mobile out on the table. âDo you mind if we record this?â
âNot at all,â said Linda. âAs I said, I want to talk about it.â
Winsome set the mobileâs voice recorder on.
âWhere did the assault take place?â said Banks.
âIn a suite at the Majestic Hotel in Blackpool, a big old place behind the Pleasure Beach. Itâs where heâDanny Caxtonâand his entourage were staying during the summer season. Itâs not there anymore.â
âWhy were you there?â
She cocked her head to one side. âLooking back, god only knows,â she whispered. âRemember, I was only fourteen. Danny Caxton was famous. He was handsome like a film star. And he was a nice man. Orso he seemed to his public. He had one of those affable, trustworthy personalities. On the outside. Maybe that was another reason nobody believed me. It was after a matinee, and I was at the stage door on the pier autograph hunting. I used to do that back then. My friend Melanie was supposed to be with me but she cried off at the last minute and went to one of the amusement arcades instead. She wasnât really interested in autographs.â
âDid you tell your parents where you were going?â
âI probably said I was going to try and get some autographs, yes. They knew I collected them. They were used to me going off by myself. I was a solitary child. A bit of a loner. Donât get me wrong. I wasnât antisocial, and I was really glad Melanie was with us that week. But I still needed to do some things by myself. I always have.â
âSo you were on your own?â
âWell, there were a few others after autographs, but no one was actually with me, no. You might remember heâd recently started hosting that talent show, Do Your Own Thing! , at the time, and I suppose I thought I had talent. I used to watch it regularly. I had dreams of being an actress or a singer then, the next Julie Christie or Dusty Springfield or something. People told me I had a nice voice, and Iâd had some good parts in school plays. I wrote my own songs. Iâd even played Juliet at school earlier that year. Most of the celebrities, they just hurried by and scribbled in the book without even looking at you, if they bothered at all. But Danny Caxton was different. He noticed people. He really seemed to see me. He stopped to talk to me. Me .â
âWhat did he say?â
âHe asked me my name, what I did.â
âYou told him you were at school?â
âYes.â
âWhat else?â
âWhat I was interested in. Thatâs when I told him about . . . you know, singing and wanting to be onstage. As I said, I was usually a shy teenager, but there was something in his manner that could sort of bring people out of themselves. It felt nice to be able to talk about my dreams to someone. Most of the others had gone by then. I was last in line. He had my book in his hand and his pen ready, but I was gushingabout my favorite pop singers. He knew them all, of courseâI mean really knew themâand that was when he said maybe he could help me, and somehow the autograph got lost in the excitement. He never did sign it.â
âWhat did he mean that he could help you?â
âHe said maybe he could arrange for me to come to a filming of his program in the TV studio, to be a part of the audience, that maybe if I was good enough I could even be on it. It was a friendly invitation, you know, a bit mysterious, a bit promising, the hint that thereâll be something good at the end of it, that I might even get to meet Helen Shapiro or Kathy Kirby. They were both in Blackpool at the time, in different shows. Can you imagine? He said I was pretty and I carried myself well, I had elegant posture, and that was always important if you wanted to be successful in show business. He said they were always needing extras and whatever for the TV show, or for a Christmas
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