Dead on Cue (2 page)

But Gerry had spied them whispering and, inclining his head graciously to the bewildered youth, advanced upon them, his hand held out.

‘Gentlemen, will you do me the honour of letting me buy you a drink?'

‘How kind of you,' answered Nick, shaking it. ‘But let me introduce myself. I am the vicar of the parish, Nicholas Lawrence. And this is one of our local doctors, Kasper Rudniski.'

Gerry bowed. ‘My pleasure. It is an honour to meet two such distinguished residents of my new abode. Now, what can I get you?'

They told him and while Gerry was at the bar Kasper muttered, ‘Where has he come from?'

‘I don't know but I am about to find out,' Nick answered as the new arrival came back with a bottle of champagne held high, a girl following behind with three glasses.

‘Thought I'd forget your order and get a little something for a celebration,' said Gerry with an apologetic smile. He stared at Kasper long and hard before taking his seat. ‘You really ought to be in pictures, pal. As I said to Tom Cruise the other day, “New talent is getting so hard to find. What's happened to all the good lookin' fellas?”'

‘And what did he answer?' Kasper asked curiously.

‘He put his arm round my shoulders and stated, “Wherever they are, you'll find 'em, Gerry.”'

There was a slightly uncomfortable silence as nobody was quite sure whether to believe him or not. Then Nick asked, ‘Where have you moved in to?'

‘I've bought Abbot's Manor. It's been up for sale for a while but it's a great piece of real estate and I just had to have it.'

There was a stunned silence as the vicar and the doctor exchanged a glance. The house that the American had just mentioned had originally been built in medieval times and was in fact still fully moated. There was a distant view of it from the hill at Speckled Wood. It had been practically everybody's dream to buy it and when old Colonel Astaire had died and left the place to a nephew who had swiftly put the ancient dwelling up for sale, there had been a few murmurs of interest. But the price had been prohibitive; just over a million pounds in fact. Gerry Harlington must indeed be a man of resources.

‘I take it you are in films?' asked Kasper directly.

Gerry smiled kindly and poured three glasses of The Great House's best champagne. ‘Well, cheers people – as you say in England.' He drew in a breath and sighed. ‘By God, I love this place. I tell you your little old village of Lakehurst beats New York, LA, Vegas – remind me to tell you of the time I played there – Norleans, you name 'em. This is the life, here. Where a man can breathe the pure fresh air like the good God intended.'

Nick and Kasper stared at him, speechless. From his corner Jack Boggis let out an audible laugh and Gerry immediately turned towards him.

‘Why, good evening, sir. I'm afraid I didn't see you stuck away in your nook. Allow me to introduce myself. Gerry Harlington, at your service.'

Boggis glared, said, ‘Evening,' and returned to his paper.

Gerry continued, either obtuse or courageous, ‘That must be a mighty fine newspaper that you have there.'

Jack slapped it with his hand and said, ‘The
Telegraph
. Greatest newspaper there is.'

‘That's a matter of opinion,' Nick answered.

‘Well, you show me a finer. That
Guardian
rubbish is full of grammatical errors.'

For no reason the vicar felt angry. ‘As a matter of fact I think the
Guardian
is well written and extremely informative. I much prefer it to the others.'

‘Left-wing rubbish,' said Boggis nastily.

‘Now, now, sir,' answered Gerry. ‘I had no wish to cause an argument. Come and have a glass of champagne with us.'

‘No thanks, I'll stick to beer,' said Jack as affably as was possible for him and returned to the newspaper.

Gerry rolled his eyes upward, showing a great deal of white and mouthed, ‘Oh my,' spreading his neat black hands in a gesture of amused despair. He leant back in his chair. ‘Well now, people,' he continued, ‘let me propose a toast. To England.'

Nick and Kasper raised their glasses and the vicar thought longingly of his early night – but no chance.

Gerry was speaking. ‘I like you two boys and I feel certain that question marks are running round in your minds about me even while we speak. So I'm going to tell you my life story and how I got to where I am today. But before I start I want you to realize one thing.' He fixed them with eyes black as coal in the snow. ‘I did not choose the theatre. No sir. The theatre chose me.'

The vicar thought that might be quite an apt way of describing any calling but did not dare say a word.

