Hard Going (22 page)

Swilley went on, ‘It seems from Google that she went to Oxford and was a star in the OUDS at the same time Bygod was there, so probably that's when they met. She was in that Burton-Taylor production of
Dr Faustus
that Mrs Bygod mentioned, that Bygod helped in.'

‘But what makes you think she's Nina?' Slider asked.

‘Well, boss, Nina is a pet name for Anna among East Europeans.'

‘That's not much to go on.'

‘And it says on Google she acted as Nina Klimov right at the beginning of her career, before she got her big break,' Swilley concluded. ‘Anyway, she's the only person with his mobile number, so she was obviously special to him.'

‘Good enough. We must talk to her.'

‘According to Google she's married to actor-director Alistair Head,' Swilley went on.

‘I didn't know she was married,' Slider said, and felt a ridiculous pang of disappointment. Now he thought about it, he had heard their names in the same sentence before now. He had actually seen them together in a stage production of
Private Lives
long ago, and they had famously starred as Nicholas and Alexandra in the film
Last Days
.

‘Married since 1975 – that's a long time in showbiz,' said Swilley. ‘But I found some gossip on Google that they've had their ups and downs. Apparently he's got a bit of a taste for starlets – casting-couch stuff – and she once had an affair with Daly Redmond, maybe to get her own back. There was an incident in the Ivy when he found out, when there was practically a fist-fight – all the gossip magazines covered it.
Tops!
Magazine
says Head's very jealous and controlling,' she concluded, ‘so if she and Bygod
were
seeing each other it was probably in secret.'

‘In that case, we must be careful about how we approach her. Can't go asking her about Bygod if her husband's listening.'

‘No, boss,' Swilley said. She raised celestial blue eyes to his with a question. ‘If he's the jealous sort
and
has a nasty temper …'

‘You mean, if he found out she'd had a long-term affair –
if
it was an affair …'

‘It's a possibility,' Swilley concluded.

Atherton was probably even more excited than Slider, and certainly had more information. ‘She and Head are doing a revival of their
Antony and Cleopatra
on stage. I saw it the first time round and it was electric then, but of course the real Antony and Cleopatra were mature people by Roman standards, so there's a case for preferring older actors in the parts. It'll be interesting to see how differently they play it this time.'

‘Did you know they were married?'

‘Of course I did. How could you not? They're a famous luvvieland couple, like Judi Dench and Michael Williams. Except that Head's a director as well so they get double the work.'

‘Happily married?'

‘Well, they're still together. Head's known for having a bit of a temper, professionally – probably why he prefers to direct himself. He has everyone who works for him trembling.'

‘Except the nubile ones?'

‘Oh, you've heard that, have you? I thought you didn't know anything about them.'

‘Norma Googled and told me the results.'

‘Well, there's always lots of temptation in the acting world. Plus long absences, late nights and heightened emotions. But if they've lasted thirty-something years together they must have worked out a
modus vivendi
, one would have thought.'

‘This production they're in now …?'

‘It's in rehearsal – not due to open until December. Do you want me to find out where they're rehearsing? It'll be rooms at this stage, I should think.'

‘Do that,' Slider said. ‘And find out where she and Head are at this moment. We need to interview her alone. I don't want to rock her boat if she's not a suspect.'

‘Fancy old Lionel Bygod knowing Diana Chambers! He really did move in the inner circle after all. And if she's felt the need to keep it secret all these years, there must have been more than just friendship involved, the old dog.'

‘Let's not jump to conclusions. She might not want even an innocent friendship revealed if she has a jealous husband. And we don't know yet that she did keep it secret. I'm just erring on the side of caution.'

‘That's a first.' He frowned. ‘You said “if” she's not a suspect. Why would she want to kill him?'

‘Norma's worked out that he was worth about three million. That's reason enough for a lot of people. I could stand to know what her financial position is.'

‘So you want me to go and interview her, I suppose,' Atherton said casually.

