Blackstone's pursuits

In which we meet a camp follower and learn of Dawn’s big break

I’m not exactly a regular theatregoer. Every so often I’ve been persuaded by a lady to take her to one of the big musicals they put on for long runs at the Playhouse, but live events are not really my thing. That said, on the few occasions when I have been lured along there, the Lyceum has always struck me as a nice wee hall. It’s got a friendly feel about it; it isn’t grandiose like the Festival Theatre, or such a big barn of a place that the sound bends into funny shapes if you’re sat up in the Gods.

When we parked in Grindlay Street, I jumped out of the car and headed off towards the glazed foyer. I thought that Prim had fallen in behind me, but she stopped me with a whistle. ‘Wow, she can even whistle,’ I thought.

‘Not there,’ she said, ‘the offices are across the street.’ So instead, I followed her, watching her skirt swish from side to side with the delicious movement of her explosive hips.

The administration and rehearsal rooms of the Lyceum were up a close, and behind an anonymous door. There was no obvious reception area and so we wandered along a corridor, looking for signs of life. The corridor ended in a double door. I looked at Prim, shrugged my shoulders and opened it, gently and slowly.

We stepped into a big room with a few chairs and other odds and ends of furniture scattered haphazardly around. In its centre, a man sat, with his back to us. He hadn’t heard us come in and stayed in his seat, bent over as if reading something in his lap.

I felt that a theatrical cough was appropriate. The bloke straightened up with a start, then twisted in his chair to peer over his shoulder at us. He wore glasses and had a long nose. The way he stared, I formed the distinct impression that he was looking down it at us. And I didn’t like that much. ‘Yeasss?’ he said, in a voice that rang with luwieness. ‘Are we lost, little people?’

I don’t like being patronised at the best of times, and especially not by a tall, disjointed pillock with limp wrists, long, highlighted hair, a shirt with a frayed collar and a sweater that looked like an insect colony. ‘No, chum,’ I said, trying my best to sound like a private eye, ‘we’re not. But we’re looking for someone who could be.’

He stood up. His jeans were even scruffier than his shirt and sweater. ‘Indeed. And who might that be?’

Prim stepped forward, smiling her sweetest. ‘My sister actually, Dawn Phillips. I’m Primavera. I’ve just got back from Africa and I’ve no idea where she is.’ She waved a hand vaguely at me. ‘This is Oz Blackstone, my boyfriend.’ My heart swelled with pride, knowing that today it was pretty close to the truth.

‘Ah,’ said the thespian, ‘once more, the fragile Dawn. I don’t know if I’ll be of much help to you, but I’ll do my best.’ His tone was different. It’s funny, but Prim is one of those people that it’s just impossible to patronise, as Dylan had discovered, the hard way.

‘I am Rawdon Brooks,’ he said, with the briefest of courtly bows. ‘What a prat!’ I thought. ‘I am the Artistic Director of this humble repertory. Normally, Primavera — what a wonderful name — you would find Dawn here or close by, but not today, I’m afraid.

‘We have a visiting company in the Lyceum at the moment. We don’t go into rehearsal for another ten days. During that time, your sister should be making her big breakthrough into moviedom. Far from being lost, you could say she’s been discovered.

‘There are some Americans around, making one of these awful kilt and claymore things. Son of Rob Roy or some such nonsense. Dawn has a small part in it, but she’ll get billing for it. She’s playing a camp follower…’ ‘A bit like you then,’ I almost said. ‘… or something, dressed up in a scanty plaid, I should imagine, and being ravished by the fearful Redcoats.’

‘Billy Butlin’s got a lot to answer for,’ I muttered, but Brooks was in full declaiming mode.

‘The trouble with these operations is that they shoot to a tight schedule, moving around all over the place. One day here, next day there, the day after, God knows where. So, while I am sure that she will be somewhere north of Perth — if she has scenes today, that is — I have no idea exactly where that would be.’

As you may have gathered, I’m the sort of guy who’s big on first impressions, and this man had triggered off a creeping dislike in me. I did my best to suppress it. ‘When did this gig begin? How long has she been away?’

‘Since the beginning of last week.’

‘So she’s been out of town for the last ten days or so?’ said Prim, questioning.

‘That’s possible, my dear, but she could have been back, then off again. As I said she has but a small part. It’s unlikely she’d be shooting every day, and in Scotland — fearful place that it is — the wilderness is only a couple of hours away.’

I’m no rabid nationalist, but that was too much for me. ‘Come on, pal. Wilderness! Ever heard of Moss Side?’

