Play to the End by Robert Goddard
Authors: Robert Goddard
Tags: thriller, Suspense, Literature & Fiction, Thrillers, Action & Adventure, Crime, Mystery, Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, Crime Fiction, Thrillers & Suspense, Thriller & Suspense, British Detectives, Traditional Detectives
Ads: Link
nominated. I leapt back into the cab and named it as our next port of call.
Hollingdean Road is one of the limbs of the "Vogue Gyratory', as the driver called the confused meeting-point of thoroughfares near the Sainsbury's super store out on the Lewes Road. He stopped just short of the railway bridge, in the gateway of a used-car pound, where I told him to wait again. The cuboid roofline of a modern industrial estate loomed above me as I got out, next to the older brick ramparts of the bridge. You think Brighton is all pier and theatricals and in my game you don't have to question the thought, but Oswin was drawing me into a duller, grimmer Brighton altogether. I just had to hope I could draw myself out again in double quick time.
I hurried under the bridge, checking my watch as I went. It was gone seven now. The point of no return was approaching more rapidly than I'd allowed for. The road curved sharply right on the other side, while an access lane led straight on into a dimly lit sprawl of depots and factories. Two stark blocks of flats reared above them to the west. I looked around. There was no sign of Oswin.
A minute passed. And part of another. Then I knew. Oswin wasn't going to show up early. I wasn't going to catch him out. The terms he'd set were all or nothing. I started back to the cab.
"Where now?" the driver asked, as I opened the door and slumped into the passenger seat.
I looked at my watch again. It was 7.05. I could still be at the theatre by 7.10, the latest acceptable arrival time for the cast, or at least very shortly after. It was what I should do, professionally, prudentially. It was crazy to let Oswin mess me around. I didn't need to. I simply wasn't willing to. And yet... "I will not give you another chance of learning what this is all about."
"Back into the centre?" the driver prompted.
"Yes," I answered in an undertone. "Back into the centre."
He pulled out into the road, then reversed into the gateway, preparatory to heading back the way we'd come. I thought of Jenny and the true nature of the chance Oswin might be offering me.
"No," I said suddenly. "I've changed my mind. I'm staying here."
By 7.20, Denis must have broken the news. Jocasta and Elsa would probably be worried about me. Fred's reaction would veer more towards the sarcastic, Brian's the disbelievingly dumbstruck. But he would have to believe it. As for what Donohue might say .. .
By 7.40, after fruitless attempts to raise me on my mobile as well as at the Sea Air, Brian would authorize the announcement to the audience.
7n this evening's performance, the part of James Elliott will be played by Denis Maple."
At 7.45, as the curtain went up, I was standing under the Hollingdean Road railway bridge, watching and waiting. I silently wished Denis luck and myself some too.
"Mr. Flood?" I heard Oswin's call before I saw him, slipping out of the shadows along the access lane. "I'm over here." It had just turned eight o'clock.
I moved forward to meet him. His face was a sallow mask in the sodium lamplight. I didn't have much doubt in that instant that I was dealing with a madman. But I already knew his was a very strange kind of madness. Almost more of an alternative sanity.
"Thanks for coming," he said.
"You didn't leave me much choice."
"You could have honoured your contract with Leo S. Gauntlett Productions. Just as I could have honoured my promise to leave Mrs.
Flood alone."
"So, why the bloody hell didn't you?"
"I explained in the letter. You took me by surprise. I ...
panicked."
"Still feeling panicky?"
"A little. I thought you might be ... angry."
"I will be." I stepped closer and stared straight at him. "If you don't tell me now what this is really all about."
"Oh, I will. Of course, Mr. Flood. Everything."
"For a start, what are we doing here?"
"I used to work round here. Like my father. And his father before him. We all worked for the Colborns in our time."
"Doing what?"
"What
Hollingdean Road is one of the limbs of the "Vogue Gyratory', as the driver called the confused meeting-point of thoroughfares near the Sainsbury's super store out on the Lewes Road. He stopped just short of the railway bridge, in the gateway of a used-car pound, where I told him to wait again. The cuboid roofline of a modern industrial estate loomed above me as I got out, next to the older brick ramparts of the bridge. You think Brighton is all pier and theatricals and in my game you don't have to question the thought, but Oswin was drawing me into a duller, grimmer Brighton altogether. I just had to hope I could draw myself out again in double quick time.
I hurried under the bridge, checking my watch as I went. It was gone seven now. The point of no return was approaching more rapidly than I'd allowed for. The road curved sharply right on the other side, while an access lane led straight on into a dimly lit sprawl of depots and factories. Two stark blocks of flats reared above them to the west. I looked around. There was no sign of Oswin.
A minute passed. And part of another. Then I knew. Oswin wasn't going to show up early. I wasn't going to catch him out. The terms he'd set were all or nothing. I started back to the cab.
"Where now?" the driver asked, as I opened the door and slumped into the passenger seat.
I looked at my watch again. It was 7.05. I could still be at the theatre by 7.10, the latest acceptable arrival time for the cast, or at least very shortly after. It was what I should do, professionally, prudentially. It was crazy to let Oswin mess me around. I didn't need to. I simply wasn't willing to. And yet... "I will not give you another chance of learning what this is all about."
"Back into the centre?" the driver prompted.
"Yes," I answered in an undertone. "Back into the centre."
He pulled out into the road, then reversed into the gateway, preparatory to heading back the way we'd come. I thought of Jenny and the true nature of the chance Oswin might be offering me.
"No," I said suddenly. "I've changed my mind. I'm staying here."
By 7.20, Denis must have broken the news. Jocasta and Elsa would probably be worried about me. Fred's reaction would veer more towards the sarcastic, Brian's the disbelievingly dumbstruck. But he would have to believe it. As for what Donohue might say .. .
By 7.40, after fruitless attempts to raise me on my mobile as well as at the Sea Air, Brian would authorize the announcement to the audience.
7n this evening's performance, the part of James Elliott will be played by Denis Maple."
At 7.45, as the curtain went up, I was standing under the Hollingdean Road railway bridge, watching and waiting. I silently wished Denis luck and myself some too.
"Mr. Flood?" I heard Oswin's call before I saw him, slipping out of the shadows along the access lane. "I'm over here." It had just turned eight o'clock.
I moved forward to meet him. His face was a sallow mask in the sodium lamplight. I didn't have much doubt in that instant that I was dealing with a madman. But I already knew his was a very strange kind of madness. Almost more of an alternative sanity.
"Thanks for coming," he said.
"You didn't leave me much choice."
"You could have honoured your contract with Leo S. Gauntlett Productions. Just as I could have honoured my promise to leave Mrs.
Flood alone."
"So, why the bloody hell didn't you?"
"I explained in the letter. You took me by surprise. I ...
panicked."
"Still feeling panicky?"
"A little. I thought you might be ... angry."
"I will be." I stepped closer and stared straight at him. "If you don't tell me now what this is really all about."
"Oh, I will. Of course, Mr. Flood. Everything."
"For a start, what are we doing here?"
"I used to work round here. Like my father. And his father before him. We all worked for the Colborns in our time."
"Doing what?"
"What
Similar Books
