Starburst (38 page)

The delicious aroma of roast chicken was floating around the hallway when Jamie and Angélique entered the flat. Dumping the bags on the ground, Jamie followed the herb-laden smell to its source, pushing open the door of the kitchen. Rene Brownlow, Leonard Hartson and his young assistant, T.K., were seated at the table, all in the throes of eating, a glass of red wine in front of each. The conversation halted when he and Angélique walked in, and his three tenants turned to look their way.

“Well, if it’s not our absentee landlord,” Rene said with a smile.

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Jamie replied, scratching embarrassedly at his head. “We sort of stayed a bit longer than was expected.” He eyed the plates piled with food on the table. “You seemed to have been coping all right, though.”

“Aye, well, someone had to play mother for these poor starving lads.” She laid down her knife and fork and pushed herself to her feet. “’Ow about some for yourselves?”

Jamie held up a hand. “No, don’t worry. I can make something up for Angélique and myself.”

“Don’t be stupid. There’s masses left over.” Grabbing a cloth from the sideboard, Rene opened the door of the oven and took out an enormous roast chicken, one side of it still untouched. “Come on, join the party.”

“Are you sure?” Jamie asked.

“Of course you must,” Leonard Hartson cut in, getting to his feet and pulling an unoccupied chair away from the table. “Move yourself round the table, T.K., and allow the young lady a bit of space beside you.”

“Hullo, we have not met,” Angélique said, reaching across the table to shake hands with the two men, young and old. “My name is Angélique Pascal.”

“Ah, my word, what a pleasure!” Leonard said, bowing his head as he took her hand. “I have long been an admirer of your wonderful playing.” He introduced both himself and T.K. to Angélique.

Rene placed two steaming plates brimming with chicken, vegetables and potatoes on the table. “Right, grab yourselves a knife and fork and get stuck in.” She took two wineglasses from the cupboard above the worktop and put them next to the plates. “And I’m sure Leonard wouldn’t mind if you had some of ’is wine.”

“I’m afraid it’s only a very humble Bordeaux,” Leonard said, smiling apologetically at Angélique as he leaned across to pour her a glass. “I’m sure you will notice that as soon as you try it.”

Sitting down next to T.K., Angélique took a sip from her glass. “It is delicious. You are obviously quite knowledgeable about wines, Leonard.”

“Leonard knows a lot aboot everythin’, don’t ye, Leonard?” T.K. stated with pride.

Leonard laughed. “Flattery will get you everywhere, T.K.”

As Jamie took his seat, he looked across the table at the cameraman. Although he appeared to be in good spirits, the old man seemed to have aged visibly since Jamie had last seen him. His eyes were twinkling with enthusiasm, but they were set deep into a face that was lined with either worry or pain, its colour drained to an unhealthy chalky-white.

“So, how’s it going with the filming?” Jamie asked.

“We’re doing reasonably well,” Leonard replied. “A little bit behind in our schedule, but hopefully we’ll be able to complete everything in the next nine days.”

“The stuff we’ve shot so far s’been great, isn’t that right, Leonard?” T.K. said, looking eagerly at the cameraman.

“I think it would be safer to say that the reports from London have been quite encouraging.” He shot a clandestine wink at Jamie. “My assistant is not only an invaluable asset to me whilst shooting, but also a constant boost to my morale.”

Jamie swallowed a mouthful of food. “Well, I’m glad all’s been going so well while we’ve been away.”

“Aye, an’ for Rene, too,” T.K. said.

Jamie turned to the comedienne. “Really?”

“Go on, Rene, tell ’em whit’s happened tae you’s,” T.K. prompted.

Rene’s face flushed to a colour similar to that of the wine she was drinking. “I’ve…erm…started a new show.”

“What?” Jamie asked perplexedly. “Where?”

“In the Underbelly.”

Jamie stared at her. “You’re kidding!”

“What is an Underbelly?” Angélique asked.

“Only probably the best Fringe venue in the whole of Edinburgh.” He turned his attention back to Rene. “How did you manage that?”

“I teamed up with another girl who was doing a show there. We’re now on as a double act.”

“Who is she?”

“A lass from Lancashire, Matti Fullbright.”

Jamie’s jaw dropped. “Matti Fullbright! Rene, she’s fantastic! I reviewed her show last year when she was short-listed for the Perrier Comedy Award.”

It was Rene’s turn to gawp. “Ye’re kidding me! She never told me that!”

