Nicola Upson - An Expert in Murder

– their mutual hatred was common knowledge in the West End –

but this particular exchange ran deeper than professional differences. Swinburne was loath to tear himself away but, by the time Fleming began to shout again, he had heard enough. He left as quietly as he had arrived, a faint smile playing on his lips.

*

115

Fleming waited until Terry was on his way out of the theatre before making his move. He was deathly tired, but the rain and the cool evening air that ran through St Martin’s Court refreshed him a little and helped to focus his thoughts. It was all for her, he reminded himself, fixing her image – well and happy, as she used to be and as she would be again – firmly in his mind’s eye so that by the time the familiar figure emerged from stage door and moved briskly, head down, towards St Martin’s Lane, he was ready. When he stepped defiantly in Terry’s path, that famously sensitive face looked up at him impatiently, then, at the realisation that he was not merely a clumsy passer-by, the impatience turned to anger.

Noticing, in spite of Terry’s defiance, that the anger was tinged with fear, Fleming felt a surge of power that sickened him to the stomach, but he continued nonetheless.

‘Isn’t there a little something you’ve been meaning to give me?’

he asked, refusing to let the other man pass. ‘It’s a couple of days late, but everyone deserves a second chance.’

Terry looked at him and then beyond him down the passage, as if weighing up his options. ‘I told you on the telephone: you’ve had all there is to have at the moment. You can threaten me as much as you like, but it’ll get you nowhere.’

‘You don’t think so?’ Fleming gestured towards the queue which was building steadily behind him. It was just a slight move of the hand but proved enough to break Terry’s resolve.

‘All right, but come back inside. I don’t want to discuss this here.’

The bile rose once more in Fleming’s throat as he followed his victim through the backstage area, where McCracken was checking that the dice were in their box ready for the opening scene, and downstairs to the dressing rooms. He thought of his wife again, this time in that narrow bed, fighting silently, and he drew on her strength as an antidote for the conscience which made him so weak. It would be all right, he told himself, she would understand why he was doing this and she would forgive him. Then, when she was well, they would think of a way to make reparation, to Terry at least; God, on the other hand, was a different matter altogether.

116

As they reached his dressing-room door, Terry played for time by feigning difficulty with the lock. He really had no idea what to do, and the meeting that afternoon had left him without any hope of an immediate solution to his problems, without any easy way to make the sort of money he needed to get Fleming off his back.

He cursed Aubrey for his intransigence, but only because it was easier than blaming himself. His private life had always been a discreet matter – it would have been dangerous to allow it to be anything else and, anyway, it was of secondary importance – but he had believed himself to be safe in theatre circles, to be among if not like-minded people, at least tolerant ones. How foolish that now seemed! If Fleming did as he threatened to do, all he had worked for would be lost. He would have let everyone down – his family, his friends, the stage itself. Gossip and chatter would follow him everywhere until the worst was suspected of his most innocent friendships, until even he began to believe his behaviour to be wrong. He held Fleming in precious little esteem but he would be lying to himself if he said he was unaffected by the man’s evident loathing of all he was, so how would he feel when those he cared for turned away in disgust? When the police were brought in and he faced an exposure so public, so humiliating?

Since Fleming had made that first crude and unforeseen threat, his life had been a continuum of sleepless nights and days full of fear.

How was he expected to go on smiling and frisking about the stage as if everything were fine when he really felt wretched and despairing of the years ahead? He had to bring an end to it one way or another: violence he could cope with, but shame was more than he could bear.

Once inside the room, Terry took his crown from the chair and threw it on the floor, sitting to face Fleming with more nonchalance than he felt. ‘You’ve got no proof.’

The other man laughed. ‘I’ve got all I need. And you’d be surprised who’ll crawl out of the woodwork once the idea’s out in the open. Let’s face it – there’s no shortage of candidates.’

He was right, of course. Terry knew that no matter how careful he had been, he could not rely on everyone to protect him forever 117

and it would only take one loose mouth to ruin him completely.

‘How much do you want this time?’ he asked, defeated.

‘Oh, I don’t know. Another five hundred should do for now.

When you’ve got your new projects underway, we can renegotiate.

But hurry up: I haven’t got all the time in the world.’

‘Then you’d better learn some patience, because there aren’t going to be any new projects. At least, not immediately.’

‘What? Has Aubrey started to tire of his golden boy at last?’

Fleming sneered, his professional jealousy for a moment overcom-ing his other concerns. ‘Dear, dear. Well, you’ll just have to find another way because believe me – that little fall from grace will be nothing compared to the one you’re heading for if I don’t get what I need.’

‘Need?’ Terry retorted, suddenly raising his voice. ‘Are you seriously trying to grace that pathetic habit of yours with some sort of necessity? Look at you! You drink your nights away and turn up here to this stage – my stage – to sleepwalk through another performance, and then you expect me to fund your next . . .’

‘What?’ Fleming was shouting now, and his fury drowned out any level that Terry could manage. ‘You think I’d dirty my soul with your money just for a drink? Christ, you’ve got no idea what normal people have to live with, have you? Locked up here in your own little world, with nothing to care for but your own ego, nothing to lose but another role, another bit of make-believe.’ He picked up the discarded crown and threw it across the room, where it crashed against the dressing-room mirror and shattered Terry’s startled reflection. ‘It’s not just kings, you know. Real people suffer, too, and it would do you good to find out just for once how that feels.’ His voice dropped again, but the change in volume brought no respite for Terry. ‘So yes,’ he continued, ‘I do need that money, and I do need it quickly. And for something much more important than a bottle, which makes things rather more dangerous for you.’

‘I can’t give you five hundred. Fifty’s all I’ve got – take it or leave it.’ He held the money up. ‘Anyway, it’s Aubrey you should be playing your dirty little games with. You’re going to need more than my money when you’re out of work.’

118

‘What?’

‘Hasn’t he told you yet? He’s going to sack you at the end of this run. Says he can’t rely on you any more, that you’ve lost whatever it was you had. I could never see it myself, but at least he’s come to his senses about something. So that’s you out of the running for the next show. You’ll have to think again.’

It was a cheap trick to buy himself some space and he knew it was only a matter of time before the lie was revealed. Fleming recovered quickly, but not quickly enough to prevent Terry from realising he had scored a small victory. ‘Then we’d better think of a way to make Aubrey change his mind about me, hadn’t we?’ he snarled, snatching the money and leaning close enough for Terry to feel the spittle on his cheek. ‘After all, two murders this weekend would look like recklessness.’ He stood up and went over to the door. ‘And in the meantime,’ he said mockingly, ‘we must stop meeting like this. You know how people talk.’