The story unfolded like a bad film, plodding onwards, scene by boring scene. First there was the little black baby born to an unhappy mother – he was her eleventh child – ‘And she didn't want no more children to raise single-handed, I can tell you.' Naturally enough, she wept bitter tears when the infant was laid in her arms.

The birth took place in a log cabin – where else? And, predictably, the whereabouts of the sire of this brood were somewhat hazy. Next, the father dramatically reappears but dies in a terrible accident, once more Nick was not sure exactly what happened and how. Then a ne'er-do-well uncle adopts the little boy and takes him to somewhere called Norleans.

Kasper had glanced helplessly at Nick at this stage of the proceedings and the vicar had mouthed the words ‘New Orleans'. Kasper had smiled gratefully.

And it was in this strangely named town that the theatre had done its calling. For Uncle Woody was a professional entertainer and somehow or other wove the youthful Gerry into his act. The rest of the tale was predictable enough. Soon the young Harlington was starring on Broadway, then Hollywood called and he was into the big, big time.

‘I tell you, gentlemen, that I was on a par with Sammy Davis Jr – even more so, though later of course – but on this side of the pond I would hardly be recognized. You see, I signed a contract to do two films about the Wasp Man . . .'

Nick and Kasper looked at him blankly.

‘Well, they were such a smash hit in the States that I was asked to do several more –
Return of the Wasp Man
and
Son of the Wasp Man Strikes Back
being two of them. Reverend, Doctor, I was trapped in the Wasp Man's persona. What was I to do? I disappeared for a month or two – went to Vegas actually – and returned to Tinseltown as a film director. Well, could you blame me? I mean, what would you have done?'

Kasper asked timidly, ‘Who exactly was Wasp Man? Forgive me, but I am Polish and do not know these things.'

Gerry gave a smile. ‘Of course, I quite understand. Things are very primitive in your country. The Wasp Man was a hip-hop dancer with a hidden secret weapon. One sting from him was lethal. You see he was stung within minutes of his birth and it left him with this legacy.'

‘Of hip-hop dancing?' asked Nick innocently.

‘No,' answered Gerry, just a shade nastily. ‘Of having this murderous sting.'

‘Golly!' Nick answered, while Kasper looked very po-faced.

Gerry rambled on regardless. ‘When I returned I decided to make films for television not the big screen. So I directed a long-running soap opera called
The Fortune
. It was a smash hit. A family saga with all the usual complications. You know the kind of thing.'

‘I believe I saw an episode once in Poland. It had subtitles and was shown very late at night.'

‘Did you enjoy it?' asked Gerry eagerly.

Kasper shook his head mournfully. ‘Unfortunately I fell asleep.'

‘It wasn't shown over here?' asked Nick.

‘No. Too sexy, I reckon. Not quite British, you know.'

There was no answer to that so the conversation came to rather an awkward halt. Gerry drained his glass and looked at his Rolex.

‘Well, guys, I must fly. It really has been an enormous pleasure. I intend to plunge into village life with a vengeance.' He stood up and pumped the vicar's hand. ‘Toodle-oo, see you in church as they say. Bye, Doc.'

And he was gone. Kasper and Nick gazed at the door, then stared at one another, speechless.

‘Oh dear,' said Nick.

‘What are you thinking?'

‘I wonder how the village will take to Wasp Man.'

Kasper shrugged eloquently. ‘That we'll just have to wait and see.'

T
rue to his word, Gerry Harlington made a spectacular entrance into church, waiting until the last possible second before appearing, then making a slow progress up the central aisle, looking both to his right and left and nodding graciously, before taking a seat in the front pew. All but the very elderly stared in amazement and a positive buzz of ‘Who is that?' was only hushed by the start of the holy procession. Nick, having taken his seat before the altar, was amused to see that for this occasion Gerry was wearing a soft suede suit in a colour that the vicar could only think of as pink champagne. Beneath it he wore a purple shirt, open at the neck, displaying a vivid gold chain nestling amongst the greying chestal hair.

