Home through the Dark (18 page)

My mouth to the crack again: “If you are there, you'll have to speak loudly, the door cracks are padded.”

And at last, faintly but unmistakably, the reply I'd been waiting for. “Who is that?”

I ignored the question. “You are Etienne Lefevre?”

The voice rose excitedly, became more clearly audible. “Suzanne!
C'est toi?
”

“No, it's Ginnie Clements,” I said, and had no time to wonder at the volte-face reversion to my right name. “Can you come nearer to the door? I can't hear you very well.”

Incredibly there was a faint laugh. “
Hélas
no, mademoiselle, I regret. I am held to the bed.”

My mind raced furiously. “How many people come into contact with you?”

“Only Stephen and his so disagreeable sister.”

“Not Laurence?”

There was a slight pause. “
Non, pas
Laurence.”

“At what times do they bring your food?”

“
Quoi?
”

“Your food – when do they bring it?”

“In the morning early, at midday and at about six hours, but I have no hunger. Mademoiselle, you will release me?”

“I intend to try. Do you ever come out of there?”

“
Mais oui.
When Stephen brings my breakfast and again late in the evening when the theatre is empty. He takes me to his dressing room to wash.”

“There's no chance of breaking away from him?”

“He has a gun,” Etienne said with devastating simplicity.

“A
gun?
” The implications of that were too wide to reflect on now and I pushed it out of my mind for the moment. My throat was aching with the strain of trying to shout quietly.

“Have you any idea if there's more than one key?”

“Je ne sais pas.
”

“And it's impossible for you to jump them when they bring the food?”

“Assuredly, or I should have done so. I am confined with steel.”

“Steel?”

“A chain and lock.”

“A padlock?”

“
C'est ça.
”

Above me and slightly to my right, the Clown broke into “Come away, come away, death.” The second interval would not be long and the actors would be moving about more freely, might even slip down here for something. “I must go,” I said quickly. “I shall try to think of a way to help you but it is dangerous for me to come again. Be patient and don't mention having spoken to me.”

“Mademoiselle – Suzanne – does she know?”

“No, she doesn't. I'm going now. I'll do my best to get you out.”

“
Merci, mademoiselle. A bientôt.
”

Step by step I retraced my way along the passage, past the danger point of the staircase and round the corner to the passage leading back to the public part of the theatre. My luck held. The girl was not at the cloakroom counter. I entered the foyer at the exact moment that the first members of the audience reached it from the opposite direction. My mind was spinning with wild surmises. It was almost unbelievable that I had at last managed to locate Etienne. At least he was all right so far; that was something. The next problem was to work out how to free him. Crazily I contemplated hiding under the stage until Stephen or Rachel came with his food and then – then what? Even if I could overpower Rachel, Etienne would be unable to help me, padlocked to the bed, and she might not have that key with her. He would only be released when Stephen was there to keep an eye on him. With his gun.

If only Suzanne were more stable she might prove an invaluable ally, but in her present state she was more likely to precipitate some crisis.

“Ginnie, I didn't see you! Hello!” It was Kitty at my side. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, I just thought I'd pop in and see how things are going. You're not on duty again, are you?”

“I'm selling programs. It should have been Barbara, but she had a dental appointment this afternoon and her face is all swollen, so I said I'd come. Are you going to stay for a while?”

Marcus wasn't expecting me back till after ten. “Just for a few minutes. Are there any free seats?”

“Yes, one or two. I'll join you.”

So it was that yet again I sat through the second half of
Twelfth Night
with Kitty beside me and my mind circling round the man imprisoned beneath the stage. All their efforts to frighten me away had failed and at last I had the answer to everything in my grasp.

“I hear Mrs. Davidson's back from holiday and you've finished at Culpepper's,” Kitty whispered between scenes. “What are you going to do now?”

“I've got a job as secretary-receptionist at the George.”

“Good for you. Any chance of a free meal?”

I smiled. “Not a hope.”

“Coming to the end of play party on Saturday?”

“I hadn't thought of it,” I said slowly. Of course, next week would be back to the rehearsal routine, which meant that as people would be in and out of the theatre all day, it would be that much more difficult to approach Etienne unnoticed. In any case now that I knew where he was, I was anxious to get him out as soon as possible. It was almost a month now since we had both arrived in Westhampton. I realized that Kitty was still whispering about the next production.

“What did you say they're doing?”

“Christopher Fry –
Venus Observed.
They're opening on the first of November. It's the last one before the Christmas presentations.”

Christmas. I closed my mind to the prospect of spending it alone at the flat. The play wound its way to a close. I had stayed longer than I'd intended. “See you Saturday, then,” Kitty said cheerfully.

“Perhaps.”

The wind caught my coat and tore it apart, whistling coldly through the wool of my sweater. I shivered and hurried to the car, holding tightly onto the door as I opened it to prevent its being snatched out of my hand. Marcus's light was a very welcome sight as I turned into the Beeches and he was at the window watching out for my return.

I let myself into the flat and collected the night clothes and sponge bag I'd left ready before going out. His ring at the bell came just as I reached the hall again, and I opened the door.

“No problems?”

“No.”

“Thank God. I might tell you this has got me thoroughly jittery. I've been pacing up and down all evening, wondering what you were doing and if there were any sinister figures looming up around you.”

“Poor Marcus. Never mind, I don't think it will be going on much longer.”

“You said that before. Do you mean you're leaving?”

“I – don't know.”

“It depends on Carl, no doubt,” he said heavily. He gave me a crooked smile. “All right, I can't say you didn't warn me. Come on, I'll see you safely into the flat. Have you got the car keys?”

I handed them to him.

