Miss Treadway & the Field of Stars. Miranda Emmerson

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СКАЧАТЬ course, Miss Treadway. Thank you for calling.’

      And now Hayes stood on Carnaby Street in a light drizzle and watched a young coloured man unloading equipment in front of the door of number 50. An older man in a rumpled suit was scooping up wires and helping him through the doors. Brennan drew himself up to his full height of Barnabyness and approached the suited man.

      ‘Good evening, I was wondering if you were Charlie Brown?’

      The suited man gazed quizzically at Brennan. He nodded, a little noncommittally. ‘I’m Charlie.’

      Brennan held out his hand. ‘I’m Detective Sergeant Barnaby Hayes. I’m with the Metropolitan Police and I’m working on a missing persons case. I’m looking for Iolanthe Green. Do you know who that is?’

      Charlie nodded. ‘Actress. She came in here a few times.’

      ‘Was she with anyone?’

      ‘I don’t think so. I think she came on her own. Couldn’t swear to it though.’

      ‘Did she leave alone too?’

      ‘Couldn’t say. I’m watching them coming in more than going out. They pass me by, I say goodnight, that’s all.’

      ‘Was there any gossip about her, do you know? Was she seeing anyone? Was she drinking a lot? Was she behaving wildly, perhaps?’

      ‘So many people, Sergeant. They come, they dance. We get musicians and actors in here sometimes. Not such a strange thing. Mostly it’s just very chilled. You know, the whole place is just quite chilled. We don’t go in for violence.’ Charlie smiled broadly and Brennan found himself smiling back though he didn’t know quite why. He had a momentary impulse to ask Brown about John Christie but Barnaby stamped on that quite firmly.

      ‘Thank you, Mr Brown,’ Hayes said.

      ‘My pleasure.’ Charlie nodded him away. Hayes walked slowly through the rain, back towards Regent Street, then he turned north towards Oxford Circus and started to walk as swiftly as he could into the wind. All along Oxford Street commuters were waiting for their buses and women in expensive coats with fur collars were hailing cabs. Hayes wondered at this great sea of the oblivious. He wondered at so many people tripping gaily through life when so much in the world was wrong. And then he wondered, as he often did, which of them was out of step. Was he the freak? Choosing to know, to actively seek out the unpleasant and the animal and the cruel. He stopped to pull on gloves and button his coat by the window of John Lewis. His reflection was half visible, laid over the headless form of a man in an argyle golfing jumper. He tidied his hair and watched in the reflection how men in mackintoshes queued to get on their bus. How foolish of him to assume that they were all happy. Of course they felt pain. Each one of them might well be spilling over with grief or self-loathing. But, still, their misery was all their own. The misery he dealt with was other people’s; which can often seem more terrible than the kind you know.

      The tall figure of Barnaby Hayes, with its neat, short hair and clean-shaven face gazed back at him. He liked Barnaby more than he liked Brennan. Brennan was good but Barnaby was admirable. Brennan was idealistic but Barnaby was effective. Barnaby looked like the men in the adverts for cigarettes; he was an English gentleman: beautiful, polished, refined.

      At Marble Arch he headed north-west up Edgware Road. Pages from the newspapers blew past him. Cigarette packets, paper bags, the cord from a bundle of Standards. Sussex Gardens flashed by. Sale Place.

      On Praed Street Hayes searched the signs above the shops for Cue Club. He found it at last: a little door beside the Classic Cinema marked 5a. Hayes climbed down the unlit wooden stairs.

      The club was quiet but not deserted. A man with a quiff stood behind the bar restocking the shelves. On the little stage at one end of the room a boy in T-shirt and jeans sat surrounded by speakers cleaning the jacks of a handful of wires.

      In a dark corner of the room a tall, well-built man sat at a wooden table drinking tea with a woman in a coat. He looked over at Hayes as he entered and nodded his head.

      ‘Can we help you?’ he asked. The woman in the coat turned and stared at Hayes. She was Anna Treadway.

      ‘I was looking for Count Suckle.’

      ‘That’d be me. I’m having tea with the young lady. Can you wait? Martin’ll get you a drink.’ Count Suckle – whose real name was Wilbert – nodded towards the bar.

      ‘Thank you. But I won’t drink, I’m on duty. Are you licensed to serve me at ten past six?’

      Wilbert stood and straightened his suit. He approached Barnaby, his hand outstretched, his wide eyes open and intense. ‘Yes, as it happens, we are.’

      Hayes took his hand and shook it. ‘Barnaby Hayes. Detective Sergeant. I hope you don’t mind me asking but did the young lady come here to talk about Iolanthe Green?’

      Anna stood and faced Hayes. ‘I didn’t want to tread on any toes; I just thought I’d seek out the opinion of someone who knew Roaring Twenties. Because Lanny had been going there. So we were chatting … about clubs and suchlike. Clientele. I mean, she didn’t just vanish, did she?’

      ‘Have you spoken to anyone else who might be a part of this investigation?’

      ‘One or two. Duke Vin. Lester Webb. Pete King at Ronnie Scott’s.’

      ‘When? When have you seen all these people? You said nothing about this at interview.’

      ‘I only started talking to people today. There seems to be a lack of urgency in this investigation. What if it is murder? What if she’s been kidnapped? What if she’s lying in a hospital somewhere and can’t remember who she is?’

      ‘But this is a police investigation and you’re not a member of the police. You could be prejudicing the enquiry. You could be putting yourself in danger. You don’t know … I’m sorry – I am sorry – but you have to stop talking to people about this.’

      Wilbert had been watching things bubble over with an increasing sense of enjoyment but now he felt the need to interject. ‘Sergeant Hayes, Miss Treadway’s just worried about her friend. She’s doing no harm. Anna, my dear, can I get you a drink on the house? We have a live set starting in an hour. You can stay, listen. Sergeant Hayes, if you want to talk to me I’m here. Let’s talk.’ Wilbert smiled at them both like an indulgent mother then he called over to the man behind the bar. ‘Martin! Get the lady a drink. On us.’

      Anna nodded to Count Suckle and – giving Hayes a wide berth – went to take up one of the seats by the bar. As it was she didn’t really want to drink, nor did she particularly want to stay, for she was having one of her antisocial patches. But she couldn’t leave now. Not when Hayes had suggested that that’s what she should do.

      ‘What’ll it be?’ the barman asked.

      ‘Single Scotch, thanks.’ Anna watched Hayes as he talked to Count Suckle. There was a lot of serious nodding going on and Count Suckle was struggling to explain something, his hands conjuring in the air between them both.

      The Scotch was a little harsh but it did its job; Anna sank lower in her chair. She was vaguely aware that a second person had joined her at the bar but she refused to take her eyes off Sergeant Hayes.

      ‘Are СКАЧАТЬ