Murder in Steeple Martin (13 page)

Chapter Sixteen

N
ONE OF THEM WAS
given a chance to forget, as Ben brought Fran into The Pink Geranium just after five o’clock.

Libby, replete with red wine and vegetarian lasagne, waved a languid hand.

‘Find anything out?’ she asked.

Ben frowned at her. ‘Fran’s only just arrived. She wondered if anybody wanted to go up to the theatre with her.’

Peter stood up. Despite a steady consumption of alcohol during the afternoon he appeared completely sober, although Libby was pretty sure he wasn’t.

‘I’ll show Fran round, if you like,’ he said.

‘That wasn’t quite what I meant, Pete,’ Ben perched on the edge of a table. ‘It would be just to answer any questions she had. Or to answer any that you had.’

‘Coffee, anyone?’ Harry pushed his chair back and folded last Sunday’s Observer review section. ‘Fran? Can I get you anything?’

‘No, thanks. Perhaps later,’ said Fran, looking very much as though she didn’t want to be there, thought Libby.

‘Come on, then. We’ll all go, shall we? Fran, shall I lead the way?’ Libby flung her cape round her shoulders and marched past Ben and out into the High Street.

Fran fell into step with her as they walked up the drive towards the theatre. ‘Can I ask you a few questions?’ she said, looking sideways at Libby.

‘Of course,’ said Libby. ‘What do you want to know?’

‘Why you’re so scratchy about Ben.’

Libby felt a blush rising up her neck and her scalp prickled with perspiration.

‘Scratchy?’ she repeated.

‘I’d sort of got the impression from Ben that you were – well – an item. But you’re not, are you?’

‘Is that what he told you?’ asked Libby, her heart thumping arrhythmically in her chest.

‘No. I just thought it. Well, felt it, I suppose. Sorry.’

‘That’s all right.’ Libby pushed a hand through her hair. ‘We’ve been friends for years. I’ve known him for years, anyway. Peter’s an old friend and he introduced us ages ago. I just began to see him a bit more after I moved here and we started the theatre project.’

‘Oh, well, I get things wrong.’ Fran shrugged. ‘That’s the trouble with people telling you you’re psychic. You begin to think you are.’

Libby turned to look at her in surprise. ‘Aren’t you, then?’

Fran sighed. ‘Oh, I don’t know. I’ve always had this thing – you know – when you know who’s ringing before you answer the phone, but so have a lot of people, and I don’t count the times I was wrong. And occasionally I get these feelings. As though I actually know what’s happened, or what’s going on. As though somebody’s told me.’

Libby slowed down as they approached the doors of the theatre, and waited for either Ben or Peter to unlock.

‘So how did you start to use it for work?’

‘It happened by accident, as Ben said. I used to work for an estate agent who sent me out with buyers, and I found myself telling them stuff about the houses, or the street. When I told one lot about a violent murder, we lost the sale and I got the sack.’

‘Gruesome.’ Libby watched as Ben unlocked the double doors. ‘So then what happened?’

‘The clients went to another agent, Goodall and Smythe, as it happened, and told them all about it. They got in touch with me and offered me a job.’ Fran followed Libby into the foyer. ‘Hey, this is nice.’ She looked around with a pleased smile.

‘So, no nasties in this particular woodshed?’ asked Peter, coming in behind them.

‘Doesn’t feel like it,’ said Fran, ‘but don’t forget, I can easily be wrong.’

‘Where’s Harry?’ Libby looked back down the drive. ‘Isn’t he coming?’

‘No, he decided it was our problem and he’d stay behind and clear up, ready to have the kettle on for us when we go back.’

‘He’s very worried, isn’t he?’ asked Fran. ‘More worried than you are.’

Ben, Peter and Libby all looked at her.

‘About the murder, I mean. Sorry. You don’t want to know about that.’ Fran looked down at her neatly booted feet.

‘We do in a way, Fran.’ Ben patted her shoulder. ‘If it’s connected to the theatre. Or any of us.’

‘I – I don’t think so. But please don’t take it for gospel, Ben. I told you, I’m not sure any of this really works.’

Peter and Libby looked at each other. ‘Well,’ said Peter, ‘I’m glad to hear Harry doesn’t seem to be in the picture, in any event. Come on, let’s go up on stage.’

