The Strangling on the Stage

SIX

The following morning over coffee at High Tor Jude gave Carole an edited version of her conversation with Hester Winstone. Though the woman wasn’t a client, their time together had been almost like a therapy session, so Jude kept the details of the infidelity to herself. She just said that Hester was clearly in a bad state, but talking things through had, she hoped, helped. It would have been different if she and Carole were working on a case together. Then she would have recounted everything that had passed between them. But there was no crime involved here, just a cry for help from a very unhappy woman.

Carole, needless to say, couldn’t wait to express her views of the SADOS members. ‘Really! Who do they think they are? When I was growing up, we had a word for people like that, and it was “show-offs”. Can’t they see how ridiculous they appear?’

Jude shrugged. ‘They’re just doing something they enjoy. I don’t see there’s much harm in it.’

‘Well, I’d hate to be involved with a group like that.’

‘No problem. No one was rushing to make you join them, were they?’

‘No,’ Carole conceded.

‘Have you ever done any acting?’

‘No.’ There was a shudder at the very idea.

‘Not even at school?’

‘Well, I was in a Nativity Play.’

‘What part?’

Carole coloured at the recollection as she said, ‘I was the Ox.’

‘One of the great parts,’ said Jude with a grin.

‘I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life. And I think my parents were at least as embarrassed as I was. The Seddons have never been people for putting their heads above the parapet.’

‘No, I can believe that,’ said Jude.

It was later that afternoon in Woodside Cottage, while she was reading a book about kinesiology written by a friend of hers, that Jude’s phone rang. The male voice at the other end was rich, confident and vaguely familiar.

‘Is that Jude?’

‘Yes.’

‘Oh, good, I’m glad I got the right number.’

‘Mm.’ She still couldn’t place him.

‘We met yesterday evening in the Cricketers.’

‘Oh yes?’

‘My name’s Ritchie Good.’

‘Ah. And to what do I owe the honour of this call?’

‘I just wanted to talk to you.’

‘Well, you seem to have achieved your wish.’

‘Mm.’ He let a silence dangle between them. ‘You made quite an impression on me.’

‘I’m flattered. Slightly surprised, because we can’t have spoken for more than a couple of minutes.’

‘It often doesn’t take long.’

Jude groaned. ‘That’s almost as corny as your “Where have you been hiding all my life” line.’

‘At least you remember it.’

‘Only for its cheesiness.’

‘Touché. Anyway, I was wondering if we could meet for a drink or something.’

‘A drink might be all right. I’m not so sure about the “something”.’

‘Let’s start with a drink then …’

Jude didn’t really know why she was playing along with him. If she hadn’t already decided that Ritchie Good was nothing but an ego on legs, this phone conversation would have convinced her. And yet here she was, responding in kind to his rather elaborate innuendo. Maybe it was just that it had been a long time since she’d flirted with a man. She was still smarting after the end of a pretty serious relationship with a man called Piers Targett, so wasn’t looking for anything beyond casual. But having a drink with an attractive bullshitter … well, there might be worse ways of spending an idle hour.

So she found herself agreeing to meet Ritchie Good at six o’clock in the Crown and Anchor.

The fact that she had chosen Fethering’s only pub as a rendezvous was a measure of how little Jude was anticipating any kind of relationship. Had the assignation been with anyone who really interested her, she would opted for another venue, a place from where the news of her tryst did not immediately go straight round the village. There was security for her in the Crown and Anchor. It put her on her home base, and there’d be people she knew there – Ted Crisp the landlord, his bar manager Zosia and some of the regulars.

Jude also told herself that she might get more information from Ritchie about Hester Winstone and what had reduced her to a suicidal state. The woman had, after all, said that Ritchie had chatted her up. But Jude knew that was really only an excuse. There was also the fact that he was a very attractive man.

