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board costs deducted from their wages, six months’ accommodation in the bungalow reserved for the exclusive use of the season’s star performer was included in Brian’s contract. The two-bedroom dwelling was clean and comfortable but in sad need of a refurbishment. Brian’s eyes wandered over the flowered curtains, worn brown carpet, and old-fashioned furniture. The back of his chair even had an antimacassar, and it was against this that his head now rested.
    “God, I hate this place already, and we’ve only been here five minutes,” he said, gazing up at the water-stained ceiling.
    “Oddly enough, I rather like it,” said Deborah. “Reminds me a little of nanny’s old flat when I was a girl. Which we only got to see if we’d been very good. It was always such a treat to have our tea there. Of course, her flat wasn’t nearly as shabby as this place—Mummy saw to that—but still.”
    Brian shifted in his chair. “I think I’ll have a bit of a lie down before dinner.”
    “You do that. It’s getting a bit late now, but I’ll ring the consulate on some pretext or other tomorrow andtry to wrangle an invitation to the party. I don’t suppose you’ve lost your passport, have you?”
    “No, I haven’t. Why do you ask?”
    “It’s just that a lost passport would be the perfect excuse to ring them. Oh well. I’ll think of something. As you say, I can be very persuasive.”
    As he stood up, she gave him a sly look and remarked, “You know, a party at the consulate would be just the thing. Give us the chance to mix with a better class of person. Not to mention a perfect opportunity to give a ring or brooch a bit of an airing. People do so enjoy seeing a little something from the splendid Roxborough collection every now and then.”
    Brian hesitated for a moment in the doorway and then disappeared into the bedroom, chased by the sound of her shallow laughter.

Chapter 6
    A very tired Harvey Jacobs took off his rimless glasses and rubbed his eyes as his nephew entered his office. A robust man in his early fifties with a rather large waist, Harvey wore the same style of striped trousers as his father had, made by the same tailor. A pair of hardworking suspenders struggled to hold the trousers in place over his bulging stomach. His blue striped shirt had large wet patches under the arms, although his office was not particularly warm. He’d been told more than once that he bore an uncanny resemblance to Theodore Roosevelt. Harvey would laugh it off, but secretly he took it as a compliment.
    A glass-fronted bookshelf filled with green ledgers, leather guest books, and black cloth binders covered one wall. Bankers boxes, some with lids askew, were piled against another wall. A silver desk set featuring a cut-glass inkwell and penholder on an inscribed silver traywas almost lost in the clutter on the heavy oak desk. A green metal “in” tray on a wire stand was overflowing, while the “out” tray beneath it was empty.
    Harvey gestured at the visitor’s chair.
    “How are you, Aaron? Enjoying your first day on the job?”
    “Don’t know if ‘enjoy’ is the right word, but yeah, it’s going okay. Not what I expected, though, and very busy.”
    “Keeping you busy, are they? Good. What have you been doing?”
    “Working with Charlotte in costumes, mostly. I offered to set up an Excel spreadsheet for her so she could track actors in their plays more easily.” Aaron cast an eye around his uncle’s office, thinking it would take more than a spreadsheet to clean up this mess. There must be decades of papers here, all in apparently no order. And the tax situation! If the IRS came calling . . . He shuddered.
    “And don’t forget you’ve got the stage manager job to do, too,” his uncle said. “I guess Charlotte and Simon will have to work out a schedule for you. Or you can go where you’re needed, as and when. Up to them to make it work.”
    “Yeah, okay. Listen, I can see you’re busy, so I won’t