Classic Calls the Shots (29 page)

‘Someone is,' she said brightly and rang off. Two minutes later she rang again. ‘Girlfriend going strong, Jack?'

‘Yes, no thanks to you.'

‘She there with you?'

‘In London. Got a job.'

‘Casting, actually.'

‘Casting for what?' I asked blankly.

‘Haven't you heard? Major series coming up on TV, Moore's
Esther Waters.
Being shot somewhere up north. She's tipped as hot favourite for Esther.'

Louise hadn't told me.

A
nd then Bill rang. I hadn't seen him since the Saturday it all happened, four days ago. ‘Feel like coming over, Jack? We can meet at a pub if you can't face Mayden Manor again, or eat here if you can.'

I was about to choose the pub, but then had second thoughts. If I visited the manor again, it might help put the whole experience into perspective, instead of its being a memory from which I shied away. If it wasn't still a crime scene, and if Bill was happy to stay there, why should I object?

Without the marquee, the gardens looked altogether different. Mayden Manor was a peaceful country house albeit with massive security – but all such houses needed that nowadays. This was a fairly remote dwelling but I reflected that even so the sound of that noise in the night must have had some neighbours complaining, not to mention quite a few sheep shocked into running for their lives.

We settled on lunch in the garden. With a beer in front of us, a salmon salad at its side and raspberries to follow, this seemed to be what summer was all about. No maniacs running around here.

‘So,' I began at last, after we'd covered all the small talk. ‘Why did you ask me over?'

‘Let's kick off with this. You saved my life, Jack. I reckon I owe you.'

‘Pay me with the Auburn,' I joked.

He laughed. ‘It's cleaned up OK, and I can just about afford the respray it needs. I don't feel the same about it, Jack. It's an unlucky car.' He paused. ‘I'll settle up for your time spent on my behalf, Jack, but I owe you more than that. An explanation. I want to tell you about Margot Croft.'

I was instantly alert. At last. ‘Margot and Chris Frant?'

‘No. The real Margot Croft, her life, her death – and me. OK by you?'

I nodded, and he began.

‘I knew the lady long before
Running Tides.
I'd seen her in her early movies, even directed her once in a bit part. There was something about her – you ever see that Griffith movie
Broken Blossoms
? The original not the remake. Margot reminded me of Lilian Gish. She didn't need words to act, she used herself. She was dedicated, like Gish. She wasn't just a good actress, she was, well, a mood, a dream, in herself, something you couldn't quite grasp, beyond direction, but it left you trying to pin it down. She was delicate, yet had this strength that could carry her past that quality into something mighty glorious. Opposites: fragile; strong; inspiring love; inspiring hate; unselfish; selfish; giving love; taking it. All those. Except she never hated anyone in her life.

‘When I first directed her,' he went on, ‘I knew little about her offstage. I knew she was married, even met Geoff quite a few times, but I was solely interested in her performance. I'd had a bad first marriage, and wasn't looking for anything permanent, or even mildly serious by the time I was looking to cast
Running Tides.
I'd wanted to direct it ever since the script landed on my desk. It was based on this short novel, based on a true story and written by the head of intelligence involved. You've probably heard it was based on a short novel published in the early twenties in a magazine – not Pulitzer Prize material, but it had potential and I could see what I might be able to do with it to turn it into something special. I remembered Margot Croft and that was it. I knew I had to have her play Ramble.

‘I don't know which was the first obsession, the film or Margot. Did I have this great idea about the movie and fitted Margot into it, or was it the other way about? I reckon it was Margot first and the dream of the movie grew out of her. Whichever, we were in bed together within a few days. After that days and nights seemed to become one, feeding each other. Sleeping with her, loving her, seemed part of the vision for the movie. I don't like that word, but what could replace it? Only dream maybe, but if it's realizable it's no dream. You see what you want and try to create it. Margot was part of that, maybe the whole of the inspiration. She threw herself heart, soul and body into
Running Tides
. She could see exactly what effect I was after and created it for my sake. She loved me all right, and I loved her. That went on for four months or so, while we were shooting here and in France. At what point does passion become obsession? For the movie and for each other. Where's the dividing line? I didn't know then and I don't know now.