He looked at me, down that long nose again. ‘Mmm. A touchy Jock, is he? Your wilderness is earning your country millions of dollars, my dear boy. You shouldn’t be ashamed of it.’

‘I’m not. But this “fearful” place is feeding you right now, so maybe you should show it more respect. And I warn you, if you say anything smart about pearls and swine, I shall kick you sharply in the balls … my dear.’

Brooks laughed and threw up his long flapping hands. ‘Pax! Pax! I must stop provoking you chaps, or I really will get into trouble. The fellow yesterday was just as upset as you, but he was a policeman, so I got away with it.’

‘I wouldn’t bet on it. You’d better be careful where you park your car. What policeman was this, then?’

‘He called here yesterday. He said he was CID, and he was asking questions about Dawn, too. I hope the child is all right. She’s your sister,’ he said to Prim, ‘so you’ll know how sensitive she can be. Just lately she’s been very emotional. Every so often a spontaneous weep, other times unnaturally cheerful. I asked her if she had something on her mind, but she wouldn’t say.’

‘This copper,’ I asked. ‘Was he alone?’

‘Yes, quite.’

‘What time did he call?’

Brooks scratched the stubble on his chin. ‘Just after I got in. Must have been around ten-fifteen.’

‘What was his name?’

‘You know, he didn’t say.’

‘Did he show you ID?’

‘I didn’t think to ask. It upsets them, you know. One doesn’t like to provoke.’

‘Can you describe him then?’

The actor laughed again. ‘My dear boy, I have always assumed that policemen are called pigs because they all look exactly alike. He was just another aggressive chap in a raincoat, that’s all.

‘But tell me, why do you ask?’

Before I could conjure up a half-decent lie, Prim jumped in. ‘Dawn was involved with a policeman for a while. He didn’t like it when she chucked him, and he gave her a hard time.’

‘Then she should complain to his superiors, surely.’

‘That could be asking for even more trouble,’ she said. ‘You can’t think of any quick way for us to trace Dawn, then, other than driving around the Highlands looking for movie lights?’

Brooks paused for a second or two. ‘There’s a company called Celtic Scenery, based down in Leith somewhere. They maintain a database of potential film sites. Visiting companies use them for advance work, choosing locations to suit story-lines, making sure that there are no electricity pylons in the background of the highland heroes, that sort of thing.’ I smiled briefly to myself, remembering jet trails in the sky in a B-MOVIE Western that I’d seen on TV as a kid. ‘If they’ve been involved, they might have a copy of the shooting schedule.

‘That’s as much help as I can give you. Now I must return to my script.’ He turned his back on us abruptly and rearranged himself, artistically, on his chair.

‘Thank you very much, Mr Brooks,’ said Prim. Without turning, he waved a hand, feebly. We made our way back into the corridor and out of the building.

The morning sunshine was refreshing after the gloom of the rehearsal room. ‘What an arsehole that guy is!’ I spluttered as we emerged.

‘Ah, my darling,’ said Prim. ‘That’s your inherent Scottish homophobia coming out.’

I looked at her in surprise. ‘Homoph… So you reckon he is too?’

‘As queer as a nineteen pound note, so Dawn said in one of her letters. It used to be a three pound note: that’s inflation for you, eh?’

I thought about it. ‘No, I won’t have the term homophobia used about me. I’ve never been afraid of a homosexual in my life. I’m a liberal in that respect. A couple of my best friends are gay. That bloke in there could be as straight as an arrow and he’d still be an arsehole.’

‘I agree,’ she said, ‘but he was useful though. Celtic Scenery can be our next stop, after we see Dylan. Could he have been the policeman who visited Brooks, d’you think?’

‘Not unless he was hell of a quick on his feet. Mike Dylan was at Leith to respond to Constable McArse’s call only a few minutes after Brooks had his visit. And why would he have been asking questions about Dawn before Kane’s body was found?

‘There’s no saying it was a policeman anyway. He was on his own, which isn’t right. Brooks didn’t see a warrant card, or even ask to see one.’

Prim smiled, mischievously. ‘He was probably too busy having fantasies about truncheons.’

‘Unworthy! No, that could have been anyone. It could even have been the real killer.’ A shudder swept through me. ‘In fact, it probably was!’

Her eyes lit up. ‘And if that’s the case, it means that Dawn must have got away from him.’

‘Aye, but it also means that he’s looking for her. We’d better get a move on. Let’s go back to the loft and see if we can find an address for Celtic Scenery in Good Old Yellow Pages.’