Mydworth Mysteries--London Calling! by Matthew Costello & Neil Richards

Author:Matthew Costello & Neil Richards [Costello, Matthew]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-3-7325-6955-7
Publisher: Bastei Entertainment
Published: 2019-08-04T16:00:00+00:00

9. Lost

The performance lasted only twenty minutes, though – as Harry explained to Kat later – “it was very… um… spirited”.

The second the dancers finished, the curtain unceremoniously dropped and they were gone. The band kicked off on a last jazzy number and the calls of “encore” quickly fizzled out.

When their host in the patent shoes came to top up their champagne, Harry had a question.

“Um, I say, old chap. I wonder if any of the girls could join us for a drink?”

The man froze for a second. Looked at the two of them.

Evaluating us? Harry thought. Or perhaps our financial resources?

“Oh dear me, no, sir,” said the man. “We’re really not that kind of club, I’m sure sir understands?”

Harry shrugged.

The Red Rabbit might not be that kind of club – but it didn’t look far off it. Harry guessed for the right customer, anything was possible.

When the man had gone, he leaned in to Alfie, so they could talk over the loud music.

“Going to see if I can slip round the back,” he said. “Keep your eyes open.”

“Got it, chief,” said Alfie – those three words always reassuring to Harry.

Harry got up and threaded his way through the busy tables, past the bar and stage towards a sign that indicated the WCs.

Next to it, he saw a swing door that probably led to the rooms and offices behind.

Maybe to the dressing rooms?

With a quick glance to check nobody was watching, he slipped through the swing door to find himself in a corridor, with another corridor leading from it in the direction of the back of the stage.

It was quieter back here, the music muted.

As he stood orienting himself, a door ahead opened. Quickly he backed into a corner and pressed against the side of a cupboard. Two men in scruffy dinner jackets walked past and into the club without seeing him.

Harry peered round the cupboard and listened.

Coast clear.

He walked down the corridor and turned into the next one. He could see the doors were marked “Manager”, “Props”, “Stores” – then finally a door tagged “Dressing Rooms”.

Bingo!

He stepped up close to the door. From inside he could hear voices – female – the dancers chattering away.

Another look up and down the corridor: empty.

He tapped on the door.

“Cor! Five minutes, Charlie, don’t you bloody listen?” came an irritated voice from inside.

Harry knocked again.

After a few seconds, it opened and one of the dancers stood there, still in costume. “Charlie Leet, we’re not your bloody–?” said the woman, confused at the sight of Harry, not the expected Charlie. “Who the hell are you?” she said.

“Hello,” said Harry in his most timid voice.

“Where’s Charlie? You don’t—”

“Oh, gosh. Terribly sorry,” said Harry, playing the nervous out-of-towner. “Don’t want to disturb. Um. Charlie said I could drop by. Said it was fine.”

“Oh yeah?” said the woman, laughing. “What do you want then… young man?”

“Want? Oh, um, well. I’m just… a fan. Art of the dance, you know? Think you’re marvellous. All of you. Wanted to say thank you.

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