‘The problem is that some day filming ends. What happens then to the passion and obsession? Continue with it? How do you channel it? If you can't, there's disaster staring you in the face. If it's obsession it's more serious. Margot and I had reached that point. We realized that at the wrap party. The movie would be a success, and we'd go off into the sunset together.

‘So what went wrong? You'll have heard everyone's version but mine, and mine's the truth. Margot's part in the movie was over, while I was still obsessed night and day with getting what I saw as my dream expressed exactly as I wanted it throughout the editing stage. Margot was restless, she had another filming job to do, and I was still caught up with
Running Tides.
She wanted us to be together right away, but I wasn't ready. The movie wasn't finished for me. You could put it crudely and say that I was just falling out of love with her now the shooting was over. But that would not be the case. I was still in love with her, but I had to get the movie finished. The more she badgered me the worse it grew. She wanted me with her every minute and if I wasn't, she'd come to track me down, crying that I no longer loved her. It got to the point where I realized I was more
sorry
for her than in love with her.

‘Then she told me she was pregnant with my child, and I believed her. I went to see Geoff to discuss it and he told me she was lying. She couldn't have kids. They'd tried. I refused to believe him, but Margot admitted it when I tackled her. Then I did cool. I couldn't take that. When I delayed, made excuses, then the real problems began. She'd ruin my career, she'd kill herself, she'd do this, she would do that.

‘I talked to Geoff again. He hated my guts, incidentally, which was hardly surprising. He admitted I wasn't the first in Margot's extra marital life and that suicide threats had been made before, without her acting on them. So I didn't take her ranting as seriously as I should have and I told her it was over. Geoff said he loved her and that he would look after her. They lived in London and I was down here in Kent by that time, so when the threats ceased I thought everything was calming down.

‘Then I had a phone call from her in the middle of one night to say she was going to kill herself. She had driven down to the spot where we had shot a scene in
Running Tides
on the cliffs near Folkestone. I still didn't take it seriously, but I had to go. I drove down there in the Auburn, half thinking she wouldn't be there when I arrived. But she was. Sitting in her car, waiting for me. I wondered if she'd taken pills but she said no. Not yet. She wanted me back and the threats began all over again. She'd ruin the movie and me. All nonsense but I began to see what life with Margot would have been like.

‘I'm not proud of myself, Jack, but I realized I was beginning to hate her. “I knew you'd come, Bill,” she said complacently. “Just like in the film.
Bill, Bill, come to me,
and here you are.” You can imagine how that sound hit me the other night, Jack. Chris couldn't have known about our meeting there, and yet he hit the weak spot.

‘Margot told me quite calmly that she had bought a gun, just like mine. She thought we might have a suicide pact. She'd shoot me and then herself. Great! She whipped the gun out and I tried to get it away from her but it was no use. She was shrieking with laughter and getting wilder and wilder, waving it around. I tried reason, I tried telling her how much she was needed, about how much she had to offer as an actress and finally, lying, I told her how much I loved her. She didn't believe me, and I knew if I tried to run, she would kill me. This time it was for real. I knew that. She put the gun to her head –' Bill swallowed – ‘then to mine. I thought she was going to pull the trigger, she was talking so wildly. So I put my hands over hers on the gun and wrenched it back the other way. It went off. Who pulled the trigger? No idea.'

I was cold with horror. ‘So in effect—'

‘I killed her.'

His hands had been over hers, not on the gun, and there was no other proof of course. Even if Bill decided to turn himself in, there would be nothing to back up his story. Had it been accident or self defence, or had he intended to kill her? He didn't know himself, and I believed him. I thought of what he had said to me as I left.

