Murder in Steeple Martin (4 page)

Chapter Five

I
T SEEMED TO
L
IBBY
that the crash and the screams were simultaneous and then there was silence. She rose jerkily to her feet, her heart thudding while the dust settled on the stage and the noise broke out again.

‘What happened?’ she asked, running to the front of the stage. Her voice came out in a croak and she tried to scramble up, hampered by her skirt. ‘Who’s hurt?’

Ben was there, hauling her up beside him.

‘Stay there, I’ll find out,’ he said plunging into the melee.

Emma was crying, her face streaked with dirt, Paula was having hysterics and being patted ineffectually by one of the older pickers. Underneath the scrambled mess that was no longer the hoppers’ huts, unpleasant noises were making themselves heard. Libby stood apart, watching, not even able to think.

Ben detached himself from the crowd and came over to her.

‘It’s all right. No one hurt badly. Someone got a nasty ding on the shoulder and there’s a few cuts and bruises. That’s all. Bloody lucky.’

Libby discovered that she was shaking.

‘But what happened?’

‘The wire broke, apparently.’ Ben was frowning. ‘I don’t know how. I fixed it myself this afternoon.’

‘Just you?’ Libby’s voice was still croaky.

‘No, a couple of the others who weren’t at work. It should have been foolproof.’

‘We could have been killed.’ Emma’s voice rose above all the others and they turned to look at her. ‘I don’t want to do this any more.’

‘For God’s sake, shut her up,’ muttered Libby, turning her back. ‘I’ve had enough of this.’

She sat down heavily on the edge of the stage and waited until some kind of order had been restored. Stephen came up and said they would look at the damage and the reasons behind it the following day, but he thought they had all better go home now. She agreed.

‘I’m sorry, everybody.’ She stood up with an effort. ‘None of us knows what happened and I’m only thankful that nobody was seriously hurt.’ She took a deep breath and crossed her fingers. ‘It’s the sort of accident that can happen at any time in any theatre, and with so much new equipment, it’s not surprising that we should have a few –’ she stopped and searched for the right word, ‘well, minor disasters. But that’s all it is. Tomorrow we’ll rehearse down here in the auditorium and let the back-stage crew sort everything out without interference. OK?’

There were mutterings of both disquiet and affirmation, but gradually everything quietened down as people began to put costumes away and collect outdoor clothes.

‘Drinkie-poos, petal?’ Harry had appeared out of the shadows.

‘I should think so.’ Libby was relieved that her voice had steadied. ‘A whole bucketful. Do you think we should call David?’

‘Dear old Doctor David? I don’t think so. No one really got hurt, did they?’

‘And we want to keep it as low key as possible, don’t we?’ Ben came up on her other side. ‘Lenny wants you to have a lift with us.’

‘Where is Lenny?’ Libby peered into the darkness, suddenly worried.

‘In the car. He’s fine. Bit shaken, but then, so were we all. Come on.’

‘Go on, ducks. No arguments. You look as though you’ll fall over any minute. We’ll follow.’ Harry patted her arm and left her.

‘I ought to wait and talk to Stephen.’ Libby looked back at the stage, where Stephen and his two acolytes stood surveying the mess.

‘He’ll come to the pub if he wants to speak to you,’ said Ben. ‘He knows where you’ll be.’

‘I’m not sure,’ said Libby doubtfully, ‘but I suppose there’s nothing I can do.’ She sighed. ‘All right. I’m coming.’

Ben walked beside her in silence, holding open the plate glass door without a word, then he took her arm and steered her to the side of the building where the interior light showed Lenny sitting upright in the passenger seat of the car.

‘All right, gel?’ he said, half-turning with difficulty as she slid inelegantly into the back seat, thankful not to have to sit next to Ben.

‘Yes, thanks, Lenny. You?’

‘Bit of a shaker, that, weren’t it? Nasty old business.’ He turned back to the front and was silent while Ben drove them the short distance to the pub.