Fran opened her mouth as if to protest, but Libby, catching her eye, shook her head. If Peter was happy believing Harry was in the clear, let him carry on believing it. She was sure no one she knew had anything to do with Paula’s death, and she refused to think otherwise.

They made a tour of the theatre, in which Fran took an intelligent interest. When they finally returned to the foyer, she wandered back into the auditorium, hands thrust deep in the pockets of her coat. A very nice navy coat, Libby thought, but a bit too smart for her. She sighed, and watched as Fran detoured round the smart new seats and stopped in front of the stage.

‘Honestly,’ she said, turning round, ‘all I can see is what’s here. There’s a nice feeling in the building, but you all know that. I don’t suppose that’s what you wanted to hear.’

‘It’s exactly what we wanted to hear.’ Peter went towards her with a broad smile. ‘It means we can carry on with the play and the opening.’

‘You’ve changed your tune,’ muttered Libby.

‘I told you, we’ve all put a lot of work into it. And I’m sure Paula would want us to carry on.’

Ben came forward and tucked his arm through Libby’s. She tried not to flinch. ‘We could do it in her memory,’ he said, ‘she’d love that.’

‘That’s a bit tacky, isn’t it?’ Libby didn’t look at him.

‘Paula
was
tacky,’ said Peter.

‘She was, wasn’t she?’ laughed Fran, and then stopped, looking shocked. ‘Sorry, I don’t know where that came from.’

Ben grinned. ‘I’m glad we’ve had it confirmed, anyway,’ he said. ‘Come on, let’s go back to the caff.’

‘I wasn’t much use, was I?’ said Fran, as she walked beside Libby back down the drive.

‘Oh, yes, you were,’ Libby assured her. ‘You’ve single-handedly got the play going again. As long as the rest of the cast want to carry on and we can re-cast Paula.’

‘You’ll have no trouble with that, will you? In my experience there are always more females than parts for them.’

Libby looked at her. ‘You’ve done amateur drama, then?’

‘A bit. Back-stage, mostly. Where I used to live.’

‘You’re welcome to come and join us,’ said Libby, ‘although we’re a bit of a rag-bag at the moment. Some of us belonged to other groups in and around the area, and some of them are brand new, just villagers who wanted to be involved.’

‘It’s an impressive set-up. Ben’s done a lovely job on the theatre. And you used to be a professional, he said?’

‘Oh, years ago, and I didn’t get very far. Before I had the kids.’

‘I know the feeling. I had to stop eventually.’ Fran stopped suddenly, looking as though she wished she hadn’t spoken.

‘Acting?’ Libby gasped. ‘You too?’

‘I’m afraid so. I wasn’t going to say.’

‘Oh, you must join us, then. I could do with some back-up.’ Libby stopped walking and turned to face Fran. ‘This is great.’

Fran smiled and looked at her feet again. ‘I couldn’t actually,’ she said, ‘I live in London.’

‘London? But I thought Ben said …?’

‘I don’t think he did. He said I work occasionally for him and for Goodall and Smythe. But as you rightly said, their head office is in London. I just get sent to various different areas. I met Ben when Goodall and Smythe were handling one of his developments, and I’ve done a few projects for him since.’

‘I see.’ Libby turned and started walking again. ‘So you won’t be around to help me have a poke about in all this?’

Fran looked interested. ‘Is that what you’re going to do?’

‘I told Ben I wasn’t a Miss Marple, but I would like to get to the bottom of these incidents. Not the murder,’ she said hastily, ‘but the other stuff. It doesn’t seem to be connected. And I’d like to put everyone’s minds at rest.’

‘I could, I suppose,’ said Fran slowly. ‘I’m freelance, so I don’t have to be back for work or anything. I could take a few days off.’

‘Fantastic!’ Libby was excited. ‘You could come and stay with me. If you don’t mind cats, that is.’

‘No.’ Fran looked amused. ‘I love cats, but I can’t have one in the flat.’

Ben and Peter already had large mugs of tea in front of them by the time Libby and Fran arrived at The Pink Geranium.

‘Guess what,’ said Libby, casually bumping into a table and knocking the Observer on to the floor.

‘She’s off,’ said Peter, bending to retrieve the paper. ‘You can always tell.’

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ said Libby huffily.

‘Sit down, you old trout,’ said Harry. ‘Tea, Fran? Or coffee?’

‘Tea, please,’ said Fran, sitting down next to Libby. ‘Don’t you mind being called an old trout?’

