The weekend promised a flurry of activity. Toby and Alasdair managed to snatch an evening together on Friday before the debut of Death Stalks the College the next day, and then had yet another charity event scheduled for them on Sunday.
When Saturday came, Alasdair found himself relishing the premiere more than he had any previous opening night, helped enormously by not having the strain of a fake girlfriend on either his or Toby’s arm. Bessy and Geraldine soon turned out to be ideal dates, both dressed up to the nines and clearly loving every moment from the very time they were deposited by a Landseer limousine at the pre-party venue. They proved intelligent, witty, interested in everything that was going on, and not given to any flirting. Alasdair felt he could relax and enjoy himself, almost in the way he might had Toby been allowed to be his escort for the night.
“I have to confess that my daughter has threatened never to speak to me again,” Bessy said, as she cradled a glass of champagne. “Not only for being Landseer’s guests but for the whole package. Dresses and hairdressing and all.”
Geraldine chuckled. “I insisted the young lass who did my make-up didn’t obscure all my wrinkles, or how else would people know it was me if they saw my picture in the newspaper? By the way, is Dr Stewart going to be here this evening?”
“Alas, not.” Toby sighed. “There’s a clash in their diaries with a major event at St Bride’s. He and Professor Coppersmith will be chatting up prospective benefactors for the college, so a mere cinematic release has to play second fiddle. We’re having another bash in Cambridge on Wednesday, where the film will make its East Country premiere and they’ll be attending that one as guests of honour. We get to dine in St Bride’s beforehand, which will be rather exciting.”
“Two premieres means twice the fun and twice the publicity.” Geraldine gave a knowing chuckle. “So, Alasdair, have you two got a case in progress at present?”
“We might and we might not. All will hopefully be clear by Monday night. If the matter involves any connection to the environs of the Old Manor , we’ll know whose help to call on.” Alasdair attempted a tricky manoeuvre of his eyebrow, suitable to not-quite-flirting with an elderly lady.
“Are you allowed to give us any details or is it all hush-hush?” Geraldine asked.
“It’s all jolly peculiar,” Toby said. “You’re two eminently sensible ladies. What would you think if someone you met—in fact, more than one person—told you that they possessed strange powers? We’re not talking about being able to fly, like Superman, or even the athletic prowess of William Wilson, who’s my nephew’s favourite character in his boys’ periodicals. I’d like to give an example of the powers they claim, but wouldn’t want to use a real one, as we’re not sure yet what we’re dealing with. Sorry to be so vague.”
“You’re forgiven. It all sounds intriguing, doesn’t it, Geraldine?” Bessy gave her friend an understanding look, as though they dealt with this kind of thing all the time. Maybe the life of a typical Sussex village contained more strange goings-on than Alasdair gave it credit for.
“It does,” Geraldine said. “Could you suggest something similar in nature to what these people claim to be able to do?”
Toby frowned. “Well, let’s say that I claimed I could read people’s minds but only when they were in the queue for the Odeon cinema. And then I forgot what they were thinking when I left unless I wrote it down while still in the queue. The actual claims are equally peculiar and specific, with some provisos about situations in which they don’t work.”
“Hm.” Bessy narrowed her eyes. “If the person telling me was aged under seven, I’d say they were indulging in make believe and that they might well truly think they could do these things. The borders of reality and imagination aren’t clear cut when you’re small. Were they aged over seven, though, I’d think they were deliberately making things up to get attention. Are these people desperate to attract folk’s notice or be lauded?”
“Yes, no and don’t know.” Toby shrugged. “Sorry, that’s quite a hopeless answer but it’s the best I can do at present. The individuals give the impression that they don’t want people at large knowing what they’re capable of, but each clearly values being amongst what they regard as their peers. They were a most pleasant bunch. The chap, Lloyd, who leads the group appears a different kettle of fish.”
“How interesting,” Geraldine said, dark eyes shining like black pearls.
“Indeed. I couldn’t read him. It wouldn’t surprise me if he wants to expand his little group for some reason, like self-aggrandisement. I could be slandering the man, though, because my impression is mainly based on the fact that I didn’t like him.”
“What did you think of him, Alasdair?” Geraldine asked.
“Not as yet. That’s why Monday evening will be key, when both dogs get to see the rabbits, although not Lloyd, though.” Alasdair frowned. “This man even had the audacity to suggest that Toby himself possessed one of these bizarre powers. Which he insists he hasn’t, and he should know.”
Geraldine sniffed. “Your Lloyd reminds me of several people I’ve known through the years, all of whom have wanted to be as big a fish as they can in whatever small pond they find themselves swimming in. They start to form a clique and either browbeat or inveigle people into joining it. I don’t suppose he likes anyone challenging him?”