In ones and twos, the cast dribbled in, subdued and pale. Emma didn’t appear, and Libby was relieved.

‘Your mother came to see me today,’ she said as Peter sat down opposite her. Ben had bought her a double brandy and she watched as the liquid clung and slipped down the side of the glass.

‘My mother?’ Peter took a healthy swallow of his beer. ‘Good God.’

‘What did she want?’ Ben’s voice was quiet at her left shoulder.

‘To stop the play.’

They looked at her in silence, waiting for her to go on.

‘That’s all, really.’ She shrugged. ‘She wouldn’t tell me why. Except that she thought it was in bad taste.’

‘Always was daft, that one.’ Lenny emerged from a pint of stout, froth accentuating his trim moustache. He licked it off, neatly. ‘Terrible worrier.’

‘But what about?’ Libby burst out. ‘I just don’t understand what the devil’s going on. Why should she suddenly be against the play?’

‘Devil’s right, old love,’ said Peter, without a trace of his normal affectation. ‘After tonight. There’s a nasty old atmosphere creeping up on us.’

‘Oh, come on, Pete.’ Harry hitched up his chair. ‘One accident. You heard what Libby said. It could happen anywhere – to anyone.’

‘But I didn’t mean it,’ muttered Libby and was surprised when Ben touched her arm. She glanced at his well-kept hands – architect’s hands, she thought. Clean. She pushed hers, paint-stained and chubby, into the folds of her skirt.

‘Did you look at the wire, Ben?’ asked Peter.

‘Yes.’ Ben lifted his glass.

‘And?’ Harry raised an eyebrow. ‘I only came in at the end of the last scene. Donna had a panic. I didn’t see what went before.’

‘You saw the roof come down?’ Libby turned to him.

‘Yes, just after I came in.’

‘Well, that was it. The wire gave.’

‘How could it?’ Peter was scornful. ‘I looked at it myself when they were changing the set. It came down perfectly.’

‘It didn’t go back, though.’

Peter looked back at Ben. ‘What’s up? What aren’t you saying?’

Ben shook his head and put down his glass. ‘I’ll look at it tomorrow. I’ve got the day off. I’ll go in the morning.’

‘Not on your own,’ Libby heard herself saying.

‘Why? Worried about me?’ He smiled.

Oh, help, thought Libby. She picked up her brandy and the smell made her eyes water.

‘Here, I’ll get you a lager.’ Peter stood up and went to the bar.

‘I’ll come with you,’ she said to Ben. ‘When do you want to go?’

Ben looked puzzled. ‘Well I’m flattered at this sudden desire for my company, but it’s really not necessary, you know. I’m a big boy, now.’

‘Ooh, get ’er.’ Harry made a production of flinging one leg across the other and the atmosphere returned to normal with a thump.

Stephen arrived on his own just in time to get included in Ben’s next round.

‘Any thoughts?’ asked Peter, as Stephen squeezed on to the bench between Libby and Harry.

Stephen shook his head. ‘We’ll have a look at it tomorrow. I’ll go round straight from work.’

Ben looked at Libby as he put glasses on the table. ‘Well –’ he said.

‘Don’t worry about it, Stephen.’ Libby swallowed hard. ‘Ben and I are going to have a look at it in the morning.’

Stephen’s face darkened. ‘I thought I was supposed to be SM? Or don’t you trust me?’

‘Oh, God, Stephen! Of course I trust you. I was just trying to save you trouble. You hardly live round the corner, after all.’

‘I’m only at the top of the drive, old son,’ said Ben squeezing in the other side of Libby, so that she felt beleaguered on all sides. ‘I’ll have a look and report to you. Shall I take your mobile number? Then you can tell me if we need anything before you get there in the evening.’

Mollified, Stephen dictated his mobile number and Ben programmed it into his own phone.

