‘Don’t you dare scare her off, John!’ Delyth warned.
‘Can you act, darling?’ John looked at me over the top of his rimless spectacles.
‘I’m afraid not. I thought perhaps I could do something backstage.’
‘Producing, perhaps?’
‘Oh, oh no!’ I said, horrified. ‘And anyway, aren’t you . . .?’
‘I am the director, darling.’ He laid emphasis on every syllable of the word, giving it due importance. ‘I need a producer – someone to organize all the routine jobs, liaise with the crew, leave me to get on with the artistic side of things.’ He beamed at me. ‘We’ll see, we’ll see.’
With that he returned to the task in hand.
‘Don’t mind him,’ Delyth said, not bothering to lower her voice. ‘Now come and say hello to the others, why don’t you?’
She led me towards the group around the radiator, but others were drifting in too. A very thin girl in leggings, a fun-fur gilet and towering heels, two elderly ladies, one so fat she rolled as she walked, a gangly lad with a bad case of acne. The group around the radiator were much of an age – mid-to-late twenties – three men, and two girls, one statuesque, with beautiful ebony skin, the other a pony-tailed blonde. All were casually attired in jeans and sweaters. Delyth introduced me – none of the men was ‘gorgeous George’ and I knew I’d have difficulty remembering their names. All responded with friendly ‘hello’s, but were clearly more interested in continuing their conversation.
‘I’m going to put the kettle on,’ Delyth said. ‘You’d think one of them would have done it, wouldn’t you, seeing as they’re here. But no. It’s left to Muggins. Come with me, if you like.’
‘OK.’
I’d already decided that of the members I’d met so far, Delyth was the one I should concentrate on. Chatty, friendly, she was the one most likely to open up about Dawn. I felt a little guilty at the thought that I was taking advantage of her good nature, but I couldn’t afford to have scruples if I was to make any progress with my investigation.
In the kitchen, Delyth set a large kettle to boil, and unlocked a cupboard where mugs were stacked in plastic baskets.
‘You can put some of these out,’ she said. ‘We’ll want about twenty, I should think.’
I did as she asked and she spooned coffee powder into them from an outsize jar, chatting as she worked.
A head poked round the kitchen door. ‘Do you want any help, Delyth?’
‘No, you’re all right, Bella. I’ve already got a helper.’
But Bella came into the kitchen anyway, and a whiff of expensive perfume came with her. She was an older woman, with perfectly coiffed white-blonde hair and was about fifty, I guessed, though she could well have passed for ten years younger. She was wearing the ubiquitous jeans, but with a great deal of style.
‘Ah, a new member! How lovely!’ She extended a hand, be-ringed fingers topped with scarlet nails. ‘I’m Bella Crighton.’
For a second I almost froze.
‘Bella Crighton?’ I echoed before I could stop myself. ‘Are you . . .?’
Bella arched a perfectly shaped eyebrow.
‘Lewis’s wife? Yes, actually, I am. Do you know him? Oh, stupid question. Everyone knows Lewis.’
‘I don’t know him really,’ I said awkwardly. ‘I’ve met him briefly, that’s all.’
‘Look, can you two talk later?’ Delyth interrupted. ‘We have to get this show on the road.’ She was loading mugs of coffee on to a battered tin tray. ‘Take these in for me, will you, Bella? And let me know if we need more. And Sally . . . you go and sit down and make yourself at home.’
She ushered me back into the hall, where John was doing his best to persuade everyone to take a seat in the circle of chairs he’d set out. The two elderly women were already seated; one of them was knitting, her wool in a bag on the floor beside her chair. I took a seat between Delyth and the gangly youth; John was clearly in pole position, with a suitable gap on either side of him to highlight the fact that he was the one in control. He coughed loudly and clapped his hands.
‘Shall we make a start? I thought we’d begin with Mama. Gillian – will you begin by reading Katrin? And Bella – Mama. We won’t worry too much about the Swedish accents at the moment, but if you do feel like attempting it, then so much the better. And of course we’ll have to exercise some imagination when it comes to the children’s parts . . .’
The play-reading began and I was surprised at just how good they were. Bella, in particular, was amazing, putting on an impressive foreign accent I assumed must be supposed to be Swedish. To my horror, John asked me if I would read one of the children; I couldn’t see any way I could get out of it, and struggled through. But there was no danger that I would be cast, I thought ruefully, even if I hadn’t been on crutches!