“You suppose correctly.” Before Toby could provide any further insight, an announcement came that they had to be on the move. A red carpet, a throng of fans and a showing of the new film awaited.
***
Death Stalks the College proved to be a rip-roaring success with the first night audience, inducing the obligatory sighs, gasps and chuckles in all the right places. Alasdair thought he’d rarely seen Toby look so handsome onscreen, while Fiona positively glowed, no doubt due to the influence of her—at the time of filming—fledgling romance. He’d spotted one of the more discerning critics in the audience and the chap had given Alasdair a thumbs-up, so unless he was being two-faced, they should have at least one positive review in the morning papers. Not that a lacklustre write-up was likely to put off any of their most ardent fans.
“That was lovely,” Bessy said, when they met up again for a drink afterwards, the actors having had to go off in the interim, to take their bows and accept the applause. “You’ve got all Dr Stewart’s mannerisms to a ‘t’, Toby. Am I right in saying I spotted him and the professor in the background in the scene where you were taking Miss Marsden punting?”
“You were spot on. Dr Panesar was there, too,” Toby replied. “That handsome Indian gentleman with the magnificent white beard.”
“ I noticed him and I wish he’d been featured throughout. Quite heart-fluttering for we mature ladies.” Geraldine fanned herself with her hand. “Will you be calling on our Cambridge friends to help with your new mystery? Assuming that it turns out to be something in need of solution.”
“Only if we feel they have specialist knowledge to offer us,” Alasdair said. “They tell us they have case of their own, even now and we wouldn’t want to impose on their time.”
“I see.” Geraldine snorted. “Or is it a case of not wanting to share the fun?”
Toby laughed so hard he nearly spilled his drink. “You read us like a script, Geraldine. There is something satisfying about working a problem through by oneself.”
“Ah.” Bessy shared a look with her friend. “If that’s so, are we allowed to make another contribution or has our chance gone?”
“Feel free, given that we asked you,” Alasdair said. “I’m guessing you wouldn’t count amongst those Toby wouldn’t want involved, as you’re not amateur sleuths.”
Toby nodded enthusiastically. “He’s right. Unless you are detectives and are hiding the fact from us, of course.”
Bessy raised her fingers, like a girl guide making a vow. “I promise we’re not, although I can understand how people get smitten with the activity, because while you were up on the stage, doing your waving and smiling, Geraldine and I were having a chat about your people and their peculiar claims. We’ve got another possible explanation or two about what might be going on. Only it might be a touch far-fetched.”
“It’s not far-fetched. That’s Bessy hiding her light under a bushel,” Geraldine said. “She was reminded of her aunt, in the aftermath of the Great War. Go on and tell them.” She gave Bessy a nudge.
“I don’t think I’m going to be able to explain my thoughts very well but here they are. Before I get onto Aunt Beatrice, let me tell you why I thought of her. You say the next bit.” Bessy returned the nudge.
“We were discussing those folk who want to brag about their war exploits,” Geraldine said. “We all know people who exaggerate real events to the extent they become a blatant lie, so I wondered if this applied here.”
“You mean there could be a grain of truth in the stories?” Alasdair glanced at Toby, who raised an eyebrow and then shrugged. “Odd things did go on during the war—bizarre experiments and the like—that we heard rumours about, didn’t they, Toby?”
“Absolutely,” Toby agreed. “Things we may never get to know the truth behind. One of the group did say they hadn’t been able to use their skills during wartime but that might have been a deliberate bluff. I consistently got a feeling of both artificiality and the need to be of use.”
“That might chime with the rest of our thinking.” Bessy waved her hand. “We’d been discussing people who brag when the lights started to dim. Suddenly we were whisked off to Cambridge and the days of my childhood. It was quite magical. We’d got to the middle of the film and there was a scene in which Miss Marsden was offering her help to Alasdair—as Dr Coppersmith—and I immediately thought of my Aunt Beatrice. A handsome woman of great character.”
“Tell them how you described it to me,” Geraldine encouraged her.
Bessy, blushing, said, “She flashed onto the screen of my mind as vividly as Miss Marsden in the film.”
“Doesn’t she have a lovely way with words?” Geraldine glowed with pride at her friend.
“She certainly does.” Toby lowered his voice. “You mustn’t repeat what I’m about to say or I shall get into awful trouble, but you’ve been much more interesting companions for the evening than any we’ve had before.”
Now both women blushed. “You’d better not tell your husband, or he’ll be getting jealous, Bessy,” Geraldine said.
“He says I should enjoy every moment. It’s not like I’ll get the chance again. Are we allowed to ask what your next film is?” Bessy added.