Libby drank her lager, and even managed to finish the brandy before getting to her feet, feeling about a hundred-and-nine.

‘I’m off now.’ She reached for her coat, but Ben was there before her, holding it open.

‘I’ll give you a lift.’

‘No – it’s all right –’

‘Oh, don’t start that again. Come on, Lenny and I are going now, aren’t we, Lenny?’

‘Are we?’

‘I’m driving. Can’t have any more.’

‘Oh, all right. Got a drop back home, haven’t yer?’

‘Yes, you old soak, crates of it. Come on.’

‘I can walk Libby home,’ said Stephen. ‘My car’s parked there, anyway.’

‘It is?’ Ben sounded interested, cocking an eyebrow at Libby.

‘I think I’d rather have a lift after all, thanks, Stephen,’ she said, trying not to let her irritation and frustration flood out. ‘Hardly worth you walking all that way there and then driving back here, is it? Anyway, you’ve only just got your drink.’

Stephen looked as though he realised he’d shot himself in the foot but had to give in with resignation, if not graciousness.

‘I’ll hear from you tomorrow, then,’ he said, and reluctantly turned to speak to Peter. Harry gave Libby an outrageous wink and blew a kiss at Ben. Lenny cackled.

Libby realised that she was grateful for not having to walk home. The familiar village street looked unaccountably eerie and her very bones ached with weariness. I’m getting old, she told herself.

Ben got out to open her door.

‘I won’t come in,’ he said with a half smile, mocking her. ‘Stephen would kill me.’ She smiled uncertainly.

‘I’ll ring you in the morning and we can make arrangements then.’ He had turned back to the car before she realised what he was talking about.

‘Oh, right. Have you got my number?’

He looked up at her before he shut the door.

‘Of course.’

Sidney was on his usual stair. Libby sat down on the one below and looked him in the eye.

‘All right, clever clogs. So now what? I suddenly realise I fancy this bloke and then whoosh – next thing, I’m suspecting him of sabotage because of his bloody family. What do I do now?’

Hours later, unable to sleep, she wrapped herself in her patchwork quilt and went downstairs to drink copious cups of tea and work her way through the best part of a packet of cigarettes. She awoke next morning with a mouth and a head that told her she had smoked too much the night before, and the irritating trill of the telephone.

By the time she had fallen down the last two stairs and got tangled up with an irate Sidney, the answerphone had cut in and she couldn’t be bothered to switch it off. She listened to the disembodied voice when her message had finished.

‘Libby, it’s Ben. I’m going to the theatre about ten thirty. I’ll come and pick you up if you like, but I don’t suppose you’ll want me to, so I’ll meet you there unless I hear from you. I’ll open up, so don’t worry about keys. See you later.’

The answerphone rewound itself and sat winking at her knowingly. She glared at it and went in to the kitchen to make tea. Before she went upstairs to dress she pressed “play” and listened to Ben all over again, and then cursed herself for being a fool.

How do I know he’s going at ten-thirty? she asked herself as she hurried along the High Street towards the Manor gates. He could have been there for hours, rigging all sorts of nasty little surprises. And why? asked the other self, the one who had argued all night about Ben’s putative reasons for wishing to sabotage the play. I know, she answered herself, it’s his theatre, partly his idea, why the hell would he? But then, why the hell is Millie so against it? And what’s Uncle Lenny got to do with it all, anyhow?

She turned into the Manor drive and tried to relax tense shoulders.

The theatre was warm, all the lights were on and the coffee machine in the foyer gurgled quietly to itself as she pushed open the door to the auditorium.

‘Anybody here?’

‘Up here.’ Ben’s voice issued from above the stage, to be followed seconds later by Ben himself. Libby went forward slowly to meet him as he came down the ladder.

‘Well?’ She was watching his face carefully.

He held out his hand.

‘What’s that?’

‘Steel wire.’

‘And?’

‘It’s been cut.’

