LESLIE BLATT WAS coming out of the administrative office as Charles reached the top of the stairs. The elderly playwright looked extremely pleased with himself.
‘Hello, Charles,’ be said, rubbing his hands together. ‘We’re going to be working together.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Donald’s just asked me and I’ve said yes. It’s a few years since I’ve done it, but I’m sure I’ll manage. It’s a real challenge.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Shove It. Donald’s just asked me to take over as director.’
‘What!’
‘Well, don’t sound like that. I used to direct, you know. Still got a lot of ideas, and I’ve been following most of the rehearsals. I’d really like to get my hands on a play like this.’
Not just on the play, either. Charles visualized the chaos that would be caused among the naked actresses by Leslie Blatt’s wandering hands as he ‘directed’ them.
‘Well, aren’t you going to congratulate me, Charles?’
‘What? Oh yes. Congratulations.’
‘We’re hoping to get ready for an opening on Friday. Only two days late.’
‘I see.’
‘Rehearsal ten sharp tomorrow morning. See you then.’ The old goat pranced downstairs, chuckling to himself.
Charles knocked on the office door, and was bidden to enter.
Donald Mason sat behind his desk, every bit the smart executive in another pin-striped suit. Too smart, really, for the theatre. Charles felt he should have smelt a rat earlier. But no, he – presumably like everyone else – had been just relieved to see someone who appeared to be efficient in the role of General Manager.
‘Charles. What can I do for you?’
‘I just met Leslie. Gather he’s going to take over directing Shove It.’
‘That’s right. Seems ideal. Difficult to get in someone from outside at this stage, and at least he’s been following the production.’
‘He’d follow anything where he knew women were going to take their clothes off.’
Donald Mason looked up sharply, surprised by Charles’ change of tone. ‘Have you been drinking?’
The actor shook his head. ‘Not enough to affect my judgement.’
‘Oh. Well, Leslie is going to be directing. I’ve made the decision.’
‘Yes. I’m sure you have. Yet another in a skilfully composed sequence of wrong decisions.’
The General Manager was stung by this. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘I think it was almost a compliment, Donald. You’ve managed the whole thing very well. Constantly talking about the importance of right decisions and ensuring that the wrong ones are made. Constantly stressing the need for company loyalty and spreading divisive rumours behind people’s backs. Constantly saying how much you want the Regent to survive and all the time undermining it.’
‘Are you going to explain what you’re on about, or do I have to listen to more of this abusive rhetoric?’
‘I’ll explain.’ Charles took a deep breath. ‘I’ve blown your cover, Donald.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘I know that all the references you produced to get this job were forgeries. I know that you never worked in the theatre in Australia. I know that you started working for an estate agency called Spielberg, Pugh and Fosco and I reckon that you’re still in the pay of Schlenter Estates!’
There was a silence. Charles tensed. He didn’t know what to expect after his outburst, but was ready for some form of physical assault.
To his amazement, he heard Donald Mason laughing. ‘Very good, Charles, very good. I heard you had a bit of a reputation as a detective, and I’m most impressed by this demonstration of your skill.’
With the wind momentarily taken out of his sails, Charles blustered. ‘Do you deny that you were put into this job to bring the theatre to its knees?’
‘No, I don’t.’
‘Pretty easy, too, wasn’t it? You could run circles round Tony Wensleigh. So vague he was, so abstracted, so trusting . . . Always out at a rehearsal, so that you could do what you liked here. Spread rumours about his inefficiency, libel him – always with an expression of deep regret that you had to do it.
‘The sabotage went deep. The choice of plays . . . you contrived that very well. You knew Herbie was totally ignorant about art, and you knew Leslie would agree with anything so long as his dire little thriller was included. So you lumbered Tony with this awful programme, and then had the nerve to tell everyone that he had chosen them, and that his judgement was going.’
Donald Mason shrugged. ‘Yes,’ he said with an air of indifference.
‘You’re not making any attempt to deny it.’
‘Why should I? It’s all true.’
‘But . . .’ Charles found himself blustering again. It was like trying to get satisfaction out of punching a sponge. ‘I mean, the way you played us all along, making us believe you were the long-suffering one, constantly clearing up after Tony. Little calculated touches of humanity – like when you didn’t sack me, like when you offered me the part in Shove It . .’
Donald smiled with something approaching insolence. ‘Yes. Of course that was not just magnanimity.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I thought keeping a piss-artist like you around in the company was another good method of disruption.’
‘Good God.’ Charles was almost lost for words. He found himself getting angry. This was not at all how he had intended the interview to turn out. ‘So that’s why you went against Tony’s advice and kept me on.’
‘Oh I didn’t go against Tony’s advice. He wanted to give you a second chance.’
‘But you said . . .’
‘Yes. And you believed me. I’ve often been told that one of my great strengths is my plausibility.’
‘But . . . but how can you be so bloody cool about it all?’
‘Why shouldn’t I be cool? I was put into this job to see that the theatre closed within a year, and I reckon I’ve pretty well achieved that.’
‘But what’s going to happen when I expose you?’
‘Expose what? Have you proof of any crime that I’ve committed?’
‘Well . . . That accident to Gordon Tremlett – I bet you were behind that.’
‘Proof I said, Charles, proof. Even if I did fix it – and I’m not saying I did, in case you have some tape recorder hidden away – how could you prove it?’
‘Well . . .’ Charles felt momentarily lost. ‘What about Tony? You hounded him so much, confused him, accused him . . . you drove him to kill himself.’
The General Manager smiled again, infuriatingly. ‘That I think you’d find even more difficult to prove, Charles.’
The actor gaped.
‘You see, it’s so easy to fool people. They set themselves up. They want to be conned. I mean, someone like Tony was just a sitting target. So trusting, as you said. So incapable of fighting back, assuming he could ever identify his enemy. Ultimately so stupid.’
‘But there have been crimes committed!’ Charles insisted, rising involuntarily from his chair with fists clenched.
Donald gave him a cool appraisal. ‘If you were to hit me, that would be a crime. And I would see that you were charged with it.’
Charles subsided, trying to calm himself. Slow down, slow down, stick to the one crime he could prove. ‘What about those forged references? Those are real enough. They’re proof against you.’
‘Okay.’ The General Manager still refused to be ruffled. ‘So what would that be – a charge of False Pretences, maybe? Might get a few months for that I suppose.
‘Yes,’ said Charles, with a hardly adequate feeling of minor triumph.
‘If, of course, you could find anyone to charge me . . .’
‘What?’
‘Listen. As you have so cleverly worked out, I was infiltrated here to put this theatre out of business. I think I’ve done pretty well. With this new offer coming in from Schlenter, with Shove It causing public demonstrations, with the Artistic Director committing suicide under a cloud, the whole set-up looks pretty shaky. Not a great deal of faith around Rugland Spa in the Regent’s management. Do you think that that faith would be increased by the revelation that that very management appointed as their General Manager someone with forged references?’
Slowly Charles let this sink in, and felt the full crushing power of its logic. The one charge that could be proven against Donald Mason would never be brought.