“Turn out the hall light. We don't want anyone to see the switch.” I did so and together we went across the short stretch of gravel which separated our front doors, keeping close into the angle of the house. He opened his door for me and stood aside to let me pass.

“Good night, Marcus, and thank you for looking after me so well.”

“Don't mention it. I'm only sorry it's a temporary arrangement. Good night, Ginnie; sleep well.”

A moment later I was alone in the warm little hall. Outside the engine of my car started up and moved away in the direction of the garage. With a sigh which I didn't stop to define I moved towards the stairs.

THE next few days passed uneventfully. I was kept fairly busy at the George, but every free moment my brain was worrying at the problem of how to effect Etienne's release and I seemed to be getting no nearer a solution. It was the gun I came up against each time, but I was not completely convinced of its veracity. To someone with Etienne's background, it would no doubt seem quite natural that an actor in a small provincial theatre should possess firearms. For my own part, I doubted it. It was much more likely to be a stage prop. The point was whether I was convinced enough of my theory to risk putting it to the test.

Marcus and I had slipped easily enough into our nightly switch of flats and the knowledge of being able to count on an undisturbed sleep was incredibly comforting. He had reported another telephone call in the night watches but no more imminent dangers. Yet time was passing relentlessly. It was three days now since I'd held my whispered consultation with Etienne. He would be wondering whether after all I was to be any help to him.

On the Friday morning, Kitty phoned me at the George. “Ginnie, we always turn to you in an emergency! Could you possibly help out at the theatre this evening? Barbara's face is still bad – apparently she's developed an abscess, poor thing, and now one of the girls in the kitchen can't make it. I wouldn't ask you again, except that you seem quite to enjoy dropping in there.”

My brain clicked into action. “Yes, all right. The only problem is that I can't make it between six-thirty and seven-thirty. I could go straight from work, though, and set out all the cups and things. That would make it easier for whoever's left to cope with the pre-show coffee.” And Etienne received his evening meal about six.

“That would be a help, yes. The intervals are the main panic.”

“The only thing is –” I tried to keep the excitement out of my voice. “How will I get into the theatre at that time? Will anyone be there?”

“You can always get the key from old Bert, the caretaker. He lives in a flat over the mews, just opposite the entrance. I'll give him a ring and tell him to expect you. Then there'll be no problem.”

“Thanks.” My hand was shaking as I put the receiver down.

Marcus came into the bar as usual at lunchtime, and I was able to slip across and tell him it would be after ten again that evening before I would be back at the Beeches.

He eyed me shrewdly. “Things are hotting up, aren't they?”

“It's beginning to look like it.”

“Promise me you won't take any chances.”

“No more than I have to,” I answered evasively, and he had to be content with that. I drove to the theatre straight after work and duly called on “old Bert.”

“I'm sorry to disturb you,” I said brightly, taking the key he had ready for me. “I suppose you're used to it, though. Is this the only key there is?”

“Mr. Grey has one to the stage door, o' course, and I think there's a spare up in the office at the theatre, but this here's mine and you're welcome to borrow it any time, long as you let me have it back safe.”

I thanked him, as much for the information as his offer and for the first time myself unlocked the door at the foot of the stairs and pulled it shut behind me. Rachel would doubtless let herself in by the stage door, either with Laurence's key or the spare, but I had no wish to warn her of my presence by leaving this door open. I ran lightly up the stairs and straight along the passage. It was just after five-thirty. Etienne's door was still firmly locked. I bent to the keyhole.

“Etienne?”

“
Ello?
”

“Are you still chained to the bed?”

“
Bien sûr.
What is happening? Each day I hope –”

“I know. I'm going to hide out here and see just what the procedure is when they bring your food. I've a pair of pliers in my bag and if there's any chance at all of taking her by surprise I should be able to cut through the chains. But I really intend only to watch today. I'd rather have Suzanne or someone with me when it comes to getting you out of here. I'm going now. Rachel should be here soon.”

I eased myself carefully between two anonymous mounds of furniture shrouded in filthy dust sheets, and prepared to wait for Rachel. The minutes passed, punctuated by the ticking of my watch, loud as a time bomb in the stillness. Then at last, somewhere up above me, I heard a door close and footsteps approaching. A moment later the light bulb flared into lurid life and I forced my head down between my knees. I had reckoned that from where I was I should be able to see diagonally into the room where Etienne lay.

Rachel was coming down the short flight of steps just along the passage. Moments later she passed within inches of me. There was a click as the key turned in the lock, the door opened and she went inside. Cautiously I raised my head. She was alone, but she was taking no chances. I saw with grudging admiration the method they had devised to keep their distance from their prisoner. An old trolley was just inside the room and it was on this that she unpacked the hot food she had brought wrapped in foil. I could hear the low murmur of her voice – Rachel never spoke loudly – but the words were indistinguishable. Nor, except for an outline on the bed, could I see Etienne Lefevre. When the food was set out, she pushed the trolley carefully over the floor towards the bed and he caught hold of it. I had only just time to duck down again before Rachel appeared in the doorway with a tray of dirty plates, no doubt Etienne's lunch dishes. Seconds later the door was shut and locked and her footsteps were retreating in the distance. The light clicked off, leaving small yellow discs floating in the darkness in front of my blinded eyes.

I stood up slowly, easing my cramped limbs and straightening my dress. “Etienne,” I called softly through the door, “I'll come back as soon as I can.
Bon appétit!
” I heard his low laugh in acknowledgment and then, with another glance at my watch, hurried back along the passage. My mind was so full of plans that I had pushed open the kitchen door before, too late, I realized that the light was already on and Rachel, stark panic on her face, had turned swiftly from the sink where she was washing Etienne's dirty plates. For a timeless moment we stared across the room at each other. She was the first to find her voice.