“Well, all I can say is that you’ve got yourself teamed up with one of the funniest women I’ve ever seen. Is this to be a permanent partnership?”

Rene shrugged. “I reckon it could be. We’ve been playing to packed audiences every day. They’ve even shifted our act on to twice daily.”

“How did they organize that?”

“They found someone who was quite ’appy to move to my old venue at the Corinthian.”

Jamie flicked his head to the side. “You’ve got it made, Rene. That’s great news. What do the folks back home in Hartlepool think about it all?”

Rene grimaced. “I ’aven’t actually told them.”

“Why not?”

“Because there’s a lot to discuss before I make a decision one way or t’other,” she replied, and not wanting to enlarge on the problems her new partnership would doubtlessly cause in her already troubled domestic life, she left it with a smile and turned to Angélique. “So, ’ow’s your ’and getting on, luv?”

Angélique held up her injured hand, showing no sign of a strapping, only a small pink scar across the palm. “It is back to normal, I think.”

“Oh, that looks brilliant,” Rene said, taking the violinist’s hand in hers and scrutinizing the healed wound. “You’ll be back to playing the violin in the blink of an eye.”

“She already is,” Jamie said. “In fact, Angélique reckons she’s ready to play in public again, so we’re just hoping the International office can arrange for her to do one of the late concerts next week, just before the close of the festival.”

“Oh, I’m glad to ’ear that, lass,” Rene said, giving Angélique’s hand a pat. “Ye’re doing exactly the right thing, jumping back on that ’orse straight after ye’ve fallen off it.”

Jamie thumped his hands down on the table. “Right, I think all occupants of number seven London Street have got quite a bit to celebrate, so how’s about we adjourn to the local pub and have a drink?”

There was no voiced approval to the idea but all jumped to their feet and started to clear away the plates. All, that is, except Leonard. “If you don’t mind,” he said quietly, “I think I might just give it a miss on this occasion.”

T.K. clattered the plate he was carrying down on the sideboard and stared at the elderly cameraman. “Whit’s up, Leonard?” he asked concernedly.

Leonard held up a hand. “Nothing at all, T.K. I’m just a little tired. Nothing a good night’s rest won’t cure.”

Jamie glanced worriedly at Rene. “We don’t need to go out.”

“Of course you must!” Leonard replied heatedly as he got slowly to his feet. “I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself.”

“Ah’ll gie ye a hand tae the bedroom,” T.K. said, putting a supporting hand under Leonard’s elbow.

“Really, T.K., there’s no need.”

“Aye, there is,” T.K. replied resolutely. “Ye’re goin tae yer bed.”

Leonard smiled at the rest of the party. “Quite an assistant, is he not?”

“Do you think he’s all right?” Jamie asked, pulling on his jacket as he came down the steps to join Rene and Angélique on the pavement.

“I’m not that sure,” Rene replied as they began walking up London Street side by side. “To be quite ’onest, I think ’e’s bitten off more than ’e can chew. ’E told me this is the first film job ’e’s done for about twenty years.”

“Never!” Jamie exclaimed.

“Aye, and what’s more, ’e was meant to have a whole load of people ’elping ’im, and now it’s just ’im and the young lad.”

“Maybe we should ask that nice doctor who treated my hand to come round to see him,” Angélique suggested.

“Good idea,” Jamie replied. “We’ll see how the old boy’s getting on in the morning and make a decision then.” They turned the corner and began walking up Broughton Street. “Come on, let’s take a short cut,” he said, turning down a narrow cobbled street lit only by a few dim lamps fixed high on the dark walls of the surrounding buildings. It was deserted save for a large ginger cat that jumped clear of an open dustbin and disappeared down some steps as they passed.

“Ooh, I’m glad I’m in the presence of a tough young man,” Rene said, wrapping her coat around her. “I wouldn’t fancy walking down ’ere by myself.”

“Do you think T.K. will know where we are?” Angélique asked.

“I don’t know if he’ll come, but anyway I told him the name of the pub before we left. He should find it.” There was the sound of footsteps running quickly up the street behind them. Jamie turned. “Speak of the dev——”

The force of the blow to his shoulder was so great that it made him spin round through three hundred and sixty degrees. He put out his hands to try to grab hold of something that would keep him on his feet, but he knew immediately it was a lost cause. The side of his head hit hard against the cold stone of the building and his knees gave way, his eyes swimming in and out of focus as he slowly sank down the wall to the ground. Clutching his head in his hands, he heard Angélique scream and Rene shout, their voices sounding to him as if both were standing in an echo chamber. The words “Let go of ’er!” resonated through his brain, followed by a hollow slap like a fish being thrown down onto a wooden chopping board. A heavy weight fell across his legs and through blurred vision he saw Rene lying in front of him, whimpering and clutching at the side of her face. “Albert, stop this! Please, stop this!” he heard Angélique cry out.

