20

She was nearly done with her propping exercise prep when she got a text from Keith:

Emergency. Back to Tavistock NOW. Acknowledge receipt.

Ah, there it was. The weirdness of not having anything to do on fit-up day had been bound to last only so long. Hattie sent Keith back an immediate ‘On my way: 30 mins’, packed up her bag and got moving. She wanted to ring and find out what was going on, but that would mean dawdling above ground where there was phone reception instead of getting straight onto the tube, so she decided to stifle her curiosity for the sake of an expedient arrival.

She found Keith on the pavement outside the Tavistock, in conversation with a grey-haired man in a smart suit. Keith looked uneasy, constantly shifting his weight and looking around. When he saw Hattie he immediately waved her over, cutting off his interlocutor mid-sentence.

‘Hattie my darling! Good to see you, as always,’ he beamed, although Hattie thought she could detect a slightly frantic edge to his wide smile. He was certainly behaving oddly: last time she’d seen him Keith had been so cross he’d literally turned his back on her. The warmth of his welcome could hardly be genuine.

‘Hello, Keith. How’s it going?’

‘Great! It’s going great! The fit-up’s on track, I think. Er, Hattie, this is my very good friend Frank. Frank, this is Hattie.’

‘Pleasure to meet you,’ said the man, extending a hand, and Hattie recognised his voice at once.

‘I think we’ve spoken before,’ she said, carefully. ‘Are you… Atlanta’s brother?’

‘Yes,’ replied Frank, looking a little lost. Then recognition dawned. ‘You… you rang me. After Atlanta…?’

‘Yes, that’s right,’ said Hattie. ‘Sorry, when Keith talked about a Frank I didn’t make the connection: Atlanta had you down as Francis on the emergency contact form. I’m so sorry for your loss.’

‘Thank you,’ he said, with a small, sad, smile. ‘She… always struggled with alcohol. I knew it would kill her in the end, I just didn’t think it would do it so abruptly.’

Keith looked a little wrong-footed to discover that Hattie and Frank already had a connection, but he soon recovered himself, remarking solemnly: ‘What a terrible business. Um, listen, Hattie, I do hate to impose, but Frank wanted to drop in and see how the fit-up was going. Is there any chance you could show him round? I’d do it myself but I must, must, must get to the bank in the next half hour. I wouldn’t want Frank wandering round the theatre on his own. You never know what, or who, he might bump into!’

Keith let out a forced laugh, which Hattie reflexively mirrored, although she couldn’t for the life of her think what the joke was. She studied Keith’s face for a second. Was that a pleading look he was giving her? Was this the emergency? What an irritating and ridiculous man he was. But still, he was her boss.

‘Of course, Keith,’ she replied cheerily, ‘I’d be more than happy to. Was there anything in particular you wanted to see, Frank?’

‘No, no,’ he replied. ‘I just love the atmosphere in theatres when a new play is, you know, coming in. If you don’t mind, what I really want to do is just sit in the auditorium somewhere out of the way. I’m very connected to this show, of course, not just financially but… well, emotionally.’

It was an odd request, but not an absurd one. There was something rather wonderful about a theatre fit-up, although Hattie seldom had the time to appreciate it.

‘Of course. Come with me, I’ll find a spot somewhere for us.’

‘Marvellous,’ replied Keith, checking the time on his phone. ‘In which case, I’ll leave you to it!’

And with that he half strode, half jogged away down the street, leaving a somewhat bemused Hattie to usher Frank inside.

They made their way through the pub into the auditorium. It was dark, apart from a single rectangle of light on the stage, in the middle of which stood Carrie, one foot extended. The rectangle wobbled gently.

‘Hold on… there,’ came Laura’s voice from the top of a ladder halfway up the aisle in the audience. ‘That right?’

‘No, it’s slipped again. My foot, I want the downstage edge right by my foot. See?’

‘Oh bugger it, this barn door is knackered. Give me a sec and I’ll see if I can find one that stays in place.’

Laura descended the ladder and scurried off into a corner, as Carrie made impatient faces on the stage. Hattie led Frank off to one side, where they’d be out of the way, and ushered him towards a row of chairs. He sat down one seat in from the end, evidently expecting Hattie to sit next to him, so she did. Her phone buzzed gently, and she saw she had another message from Keith:

Do NOT let anyone talk to him. Especially Steve.

