The Blood Card by Elly Griffiths

Author:Elly Griffiths [Griffiths, Elly]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9781784296698
Publisher: Quercus
Published: 2016-11-02T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter 20

Tracking down Tommy Lang turned out to be fairly easy. Max telephoned Derek Conroy and was given an address in Hammersmith.

‘Good to know you’re all getting to know each other,’ said the director. ‘How’s the act coming on?’

‘Very well. I went to see my cabinetmaker yesterday. I think I’ll have something really good.’

‘That’s great. Technical rehearsal on Saturday, remember.’

‘I’ll be there,’ said Max, thinking again how little time they had to put on the television show. The coronation was in a week’s time, and Those Were the Days would be shown at seven-thirty that evening. There would be a dress rehearsal the day before and, on the night, they would have to muddle through as best they could. Just like the real thing, in fact.

Tommy Lang lived in a terraced house behind the Hammersmith Palais. Max remembered going dancing at the Palais before the war, the names of the various girls merged into one though he could still recall the exact tones of the trumpets in Harry Roy’s jazz band. During the war the theatre had been used to store trams and he’d heard someone say that the rails were still there, under the dance floor.

Lang himself opened the door – shirtsleeves, cigarette in hand – and gaped to see Max on his doorstep.

‘Bloody hell. Max Mephisto.’

‘Good morning. I hope I’m not intruding?’

‘No. Not at all. I was just listening to the wireless.’

The wireless set dominated the small front room, which also contained a rather threadbare three-piece suite. Max sat on the sofa and Tommy on an armchair but they were so close that their knees were almost touching.

‘The missus wants to buy a television for the coronation,’ said Tommy. ‘But where would we put it?’

‘She could watch the show on it though,’ said Max. ‘Or will she be in the audience?’

‘She’ll be in the audience,’ said Tommy. ‘She wouldn’t miss a TV show. It’s the chance of a lifetime.’

Max was surprised to hear Tommy sounding so enthusiastic. He’d looked rather bored that day at the Empire. But he supposed that a live TV show was a lifeline to an ageing variety artiste and, in the daylight, Tommy was older than he had first appeared; his hair was suspiciously black but his face was lined and his hands slightly shaky. Life on the circuit was no fun after fifty. Less fun at sixty, torture at seventy. Diablo had still been performing in his seventies, eking out a living at seedy strip clubs and bingo halls. Max would be fifty in seven years’ time.

‘I’m calling because I’m trying to trace someone,’ said Max. ‘I think you may have been on the bill with him at the Liverpool Empire before the war. His name’s Charlie Haystack.’

‘Charlie?’ said Tommy. ‘Why are you trying to trace him?’

‘I’ve got a friend who’s in the police.’ Max saw the alarm on Tommy’s face and hurried to make his voice reassuring. ‘It’s nothing bad. He’s just trying to trace him because of a legacy or something.’ He hoped this would appeal to the impecunious pro in Tommy Lang.

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