Afterwards Nick stood outside the ancient church, shaking hands and greeting his parishioners. Further down the steps Gerry had taken up a place in the middle of the path and was stopping everyone who passed him with a brilliant smile and a positive broadside of goodwill. Most of the inhabitants of Lakehurst looked embarrassed, muttered a hasty greeting, and hurried quickly on. But to his surprise Nick saw that Mrs Ivy Bagshot, chairwoman of the local Women's Institute, had actually stopped and was engaging Harlington in an animated conversation. Even though Nick was conversing with an elderly churchgoer at the time he, rather naughtily, strained his ears.

‘. . . I knew you were in showbusiness, lady. You have that look about you.'

Mrs Bagshot's claim to the stage had been limited to playing an ageing principal boy in the WI's annual pantomime production, the reason being that she had the longest legs. The fact that facially she had a certain resemblance to a parrot had not come into consideration.

Nick hastily said farewell to the last of the congregation and turned towards Gerry.

‘Mr Harlington, I was delighted to see you in church. I heard you singing the hymns with gusto.'

‘I was trained vocally, Vicar. I had to sing in the Wasp Man pictures.'

‘You were in films?' interrupted Ivy, impressed.

‘I certainly was, ma'am. In fact at one time I was the toast of Hollywood.'

Unbelievably Mrs Bagshot swallowed it.

‘How very interesting.'

Gerry bowed. ‘Most kind, I'm sure. Could I buy you a drink, ma'am? Do you have a spare half-hour?'

Ivy looked at her watch, a gold one on a thin strap. ‘Well, I . . .' She glanced at the vicar as if for approval but he kept his face expressionless. ‘I really ought to be getting back.'

‘Oh, come now. Surely you can spare half an hour.'

‘Oh, very well,' said Ivy capitulating.

The last view that Nick had of them was as they headed purposefully towards The Great House.

As it was not yet one o'clock the public house was relatively empty and Gerry quickly found a small table and seated Ivy at it with a great show of courtly old-world Southern manners.

‘What can I get you to drink, ma'am?'

‘A sweet sherry, if you please.'

‘Coming up.'

He went to the bar and returned a few minutes later with a schooner full of a deep-brown liquid and a large Jack Daniels on the rocks. Taking a seat opposite her, he said, ‘May I have the pleasure of knowing your name?'

‘Ivy Bagshot,' she answered, her glasses misting slightly.

‘Gerry Harlington, at your service. May I say that your name is most becoming, Miss Bagshot.'

‘Mrs.'

‘Of course. How could I think that an attractive woman like you could have slipped through the net.'

‘Are you married, Mr Harlington?'

‘Yes,' Gerry answered, somewhat surprisingly. ‘But my wife is a regular homebody. She's never happier than when she's in the garden – or polishing something. Of course, we're looking for a cleaner but meanwhile she has Abbot's Manor to care for all by herself.'

‘You live there? In the moated manor?' asked Ivy, clearly impressed.

‘Yeah. And you know the reason why I temporarily left America and came to England, Mrs Bagshot?'

‘No.'

‘I want to make a documentary on village life. The good, the bad and the ugly. Every aspect of what goes on behind the respectable facade.'

‘Oh goodness! Do you direct for television then?'

‘Sure. I directed one of the most popular soaps on US TV. And I have also had a most interesting career in films. Let me tell you about it – that is if you would like to hear.'

‘Oh yes, I would. Very much.'

Nearly an hour later, cheeks flushed from too much sherry, Ivy was sitting agog, listening to the exploits of the Wasp Man. She even tittered broad-mindedly at the mention of a hip-hop dancer.

‘Can you really do that, Mr Harlington? I mean dance in that fashion?'

‘Lady, I can do anything when it comes to the stage. I am what you Brits would call a good all-rounder. And what about you? What parts have you played?'

‘Nothing in your league, I'm afraid. I usually get cast as principal boy in the local village pantomime. But I was to have been the Lady Marguerite Beau de Grave – amongst other things – but, alas, that is now not to be.'

‘Why is that? I don't understand.'

‘Do you really want to hear about it? I mean, it's all local stuff.'

Gerry narrowed his eyes. ‘Mrs Bagshot, everything is of interest to me. Yes, siree.'

‘Well, there is a much larger village than ours about ten miles away. It's called Oakbridge. Perhaps you've heard of it?' Gerry shook his head. ‘Anyway they have quite a thriving dramatic society and, of course, they have – had – Mr Merryfield.'