Murder Offstage Read Online Free PDF Page B

looked at Mr Blake earnestly. ‘I’m looking for a friend.
She used to work here. Georgie le Pomme. She was a chorus girl, but I think
she’s left your employment. Do you have any idea where I might reach her? A
forwarding address, maybe? A contact?’
    Was it Posie’s imagination or had a look of fear and barely
disguised panic entered the eyes of Mr Blake at the mention of Georgie’s name?
A thin sheen of sweat glistened on his oily brow and Mr Blake looked slightly
green beneath the bar lights. He downed what remained in his glass and poured
another.
    ‘Please, Mr Blake. I’m desperate. I’m worried for her
safety.’
    ‘I know nothing about it. One of my best dancers, Georgie
was. No idea what happened to her. Here one day, gone the next. Shame.’
    He was hiding something.
    ‘How long had she been here exactly? I forget…’
    He shrugged carelessly. ‘Not even a year. Came at the same
time as Le Merle.’
    Posie nodded sweetly, innocently. Mr Blake avoided her eye.
    ‘And that forwarding address for Georgie…do you happen to
have it?’
    ‘No, I do not,’ Mr Blake snapped at Posie angrily. ‘And even
if I did, why should I give it to you? Who are you, anyway? What’s your name?
You still haven’t told me.’
    Posie got down from her stool primly. There was nothing more
to be gained here.
    ‘Rosemary,’ she said, telling the real truth now. Her full
name. ‘Rosemary Parker. I sent you a telegram earlier, saying I would come and
see you tonight. Perhaps you have mislaid it in all your, er, busyness this evening?’
    The barman sniggered. Unwisely.
    ‘You,’ shouted Mr Blake at the barman, ‘you watch your
manners. Otherwise you’ll find yourself out of a job. And you, Miss Rosemary .
No. I did not receive your telegram. As God is my witness I did not.’
    ****
    Posie headed off down the stairs. She was puzzled. He’s
just a hopeless drunk , she thought to herself. But Mr Blake was a bad liar,
too. He knew more about the missing dancer Georgie le Pomme than he was giving
away.
    And strangely, he had also seemed utterly convinced he had
never received her telegram…and somehow Posie believed him.
    The Foyer was very busy as the theatre staff made ready for
the waiting audience to come in. Cigarette-girls and programme-sellers were
hastily fixing their trays, the ticket staff standing ready, their arms loaded
with dusty-looking red roses.
    ‘Remember!’ shouted a thin young man with a shock of very
dark spiky hair, ‘It’s Valentine’s Day! People will be in the mood for BUYING!
Press the red roses on the gentlemen. Make them feel guilty if they don’t buy
one for their lady-friends. Work the whole theatre!’
    Posie felt slightly sick at the calculated cynicism on
parade. She peered outside through the gold gilded doorway. It was just
starting to snow again. Suddenly she heard a newly-familiar voice behind her.
It was Dolly:
    ‘You forgot your coat, Miss!’ Dolly called out convincingly.
Posie looked at Dolly in bewilderment, but Dolly was already shrugging onto
Posie’s shoulders a magnificent black fur coat, luxuriously warm and cut in a
very modern swing style.
    ‘It’s a fake, but it’s a good one,’ Dolly whispered, close
up. ‘I noticed you didn’t have one with you. Give it back to me tomorrow. I’ve
borrowed it from the theatre wardrobe. It won’t be missed. Otherwise you’ll
freeze to death out there.’
    Posie smiled a thank you, and turned the collar up against
the night.
    The queue outside was long, and people were bunching up
under the awning of the theatre to keep warm. Posie was just trotting down the
steps, already searching the street for a cab, when she heard a peal of
high-pitched laughter she recognised.
    Turning to her left, she saw the black shingled head of
Babe, her laughter carrying across the crowd. With a pang Posie realised how
very beautiful the girl was: she was getting all sorts of attention from most
of the men in the crowd, much to the obvious