A Comedian Dies Read Online Free PDF

reputation for the ladies. Put it about a bit, as far as I can gather. But that’s all. Think a lot was going to happen for him, though. Big talent. You seen his act?’
    â€˜Not enough of it to make any meaningful judgment.’
    â€˜He was a real live wire, I believe.’
    â€˜You can say that again.’
    Tea in the Lounge of the Devereux Hotel had probably not changed for forty years. Charles kept feeling that he was back in rep, playing some antiquated thriller, in which the hostess, wearing a grey blouse and long tweed skirt, dispensed cold tea, while the chief suspect, a bounder in a blazer and flannels, handed round plaster fairy cakes to the juvenile lead and ingenue. He was maybe being a bit flattering to himself and Frances by casting them in the young roles, but Vita Maureen and Norman del Rosa fitted their parts perfectly, even down to the costumes.
    And yet it wasn’t a thriller. There was no crime. True, there had just been a violent death, but that had been shown incontrovertibly to be an accident. Maybe something else would happen. Maybe Norman del Rosa would step behind the sofa, cast his eyes down and freeze with an expression of horror at the sight of an old dowager with a knife between her shoulder blades. Maybe Vita Maureen would open the cupboard to get out her Dundee cake and be transfixed by the sight of the under-gardener’s body swaying on a rope inside.
    So deeply was he immersed in his fantasy, it was quite a shock to find that the tea was hot and the fairy cakes soft enough to receive his teeth.
    â€˜We always stay at the Devereux when we are in Hunstanton,’ Vita Maureen was saying. ‘They know us here and I think the manager and his wife (charming couple, Bill and Geraldine, you must meet them) are more than a little stage-struck. I mean, most of their guests are . . . well, not to put too fine a point upon it, dull, and a lot of them tradespeople, so I think we are a breath of fresh air.’
    â€˜Yes.’ Charles nodded jovially, feeling some sort of response was required.
    Vita Maureen continued, telling of other hotels around the country where she and Norman had stayed. Charles’ mind wandered. Frances was keeping up her social façade well, nodding and smiling encouragingly, as if what she was being told actually contained something of interest. He felt a twinge of irritation. Why did Frances suffer fools so gladly? He knew it was unreasonable to condemn her. He behaved just the same himself, but . . . but.
    Gloomily he recognized the symptoms. Soon the honeymoon would be over again. He and Frances would niggle away at each other until there would be a major row over something minor. Then he would walk out again and the cycle would restart. It was depressing. He’d felt really relaxed with her for the first few days, but since Bill Peaky’s death he was increasingly on edge.
    Bill Peaky, Lennie Barber. Comedians. Strange that Lennie Barber should be coming into his life again so soon. Coincidence.
    Vita Maureen’s monologue continued. Well, in fact it wasn’t quite a monologue. Every now and then she would refer to Norman for confirmation of a date or the title of a show. And each time he supplied it, she would hurry on, hardly allowing him to finish his sentence.
    Charles felt desperately in need of a drink. Maybe he should have had a real skinful at lunchtime, so that he could doze, anaesthetised, through this ritual of gentility.
    Maybe he did doze. Certainly it was with a shock that he, realized they were discussing Peaky’s death.
    â€˜It doesn’t do to speak ill of the dead,’ Vita Maureen was saying, with discreet malice, ‘but I’m afraid certain people in the company will not have been wholly sorry to see him go.’
    â€˜Oh,’ said Charles with the same intonation that had greeted her other, less startling revelations.
    â€˜I’m not one to spread gossip, but let’s just say there