The name rammed into Jamie’s brain, causing an adrenalin rush that cleared his head and brought feeling back to his legs. Pulling himself free of Rene’s weight, he levered his body up the wall and staggered towards Dessuin, who had Angélique gripped firmly by the wrists. He was yelling at her in French, his eyes demonic with hatred and rage. It was only then Jamie realized that, in all the physical encounters he had experienced on the rugby pitch, he had never been rendered quite so hopelessly weak. Dessuin turned to see him approach and let go of Angélique.

“You filthy bastard!” he spat out, as he came towards Jamie. “You think you can turn her against me?” He grabbed hold of Jamie’s hair with force and yanked his head down, at the same time bringing his knee up into the pit of Jamie’s stomach. Jamie keeled over, fighting for breath, but still Dessuin was not finished with him. He pulled his head up by the hair and slammed Jamie against the building, clutching him by the lapel of his jacket. Jamie saw the fist being drawn back and knew now that he was without the energy either to duck or to parry the blow. His only act of resilience was to keep his eyes open while the finishing blow was administered.

But it never came. He suddenly saw Dessuin spin round in front of him and the Frenchman’s head rock backwards. He turned slowly back to face Jamie, clutching at his nose as blood spurted out between his fingers, and Jamie watched as he sank down to his knees on the cobbled street. Gulping in air, Jamie now focused on the figure that stood before him.

“Jeez,” T.K. groaned as he rubbed hard at his forehead. “Ah never got the hang o’ the head butt.”

Jamie shook his head. “You did bloody well, mate. I owe you one.” He looked past T.K. to see Angélique enveloped in the bearlike folds of Harry Wills’s arms. “God, the cavalry arrived in the nick of time, didn’t it?”

Jamie stumbled round Dessuin’s hunched form and squatted down beside the little comedienne’s supine body. “Rene,” he said gently, taking hold of her hand, “are you all right?”

Rene opened one eye. “Aye, I’m fine. I just decided to play dead until that bloody French madman had gone.”

Jamie smiled at her. “Well, you’re safe enough now,” he said, pulling her to her feet and giving her a hug. “Sorry about that. I wasn’t much good.”

Rene glanced down at Dessuin with a sneer of disgust. “You didn’t get much of a chance, lad.” She leaned over Dessuin’s hunched form. “The little sewer rat played dirty, didn’t ye?”

Jamie felt an arm slip around his waist and he turned to find Angélique looking up at him, her face puffy and stained with tears. “Are you badly hurt?” she sobbed.

“No, I’m fine. Just aching a bit,” he replied, putting an arm around her shoulders and giving her a squeeze. “Don’t worry. It’s all over and done with now.”

“I’m sorry about all this, Jamie,” Harry Wills said, coming to stand beside Dessuin and looking down at him with pure dislike. “I never saw sight nor sound of him while I was outside your flat. I really had no idea he knew where you lived.”

Jamie shook his head. “No matter. Where did you spring from, anyway?”

“I dropped in at the flat just after you’d left to go to the pub. I was coming round with T.K. to join you for a drink.”

“Just as well,” Jamie replied, clutching a hand to his aching stomach. He nodded towards Dessuin. “So what are we going to do with him?”

Harry Wills bent down and heaved Dessuin bodily to his feet. He put a hand into his pocket and pulled out his mobile phone. “I think this game we’ve been playing has run its course. It’s time to call in the police.”

As he began punching in a number, Angélique glanced at Albert. He still clutched at his nose, covering his face with his hands, but she saw new tears well up in his eyes.

“Please wait, Harry. Don’t do it just yet.” Walking over to Dessuin, she reached up and took a hand away from his face and held it in hers. “Albert, you must understand it’s all over. Please, will you go home now? I promise you not one other person will ever know about what happened between us. You are such a talented man and you must use that talent to help others as you have helped me. And Albert, you must find someone else to look after your mother because she will continue to make your life a misery and you do not deserve that. So, please, Albert, go back to Paris and find yourself some happiness there.”