He was late. Jude was already installed in an alcove with a large Chilean Chardonnay, and had already heard Ted’s Joke of the Day (‘Where are the Seychelles?’ ‘I don’t know – where are the Seychelles?’ ‘On the Seyshore.’).

Ritchie Good apologized for his tardiness. ‘Sorry, I got held up at work.’

‘What do you do?’

‘I work in a bank.’

‘Oh, are you one of those pariahs of contemporary society who keeps getting whacking bonuses?’

‘I wish. No, I work in the Hove branch of HSBC. On the Life Insurance side.’

‘Ah.’

‘I see you’ve got a drink.’ No suggestion he should buy her another one. Then again she had only had a couple of swallows from the glass. ‘I’ll get something for myself.’

He came back from the bar with what Jude knew, because she’d overheard him ordering it, was half a pint of shandy. ‘Can’t drink much,’ he said, ‘because I’m rehearsing tonight.’

‘I thought The Devil’s Disciple rehearsed on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Sundays.’

‘Yes, they do. Tonight isn’t for that. I’m playing Benedict in the Fedborough Thespians’ Much Ado.’

‘At the same time as you’re doing The Devil’s Disciple?’

‘Yes. Davina knew the deal when she persuaded me to do Dick Dudgeon. The Much Ado is on at the end of March, so I’ll have to miss a few Disciple rehearsals round then.’

‘So how long have you been a member of SADOS?’

‘The Saddoes?’ he said, enjoying the mispronunciation. ‘I’m not actually a member.’

‘But you have done shows for them before?’

‘Oh yes, I’ve done shows for most of the local amdrams, but I’ve never been a member of any of them.’ He smiled a complacent smile. ‘Sooner or later they all need me to help them out.’

‘So you audition for all of them in turn, do you?’

He chuckled. ‘I don’t do auditions. I get asked to play parts.’

‘Is that usual in the world of amateur dramatics?’

‘Not usual. But it’s how I work. All amdrams have a problem with gender imbalance. There are always more women available. That’s why they’re always looking for plays with large female casts. Getting enough men’s always tough. Getting enough men who can actually act is harder still. So no, I don’t audition. I wait till I’m asked to play a part.’

Jude hadn’t been aware that there was a star system in amateur dramatics, but clearly there was. And, at least in the Fethering area, Ritchie Good was at the centre of it. The original big fish in a small pond. She almost winced at the conceit of the man.

‘Anyway,’ he said, ‘we don’t want to talk about me.’ A statement which Jude reckoned might be one hundred per cent inaccurate. He brought the practised focus of his blue eyes on to her brown ones. ‘I was really bowled over by meeting you last night, Jude.’

‘Were you?’

‘Yes, it’s not often that I see a woman and just … pow! You had a big effect on me. I kept waking up in the night thinking of you.’

‘Oh yes?’

‘Would I lie to you?’

‘You really shouldn’t set up questions like that for me, Ritchie. They’re too tempting.’

‘Are you saying you think I would lie to you?’

‘I’m damn sure of it.’

‘Oh.’ He looked a little discomfited. Perhaps his chat-up lines usually got a warmer response. ‘Anyway, I thought it would be nice to meet.’

‘And here we are – meeting. Is it as nice as you anticipated?’

His face took on the hurt expression of a small boy. ‘You’re a bit combative, Jude.’

‘I wouldn’t say that. I just have a finely tuned bullshit detector.’

‘Ah. So you reckon I’m a bullshitter?’

‘Isn’t self-knowledge a wonderful thing?’

‘And the possibility doesn’t occur to you that I might be sincere?’

‘You have it in one.’

‘I do find that a bit hurtful,’ he said in a voice that was playing for sympathy. ‘I’m sorry, it’s just that I’m a creature of impulse. I see someone I fancy, I want to get to know that person, find out more about them.’

Jude was silent. She believed his latest statement as little as she had believed his previous ones. Ritchie Good was not, in her estimation, ‘a creature of impulse’. She reckoned everything he did was a product of considerable calculation. And she was interested to know the real reason why he had arranged this meeting. His implication that, on first seeing her in the Cricketers, he had experienced a sudden coup de foudre did not convince her.

