Katharine time to sort things out in her mind, and she found one fact singularly troubling, and so perplexing. This was Norman’s reaction to Terry’s drunken state. In her view, it was not only rather extreme, but unwarranted in many ways. Every actor, herself included, hated to miss a performance, but sometimes it was unavoidable, usually for health reasons. Terry had only been out once, since the play opened, and that was nothing short of fantastic. A record. She herself had missed three shows because of a cold, and John Layton, the second male lead, had been absent for two weeks with a dislocated knee cap. It won’t be the end of the world if Terry doesn’t appear tonight, so why is Norman so frantic? she questioned herself.
Katharine clutched the dresser’s arm so forcefully, and her grip was so tenacious, that he had no alternative but to stop again. ‘I don’t understand you, Norman! Why are you so worked up about Terry missing tonight’s show?’
Norman stared back blankly. ‘I’m not!’ he protested. He took a deep breath. ‘Hell, I wish he wouldn’t even attempt it, I think he’s bloody bonkers! Terry knows I’d lie in my teeth for him. I could easily say he has laryngitis. But he won’t listen. I don’t know how I’m going to stop him going to the theatre tonight. That’s what worries me, duckie. Restraining him.’ He gave her a sickly smile. ‘Terry’s twice my size.’
Katharine was satisfied with the explanation and recognized the truth in it. ‘Yes, I know he makes two of you. But look, why can’t you simply lock him in the flat, Norman?’
‘Don’t think I haven’t thought of that! But … Well, Terry can be bloody difficult when he’s boozed up. Belligerent, for starters.’
That sense of dismay Katharine had experienced in the dressing room, reactivated, and it struck her that Terry must be far worse than she had imagined. She wondered what had motivated him to behave so irresponsibly. Still, there was nothing to be gained by dwelling on that. Action was the imperative.
‘Maybe we could find somebody to help us,’ she suggested. ‘I could ask Victor Mason to run over! He’s as big as Terry, a lot bigger in fact and more powerfully built. I bet he could handle Terry easily.’
Norman gawked at her. ‘Don’t be daft, ducks, we can’t drag other people into this mess.’ Not bloody likely, he thought to himself. And without another word he swung around and rushed on, obviously propelled by the urgent need to get to Albany, and Terry, as speedily as possible. Katharine stared at his retreating figure, filled with exasperation, and then she set off after him.
The dresser, small and spry, was bounding ahead like a wiry terrier, his raincoat flapping out behind him as he dodged between pedestrians. My God, he’s behaving like a maniac, she thought, her exasperation flaring into real annoyance. It occurred to her then that perhaps Norman was afraid Terry had managed somehow to get out, and was already staggering drunkenly to the theatre. Yes, that’s obviously the explanation, she decided, and instantly changed her mind. She knew John Standish’s flat, where Terry was presently staying. Apart from having a strong oak door, there were also three locks, because of John’s valuable antiques, paintings and other objects of art. He made sure it was difficult to break into – or out of, for that matter. She increased her speed in an effort to catch up with Norman. When she drew level with the Piccadilly Hotel, she saw, to her surprise and immense relief, that Norman had finally stopped and was actually waiting for her.
‘You are being unfair,’ she gasped, positioning herself determinedly in front of him. ‘You promised to fill me in and you haven’t. Not only that, you’re behaving so strangely I’m beginning to think you’re hiding something. What’s wrong, Norman? You haven’t told me everything, have you?’
Norman gulped several times, striving for control. Finally, he said, ‘No, I haven’t, love.’ He shook his head sadly, and his shoulders sagged with weariness. ‘I was going to tell you everything when we got a little closer to Albany. Honest, I was. I wasn’t going to let you walk into that … that shambles unprepared. I just didn’t want to tell you in the middle of the street …’ He took her hand in his and said slowly, in a lower tone, ‘Terry’s not just sloshed, Katharine. He’s been … Terry’s been stabbed.’
For a moment his words did not seem to penetrate. Katharine gaped at him, uncomprehending, and then a look of horror washed over her face as his words finally registered. ‘Stabbed,’ she repeated, her voice quavering. She leaned against the wall, trembling from shock, and her heart suddenly began to pound. ‘Is he all right?’ she asked.
‘Yes, yes, he’s all right,’ Norman quickly assured her. ‘Sorry for blurting it out like that. I didn’t mean to upset you. He has a flesh wound on his upper arm. Not too deep, thank God. My wife’s there. She used to be a nurse, and she managed to stop the bleeding earlier.’ Norman sucked in his breath, rushed on. ‘The doctor isn’t there. I didn’t send for one.’
When Norman saw the flash of anger and panic on Katharine’s chalky face, he cried hurriedly, ‘I couldn’t, Katharine! The doctor would have had to report the stabbing to the police, and there would be an investigation and lots of lousy publicity. You know what the papers are like when they get hold of something like this!’
‘But are you sure he’s going to be all right?’ Katharine persisted. ‘Really sure?’ she demanded, clutching Norman’s arm, her eyes searching his.
‘Yes, I am. Honest to God, ducks. And so is Penny. I told you, she stopped the flow of blood and was bandaging him when I left. The wound isn’t all that serious. Luckily. By now I hope she’s managed to sober him up a bit.’
For a moment Katharine did not trust herself to speak, as she acknowledged the gravity of the situation, and also grappled with a variety of emotions. Uppermost was her enormous horror. Intrepid though she was, she nevertheless had an overwhelming abhorrence of violence, whether verbal or physical, and when confronted with it she was rendered helpless. Now she felt nauseous, and her head had started to ache. But conscious of Norman’s beseeching eyes, she somehow caught hold of herself. She said slowly, ‘He really can’t go on tonight, Norman, even if he is sobering up. He’d never get through the show.’
Norman agreed. ‘I’m hoping you’ll be able to talk some sense into Terry. He’ll listen to you. That’s the main reason why I came to get you. You will give it a try, won’t you, love?’
‘You know I’ll do anything to help.’ She hesitated, reluctant to ask the next question. But she screwed up her nerve. ‘Norman, who do you think … stabbed Terry?’
Norman grimaced and shook his head. ‘I couldn’t make head or tail out of what Terry was saying.’
‘You don’t think it was Alexa Garrett do you?’ Katharine’s voice was hushed.
‘No. No, I’m sure it wasn’t,’ Norman asserted, but to Katharine he sounded unconvincing, and he looked away, unable to meet her gaze, which was shrewdly assessing.
‘Then who?’ she pressed.
‘I … I … Honestly, I’m not sure.’ Norman thought for a second and volunteered grimly, ‘There was some sort of altercation though. A lot of bloody stuff was broken. John’s going to be in a hell of a rage when he finds out. He lent Terry his flat, out of the goodness of his heart, and now half of his valuables have been damaged, and he’s only been gone for a few weeks.’
‘You don’t mean some of those jade pieces and the porcelain things in the drawing room, do you, Norman?’ Katharine asked, incredulity spreading across her face.
He nodded, unable to respond.
Katharine