Chapter Six

‘
C
UT
? H
OW
CAN YOU
cut steel wire?’ Libby sat down suddenly on the stage.

‘Easy. All the right equipment’s here.’ He sat down beside her, looking tired.

‘But who would do it? It’s so dangerous.’

He nodded. ‘I can only think it was a practical joke and someone didn’t realise just how dangerous it would be.’

‘You’d have to be bloody daft not to.’

‘Well, the alternative’s not much fun, is it?’

‘You mean –’ Libby experienced that strange phenomenon sometimes described as one’s heart turning over. ‘It was supposed to hurt someone?’ It came out as a whisper. Ben nodded again.

‘But who? Didn’t they care? Just
any
body?’

‘I don’t know. That’s why I don’t think it was meant to hurt. Nobody could have been sure who, if anybody, would have been underneath it when the wire went. So it must have been meant as a – well, as a joke.’

‘Or a warning?’

Ben looked at her. ‘You think that, too?’

She looked away. ‘I wondered.’

‘My family?’

Libby’s heart began to beat faster and she felt the blood surging into her face. ‘Sorry,’ she muttered.

He sighed. ‘Look, it’s all right. Millie is behaving a bit oddly, I know, and I couldn’t help wondering myself, but honestly, could you see her clambering up there into the flies with a set of steel cutters?’

Libby let out an involuntary snort.

‘Well, there you are.’ He stood up. ‘Come and have a look round. I’ve taken all the security precautions I can think of.’

‘You were here earlier, then,’ said Libby, following him into the scenery dock.

‘Yes, why?’

‘No reason.’ Libby tried to sound nonchalant. Ben looked at her oddly, but made no comment.

Some of Ben’s precautions seemed a bit over the top even to Libby, but she had to admit he’d been more than thorough. Her suspicions gradually receded into the background of her mind.

‘You seem to know a lot about it all,’ she said when they finally fetched up back on the stage.

‘I used to have holiday jobs back-stage in one of the London theatres when I was a student.’ He tested the stability of one of the flats with a gentle hand. ‘I knew one of the flymen. I acted a bit, too.’

‘At college?’

‘And when I was married. Didn’t Peter tell you?’

‘No. Where?’

‘In London. A couple of the big amateur companies, and then in Surrey when we moved there.’

‘Golly.’ Libby always reverted to schoolgirl expressions in moments of confusion. ‘Does your wife still live in Surrey?’

‘Ex-wife, yes.’ He looked at her, amused. ‘Where’s yours? Husband, I mean.’

‘London. With his floosie.’

He let out a shout of laughter. ‘What a lovely old-fashioned expression.’

Libby grinned. ‘That’s how I think of her.’ He had bags under his eyes, too, nice friendly crinkly ones, nicer than hers. Hers were just ageing, his were attractive.

He leaned back against the proscenium arch, arms folded, head on one side.

‘You don’t trust me, do you, Libby?’

‘What?’ She blinked, feeling the blush start again.

‘You class me with your husband – running off with a series of floosies.’

‘He only went off with one – I think.’

‘Whereas I didn’t go off with any. Surprised?’

‘Er, no, of course not.’ Libby fumbled with her basket and dropped it.

‘Yes, you are. But you’re wrong. It was my wife who ran off. Come on.’ He pushed himself away from the wall. ‘The pub’ll be open now. I’ll buy you an early lunch.’

Libby, a prey to conflicting emotions, as she told herself, followed him out of the theatre.

They didn’t sit in their usual place but at a table in the other half of the bar near the fireplace. Ben fetched drinks and the bar menu and hung her aged cape up carefully on the coat rack.

‘So what now?’ he said sitting down and stretching his legs to the fire.

‘What now what?’ Libby was cautious.

‘The play. It goes ahead?’

‘Of course. Why not? Nobody’s going to pull the same stunt twice, are they?’

‘Hopefully not. But don’t you think we ought to try and find out why it happened at all?’

