An Amateur Corpse by Simon Brett Read Free Book Online Page A

changed the subject. ‘By the way, Geoff, do you know if Charlotte’s going to be in this evening? I do want to buy my darling Nina a drink.’
    â€˜I’ve no idea what she’s up to. Ask Hugo.’
    Charlotte’s husband was hunched over a large Scotch at the bar. Shad swanned over. ‘Any idea what the little woman’s up to this evening?’
    â€˜Little woman?’ Charles heard a dangerous undertone in Hugo’s echo.
    â€˜Darling Charlotte,’ Shad explained.
    â€˜Darling Charlotte . . .’ Hugo began, unnecessarily loud.
    â€˜Darling Charlotte may be in hell for all I know. Don’t ask me about Charlotte the harlot. She’s a bloody whore!’
    After the shocked silence which followed this pronouncement, Shad decided that he’d ring Charlotte from home. As he minced away, other Backstagers joined the exodus with desultory farewells. Charles felt guilty, responsible. ‘Geoffrey, has Hugo driven them away? He’s drunk out of his mind.’
    â€˜No, it’s not that. This place is used to dramatic outbursts. The mass evacuation is due to the telly. I, Claudius tonight. Nine o’clock. Becoming a great cult show. I haven’t seen any, been rehearsing. But I’m told it’s just the thing for bourgeois commuters’ wish-fulfilment. Lots of rapes and murders.’
    â€˜Living vicariously.’
    â€˜Yes, well, we don’t get all that at home. At least, not many of us.’
    Charles laughed. ‘Actually, I’d better get Hugo home. I hate to think how much alcohol he’s got inside him.’ He moved over to the bar. ‘Hugo, time to go, don’t you think?’
    Once again this suggestion touched some trigger of violence. Hugo shouted, ‘Just keep your bloody mouth shut!’ and dashed his glass of Scotch in Charles’ face.
    Charles was furious. Unaware of the shocked gaze of the remaining Backstagers, he turned on Hugo. ‘You’re drunk and disgusting!’
    â€˜Get lost!’
    â€˜You ought to go home. You’ve had enough.’
    â€˜I’ll go home when I bloody choose to. And that won’t be before closing time.’ Hugo banged his glass down on the bar and then, as if to deny the force of his outburst, asked politely, ‘May I have another Scotch, please?’
    As Robert Chubb obliged with the drink, Charles stormed out. In the lobby he found Geoffrey Winter had followed him. Geoffrey offered a blue and white handkerchief to mop up his jacket. ‘Thanks. Is there a phone?’
    â€˜There. Just behind the door.’
    Charles got through to Charlotte. ‘Look, I’ve just left Hugo. He’s in the Backstagers’ bar. Says he won’t be leaving till it closes. He’s extremely drunk.’
    â€˜Won’t be the first time,’ she said dryly. ‘Thanks for the warning.’
    Geoffrey Winter was still waiting outside. ‘I’d offer you a lift, but we don’t run a car. Still, I can show you a quick way down to the station. There’s a footpath.’
    â€˜Thank you.’
    â€˜They walked past a large house next door to the Backstagers. It was neo-Tudor with diamond window panes. No light on. Outside the porch, horrible out of period, a pair of grotesque stone lions stood on guard.
    Charles drew in his breath sharply with distaste. Geoffrey followed his glance and chuckled. ‘The Hobbses. Mr. and Mrs Arkadina. Advertising their money. Ostentatious buggers. But, nonetheless, a good source of free drinks.’
    Charles laughed, though inwardly he was still seething from the encounter with Hugo.
    â€˜By the way,’ said Geoffrey, ‘I gather we see you tomorrow.’
    â€˜Yes, Vee invited me down for a meal. If that’s still okay.’
    â€˜Fine. Love to see you. I’ll show you the way when we get to the main road.’
    They walked across a common where a huge pile of wood and rubbish