Libby looked surprised. ‘I’ve never thought about it,’ she said, shrugging her cape off her shoulders.

‘Anyway, what’s the news you are so obviously big with?’ asked Ben.

‘Fran’s going to come and stay with me for a bit to see if we can’t get to the bottom of things.’ Libby was triumphant. ‘What do you think?’

From the silence round the table, it was obvious that universal pleasure was not on the menu.

‘Don’t you think we ought to leave things alone, Lib?’ Ben said tentatively.

‘But you were the one who introduced Fran.’ Libby was indignant.

‘I know.’ Ben sighed.

‘If things have settled down we don’t want to stir them up again,’ said Peter, hooking one ankle over the arm of his chair. ‘Especially for Harry.’ He reached behind him to pat whichever bit of Harry he could reach.

Harry scowled down at his lover’s head. ‘Why me?’

There was a small silence.

‘Er – my fault.’ Fran cleared her throat. ‘I thought you seemed more bothered about – um –
things
, than the others.’

‘Right.’ Harry removed Peter’s hand from his thigh and strode into the kitchen. Peter sighed.

‘Sorry,’ said Fran.

‘That’s all right. I should have been prepared for a few negative reactions, shouldn’t I?’ said Ben, looking quickly at Libby, whose stomach rolled over. There it was, that teenagerish thing again.

‘So what do you think, then, Fran?’ she asked. ‘Do you come down anyway?’

Harry came in with mugs of tea and just about refrained from banging them down on the table.

‘Er – I don’t know,’ said Fran, looking nervously at Harry’s eloquent back.

‘Let’s just drink our tea, shall we?’ said Ben, comfortably. ‘No need to make any decisions just yet.’

‘Except about the play,’ said Libby.

‘I think you should go ahead.’ Harry turned round and swung himself onto a chair. ‘You were all enjoying it until these things happened – and your bloody family got in the way,’ he added spitefully to Ben and Peter.

‘Harry!’ said Libby.

‘Don’t worry,’ said Peter, reaching across and patting Harry’s arm. ‘He’s right. We’ll go ahead.’

‘Shall I call the cast, then?’ asked Libby, after a moment’s thought.

‘No, dear heart, I’m more tactful. Let’s not put their backs up about being disrespectful to Paula.’

‘Gee, thanks,’ muttered Libby.

Fran leaned over to Libby. ‘Give me your phone number anyway,’ she said quietly, ‘and I’ll ring you.’

Libby raised her eyebrows. ‘Do you think …?’

Fran shook her head. ‘I’ll ring you,’ she said.

Libby delved into her basket and found a pen and an old shopping list. Writing her number on the back, she passed it over to Fran and looked round quickly to see if anyone else had noticed. Ben, Harry and Peter all seemed to be deep in conversation about the progress of the play, and she sat back and took a comforting swallow of tea. She was still confused about both her own and Fran’s relationship with Ben, but somehow instinctively trusted Fran. What they would find out about the goings-on in Steeple Martin, or within the Wilde, Fisher and Parker families she had no idea, but whatever it was it had to be better than the present state of suspicion and turmoil.

‘I must go,’ said Fran, standing up. ‘I hope I’ve been of some help, even if it was negative.’

Ben stood up, came round the table and gave her a kiss. ‘It was a great help,’ he said, ‘you appear to have saved the play.’

Fran glanced quickly at Libby. ‘Oh, good,’ she said.

Libby smiled. ‘Thank you for coming, Fran,’ she said. ‘I’m sure we’ll meet again.’

Fran nodded and held out her hand formally to Peter and Harry, who both ignored it and followed Ben’s example by kissing her on the cheek. She blushed slightly and, before anyone could say anything else, had disappeared through the door.

‘Well, that’s that,’ said Ben. ‘Now all we’ve got to worry about is getting the play back on track.’

Oh, yeah? thought Libby, sitting back in her chair. That’s what you think.

Chapter Seventeen

L
IBBY WENT HOME FEELING
vaguely dissatisfied. Ben and Peter seemed to have completely forgotten their previous unwillingness to carry on with the play, which made her think Paula’s murder had somehow negated what she now thought of as the sabotaging incidents. Which meant they assumed that the murder and the incidents had all been perpetrated by the same person and was therefore unconnected with the Family. Strange how she was coming to think of it in capital letters.