Mystified, Hattie put her phone away before Frank could see it. What on earth was Keith playing at?

‘We’ll have to be quiet,’ she whispered, ‘so we don’t disturb the focus.’

‘Of course,’ he whispered back. ‘You know, I sometimes wish I’d been a lighting designer.’

‘Oh yes? What line of work are you in?’

‘Oh, private equity, M and A, it’s all very dull. But I don’t do much of it any more.’

They sat in silence for a while. Not very much was happening with the lighting, and Hattie began to feel awkward, so she asked quietly, ‘So did you know Keith through Atlanta, then?’

‘In a roundabout way, yes. Dame Joan was a good pal of mine. I got to know her through Lala… Atlanta, that is… originally, before they had their falling out. And you couldn’t spend much time with Joan without getting a healthy dose of Keith too. I became a supporter of the theatre over the years, so we’ve kept in touch since Joan died.’

‘I see. I’d… I’d heard that Joan and Atlanta didn’t get on. I hope that wasn’t too awkward for you.’

Frank laughed out loud, and then quickly put a hand to his mouth to stifle the sound.

‘Sorry. It’s just that… well, I’m afraid it really was rather awkward, you see, because what they fell out over was actually… me. Lala was always very protective of me,’ he explained softly, ‘especially after I followed her to London. She had it in her head that Joan was leading me on and trying to take advantage of me, financially that is. Nonsense, of course, we were just good friends, even after her divorce. But with drink taken Lala couldn’t help but make accusations, and Joan wasn’t exactly the sort to back down. One night it got completely out of hand, Joan walked away with a slapped cheek, my sister got a pint of beer poured all over her dress, and they never spoke again. I suppose they were both such big personalities, they were either going to be the best of friends or the worst of enemies. I tried to patch things up between them, but I never could.’

‘I’m surprised Atlanta agreed to do a show at the Tavistock, then,’ said Hattie.

‘Ah. Well, yes, that was actually my idea. I thought it would be a good chance for her to finally bury the hatchet. A bit late, given Joan had already died, but better than never. She grumbled, but I won her over eventually.’

He sighed sadly.

‘I was so looking forward to seeing her in Love’s Labour’s Lost. It’s probably my favourite play in the canon.’

‘Excuse me!’ came a petulant voice from the stage. ‘Could we have quiet in the auditorium please?’

Hattie looked up. Carrie was directing a very pointed glare at the corner they were sitting in. Frank held up a guilty hand.

‘Sorry!’ he hissed in an exaggerated stage whisper.

They sat in silence, watching as, one by one, Carrie dictated the exact positioning of every light in the auditorium, often extracting curses and complaints from Laura as she tried to make finicky adjustments at the top of her rather wobbly ladder. It was repetitive to the point of tedium, but Frank seemed enthralled. What a strange man, she thought. Charming, but strange.

Eventually Keith reappeared.

‘There you are, my lovelies,’ he said in a hushed voice. ‘Any excitements while I was gone?’

‘No, we’ve just been sitting here, enjoying the show,’ replied Frank.

‘Good. Excellent. Hattie, I’ll let you get on, but could I borrow you for just a second before you go?’

She nodded, waved a friendly goodbye to Frank, and followed Keith over to the hallway leading to the side exit. She noticed that he kept the door ajar and positioned himself so as to have a clear line of sight on Frank.

‘Thank you,’ he said quietly, and somewhat uncomfortably. Keith wasn’t the sort of man to whom gratitude came naturally.

‘For what? I don’t really understand what the emergency was.’

Keith sighed. ‘It’s him. He’s the emergency. He turned up out of the blue wanting to see the theatre, and I had an appointment I couldn’t skip. But if I let him wander round here by himself he might start talking to people, right?’

‘Is that so bad?’

‘It is if one of the people he talks is the… the person who sent that note.’

He huffed and scowled for a second, then, seeming to reach a decision, carried on: ‘Look, you have to keep this completely secret. You know I said that the note was a threat? That they’re trying to hurt me? Well, what I didn’t tell you is that the way they want to hurt me is by hurting him. Frank has been a patron of the house for a long time, and he’s got a whole history with Joan, and there are some things that would break his heart to find out. Don’t ask me what they are because I promised never to tell anyone.’

‘But how would that hurt you?’