Slider was not fooled. ‘I'm going myself. I didn't sit through six solid hours of Aeschylus in my youth to give up a chance like this when it's offered. I thought I'd take Norma.'

Atherton was aghast. ‘I'm the theatre buff around here. You
have
to take me.'

‘Norma was the one who found her out. And she can bring the woman's touch to the interview.'

‘You've always said women respond better to men,' Atherton objected. ‘And theatre's my milieu. And I can use words like “milieu”. The only thing Norma's been to is
Mamma Mia
, and she thought that was dangerously over-intellectual.'

‘All right,' Slider yielded, as he'd meant to all along, ‘you can come. But you owe me. Tea whenever I want it for week.'

‘For Diana Chambers I'll throw in biscuits as well,' Atherton vowed devoutly.

C
hambers and Head lived in Highgate, in a modern house that turned out to be one Slider knew by sight. He had passed it many times over the years, and with his interest in architecture had noticed it because it was one of the few modern buildings he liked. It was set just below the crest of the hill, a simple box that worked because of its perfect Golden Rectangle proportions, a felicitous choice of brick, and elegant landscaping.

Atherton had built up a network of theatre sources, and it didn't take him long to discover that
Antony and Cleopatra
was currently rehearsing in the Workspace studio in Archer Street, but that they didn't rehearse on Sundays. Also that Alistair Head was in New York receiving some kind of theatre award, so the chances were that Diana Chambers would be at home, and alone.

‘Piece of luck for us,' Slider remarked as they stood before the door waiting for his ring to be answered. It was a cold, grey day, the gusty wind flicking bits of paper along the pavement, trees shaking the leaves out of their hair. It was very quiet in the street – amazingly so for the centre of London. The house had a feeling of stillness and Slider felt the door would not be opened. When you thought of it, why would anyone ever?

But at last there was a crackle and the entryphone said in a woman's voice, ‘Who is it?'

‘Police, ma'am,' Slider said. ‘Detective Inspector Slider, Shepherd's Bush, and Detective Sergeant Atherton. May we speak to Miss Chambers, please?' He held up his warrant card to the camera and smiled reassuringly. After a moment of consideration, the inner door opened and a woman stepped into the glazed porch and conducted another inspection of the warrant cards through the glass outer door.

Slider's unruly heart beat a little faster because this was the great lady herself. He said understandingly, ‘If you'd like to telephone Shepherd's Bush police station, they will confirm that we have come here to speak to you, and describe us to you.'

Evidently this – or perhaps their unthreatening appearance – was enough for her. She unlocked and opened the door, and stood before them, giving them the Old Money stare that duchesses and grand dames of the theatre alone can master. Footballers' wives never get it.

Slider was surprised she was so tiny. He had always thought of her as tall, and he had not been exposed to enough thesps in the flesh to know, as Atherton could have told him, that most actresses only looked tall because actors were so short. If she had been at university at the same time as Bygod, she must be about the same age, but she looked very good for it, though he tried to tell himself her perfect, dewy skin must be at least partly make-up.

But she did have genuinely beautiful features, thick, shoulder-length waves of chestnut hair, and enormous blue eyes, though close to he could see the fine lines around them and the crêpiness of the deep eyelids. But she was still fabulous; and dressed in beige tailored slacks with a long matching jacket over a delicate white blouse, with a heavy gold neck-chain and earrings, she looked ready to go anywhere. The thought that she might have to be dressed-up and ready to be papped at any moment struck him as sad. Who'd be famous? Not him, that was for damn sure.

All this observation happened in an instant, of course. She had had time only to look from one of them to the other.

‘Perhaps you think my caution foolish, but the paparazzi will go to any lengths to ambush one,' she said. Oh yes, that was the voice! Smooth as Manuka honey, bathing Slider's heart in consolation.

‘Not foolish at all, ma'am – very sensible. May we come in and talk to you?'

‘Am I in trouble?' she asked, with a hint of a smile.

‘I don't think so,' Slider said. ‘But we do have something very particular we'd like to talk to you about.'