‘So,’ she said, taking the conversation on a completely new tack, ‘first proper rehearsal for The Devil’s Disciple tomorrow?’

‘Yes.’

‘Is it going to be good?’

‘Dick Dudgeon’s a very good part,’ said Ritchie Good. It was the archetypal actor’s response. Never mind about the rest of the production, I’ve got a good part.

‘Have you worked with Davina before?’

‘Oh yes, a few times. I like her as a director. She’s very open to everyone’s ideas.’

Jude didn’t think she was being over-cynical to translate Ritchie’s last sentence as: she listens to my ideas and lets me play the part exactly as I want to.

Time to home in on what she really wanted to ask him. ‘I was having a chat with Hester last night …’

‘Oh?’ There was a slight tension in him, a new alertness at the mention of the name. ‘What, in the Cricketers?’

‘No, actually after she’d left. We met in the car park.’ Which was as much as she wanted to say about the circumstances of their encounter.

‘Really? Was she all right?’ Which struck Jude as a slightly unusual question from someone who’d been in the same pub with the woman the evening before.

‘Oh, fine,’ she said, finessing the truth. ‘Have you known her long, Ritchie?’

‘Met her once before last night. I went to see the SADOS panto a few weeks back. They’re always pretty dreadful, but I feel I should go out of loyalty. The trouble is, it’s basically knockabout slapstick, but Neville Prideaux insists on writing these dreadfully pretentious lyrics for the songs, and the two elements just don’t fit together. You know, his lyrics are all about the cigarettes of hope being stubbed out in the ashtrays of dreams. God knows who he thinks he is – Jacques Brel? But that’s how they’ve always done the panto in recent years, and SADOS are not very good at change. Then again, Neville seems to have an unassailable position in the society. They all seem to think the sun shines out of his every available orifice.’

‘What’s his background? Was he involved in professional theatre?’

‘Good Lord, no. Schoolteacher all his life. At some public school, I can’t remember the name. Head of English and in charge of all the drama. Directed every school play, ran the Drama Department like his own private fiefdom, as far as I can gather. And now he’s retired, so he’s vouchsafing SADOS the benefit of his wisdom and experience.’

The sarcasm in his last words reminded Jude of what she had felt in the Cricketers, that there was considerable rivalry between Ritchie Good and Neville Prideaux, both big beasts in the local amdram circles.

‘Anyway,’ asked Ritchie, ‘do you know Hester well?’

‘Met her for the first time yesterday evening.’

‘In the Cricketers car park?’

‘Well, I’d been introduced to her in the pub, but it was in the car park that I got the chance to talk to her.’

‘What about?’ Ritchie’s urgency was making him drop his guard of nonchalance.

‘Oh, this and that,’ Jude lied casually. ‘The production of The Devil’s Disciple … SADOS … how long she’d been involved … that kind of thing.’

Ritchie Good nodded, and Jude thought she detect relief in his body language, as he moved on to talk about the play. ‘Be interesting to see how Disciple goes down in Smalting. Shaw’s gone out of fashion, but he does write good parts for actors. Bloody long speeches, mind you. I didn’t know the play when Davina asked me to play Dick Dudgeon, but the minute I read it I knew I had to do it. Rather let down the Worthing Rustics, whom I’d vaguely promised that I’d play Higgins in their Pygmalion, but I’ve done the part before, and Dick Dudgeon was much more interesting … you know, to me as an actor.’

‘I’m sure,’ said Jude. ‘I don’t know the play, I’m afraid, but I assume that Dick Dudgeon is the lead part.’

‘Yes. Well, Judith’s a decent part too.’

‘The one Storm Lavelle’s playing?’

‘Mm. I hadn’t met her before the read-through, but she’s not a bad little actress. Needs a bit of work on the American accent, but I dare say I can help her out there.’