‘I can’t think of anything – any reason. It’s stupid. And anyway, I can’t go around like some half-baked Miss Marple asking leading questions, can I?’

‘You could tell the police.’

‘The police? Whatever for?’

‘That could have been a fatal accident, you know. Not just a shock.’

Libby was silent, reflecting on the nauseating enormity of it.

‘I can’t tell the police,’ she said finally. ‘The others would never forgive me.’

‘Suppose it happens again?’

‘It won’t.’ She glared at him. ‘Stephen will be all over that back-stage area like creeping ivy. He’s terribly aware of all the latest Health and Safety regulations, you know. Won’t let me have more than so many people on the stage at a time, and areas of responsibility and all that. He was the one who sorted out our professional insurance, didn’t you know?’

‘Of course I knew. I was going to do it, but Pete told me I’d been superseded.’

‘Well, there you are then.’

‘Supposing Stephen had something to do with the accident?’

‘What?’ Libby’s voice rose, and several heads turned their way. ‘Why on earth would he do that? You’ve seen what he’s like with me. Why would he ruin what he hopes might become some sort of meaningful relationship?’

‘OK, OK, I’m only playing devil’s advocate.’ He held up his hands, laughing. ‘And by the way, I ought to call him. He’ll be in a ferment of jealousy by now, wondering what we’re getting up to behind the stage.’

A short silence fell while Libby gazed into the sullen, intermittent flicker in the fireplace.

‘Why are you always laughing at me?’ she said finally.

‘Am I?’ He seemed surprised again. ‘You do come out with the most astonishing things.’

‘Well, you do. You seem to find me amusing.’

‘And you don’t like that? You would rather I found you dull and boring? Middle-aged and provincial?’

‘Well, that’s what I am.’

He shrugged. ‘So am I.’

‘No, you’re not.’

‘Not which bit?’

‘All of it. There, you’re doing it again.’

Ben sat forward and took her hand. ‘I’m not laughing at you, I’m –’

‘I know, laughing with me.’ Libby withdrew her hand. ‘And I’m not used to being flirted with, either.’

‘Was I doing that as well? Oh, I
am
sorry.’ He sat back in his chair, watching her.

‘Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. No, perhaps you’re not. I’m just not used to –’

‘Men?’

‘Well, of course I’m used to men. I’ve always had men friends.’

‘Like Peter and Harry?’

‘And ordinary married men. And their wives.’

‘And Stephen, of course.’

‘Why do you keep bringing him up? And stop making me defensive.’

‘I wasn’t. For goodness’ sake, Libby, stop accusing me of things. I invited you out for a quiet pub lunch and it’s turning into a full-scale battle.’

‘Sorry.’ Libby tried to breathe deeply and began searching for a cigarette. ‘I’m a bit wound up.’

‘Here.’ He took her lighter and lit the cigarette. ‘You smoke too much, you know.’

‘That’s not going to help the cease-fire, is it?’ She grimaced. ‘Sorry – no pun intended.’

‘No, sorry. Forget I said it.’

‘But you’re right. I do. And I drink too much.’

‘Do you?’

‘Do you know any other women who go to the pub practically every day?’

‘Lots. You don’t sneak in on your own for a quiet tipple in the snug, do you?’

She grinned. ‘With me fur ’at and me milk stout?’

‘I can just see you in a fur hat.’

‘I’ll go and buy one.’

‘That’s better.’ He reached across and patted her hand. ‘Now. Let’s have a look at the menu.’

After their rather tired-looking Ploughman’s Platters had been delivered by an equally tired-looking young woman in an apron announcing that big was beautiful, Libby returned to the subject uppermost in her mind.

‘Your family. I said to Peter the other day – it’s confusing, isn’t it?’

‘I thought we were rather your original run-of-the-mill family. What’s confusing about us?’

‘Oh, dates, times, who was here when the tallyman was murdered and who wasn’t … you know.’

