she made only one mistake, turning left instead of right in the seascape ballet, and nearly bending Neptune’s cardboard trident. But at last the final curtain fell, and the cast dispersed to their dressing rooms. There were six girls sharing Jane’s room, and the chair next to her was occupied by her friend, Maggie. Maggie took a good look at her.
‘Are you all right, Janie?’ she asked. ‘You’ve gone all tense. I thought you were going to fall over in that last number.’
Jane was hurrying to remove her stage make-up and get away. Her reply was terse, and obviously false. ‘Yes, I’m OK, thanks. But I’ve got to rush.’
‘Come off it, you’ve been wobbling like a jelly. Something’s the matter!’
‘All right, yes, it is. But I haven’t got time to explain. I’ll tell you on Friday, when things are a bit clearer.’
‘OK. But listen, if you’re in trouble, if you need help, you let me know, right? I mean it.’
‘Thanks, Maggie.’ Jane knew she meant it. Maggie’s heart was as big as Tower Bridge, near which she’d been born. But now the need was to get home and see what was happening. And she had to sort out her thoughts. She’d only known Adam casually for a few weeks, and intimately for twenty-four hours. But last night was enough to tell her there was something special between them, and she’d have sworn he was a good man. Had she got it wrong? She knew, of course, that he hadn’t murdered Maurice Cooper. But what was this about attacking police, and men being killed on the pier?
Jane finished dressing, said a quick good night to the girls,and hurried away. At the stage-door, Bert looked up from his evening paper. ‘Oi, Jane, did you see? There’s been a nasty murder in Tilfleet. That’s where you live, innit?’
‘Yes,’ said Jane. ‘I want to get home and see my mum’s all right.’
‘Well, mind how you go, there’s some funny people about,’ said Bert, adding as an afterthought, ‘Pity that bloke Dudley’s not one of them.’
As Jane stepped out into the alley behind the theatre, a figure moved forward from the shadows.
‘Jane,’ said Adam. ‘Can we talk?’
Jane was shaken, but she knew at once that she was glad to see him. She managed to blurt out, ‘My God, it’s you!’ She’d been about to speak his name, but then remembered he was a wanted man. She moved close to him, and he put his arms around her. He smelled of salt spray, but he also smelled of Adam, which was comforting. ‘What the hell’s been going on?’ she asked.
‘I don’t know,’ said Adam. ‘But I can tell you what’s happened to me, if you’ve got time. Is there somewhere we can have coffee?’
‘Solly’s Salt-Beef Bar,’ said Jane. ‘You must be starving.’
So, for the second day running, the two of them sat at a cafe table drinking coffee. But now the dainty biscuits had been replaced by huge hot salt-beef sandwiches, which Adam was wolfing down. Only thirty hours had elapsed since the red- and-white tablecloths of Tilfleet’s Crescent Tea Rooms. And now they were in a different world – a bare wooden table in a crowded little Soho nosh-bar, amid a haze of cigarette smoke, and the babble of London voices. And events had changed their lives for ever.
It took Adam ten minutes to tell Jane all he’d been through since they parted that morning: a tale punctuated by her exclamations of surprise and alarm. In turn, she was expecting to amaze him with the news of Cooper’s death, but it turned out he’d already read about it in the evening paper and vented hisastonishment and disbelief hours ago. And then, when they’d shared all the day’s astonishing stories, and expressed their mutual bewilderment, there was a pause. And Jane had to ask the inevitable question.
‘Adam, I know for a fact that you didn’t kill Maurice Cooper. And it’s not your fault these men attacked you. So you’d done nothing wrong.’
‘No. Nothing.’
‘And when you came off the pier, you
‘Are you all right, Janie?’ she asked. ‘You’ve gone all tense. I thought you were going to fall over in that last number.’
Jane was hurrying to remove her stage make-up and get away. Her reply was terse, and obviously false. ‘Yes, I’m OK, thanks. But I’ve got to rush.’
‘Come off it, you’ve been wobbling like a jelly. Something’s the matter!’
‘All right, yes, it is. But I haven’t got time to explain. I’ll tell you on Friday, when things are a bit clearer.’
‘OK. But listen, if you’re in trouble, if you need help, you let me know, right? I mean it.’
‘Thanks, Maggie.’ Jane knew she meant it. Maggie’s heart was as big as Tower Bridge, near which she’d been born. But now the need was to get home and see what was happening. And she had to sort out her thoughts. She’d only known Adam casually for a few weeks, and intimately for twenty-four hours. But last night was enough to tell her there was something special between them, and she’d have sworn he was a good man. Had she got it wrong? She knew, of course, that he hadn’t murdered Maurice Cooper. But what was this about attacking police, and men being killed on the pier?
Jane finished dressing, said a quick good night to the girls,and hurried away. At the stage-door, Bert looked up from his evening paper. ‘Oi, Jane, did you see? There’s been a nasty murder in Tilfleet. That’s where you live, innit?’
‘Yes,’ said Jane. ‘I want to get home and see my mum’s all right.’
‘Well, mind how you go, there’s some funny people about,’ said Bert, adding as an afterthought, ‘Pity that bloke Dudley’s not one of them.’
As Jane stepped out into the alley behind the theatre, a figure moved forward from the shadows.
‘Jane,’ said Adam. ‘Can we talk?’
Jane was shaken, but she knew at once that she was glad to see him. She managed to blurt out, ‘My God, it’s you!’ She’d been about to speak his name, but then remembered he was a wanted man. She moved close to him, and he put his arms around her. He smelled of salt spray, but he also smelled of Adam, which was comforting. ‘What the hell’s been going on?’ she asked.
‘I don’t know,’ said Adam. ‘But I can tell you what’s happened to me, if you’ve got time. Is there somewhere we can have coffee?’
‘Solly’s Salt-Beef Bar,’ said Jane. ‘You must be starving.’
So, for the second day running, the two of them sat at a cafe table drinking coffee. But now the dainty biscuits had been replaced by huge hot salt-beef sandwiches, which Adam was wolfing down. Only thirty hours had elapsed since the red- and-white tablecloths of Tilfleet’s Crescent Tea Rooms. And now they were in a different world – a bare wooden table in a crowded little Soho nosh-bar, amid a haze of cigarette smoke, and the babble of London voices. And events had changed their lives for ever.
It took Adam ten minutes to tell Jane all he’d been through since they parted that morning: a tale punctuated by her exclamations of surprise and alarm. In turn, she was expecting to amaze him with the news of Cooper’s death, but it turned out he’d already read about it in the evening paper and vented hisastonishment and disbelief hours ago. And then, when they’d shared all the day’s astonishing stories, and expressed their mutual bewilderment, there was a pause. And Jane had to ask the inevitable question.
‘Adam, I know for a fact that you didn’t kill Maurice Cooper. And it’s not your fault these men attacked you. So you’d done nothing wrong.’
‘No. Nothing.’
‘And when you came off the pier, you
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