It was after ten o’clock when the phone rang. Sidney fell inelegantly onto the floor as she surged up from her chair to answer it.

‘Libby? It’s Fran.’

‘Oh.’ Libby was startled. ‘I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon.’

‘Sorry, but I thought you seemed anxious to – well, to find out …’

‘Yes,’ said Libby hastily, ‘I am.’

‘Do you still want me to come down?’ Fran sounded hesitant.

‘Of course. If you want to. Does this mean that you think there is something to investigate?’

‘There’s something. I’m not sure what it is, exactly, but perhaps if I was down there I could make some sense of it. It might be nothing, though. You’d have to be prepared for that.’

Tempted to say anything would be better than nothing, Libby simply assured her that she would be delighted to have her to stay.

‘Would tomorrow afternoon be too early?’ Fran asked.

‘No, not at all. I don’t know yet what Pete’s sorted out about the play, but if he’s persuaded them all to carry on, I expect we’ll have to rehearse like mad starting as soon as possible, which will probably mean tomorrow. You could come to rehearsal. If you think it would help.’

‘That’s great. Oh, and Libby,’ Fran was sounding hesitant again, ‘you needn’t worry about Ben and me. There’s nothing going on.’

‘Oh, no, I wasn’t. I mean, it doesn’t matter to me. We’re not – I mean – I’m not, well …’ she petered out.

‘That’s all right then,’ said Fran, sounding amused. ‘So I’ll see you tomorrow. About four?’

‘Sounds fine. I’ll make sure I’m here,’ said Libby, although there was no reason why she would be anywhere else.

Sidney was sitting facing the fire, his ears down and his tail twitching.

‘All right, all right, I’m sorry,’ said Libby, returning to her chair. ‘You can come and sit on my lap again now.’

Sidney turned his back.

‘Well, you can at least listen to me,’ she said, poking him with a toe. ‘Fran thinks I’m interested in Ben. I must be really transparent.’

Sidney’s ears twitched.

‘But then, Fran’s psychic – or something – so maybe it’s only her.’

Sidney turned round and looked at her.

‘Yes, I know,’ she sighed, ‘it probably isn’t. I expect I look like a teenager with a crush. How embarrassing.’

Sidney stood up, stretched and walked to the kitchen. Suppertime, he said. Blow your introspective ramblings.

Libby got up early the next morning, at least, early for her, and set about getting the spare room ready for Fran. She was interrupted by the phone just after ten o’clock and, for once, wasn’t expecting it to be Ben. She was therefore reduced to silence when it was.

‘Just wanted to tell you, Pete’s gone to town today, but he’s managed to set up a rehearsal this evening. Everybody seemed keen to carry on.’

‘What about Paula?’ said Libby, finally finding her voice. ‘I mean, Paula’s part.’

‘He’s going to talk about it when they all get there.’

‘Surely they must have asked, though?’

‘Some of them did. I expect the women were a bit chary in case they sounded unfeeling.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘If they were interested in doing the part it might have seemed as though …’

‘Oh, I see.’ Libby nodded at Sidney, who ignored her.

‘So we’ll find out tonight. Eightish.’

‘Right,’ said Libby, wondering whether she should mention Fran.

‘And we’ll put all this other business behind us, and leave Paula’s murder to the police.’

Libby decided not to mention Fran.

‘Fancy a drink at lunchtime?’

Experiencing the now familiar adrenalin surge, Libby blustered.

‘Er, no – no thanks, Ben. I’m – er – busy. Working.’ She took a deep breath. ‘What about you? Aren’t you working?’

‘No, it didn’t seem worth going in just for today. After all, it’s Saturday tomorrow. Sort of thing you can do when you’re your own boss. Sure you won’t change your mind?’

‘No, I’ve done far too little work over the last two weeks, one way and another. Must get on.’

Ben didn’t ask her with what, to her relief, but merely said cheerfully that he would see her tonight.

Absurdly pleased that he would be there, and had wanted to take her out for a drink, Libby sat staring at nothing for several minutes. Equally pleased that she had refused, she smiled soppily to herself and gave Sidney a conciliatory stroke, before returning to the spare bedroom with renewed vigour. When she’d finished, it looked less like a store room, and, anxious not to make herself a liar, she went out to the conservatory and began to prepare some paper.