‘And Judith is … not Dick Dudgeon’s wife?’

‘No, she’s married to the Pastor, Anderson. She starts off hating Dick Dudgeon, but by the end is rather smitten. Davina gave me the choice of playing Anderson or Dudgeon, but there was no contest. Anderson’s a goody-goody, whereas Dick’s … well, “The Devil’s Disciple”. No question Dick Dudgeon is the sexier role.’

‘Which I suppose you would regard as typecasting,’ suggested Jude slyly.

Although she had intended the remark as satirical, Ritchie took it at face value. ‘Yes, very definitely.’

‘And who’s playing Anderson?’

‘Oh, I’ve forgotten the guy’s name, but he’s perfectly adequate.’ Perhaps, thought Jude, the perfect example of damning with faint praise.

‘And is Neville Prideaux in the production?’

‘Yes, he’s playing General Burgoyne. Only appears in Act Three. Rather a showy part, suits Neville down to the ground.’ Clearly no opportunity was going to be missed to have a dig at his rival.

There was a silence. Then Jude, never one to beat about the bush, said, ‘I’m still not clear why you wanted to meet me.’

‘I told you. You made an instant impression on me. I couldn’t not see you again.’

The delivery was as polished as the lines, but once again Jude found them unconvincing. ‘And after this meeting, what then …?’

‘I hope it’s the first of many.’ Jude rather doubted whether it would be. ‘Why is it,’ he protested, ‘that people round here are so hidebound? You meet someone you really click with … and what do you do about it? For most people – nothing. Well, I don’t subscribe to that approach. If I meet someone who makes a big impression on me, I want to see more of them, want to get to know them, want to find out whether they’re feeling a little bit of what I’m feeling …?’

To someone less full of himself, Jude would have been gentler, but she had no problem saying to Ritchie Good, ‘Well, I’m afraid I don’t feel anything for you.’

‘Oh.’ He was clearly taken aback; her reaction was perhaps not one he frequently encountered.

‘I mean, I can see you’re attractive …’

‘Thank you.’

‘… and your conversation’s quite entertaining …’

He nodded his gratitude.

‘… but I can’t imagine being in a relationship with you.’

‘Why not?’

‘I quite like one-to-one relationships.’

‘So?’

‘Well, I can’t see you being very good at concentrating solely on one woman.’

‘Try me.’

‘No, thanks.’ Jude turned the full beam of her brown eyes on him. ‘Are you married?’

‘Well, yes, but the marriage has—’

‘Oh, don’t tell me. Which expression were you going to use, Ritchie? “The marriage has been dead for years”? “It’s only a marriage in name these days”? “We’re more like brother and sister than husband and wife”?’

He looked very disgruntled. ‘You’ve got a nasty cynical streak, Jude.’

‘Not normally. Only when I encounter someone who prompts cynicism.’

There was a silence. Then Ritchie asked, ‘Is it only now you know I’m married that you’ve become cynical about me?’

‘No, I was cynical about you before that. Mind you, I assumed you were married all along.’

‘Why?’

‘Your type always are.’

‘Hm,’ said Ritchie Good, and it was the ‘Hm’ of a man about to cut his losses. He looked at his watch, swallowed down the remains of his shandy and announced, ‘I’d better be off to rehearsal.’

‘Right. Oh, one thing …’ said Jude as he rose from the table.

‘Yes?’

‘Where did you get my phone number from?’ It was in the directory, but very few people knew under which of her former husbands’ surnames it appeared.

‘Storm Lavelle gave it to me,’ replied Ritchie. And Jude reckoned it was one of the few things he’d said during their encounter that was true.

He hovered for a moment, wanting perhaps to place a farewell kiss on her cheek but unwilling to bend down into the alcove where she still resolutely sat. ‘Well, I’ll call you,’ he said finally.

But Jude very much doubted if he would. And she certainly didn’t mind if he didn’t.