Swan Song. Edmund Crispin

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СКАЧАТЬ to say is that there’s something artificial about this change in Edwin, it’s decidedly insincere.’

      ‘But better, one supposes, than open warfare.’

      ‘I don’t know,’ said Adam dolefully. ‘I’m not at all sure about that. It’s the kiss of Judas, if you ask me.’

      ‘Don’t be melodramatic, darling, and above all, don’t slop your sherry on to the carpet.’

      ‘I never noticed I was doing that,’ said Adam.

      ‘In any case,’ Elizabeth went on, ‘I don’t see what High priest Edwin can have betrayed you to.’

      ‘Levi, perhaps.’

      ‘The only qualification Levi has for the part is his race. And anyway, he’d as soon get rid of Edwin as you.’

      ‘You’re perfectly right, of course.’ Adam frowned. ‘Well, I’ll see how things turn out. Have you got any news?’

      ‘A commission, darling, and a very profitable one. By the afternoon post.’

      ‘Oh? Congratulations. A new novel?’

      ‘No, a series of interviews for a Sunday paper.’

      ‘Interviews with whom?’

      ‘Private detectives.’

      ‘Detectives?’ Adam was startled.

      Elizabeth kissed him, a little absently, on the tip of the nose. ‘You’ve still got a lot to learn about me, my precious. Didn’t you know that my first books were works of popular criminology? I’m generally supposed to understand something about the subject.’

      ‘And do you?’

      ‘Yes,’ said Elizabeth. ‘I do … Unfortunately it’ll involve a certain amount of gadding about, and I shall have to settle down with Who’s Who and write a lot of tiresome letters tomorrow morning. Do you know any private detectives?’

      ‘There’s one.’ Adam spoke rather dubiously. ‘A man called Fen.’

      ‘I remember. There was some business about a toyshop, before the war. Where does he live?’

      ‘In Oxford. He’s Professor of English there.’

      ‘You must give me an introduction.’

      ‘He’s very unpredictable,’ said Adam, ‘in some ways. Are you in a hurry with these articles?’

      ‘Not specially.’

      ‘Well,’ said Adam, ‘there’s this Oxford production of Meistersinger in the new year. If it suits you, we’ll get hold of him then.’

      The rehearsals of Don Pasquale passed off without incident. Shorthouse, without actually seeking Adam’s company, maintained his curious affability whenever circumstances made a meeting inevitable. And there came a time when he even went so far as to apologize for his earlier behaviour.

      It was immediately after the second performance. Adam had lingered for a few minutes in the wings arguing with the producer about some minor awkwardness which had arisen during the evening, and on entering his dressing-room he was surprised to find Shorthouse there, inspecting, or possibly on the point of purloining, a half-empty jar of removing-cream. This, however, he returned hastily to its place when Adam appeared. He was wearing a voluminous dressing-gown and was still powdered, painted, and be-wigged for the name part of the opera, and Adam supposed that he had run short of removing cream and, their dressing-rooms being adjacent, had decided that this was the simplest way of replenishing his supply. It soon appeared, however, that removing-cream must be, at the most, only a subsidiary reason for his visit.

      ‘Langley,’ he said (and the air at once became aromatic with gin), ‘I’m afraid you’ve no reason to be fond of me. The fact is, I didn’t behave very well over your marriage.’

      Adam, embarrassed, made a dull grunting sound. Shorthouse seemed to find this inspiriting, for he went on, with rather more confidence:

      ‘I came here tonight to apologize. To apologize,’ he repeated, sensing perhaps a certain bareness in his original statement. ‘For my ill-mannered behaviour,’ he added explanatorily after some thought.

      ‘Don’t think about it,’ Adam mumbled. ‘Please don’t think about it. I’m only too glad—’

      ‘We can be friends, I hope?’

      ‘Friends?’ Adam spoke without enthusiasm. ‘Yes, of course.’

      ‘It’s very generous of you to take it so well.’

      ‘Don’t think about it,’ said Adam again.

      A silence fell. Shorthouse shifted from one foot to the other. Adam removed his wig and hung it with unnecessary deliberation on the back of a chair.

      ‘Good house tonight,’ said Shorthouse.

      ‘Yes, very good. They seemed to be enjoying themselves very much. They laughed,’ Adam pointed out, ‘quite a lot.’

      ‘Of course, it’s a brilliant piece.’

      ‘Brilliant.’

      ‘But I suppose from your point of view – that’s to say, there are better parts than Ernesto.’

      ‘Oh, I don’t know. I’ve got Cercherò lontana terra in the second act.’

      ‘Yes, so you have … Well,’ said Shorthouse, ‘I’ll go and get some of this muck off my face.’

      ‘Are you out of cream? I thought I saw—’

      ‘No, no, thanks very much. I was only wondering what kind you used. Well, I’ll see you tomorrow.’

      ‘Yes,’ said Adam helplessly. ‘See you tomorrow.’

      And Shorthouse lumbered from the room, leaving Adam greatly relieved at his departure. As he changed, Adam pondered Shorthouse’s sudden regeneracy. He continued pondering it all the way back to Tunbridge Wells. Arrived home, he narrated the events of the evening to Elizabeth.

      ‘Removing-cream?’ said Elizabeth indignantly. ‘He wasn’t trying to pinch that new jar I bought for you?’

      ‘No,’ Adam reassured her. ‘The old one. Yours was still in my coat-pocket. All the same, I shall keep my dressing-room locked from now onwards.’

      ‘Well then, the whole ridiculous business is over.’

      ‘I suppose so. But you know, my dear, I still don’t trust the man. He’s quite capable of playing Tartuffe if it suits his book. I’m not sure, if it comes to that, that he isn’t capable of murder.’

      Adam spoke carelessly. But he was to find soon enough that Edwin Shorthouse was by no means unique in this.

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