Although she hadn’t been hopeful, she found that working distracted her from the mass of thoughts fighting for supremacy, and was quite surprised when Sidney came to remind her that it was lunchtime. After a tin of soup, she returned to the conservatory, and was still there when the doorbell rang.

Fran had dressed down today, and Libby felt a lot more comfortable to see her in jeans and a jumper. She had one large holdall and smiled rather hesitantly as Libby welcomed her with a kiss.

‘I just hope I’m of some use,’ she said. ‘I feel as though I’m conning a free weekend away.’

‘Of course not. I’m really pleased you could come,’ said Libby. ‘I haven’t told the others, though.’ She was leading the way up the stairs.

‘Was that wise?’ Fran manhandled her bag through the spare room door.

‘I don’t know,’ said Libby. ‘Do you think I should have told them?’

‘You know them better than I do, but they weren’t keen yesterday, were they?’ Fran dumped her bag on the bed. ‘This is a nice room.’

‘Thanks. It doesn’t get much use, except for the kids, and they don’t come much.’

‘How many?’ asked Fran.

‘Three. Two boys and a girl. I never know when they’ll turn up, although I expect they’ll come down for the play. Shall I leave you to sort yourself out while I put the kettle on?’

By the time Fran came downstairs Libby had made tea and taken it through to the sitting room. Fran introduced herself to Sidney, who traitorously demonstrated undying love and took up a place on the arm of her chair, where he periodically butted her with his head, purring loudly.

‘Sorry about Sidney,’ said Libby. ‘He’s not usually so forward.’

‘I like cats, as I said. I wish I could have one, but I live on the top floor with no garden access, and I’m out quite a lot. It wouldn’t be fair.’

‘You work a lot then? Always the same thing?’

‘Mostly. I can’t really do anything else, and this has been sort of thrust on me.’ Fran sighed. ‘I don’t really like doing it. It still seems like a con.’

‘Well, if it works, it isn’t.’ Libby lit a cigarette. ‘I hope you don’t mind …’

‘No, I’m a reformed smoker, but not a belligerent one.’ Fran put down her cup. ‘And now, tell me all about it from the beginning.’

‘Hasn’t Ben told you?’

‘Only bits. Just the bare bones of the accidents, and the murder, obviously. I’d like to know the background.’

So Libby told her, beginning with Peter’s play and the events it related, to the discovery of Paula’s body and Libby’s visit to Uncle Lenny. Fran listened carefully, but made no comment until Libby reached the end of her narrative.

‘It sounds to me as though something happened when Hetty’s father disappeared which the family have covered up. Doesn’t it to you?’

‘I suppose so,’ said Libby. ‘But what could it be? What could be worse than your father murdering someone and running off?’

‘I’ve no idea, but there’s something.’

‘I don’t think the children – that is, Ben and Peter – know anything. They were as puzzled as I am. They just suddenly seemed to close ranks.’

‘Perhaps they found out what the other thing was?’

‘Maybe,’ said Libby slowly, ‘which is why they’re sure Paula has nothing to do with it?’

‘Could be. But we’re not going to try and find out who murdered Paula, are we? We’re not television detectives.’

‘No, I’ve said that already. I suppose I should just let things lie, really. If everyone’s happy to go ahead with the play …’

‘But you still want to know about the accidents, don’t you?’ said Fran, leaning back in her chair and stroking an ecstatic Sidney’s head.

‘Well, yes, it would make me feel safer.’ Libby stubbed out her cigarette and emptied her ashtray into the fire.

‘And that’s what I’m here for,’ said Fran, ‘otherwise I really will feel like a spare part.’

‘I’m glad you’re here anyway,’ said Libby, ‘I’ve felt rather excluded the last few days.’

‘So has Harry,’ said Fran.

Libby was surprised. ‘When did he tell you?’

‘Oh, he didn’t.’ Fran looked embarrassed. ‘Just one of those feelings. Like I said yesterday, he’s more worried than the rest of you about Paula. I don’t know how I know, I just do.’

‘What about the rest of us?’ Libby asked warily.

‘Nothing. Except this feeling that there’s something between you and Ben.’

‘It’s not just me being transparent?’ Libby looked down at her hands.

‘No.’ Fran sounded surprised. ‘Just something in my head. I got the same from Ben when he was first telling me about it. He didn’t actually say anything.’