Ben laughed. ‘I can’t see that as confusing. You’re directing the play, you know who was here.’

‘Yes, but your Aunt Millie was here, and she’s not in the play.’

‘You’re really worried about Millie, aren’t you?’ Ben frowned at her.

Libby shifted in her chair. ‘Sorry. I must sound paranoid. But she’s the only one who seems to be against the play. Nobody else is – are they?’

‘I think Susan was a bit uncomfortable about it at first, being a doctor’s wife and all.’

‘Oh, your sister. How is she? I haven’t seen her for ages.’

‘Fine. Wants David to retire, of course. He works far too hard.’

‘But she’s OK about it, now, is she?’

Ben pushed his plate away. ‘Far as I know.’

‘What about James?’

‘James?’ Ben laughed. ‘Why on earth would he be against the play?’

‘No idea. He hasn’t been around much, that’s all.’

‘That’s because of Paula. You saw what she was like on Monday – all over him. He’s doing his best to avoid her, that’s why he isn’t around.’ Ben sighed. ‘I think he would have moved to the village rather than Canterbury if it hadn’t been for Paula.’

‘That would have been nice for Aunt Millie. Both her little boys round the corner.’

‘Can’t think of anything worse, can you?’ Ben grinned. ‘No, that’s probably half the reason for Canterbury. Millie can’t quite come to terms with Pete’s lifestyle, so she’d be forever trying to interfere in James’s.’

‘I expect she wants grandchildren.’ Libby made a face. ‘Most women of her age seem to.’

‘Perhaps she ought to encourage Paula, then. That woman’s desperate to have a baby.’

Libby’s eyebrows shot up. ‘How do you know?’

‘You said yourself – her clock’s ticking. She’s nearly thirty-eight.’

‘I thought Pete said she was thirty-five?’

‘He doesn’t know her as well as I do.’

‘Oh?’

Ben looked away. ‘Yes, well, not an episode I’m proud of.’

‘You didn’t?’ Libby gasped.

He looked uncomfortable. ‘Only once.’

‘You can’t know her that well, then.’ Libby sat back in her chair.

‘Once is enough. I made the mistake of walking her home after a fairly alcoholic do of some sort. She’d been coming on to me all evening, and somehow I got talked into it. Believe me, I heard all about her hopes and dreams.’

‘And I hope you fulfilled at least one of them,’ said Libby, squashing an inappropriate rush of jealousy.

Ben looked back at her and grinned again. ‘I have no idea. I don’t remember anything about it, except waking up on the sofa at four in the morning considerably dishevelled and dying for water. At which point I left.’

‘What happened after that?’

‘She became very coy whenever I saw her. Sharing a secret sort of coy – you know? This was in my gallivanting days, of course. After my wife went off with her male floosie.’

‘There. You’re laughing at me again.’ Libby picked up her cigarette packet, sighed, and put it down again.

‘No I’m not. Don’t be so sensitive. Anyway, it was my peccadilloes we were discussing, not yours, so I’m the one who should be on the defensive.’

Libby frowned down at her plate. ‘So you wouldn’t want to see James tied up with her, then?’

‘No, I certainly wouldn’t. That woman hides a conniving, manipulative nature under all that eyelash batting. That “silly little me” act doesn’t fool anybody.’

‘Well, it obviously does at first. You fell for it, and so did James.’

Ben looked affronted. ‘I didn’t fall for it. I knew exactly what she was like.’

‘You still went to bed with her.’

‘You don’t know that. Come to that, even
I
don’t know that. We are assuming, given certain evidence.’

Libby was doubtful. ‘If you say so.’ She looked at her watch. ‘I’d better get back. I’ve got a delivery to make on Friday and I haven’t quite finished.’

‘Framing?’

Libby blushed. ‘No, the paintings.’

Ben shook his head at her. ‘Too much skiving off down the pub,’ he said. ‘You’re a terrible woman.’