Peter Lovesey - Stagestruck

The barmaid had seen all this with amusement and drawn her own conclusion. ‘Mind how you go,’ she warned Diamond. ‘Watch out for things that go bump.’

Titus led the way outside, left into Saw Close and through one of the arched entrances to the theatre foyer. Inside, people were queuing at the box office on the left, although whether to buy tickets or return them was not clear. Various others, probably press, filled most of the remaining space, looking bored. With a curt, ‘Do you mind?’ Titus made a beeline for the steps to the royal circle entrance. He had such an air of authority that no one challenged him or took photos and no one gave Diamond a second look.

If they had, they would have seen his face taut with stress.

Titus tapped out a code on the digital lock and pushed the door open. ‘I’ll begin by showing you the corridor where she’s often been sighted.’

Diamond followed, deeply uncomfortable. The magic of theatre had always eluded him. His mother had never tired of telling friends and family how she’d taken the children to a theatre in Llandudno for a birthday treat only to have young Peter make a scene of his own even before the curtain went up. It wasn’t as if it had been Dracula; it was a seaside variety show. He’d run out of the theatre and couldn’t be persuaded to go back in. Years later, he’d been caned at grammar school for escaping from a trip to see Julius Caesar , a set work for his English Lit exam. He’d failed the exam as well. He’d told himself he wasn’t minded to believe in people dressed oddly and speaking lines against painted backdrops. There was drama enough in the real world. He didn’t have to go to the theatre to experience it. But in his heart he knew there was something else behind his unease, something visceral.

In the low-ceilinged corridor, Titus spoke in a hushed tone. ‘The door to your right is the bar. Let’s see if it’s open.’

‘Good suggestion,’ Diamond said.

‘The door, I mean. We won’t get a drink at this time of day.’

They went in and switched on some lights. Diamond’s spirits lifted a little. This could be a saloon bar in any classy pub. He could forget where he was.

Titus stepped inside, took up a stance with hands clasped and launched into his tour guide routine. ‘I’m taking us back to June, 1981, the week before the theatre was closed for the major renovation. A production of the Albee play, Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? with Joan Plowright and Paul Eddington. The audience are streaming in here at the interval. Suddenly a woman screams, points at that wall behind you and demands to know what is wrong with the wallpaper. Everyone looks and sees an uncanny spectacle. The wall is shimmering as if in a heat haze.’

A summer evening, Diamond was thinking. All those people packed into this small bar.

‘Ah, but that is followed by a sudden icy draught. All the heads turn, sensing that something not of this world has rushed past them to the door. In its wake is a distinct smell of jasmine perfume.’

‘The grey lady?’ All of this build-up demanded a polite response and he supplied it.

‘The doors are flung open and then banged shut. In the corridor, one of the cast is walking by and she steps in here, ashen-faced, and asks what on earth it is that has just swept past her.’

‘Impressive,’ Diamond said, still playing along. ‘Were you present?’

Titus smoothed his hair. ‘Too young. But there were numerous witnesses still around to attest to what they experienced.’

‘Can’t be dismissed, then.’ That was more than enough of indulging Titus. ‘Where next? The dressing rooms? Was she ever seen there?’

‘Before that, allow me to show you the box where she was seen by Dame Anna.’

Leaving the bar, they crossed the corridor to the circle itself. The horseshoe-shaped auditorium was in darkness. Its crimson, cream and gold decorations were just discernible, the silk panels, gilded woodwork, garlands and crystal chandelier giving a sense of the antique theatre that this was, essentially no different from the interior known to the actors who first played here in the reign of George III. Without an audience, and with the curtain down, the space looked smaller than Diamond remembered from his one previous visit. Anyone but he would have been thinking this was the prettiest theatre in the kingdom. His main thought was how quickly he could get out. To his embarrassment he was starting to get the shakes.

‘The house curtains were a gift from Charlie Chaplin’s widow, Oona,’ Titus said. ‘Chaplin loved this theatre. If you look in the corners you’ll see his initials in gold thread.’

Diamond muttered something in courtesy, but couldn’t bring himself to look at the curtains.

Titus flitted down the steps of the centre aisle and beckoned to Diamond to join him at the front of the circle. Nobody else seemed to be about. In this light, and without an audience, it was more claustrophobic than Diamond remembered from his only other visit, when he’d summoned the inner strength to take his friend Paloma Kean to see An Inspector Calls.

Making a huge effort, he joined Titus and forced himself to look at the upper box where the grey lady was alleged to appear. ‘You told me the story in the pub,’ he reminded him. ‘You don’t have to repeat it.’

‘Don’t worry, there’s another version,’ Titus insisted on saying. ‘Some believe she wasn’t an actress, but one of the audience who occupied the same box night after night to watch the actor she adored. Which do you prefer?’

His thoughts were in ferment. The ghost wasn’t high in his priorities. ‘I don’t have a view. Whatever you say.’

‘Some say the man was killed in a duel, but I think that’s over-egging it.’

‘I agree. Shall we move on now?’

‘I hope I’m not boring you. Each of the boxes is endowed, you know. The grey lady box is named in memory of Arnold Haskell, the balletomane. Do you enjoy the ballet, Peter?’

‘Not in the least. It isn’t my thing at all.’

Titus chuckled at that. ‘You’d be happier in the Jolly box, I dare say.’

‘The what?’

‘The one on the prompt side, named after Jolly’s department store.’

‘That I can relate to,’ Diamond said. ‘I wouldn’t expect to see a ghost in the Jolly box.’

‘And this will intrigue you. The one opposite is the Agatha Christie. You may not expect to see a ghost there, but you might find a bunch of suspects, or even a murderer.’

‘Did Agatha Christie sponsor it?’

‘Her grandson, in her memory. Dame Agatha died some years before the renovation. There are no reported sightings of her ghost.’ He turned to face Diamond. ‘Do you believe in the supernatural, Peter?’

‘I keep an open mind.’ A touch of mischief made him add, ‘Don’t you?’

‘Me? I’m a firm believer,’ Titus said.

‘Have you actually seen the grey lady?’

‘I’ve sensed her presence and smelt the jasmine more times than I care to remember.’

‘I don’t think I’d know one perfume from another.’

‘Believe me. I can tell.’

Diamond did believe him.

It was a huge relief to quit the auditorium. Ghosts weren’t the problem.

At the end of the dress circle corridor, Titus used the code system to open a door marked private and started confidently down some uncarpeted stairs. ‘She’s been known to terrify actors in their dressing rooms,’ his voice carried up the staircase to Diamond. ‘And that’s before anyone has told them about her.’

‘Incredible,’ Diamond said, taking the steps with care. He wished no disrespect to Dame Anna Neagle or any other actors, but he knew they thrived on publicity. The sighting of a ghost was a sure way to get a mention in the local press and possibly the nationals, too.