‘Ah.’ Libby looked into the fire. ‘Then I’m not behaving like a …’

‘Teenager?’ Fran finished for her. ‘I don’t think so. I haven’t seen enough of you to know. And everyone’s bound to be behaving a little strangely under the circumstances, aren’t they?’

Libby was silent for a moment. Then she looked at Fran.

‘Does it occur to you that this is an extraordinarily intimate conversation for two people who’ve only just met to be having?’

‘Does that worry you?’

‘No,’ said Libby, surprised. ‘I don’t know why, though. I don’t normally talk to anyone about what I feel.’ She thought for a moment. ‘Except Pete and Harry, I suppose.’

‘Why them?’

‘No idea. I’ve known Pete for years, long before he took up with Harry. Pete became a sort of confidant, and by extension so did Harry. And they’ve always confided in me, at least I thought so. Until now.’

‘But Harry did confide in you. About Paula.’

‘Yes, but he and I are both outsiders, you’ve just said. And he obviously wanted to talk to somebody.’

‘Do you think he might be more worried on Peter’s behalf than his own?’ asked Fran.

‘You mean he might think Pete murdered Paula?’ Libby gasped. ‘Oh, no, I’m sure not.’

‘Well, I’m sure he didn’t do it, so there must be a reason he’s more bothered than the rest of you.’

‘I don’t know,’ Libby said uncomfortably. ‘It just sounds so far-fetched.’

‘I expect murder always seems far-fetched to the people involved,’ said Fran. ‘You always read of murderers being the last one their friends and family suspect, don’t you?’

‘Oh, God, don’t say that,’ said Libby, standing up and picking up the empty cups. ‘I thought we weren’t looking into that, anyway?’

Fran smiled. ‘We’re not, don’t worry. But it’s bound to come up, isn’t it?’

Libby took a deep breath. ‘Let’s have some more tea,’ she said.

They didn’t return to the subject for the rest of the afternoon, but filled one another in on the trivia of their lives. Libby was astonished at how relaxed she felt with Fran, as though she’d known her for years. She still had female friends from her former life, but none with whom she exchanged confidences any more. She saved those for Peter and Harry, but there were some things she couldn’t talk about even to them. She wondered if Fran’s uncertain psychic abilities were at the root of this, making her somehow ultra-sympathetic.

She half expected Peter to ring before the evening’s rehearsal, but the phone remained silent until they left at half past seven.

‘I want to be there early,’ said Libby, as they walked through the High Street. ‘I only hope I can get in.’

‘Should you have rung Ben and asked what time he was going to be there?’

‘Perhaps.’

‘But you didn’t want to.’

‘No.’

As they walked up the drive, however, they could see lights on in the theatre, and as Libby pushed open the doors they saw Ben and Peter by the newly installed bar, deep in conversation. They both looked up, identical expressions of shock on their faces. For the first time, Libby saw a family resemblance.

‘Sorry,’ she said, ‘I forgot I hadn’t told you Fran was coming.’

Ben was the first to recover.

‘Fran, lovely to see you again,’ he said, coming forward to kiss her cheek. ‘You didn’t say, Libby.’

‘No,’ said Libby, looking at Peter, whose face was now perfectly blank.

Fran was blushing. ‘I’m just here for the weekend, really,’ she said. ‘Libby said I could come to rehearsal. I hope you don’t mind?’

‘That’s up to the director, isn’t it, Libby?’ said Peter. ‘Nothing to do with us.’

‘Well, it is in a way,’ said Libby, annoyed that she hadn’t thought this through. ‘I just thought …’

Ben patted her arm. ‘It’s fine, Lib. Of course Fran’s welcome.’

‘So, Pete, what have you said to everybody, and how did they react?’ Libby took off her cape and tried to look efficient.

Apparently recovering his normal sangfroid, Peter told her what he’d said to the cast and crew, what their reactions had been, and whom he thought could replace Paula.

‘Emma was the only one who threw a bit of a wobbly,’ he said, ‘but I convinced her we couldn’t carry on without her, and we would need her to help Paula’s replacement.’

By this time, members of the company were drifting in. Most of them came up to Ben, or Peter and Libby, to ask questions, and although the atmosphere was subdued, there was a feeling of underground excitement, which faintly disgusted Libby, and made her feel guilty for wanting to carry on. Stephen arrived with other members of the back-stage crew, and immediately made a beeline for her.