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Prentice, say, and see immediately all the roles he’s playing. So in effect, you’d know by play and by actor every costume that’s required.
    “You could replace your little card system with spreadsheets of all the details on each actor. Measurements, roles, dates, and so on. You could print it out if you prefer working from paper and also have a record on your computer.”
    Charlotte looked at him in admiration. “That would be wonderful! Would it be a big job?”
    Aaron shook his head. “Nope. I could start setting it up for you this afternoon. That, and reading Romeo and Juliet , of course.”
    Charlotte gave him a thumbs-up and then pulled a slightly tattered paperback copy of Romeo and Juliet from the bookshelf and slid it across the desk to him.
    “This Brian Prentice guy,” said Aaron thoughtfully, as he picked up the book and glanced at the cover.
    “Yes. What about him?”
    “Well, it’s just that when his wife arrived . . .” he looked up from the book and continued, “Lady Deborah . . .when she arrived, the first thing she said was something like, ‘Is it Brian? Is he okay?’”
    “So?”
    “That just seemed a bit weird. Why would she think something had happened to Brian? I mean, if I saw an ambulance in the drive, I wouldn’t automatically assume it was there for a specific person. Why did she think the ambulance was there for Brian?”
    “Well, it’s pretty well known that Brian’s got a drinking problem, so she might have thought something had happened to him. He’s been drinking heavily for a long time. That may be part of the reason he didn’t do as well as people thought he would. His career never really took off the way it should have. At one time, he was a rising star, and the theater world expected great things from him. The next Laurence Olivier, everyone said. But he didn’t live up to his promise, unfortunately.”
    “I guess that explains what he’s doing in a place like this, then. I wondered about that.” Aaron narrowed his eyes slightly and gave her a quizzical look. “His wife must have money of her own, because he’s not buying stuff for her at stores like Saks and Barneys on what my uncle pays him.”
    “Speaking of your uncle, I think you should go and see him and make sure he’s informed about what happened to Lauren.”
    *
    Brian Prentice poured himself a couple of fingers of scotch, held the glass up to the light in a mildly pretentious gesture, tipped it slightly in his wife’s direction, and then drained it.
    Lady Deborah crossed her legs and gave him a level, measured look, tinged with the contempt she no longer took any pains to conceal.
    “I had lunch in town with Harriette Ainsworth,” she said. “She mentioned a reception at the British consulate coming up in a couple of weeks. They’re invited. I wonder why we’re not.”
    “Probably because the people at the consulate don’t know we’re here,” Brian replied. “Why don’t you ring them and let them know? Ask them to put us on the guest list. Or better yet, suggest they hold a reception for me.”
    “For you? I think they’d be more likely to hold one for me. Anyway, asking people to give a party for you doesn’t seem like good form.”
    “Really, Deborah, nobody takes any notice of that sort of thing nowadays. If those consulate people had known we were here, they’d surely have invited us. Make the call, why don’t you? You can be very persuasive. They’ll put us on the standing guest list, and that’ll give us six months of lovely parties with free drinks. Speaking of which . . .” He turned back to the drinks table and reached for the bottle.
    “I think you’ve had enough, don’t you?” Lady Deborah said in a voice dripping with ice. With a frustrated sigh, Brian set the bottle down and dropped heavily into the armchair at right angles to the sofa.
    While the rest of the cast was housed in the former staff bedrooms on the second floor of the hotel, with room and