‘You're being very mysterious. However, I suppose you had better come in,' she said, and stepped back for them to pass her, locking the outer door behind them.

The interior spaces of the house were large and plain, with vistas through open doorways and square arches: very much designer-architectural. It was all parquet floors and muted shades of beige and cream, with a little, extremely beautiful, furniture that looked 1920s, streamlined and elegant, and modern paintings on the walls that Slider guessed were worth a fortune. She led them to the back of the house, and suddenly they were in a double-height room whose outer wall was glazed all the way up, giving a breathtaking view down the rolling green acres of the hill.

She turned to inspect their reaction, which Atherton thought touching – she still wanted it to impress people. He obliged, saying, ‘What a fabulous room. The view is amazing. It must be wonderful at night, too, with the lights in the distance.'

‘Thank you. It is nice, isn't it?' she said, and he could hear she was pleased. ‘Come and sit down and tell me how I can help you.'

She led them to a group of chairs and sofas – beige leather – arranged before the glass wall to get the benefit. Slider noted Sunday newspapers and an empty coffee cup on the low table, suggesting what she had been doing when they rang. The Culture section of the
Sunday Times
was lying on top of the heap open at the theatre reviews. He took a seat, she settled herself opposite him, and Atherton sat on the sofa between them.

The view beckoned his eye insistently, and he took a moment to satisfy it, taking a long sweeping look over the deep green, the trees, and the grey, misty profile of the city in the distance. Yes, it was stunning, and was of course what the architect had designed the house for, to look out at this astonishing stretch of the pastoral, preserved in the heart of an industrial city. But he would not have liked to live here. When he was home he liked to hole in. Here, when it was dark and you put the lights on, you would be visible and what was outside would be hidden. You would not know who might be looking at you, unseen in the darkness. It made him shiver even to imagine it.

Well, perhaps a great star was so used to living in a goldfish bowl it ceased to matter. You could get used to anything, so they say.

‘Well, then,' Diana Chambers said. ‘It must be something important to bring you out here on a Sunday.'

Slider got down to business. ‘I understand you are a friend of Lionel Bygod.'

Her mouth tightened. ‘Why do you understand that?'

‘Yours is the only number he called on his mobile phone. And the only number that called his.'

She considered a moment, examining him with hostility. ‘He and I are old friends. But I must ask you to keep it to yourselves. My husband is a – difficult man. If he were to find out … And he will, if you allow it to go any further.'

‘I assure you, I have no wish to make your life difficult,' Slider said. ‘I am a great admirer of yours, have been for many years. I saw your Oresteia—'

‘Good Lord!' she interrupted, suspicion joining hostility. ‘Is that what this is about? You're just a common-or-garden celebrity hunter.' She started to rise, and Slider saw ejection in her face, but Atherton interrupted.

‘Miss Chambers,' he said sternly, ‘we've come to tell you that Lionel Bygod is dead.'

She subsided into her seat, her eyes went from him to Slider, and then she lowered her head with an expression of great sadness. ‘I wasn't expecting it so soon,' she said. ‘I thought there was still time. I didn't say goodbye.' The large eyes filled with tears. ‘My poor Bobo,' she murmured. ‘My poor darling.'

She drew out a handkerchief and carefully dabbed the tears away. A star, Slider thought, couldn't even cry with abandon for fear of looking less than lovely. He was getting a sharp lesson in the strains of celebrity here this morning.

She didn't seem very surprised by the news, but then – another lesson to learn – how would you tell with an actor?

Then she looked up at him sharply, handkerchief arrested, the suspicion back. ‘Why are you here telling me? It's not the police's job, surely? What's going on?'

He answered with a question of his own. ‘You were expecting his death?'

‘He told me he had cancer, but he said he had a few months left. He said he would tell me when it was time to say goodbye.'

Atherton spoke, holding her eyes so that Slider could observe her reaction. ‘He didn't die of cancer, Miss Chambers. He was murdered.'