‘Because not only does Frank give a lot of money direct to us as a patron, he’s also about to give us a rather large loan, on very favourable terms. The sort of terms that a house like this would never be offered by a bank. That’s why the mask matters: it’s the collateral we’re using to secure the loan. I thought that our anonymous friend took it just because it was worth a lot. But what that note tells me is that they wanted to take it to scupper the loan. After I told everyone I was considering getting the police involved they must have decided it was too risky to hold on to it. But they could still threaten the deal by spilling the secrets about Joan’s past to Frank. The only thing I don’t know yet is whether they intend to follow through no matter what, out of spite, or whether this is blackmail and they’re going to come up with a set of demands soon.’

Hattie took a moment to consider. There was a lot to take in, and she wasn’t entirely sure it all made sense. Meanwhile, Laura and Carrie were continuing to fuss over lighting angles, Miguel was pottering round taping down cables, and Frank was sitting in the middle of it all, looking on.

‘Hang on,’ she said, after a second. ‘So you’re saying the thief is someone in the company who not only knew about Frank’s intended loan, but also knew… this terrible secret about Joan that would drive Frank away from the whole thing?’

Keith nodded solemnly.

‘It would have to be someone who… look, you’re sure it wasn’t Davina?’ he asked, with a sudden intensity.

‘I’ve got photo proof she was on the wrong side of town when the mask was taken. Why?’

‘Fine. And her little school friend? Miguel?’

‘Was playing Dungeons and Dragons that whole evening in a pub.’

‘Of course he was, the little weirdo. Then, look, I’m as confused as you are. It must have been someone who knows a lot about the theatre, had plenty of time to do some digging, and doesn’t have a clear story for the Sunday night. It could be one of the cast, maybe someone who got pally with Atlanta. She’d have known all about it. On the other hand, if it was one of the crew, I’m beginning to think it has to be—’

There was a metal clunk sound just outside in the yard. Keith froze, and then slowly pushed open the side door, which, as usual, was on the latch. He poked his head out, and then said, with an icy politeness: ‘What on earth are you doing skulking round the bins, my love?’

He then leaned back and out of the way, as Steve appeared through the doorway.

‘Well?’ asked Keith.

‘Sandwich wrapper,’ was all Steve said. He glared at Keith, then, seeing Hattie, gave her a suspicious look, and stomped into the auditorium.

Hattie went home. What a week, she thought to herself. What a month. And in the safety of her flat she took stock. Her hip was fairly constantly giving her grief after all the comings and goings of the past few days. She was feeling grotty, in part because she’d barely been eating. There was never time for a proper meal: at best you snaffled a chilled, overpriced sandwich from a packet, at worst you made do with a cup of tea and some sweets. Plus now apparently someone was having a go at blackmail and attempting to sabotage the show for entirely incomprehensible reasons.

And even before she’d started to make progress on the first mission Mark had given her at ACDA, to get Rod to leave, he’d gone and given her a harder one, to get Felix to stay. Then on top of it all, that wretched policewoman seemed determined to ruin her ACDA prospects anyway, by dragging up a bunch of muck from thirty years ago.

All in all, from a holistic perspective, it was fair to say that Hattie felt she very much deserved and would like a nice relaxing spliff now please. But tomorrow was the tech rehearsal, and while today’s get-in and fit-up had been oddly easy, it was safe to assume that the tech wouldn’t be. She needed to be sharp, and the rule was no smoking unless you had the next day free.

But God, she needed something to take the edge off.

So she poured a large glass of wine, filled a big bowl with some ice cream she found at the back of the freezer, put on Rick Astley’s Love Songs, and ran a bath. She hoped that in aggregate these would have enough of an impact to approximate the relaxing effect of a joint or two.

It almost worked.

By the time she had drunk, eaten, listened, bathed, and emerged, towelling robe-clad, from the bathroom, she felt much less sick of the world than she had before. But there was still something missing. She sighed, then pulled out her phone and called Nick, planning on leaving him a voicemail.

To her surprise, he actually picked up the phone.

‘’Allo, cockatoo.’

‘Don’t you have a show on?’

‘Min-Su’s on the board tonight. I promised to let him have a go. So I’ve got the evening off.’

‘Oh yeah? What are you up to?’

‘I’m in the pub.’

‘Who with?’