“It’s called The Heart That Wears the Crown .” Alasdair grinned. “It’s an old project that was put on the shelf and it’s been brought back into life for obvious reasons. The film won’t be ready for the big day itself, which is probably as well, because that would be slightly tasteless. Better to bring it out nearer Christmas and revive memories of the actual event.”
Geraldine nodded. “I’m pleased we’re here for this film and not the next. Much as I admire her majesty, I fear I’ll be tired of all things coronation related by the time we get there. My cousin is involved in the planning and he keeps telling me about it in boring detail. Let’s get back to Aunt Beatrice before I let drop any secrets I shouldn’t.”
“And before this champagne gets to my head.” Bessy took a deep breath. “That scene I was talking about. I’m afraid that I didn’t really concentrate at that point, but the action appeared to be all romance, so I don’t think I’d miss much.”
“Don’t say that in front of our devotees. You’d be lynched.” Alasdair put that judgement as another point on the plus side of the scale for their companions. As far as he and Toby were concerned, those romantic scenes were always the weakest in the films but the audience in general really did love them.
Bessy chuckled. “We’d best get back to my aunt. She was active on the home front back in 1916, doing what you’d call men’s work and being very successful at it. You can imagine her frustration when the troops returned and she soon found herself out of a job. She had the skills and the brains—an unusual amount of both, you might say, for a woman of her humble background—but now she had to return to having no outlet for them. She spent a couple of years casting around, quite frustrated, desperate to be of more use than working in a shop or whatever was supposedly more fitting for us poor females.”
“It’s a travesty.” Geraldine said. “Such a waste, not only for her but for all the women in that position. It makes my blood boil. Sorry, Bessy, I’ve got on my high horse again.”
“You’re entitled to. Anyway, Aunt Beatrice was fortunate, because she eventually found a sympathetic male ear to pour her troubles into. Eric was a charming, well-to-do chap who you might have expected to propose, but instead he suggested that she study medicine and he’d subsidise her studies. She took him up on the offer and has never regretted that decision.”
“What a wonderful story,” Toby said, “although I’m not sure that I see how it relates to our mysterious group.”
“You will in a moment,” Geraldine promised. “Remember that she wasn’t alone in feeling such frustration, whether after the great war or this last one. The distaff side of the equation often finds itself back on the scrapheap again, having to be content with the kitchen stove and the nappy bucket, no matter how much brain or talent they have. And men go back to a boring office job when they’ve been involved in much more exciting activities.”
“That’s an excellent point,” Alasdair said. “Toby and I were fortunate post-war, swopping one satisfying career for another. I’m not saying making films is anywhere near as necessary to Britain as us scrambling when the German planes came over, but it’s equally interesting and fulfilling.”
Toby nodded. “We were fortunate on another count. We can talk pretty freely about what we did, not that we like to much, because it sounds big-headed. Others, however, are still bound by the Official Secrets Act—they couldn’t talk about what they did while the war was still on and they can’t now.”
“Yes,” Geraldine said. “I bet if you asked Dr Stewart and Professor Coppersmith what they were doing at the start of the great war, you’d be putting them on the spot. I only know they were involved in something secret because my father mentioned it, because he’d done something similar. I don’t know about our Cambridge friends, but it rankled with my father that he had no recognition, either official or from friends and family, about what an input he’d had to the war effort.”
“I’m feeling a bit confused now,” Alasdair confessed. “Are you suggesting that these people we spoke about ended the war feeling their service hadn’t been recognised or frustrated that the contribution they’d made had been swopped for nothing more fulfilling than operating filing cabinets?”
Bessy flicked back a lock of hair which had come astray, despite the ministrations of the Landseer make-up department and the ton of lacquer they’d no doubt applied. “A bit of both, we’d say. They want to recreate the feeling of being of some worth. Sorry if our ideas are only a ragbag of loose ends.”
“Loose ends or not, we’ll bear them in mind when we see these people,” Alasdair said. “We might be able to link some small remark to one of your theories.”
The arrival of Sir Ian, and the subsequent round of introductions, put paid to any further discussion. As he chatted up Bessy and Geraldine—there was no other way to describe Sir Ian’s style—and garnered their opinion of the new film, Alasdair tried to fix these new ideas in his mind before they got muddled and lost among the champagne and chit-chat.
Were the Monday Evening Association members trying to find a purpose in life—perhaps reflected in Moira’s suggestion that they’d be serving their country—or were they merely a bunch of braggarts? Or was there another explanation that the combined brains of himself, Toby, Jonny and the two ladies hadn’t yet figured out? Loose ends? There seemed to be a whole ball of them that appeared to be getting more difficult to tie together rather than easier.