They all looked at me expectantly. Clearly I was required to make the introductions.
‘Hello, I’m Corinna, and I live here. I’m the local baker. If you like bread, or bready products of any kind, please ask me. And you are …?’
‘We’re actors,’ announced the tallest of the five youths in a voice brimming with self-assurance. A salesman’s handshake was proffered, and I duly accepted it. He reeked of private school and privilege with a capital P, though he looked decent enough. Grammar rather than Scotch, I guessed. ‘I’m Stephen, though I’m Trinculo for the duration. We’re from Mars,’ he added helpfully.
‘I’ll take your word for it,’ I said, though I knew what he meant. Mars, also known as apartment 3B, was generally vacant. I deduced, without evidence, that it was an investment property owned by someone’s parent. Probably that of Stephen Trinculo. I turned to the others.
‘Luke, currently being Prospero,’ said the next, encasing my hand in a slender, elegant palm. You could have fooled me, but there it was. I had it from his own exquisite lips. He was very dark-skinned and looked decidedly Caribbean, though without the dreadlocks.
Next in line was Claire, it seemed, though she introduced herself as Caliban. I was getting the idea by now. I had never imagined Caliban as short, neat and blonde, any more than I had imagined such an ethnically diverse aristocratic sorcerer, but it was evident that my horizons were going to be forcibly broadened. I suspected the presence of the late Bertolt Brecht in somebody’s dramatic studies.
Then there was Sam (presumably Samantha, though one never really knows): tall, slender and olive-skinned. ‘I’m Ariel,’ she explained. ‘We’ve moved in here while we’re rehearsing The Tempest.’ She exchanged glances with the others then said, ‘Would you like to come to a rehearsal? We’re doing Act 2, Scene 2 this afternoon.’
‘I would be delighted,’ I said, curious to know what brave new world was this they were inventing. ‘Where and when?’
‘Mars, four o’clock?’
‘I’ll be there.’
I turned to the last of our newcomers, sitting up in a wheelchair against the wall. ‘Hello,’ I said. ‘I don’t think we’ve met.’
She shook her head.
‘Her name is Philomela,’ said Meroe quietly. ‘She is unable to speak. She’s staying with Therese and her friend.’
I looked questioningly at Philomela, who nodded. She had short, dark, bobbed hair and beautiful brown eyes which looked intelligent and perceptive.
‘Would you care to join your friends?’ I asked her.
She nodded again. I opened the door and wheeled her inside next to Therese.
‘Well, people,’ I said to the actors, ‘I’m afraid there’s nothing much to see. The police are on their way and until they’ve done their bit they’ll want to keep the crime scene as clear of people as is reasonable.’
‘Is anyone hurt?’ Claire asked. ‘We heard the alarm go off, so we left the play and came to see if anyone needed help.’
‘I’m glad you did,’ I told them. ‘Did you hear or see anything apart from the alarm?’
Apparently they hadn’t. ‘Well, in that case, as soon as we know anything ourselves, we’ll let you know. All I can say is that we appear to have a mysterious intruder who is being held under guard in the parlour. And that’s all I know. Splendid of you to be doing Shakespeare. Well done. All right, let’s bring the curtain down on this act, yes?’
At that moment the intercom buzzer sounded. ‘On second thoughts, could one of you go down and open the front door? If it’s a police officer, let them in.’
‘And if it isn’t?’ Claire wanted to know.
I was going to say, ‘Hit them with a brick,’ but you never know if new acquaintances are going to take you literally. Instead I pressed the speaker. ‘Who is that?’ I enquired.
‘Detective Senior Constable White, as requested. Corinna, let me in, will you? It’s like a pizza oven out here.’
‘I’ll go,’ said Meroe, and disappeared down the stairs.
The actors exited stage left, and within the apartment all was quiet. Presently, up the stairs came the awful majesty of the law, in the form of Detective Senior Constable Letitia White, accompanied by a whipcord figure whose identity badge proclaimed her to be Det Constable Helen Black. She refrained from introducing herself, but contrived to project an atmosphere of calm authority. I liked her slender face and short black curls, and her deep brown eyes. They were in standard summer plain clothes: hovering somewhere between Italian Bespoke and Maison Target. Matching summer slacks (grey), blouses (ecru), jackets (oyster) and sensible flat shoes (slate). There was a definite statement of Grey in their attire, and their faces matched their outfits. They nodded politely, but they didn’t seem all that pleased to see me.
Philomela: When they took me to hospital, they said I wouldn’t be able to see again. My glasses were destroyed. But when I got new ones I could see perfectly. And I found I could read. Then they told me I’d never be able to walk again. And I can, in a way. And they told me I’d never speak again. And it’s true I cannot speak, nor write. Not yet. And that is the worst loss of all. When you are in a wheelchair and you have aphasia, people think you are an idiot. But while I may be rendered dumb, I am no fool. And I will find a way to tell my story.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The god of my idolatry.
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE, ROMEO AND JULIET, ACT 2, SCENE 2
I looked around for Meroe, wanting moral support, but she had disappeared. I suspect she has access to secret dimensions and can come and go as she pleases.
I opened the door to the parlour to find the scene unchanged. Trudi, Anwyn and Therese looked like the Three Fates. Anwyn even had the shears of Atropos, and was holding them meaningfully. In the corner of the room, Philomela sat unnoticed in her wheelchair. She was hunched up, but taking it all in. None of them took their eyes off the youth on the floor. Remarkably, he still had not moved.
Letitia took in the scene with a glance, and gestured to an empty sofa.
‘You may as well sit in on this, Corinna. I’d rather have you where I can see your hands above the table. All right. Whose apartment is this, for starters?’
‘Professor Monk’s,’ I answered. ‘He is currently upstairs in Minerva – that’s 4B – being attended to by Mrs Dawson.’
The detectives exchanged a glance, and Helen left to interview the victim of the incursion. Letitia glared down at the figure on the carpet.
‘All right, son. What’s your story? What the hell is this about?’
The youth goggled at her. His pale lips opened, but no sounds emerged. Nothing, in fact, but a rasping choke. His eyes were wide and terrified. Letty White looked at me. ‘Is this bloke armed?’
‘I really don’t think so,’ I said. ‘He looks frightened.’
‘Good. Can you hear me, son? Here’s what I want you to do. If you can manage to sit on the floor with your hands above your head, I’d like some answers to some questions. If you’re a good boy, I won’t even handcuff you. If you do anything I don’t like the looks of, this lady here is probably going to stick a fork in you, so I think you’re going to be good. What do you think?’