‘Well, there’s a bartender, a couple in the corner, a—’

‘Oh you sad old man, sitting in a pub all by yourself.’

‘I’m having the time of my life! They’ve got proper pickled eggs and all. I’ve got a paper, my phone, and a pint of a charming little local ale called Copper Needle.’

‘You’re a simple man, you are,’ said Hattie, then realised she was sounding unnecessarily unpleasant, so added, ‘and all the better for it.’

‘Don’t you get soppy on me, my love. I’m not nearly drunk enough for that. Hey! I’ve got some gossip for you. About your director. Hashi Whatshisface.’

‘Oh really?’

‘Mm-hmm. Our new SM just finished a show at the National, got me all the juicy stuff. Did you ever wonder why an up-and-coming director, who’s just had a hit show transfer and got rave reviews, ends up doing a show at a crappy little fringe venue as his next gig?’

‘It’s not a crappy… but yes, I did wonder.’

‘Well. Got blackballed, didn’t he?’

‘Blackballed?’

‘Do I mean blackballed? You know, rejected. Shunned by the community.’

‘You mean blacklisted.’

‘That’s the one! Black lists, blue balls, I can’t keep up with this stuff. Simple man, remember?’

‘What do you mean he got blacklisted?’ Hattie pressed, her curiosity piqued.

‘Just what I said. He pissed off the wrong people. Well, specifically, he was badmouthing Kathy Meacham, and the stupid bugger did it in front of her.’

‘Really? What did he say?’

Hattie was intrigued. Kathy Meacham was a very talented, well-established director, known for a fierce temper and intolerance of fools.

‘Apparently he and his pals were getting drunk in the National bar, and he starts giving off about how she’s lost her touch and is just regurgitating the same show over and over. Which, well, you can argue the point, but I don’t think he said it in a very nice way. At all.’

That sounded believable, thought Hattie. Hashi’s tongue tended towards the vituperative at the best of times.

‘Anyway, what he didn’t notice was that she was sitting quietly just behind him with her entourage. He eventually notices her, but doesn’t back down, they get into some massive slanging match in front of everyone, and don’t exactly part ways as friends. And, well, you know how connected she is, especially with the money-men. She lets it be known that he has incurred her displeasure, and suddenly every producer and theatre-owner in London decides it’s probably better if Hashi Hassan’s name isn’t on their next poster. So, there it is.’

‘Crikey,’ said Hattie.

She took a couple of seconds to digest this information. As she did, she heard a wet munching on the other end of the line.

‘You always eat that loud?’

‘Only when I want to make you jealous. These really are delicious eggs. They’ve got bits of dill and all.’

‘I wonder why the Tavistock took him on, then?’ Hattie mused.

‘Well, they were never really part of the London establishment, were they? I can’t imagine the sorts of people Kathy hangs round with were ever going to fund Keith’s shows anyway. Probably thought Hashi’s reputation with the critics was worth it. And poor Hashi, the Tavistock was really the best he could get.’

‘It’s really not that bad.’

‘Really? ’Cos I heard they couldn’t even afford to hire decent stage managers any more. Had to rely on grumpy old farts with busted hips.’

‘Oh you cheeky bugger!’

They nattered on in their usual way, and when Hattie put the phone down she was in a much better mood. The story about the National gave her pause, though. So, rising star Hashi accidentally torpedoes his career just as it’s getting started, because he incurs the wrath of the establishment. It wouldn’t be the first time that had happened in the West End. Still, he’s desperate to find a next gig, and so has to accept a contract at the Tavistock on Keith’s terms, which include picking from a weird list of plays that just happens to include Frank’s favourite Shakespeare, and being forced to cast an actress who just happens to be Frank’s sister. Keith’s no idiot, he’ll have known that the choice of show and the forced casting won’t help make a success of the show, critically or commercially, but he insists anyway… which means that he’s prepared to do absolutely anything to keep Frank sweet. The theatre must be on a complete knife-edge financially. Keith dropping everything to get to the bank earlier had seemed bizarre; maybe it made more sense if the accounts were deeply in the red and he was having to take emergency manoeuvres to avoid bankruptcy…

And this was the theatre that Hattie was hoping to depend on for future income? The outlook’s not good, cockatoo, is it? But, as Nick said, who else is going to hire a grumpy old fart with a busted hip who can’t pass a background check?