Death Trap by Patricia Hall Read Free Book Online Page A

that’s two of us settled at last. But I do worry about Marie. She’s not getting a hint of acting work.’
    â€˜I know. I think she’s getting quite fed up,’ Kate said. ‘Is it the Liverpool accent, do you think?’
    â€˜Oh I think she can talk proper when she has to,’ Tess said, laughing. ‘I remember she said they had speech coaching at drama school. What she says is that there’s just not enough parts for women in most plays. And it’s right, isn’t it? You think of Shakespeare and all those kings and dukes maundering on and fighting battles. Even on TV it’s all men. Think of all the dishy blokes in
Z Cars
, and with northern accents. But where’s the girls?’
    They plodded in discouraged silence, making their way through streets where most of the passers-by were West Indian and the strains of unfamiliar music drifted out of open windows, until finally they reached a long road where one or two market stalls were still being packed away.
    â€˜This is it?’ Kate asked.
    â€˜This is it.’ Tess said. ‘Do you think you can find your way by yourself tomorrow?’
    â€˜Have you got an
A to Z
yourself?’ Kate asked.
    â€˜I can lend you mine. But you really need one of your own.’
    â€˜I’m sure I do,’ Kate said. ‘I don’t think I can take the office one out all the time. The lads in the office don’t tell me anything much about what I can and can’t do. They really don’t like me there, you know? Not a suitable job for a girl, they say. They’re always muttering in corners about it. Making snide remarks. They make a point of not asking me to go out for lunch with them.’
    â€˜It doesn’t sound much of a place to work,’ Tess said tentatively.
    â€˜It’s fine. I’ll show them. I know I’m good at this photography lark.’
    They carried on down Portobello Road looking for a pub they would feel comfortable going into on their own, pushing through rowdy groups of young men, some black, some white, only to find themselves confronted on the next street corner by a tall black man in a multicoloured woollen hat, a dark suit which made him look like a vicar and a smile of recognition on his face directed at Tess.
    â€˜Don’t I know you?’ he asked in a broad Jamaican accent. ‘Isn’t you Miss Farrell who teachin’ my son English at Holland Park School? He in the fourth form. Fourteen now.’
    Tess stared in astonishment for a moment and then smiled slightly nervously. ‘Mr Mackintosh?’ she said. ‘You came in to see me and the head of English on the first day of term? I do remember.’
    â€˜Is he settlin’ down better now?’ Mackintosh asked. I tol’ him to concentrate on his work. I don’ want any more reports of him wasting time in class, you know? No more reports like that. There’s so many bad things goin’ on with the youth now. I worry for Ben.’
    â€˜I think he is doing better,’ Tess said, slightly doubtfully. ‘We’re reading
A Midsummer Night’s Dream
and they all seem to be enjoying that. We act it out in class and Ben has been reading Bottom the Weaver. He seems to enjoy that. He’s very funny, a good actor.’
    Mackintosh looked anxious again. ‘Funny?’ he said. ‘If he play about in class don’t hesitate to wop him. He try too hard to be funny sometimes.’
    â€˜I’ll remember that,’ Tess said faintly.
    â€˜So what you doing down here, ladies?’ Mackintosh went on. ‘It’s maybe not the best place to be after dark on your own. ’Specially not jus’ now. Some white girl was attacked in Ladbroke Grove the other day.’
    â€˜We live round here,’ Tess said. ‘Up towards Bayswater. We were just looking for somewhere to have a drink.’
    Mackintosh smiled widely. ‘Well, I can show you the way back to