‘No one liked Angie, Jack, but she was the best thing that ever happened to me. Except for Roger and Maisie, everyone thought that Margot was the goodie and Angie the baddie. But for me the opposite was true. Margot was sweet and lovable but as implacable as stone; she cast a spell but spells can be bad as well as good.'

‘So what now?' I had asked him.

He knew what I meant by this. ‘I do movies, Jack, like you do cars. Angie and Joan died because of me. I owe them something. I do movies best.'

Dave rang me about Nigel, not that I cared now. I still felt drained. ‘You can put in your invoice now, Jack,' Dave said. ‘You've earned your dosh.'

‘You've nailed Nigel?' I felt almost sorry.

‘Nope. Biddington was just an innocent decoy. We've nailed the organizer.'

‘Anyone I know?'

‘Yes. Her name's Clarissa.'

When I'd picked myself up off the floor and Dave had stopped chuckling, he told me that being in a wheelchair and pretending to be forgetful had been the ideal cover for her. When she was questioned, she had been proud of herself, and in view of her age the case might have to disappear for lack of supporting evidence. She was a tough lady, and no one wanted to be on her wrong side – especially in view of the heavies that she employed, many of which worked for Shotsworth Security. Mark Shotsworth himself was as clean as a whistle and so was Nigel Biddington, nor was there anything amiss with the cars for
Dark Harvest
.

Clarissa must have been raking in a fortune, I thought. Dave read me part of her statement: ‘Everyone is so kind. They come up to chat with me and tell me about their cars as I know so much, thanks to my father. I can be so helpful to them, telling them how good Nigel is as a broker. Dear Nigel and Rob are so good to me. They know how much I love cars and I can usually get one or the other of them to drive me where I need to go. Of course there are taxis, but that would be an extravagance.'

‘Why did she put me on the right track over the Auburn?' I asked, bewildered. As a car detective it seemed to me I was a washout. ‘Even though she was wrong about the woman driver.' I did a double take. Or was she? Had Chris in his madness dressed up as Margot to take the car? It was all too possible.

‘She sticks to the woman driver, and as for telling you about it, she was highly annoyed that the Auburn had been stolen so publicly and that the thief had had the audacity to put it in
her
car park, as she put it, although she had not authorized the theft. Pure chance I gather. Chris heard from Ken about the car park and thought it would suit his purpose nicely.'

And then I had come along and been led by the nose to find it. I didn't think I'd dwell on that aspect to Dave.

No need. He thought it up for himself. ‘Don't worry. I won't take it off your invoice.'

‘You're all heart.'

‘If it's any consolation, she rates you highly as a sleuth, hence her decision to risk giving you only the slightest hint where the Auburn could be found.'

I felt better. ‘Are you charging her?'

‘Yes, though I doubt it will come to court. She was quite aggrieved about it. Told me the government kept on urging older people not to retire but to continue working as long as they could.'

Which just left one more outstanding issue. Louise.

She came back to me at the weekend with eyes shining and with good reason – for her, at least. We loved with great passion that night, although even then I suspected it might be for the last time. The next day we went for a walk through woodland that in May had been thick with bluebells, and now as July opened had a canopy of green leaves so thick there was little light for undergrowth. You need undergrowth for a strong relationship, and that's what Louise and I would never have while those trees reached higher and higher towards the stars.

‘I've got the part, Jack,' she told me. ‘It'll be in the press soon. It's going to take me away for at least six months.'

I knew what that meant. I congratulated her on getting the part. Sincerely, but . . . ‘You'll be leaving me then.'

‘Me or my heart?'

‘They're both the same, my love.'

‘The answer is that I don't know. Perhaps . . .'

‘I'll be here.'

‘There'll be someone else sooner or later.'

‘Probably, but not you.'

‘Will it hurt?'

‘Yes.'

‘For me too.'

I wanted to say, ‘Then don't leave me,' or ‘We'll work something out.' But I couldn't. That's the trouble with wandering stars. They wander. That's what they do. If you haul them down to you, they're not the star you wanted.