Vintage Murder Read Online Free PDF Page B

He was good-looking in a raffish, tarnished sort of fashion. It was entirely in keeping with his character that he should have attached himself to the Dacres Comedy Company and, more particularly, to Carolyn Dacres herself. That Carolyn paid not the smallest attention to him made little difference. With Liversidge and Valerie he was a great success.
    “Hullo, Court, my boy,” said Gordon. “Treat me gently. I’m a wreck this morning. Met some ghastly people on that train last night. What a night! We played poker till — when was it, Geoffrey?”
    “Until far too late,” said Weston calmly. “You were a young fool.”
    “He thinks he has to talk like that to me,” explained Gordon. “He does it rather well, really. What’s your news, Court?”
    “I’ve come to pay my poker debts,” said Courtney. He drew out his wallet and took some notes from it.
    “Yours is here, too, Frankie.” He laughed unhappily. “Take it while you can.”
    “That’s all fine and handy,” said Gordon carelessly. “I’d forgotten all about it.”
     
    Mr. Liversidge poked his head in at the open office door. He did not come on until the second act, and had grown tired of hanging round the wings while Gascoigne thrashed out a scene between Valerie Gaynes, Ackroyd, and Hambledon. Mr. Meyer was alone in the office.
    “Good morning, sir,” said Liversidge.
    “ ’Morning, Mr. Liversidge,” said Meyer, swinging round in his chair and staring owlishly at his first juvenile. “Want to see me?”
    “I’ve just heard of your experience on the train last night,” began Liversidge, “and looked in to ask how you were. It’s an outrageous business. I mean to say—!”
    “Quite,” said Meyer shortly. “Thanks very much.”
    Liversidge airily advanced a little farther into the room.
    “And poor Val, losing all her money. Quite a chapter of calamities.”
    “It was,” said Mr. Meyer.
    “Quite a decent pub, the Middleton, isn’t it, sir??
    “Quite,” said Mr. Meyer again.
    There was an uncomfortable pause.
    “You seem to be in funds,” remarked Mr. Meyer suddenly.
    Liversidge laughed melodiously. “I’ve been saving a bit lately. We had a long run in Town with the show, didn’t we? A windfall this morning, too.” He gave Meyer a quick sidelong glance. “Courtney paid up his poker debts. I didn’t expect to see
that
again, I must say. Last night he was all down-stage and tragic.”
    “Shut that door,” said Mr. Meyer. “I want to talk to you.”
     
    Carolyn and Hambledon faced each other across the murky half-light of the star dressing-room. Already, most of the wicker baskets had been unpacked, and the grease-paints laid out on their trays. The room had a grey, cellar-like look about it and smelt of cosmetics. Hambledon switched on the light and it instantly became warm and intimate.
    “Now, listen to me,” he said.
    Carolyn sat on one of the wicker crates and gazed at him. He took a deep breath.
    “You’re as much in love with me as you ever will be with anyone. You don’t love Alfred. Why you married him I don’t believe even God knows, and I’m damn’ certain you don’t. I don’t ask you to live with me on the quiet, with everyone knowing perfectly well what’s happening. That sort of arrangement would be intolerable to both of us. I do ask you to come away with me at the end of this tour and let Alfred divorce you. Either that, or tell him how things are between us and give him the chance of arranging it the other way.”
    “Darling, we’ve had this out so often before.”
    “I know we have but I’m at the end of my tether. I can’t go on seeing you every day, working with you, being treated as though I was — what? A cross between a tame cat and a schoolboy. I’m forty-nine, Carol, and I–I’m starved. Why won’t you do this for both of us?”
    “Because I’m a Catholic.”
    “You’re not a good Catholic. I sometimes think you don’t care tuppence about your religion. How long is it