘Sledge’ Roseberry would have been a capable actor, but he wasn’t up to playing a man in his mid-sixties, for all the efforts of the people who’d applied the slap. He looked as if he’d been embalmed, rather than made up. Ewan was more critical that I was: he sighed when Rosebud first appeared and I heard several tuts and soft moans escape him during the performance. The supporting cast were good, and probably saved the day, although an extra, playing one of two women picked up in a restaurant by Willy’s sons, kept peering into the audience as if she was looking for someone. I guessed that word of our presence had spread backstage.

When the curtain fell we stood and everyone else took our lead. I wondered how many standing ovations they’d had during the run.

As the auditorium cleared, we jumped on to the stage and found the manager, who was happy to show us to Roseberry’s dressing room. He greeted us, still in his slap, the lines etched on his forehead looking even more grotesque close up. ‘Good to see you again, Ewan,’ he exclaimed, a little too heartily. ‘It must be, what, ten years? Remember, I had a part in that highland epic of Miles Grayson’s. We didn’t have any scenes together, though, did we?’