VAVOOM BREAKS SELF-EXILE TO CLAIM,
“I WANT TO BE ALONE”
The actress Lola Vavoom broke her self-imposed exile of fourteen years yesterday to demand that the press leave her alone. The reclusive fifty-five-year-old former star of screen and stage who has been absent from newspaper columns since 1990 demanded that the press stop hounding her every move and making her life a misery. “I thought she was dead,” admitted “Skip” McHale, The Toad’s entertainment correspondent, “but now I know she’s around and wants to be left alone, we can dig up some of her ex-husbands to spill the beans on her bedroom antics for a crisp twenty-pound note and eight minutes of fame.” Miss Vavoom is to give a televised broadcast to eight networks tomorrow evening to decry her “lack of privacy.”
—Extract from The Mole, April 22, 2004
“Did you ever see Anthrax! The Musical?” asked Brown-Horrocks as they climbed up the creaking stairs at Spongg Villas to Lola’s apartment.
“No, I think I missed that one.”
“Brilliant piece of work,” said Brown-Horrocks reverentially. “You would have thought that a musical about the experimental anthrax bombing of the Scottish island of Gruinard would be tasteless but Miss Vavoom’s performance of chirpy biological-warfare scientist ‘Boobs’ McGonagle was both sensitive and touching.”
Spongg Villas had been surrounded by journalists, all eager to speak to the actress since Thomm’s body had been discovered the day before, but Jack, Mary and Brown-Horrocks had just pushed their way through.
They reached her apartment, and Jack pressed the doorbell. It didn’t work, so he knocked instead.
Lola opened it like a whirlwind but seemed surprised to see them. She was wearing a kimono and looked faintly alluring.
“Ah,” she said, “it’s you, Inspector.” She lazily extended a hand for him to shake, then looked at Mary.
“DS Mary, isn’t it?”
Mary nodded.
“Well! Haven’t we all got extraordinary names? Quite unbelievable, don’t you think? Who’s the giant?”
“This is Brown-Horrocks of the Guild of Detectives, Ms. Vavoom, and he’s not technically a giant. He’s a big fan of your work.”
“Oh, Brown-Horrocks,” she cooed, “you are indeed my biggest fan!”
“Kjdshdieupw,” said Brown-Horrocks, struck inarticulate in her presence.
“Won’t you all come in?”
She walked away without waiting for an answer, and they followed. Her apartment smelled of lavender, and the walls were adorned with black-and-white photographs of Lola as a young woman with the stars of the screen and stage in the seventies and eighties.
“So you kept good company?” asked Jack as he pointed at a photo of her with Giorgio Porgia. She pulled down one of the blinds on the window and laughed a high, shrill laugh.
“In the early days. He was a charming man, Inspector. When one searches for exciting men who treat a girl with respect, one is willing to overlook the shadier aspects. Gentlemen like Giorgio just don’t exist anymore, either side of the law.”
The room was lit mostly by table lamps. There were several drapes hanging on the walls, and all around them were the collected memorabilia of her short yet illustrious film career. Her Milton was on the mantelpiece, in pride of place among an impressive array of other awards. She lay on a chaise longue and indicated the chairs opposite her. “Please.”
They sat down.
“A few questions, Ms. Vavoom. You don’t mind?”
“Not at all. I was rather hoping you’d have that handsome constable with you. How can I help?”
“We’d like to know a little bit more about Humpty Dumpty—and women.”
She looked up at the ceiling and placed her head on one side. “He was devoted to his first wife.”
“Lucinda Muffet-Dumpty?”
“Yes; he never really got over her death. She died in a car accident when he was in prison. I don’t think he ever forgave himself. If he had been there, he often said, it might have been different.”
She sighed. “Whatever his second wife told you, they were never that close. He thought that by marrying again, he could retain some of the stability he had enjoyed with Lucinda and perhaps recoup some of his lost fortunes—I understand Laura Garibaldi had quite a bit of cash.”
“She used to.”
“Sorry, it was dreadful, wasn’t it? Anyway, it didn’t work. Not more than six months after his second marriage, I noticed him inviting young ladies to his flat next door. I don’t think he wanted to upset Laura—he just loved women. He was a very amusing man, Inspector, witty, charming and erudite.”
“What would you say if I told you Mr. Dumpty had got remarried?”
Lola looked shocked. “Humpty? Married again? I would have thought he’d have learnt his lesson from the last one.”
“You met her?”
“No, it was what I was saying earlier. He had hoped the marriage would be as happy as the first time. I think he was disappointed.”
“Isn’t that the thing about multiple marriages?” commented Jack. “How you always hope the next one will be the perfect one.”
Lola flinched. Jack had obviously touched a raw nerve. She flashed a look at him and then got up and walked over to the piano.
“When they were giving out tact, Inspector Spratt, I assume you were at the end of the queue. I’ve been married sixteen times. Each time, as you say, we wish for the perfect one. My first husband was a plumber from Wantage. We married when I was still behind the cosmetics counter. He gave me more than the Earl of Sunbury ever did. That mean bastard only ever gave me paste jewelery and a dose of the clap. I could still call myself a lady if I wanted, but I’d have to use the Sunbury name, and who wants to be associated with Sunbury in any way, shape or form? He was my fifth husband. We were married for over seven months, and when we divorced, I swore I would never get married again.”
Jack, Mary and Brown-Horrocks said nothing, so she carried on.
“Then I met Luke. What a joy. He was young and carefree, funny and gregarious. He was the perfect man.”
“What happened?” asked Mary.
“I married his brother. We were having a double wedding, and there was a mix-up at the church. We divorced as soon as we could.”
“Couldn’t you just have had it annulled?” asked Mary. “If it wasn’t consummated, it—”
Lola silenced her with a baleful stare. “The temptation was too great. It might have turned out better, but on balance I think I preferred Luke. Trouble is, by the following morning, he had fallen for his accidental bride. They went to Llandudno and opened a fish shop. Then there was Thomas Pring. When I was being courted by him, he gave me a huge diamond, the fabulous Pring Diamond. They warned me about the curse that went with the Pring Diamond, but I ignored them all and we married.”
She held up a cocktail shaker. “Gargle?”
They declined. She shrugged and poured herself a martini.
“It was then that the Pring curse made itself apparent.”
“And the curse?”
“Mr. Pring. He was a pig of a man. He used to cut his toenails in bed and rarely washed. I divorced him citing the 1947 Personal Hygiene Act.”
She sat down on the chaise longue again.
“How I prattle so! You must be busy. Is there anything else that I can do for you?”
“Only if you can think of one particular girlfriend of Humpty’s that he might have liked enough to marry.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, “I’ve no idea.”
Jack stood up. “Well, I think that’s it for now.”
“For now?”
“You don’t mind if I come back should any other questions arise?”
“Of course not.”
“Good. Just one more thing. Would you sign Brown-Horrocks’s clipboard? I know he wants you to.”
They thanked her and left. As soon as Lola had closed the door, she put a worried hand to her face, strode quickly to the window and raised the blind. She then picked up the telephone.
“It’s Lola,” she said. “He suspects.”