The Memory of Blood by Christopher Fowler Read Free Book Online

birthday, and celebrated the occasion by informing his loyal girlfriend that he was now rich, and was dumping her. That was when he added the name Julius. Now he was in his early forties, and his second wife, Judith, had recently given birth to their first son.
    Beneath the building’s portico, the liveried doorman glanced out at turbulent clouds and watched lightning crack the sky apart. All thirty-five of Robert Kramer’s guests had been checked against his list. No-one had failed to show up, even on a night like this. From what he’d heard, they wouldn’t dare to stay away if they valued their jobs. He settled back in the doorway to await their intoxicated departures.
    Up in the penthouse, Gail Strong, the new ASM, was working the other side of the room. Robert Kramer had suggested she should come along and meet everyone, but they were all wrapped up in private conversations. She passed a broad-shouldered man with a luxuriant cascade of glossy black hair, and heard someone call him Russell, so that had to be Russell Haddon, the play’s director. Pretty fit, but he was wearing a flashy wedding ring. She spotted an anxious-looking, bespectacled but oddly pretty young man with thin blond hair and a reticent attitude, seated alone beside the food display.
    ‘Hi, I’m Gail Strong, do you know anyone here?’ she asked, sitting down beside him. For a moment he seemed not to hear. When he turned to study her with faraway eyes, something prompted her to ask, ‘Are you okay?’
    ‘No, not exactly,’ he replied, breathing out. ‘I hate being here.’
    ‘I grew up accompanying my parents to parties like this almost every night. My father—’
    ‘—is the Public Buildings Minister. I know who you are. You’ve been in the papers quite a lot lately.’ He removed his glasses andwiped them. He had tiny black eyes, like a mouse. ‘I’m Ray Pryce. Pleased to meet you.’
    ‘I’ve just joined the company as the new ASM?’
    ‘Then we’ll be working together.’
    ‘Cool—I’ll be the one fining you when you’re late for rehearsals. What do you do?’
    ‘I’m the writer.’
    ‘Oh, my God, I’m like so embarrassed!’ She threw hands to her face. ‘I thought you were one of the cast. You’re so young. I saw the dress rehearsal of The Two Murderers last week, I thought it was totally amazing?’
    She had a way of moving her hands around her face that made him think of a deaf person signing. She had the studied elegance of a model. He fell for her, trying not to remember that everyone who met her fell in love—at first.
    ‘The critics don’t seem to agree with you.’ A note of annoyance crept into his voice. ‘There’s an old Chinese proverb: Those who have free seats at a play hiss first .’
    ‘Oh, who cares about them, you heard what Mr Kramer said, it’s a critic-proof show.’
    ‘ He doesn’t seem to think so.’ Ray Pryce pointed through the gathering at a portly, bald man in his late thirties who was attacking a plate of salmon sandwiches. ‘That’s Alex Lansdale; he’s the theatre reviewer for Hard News . One of the critics Kramer couldn’t buy.’
    ‘I hate that paper. Their photographer took a picture of me coming out of The Ivy and said I was drunk, but I’d just broken my heel.’ In fact, Gail had broken her heel because she was drunk, but she felt it was important to rail against the gutter press whenever possible.
    ‘Lansdale wrote an incredibly insulting piece about the play even before the New Strand Theatre held its press event. Nobodydoes that; it breaks a long-standing unspoken rule of the West End. Now he has the nerve to turn up here for the party. If I was the host I’d have him thrown out. After all, Robert Kramer holds more power in this room than everyone else put together. The rest of us are just his players, but at least we’re here because we have skills. Theatre critics are just wannabees.’
    ‘Yeah, well, it gives you all a common enemy.’
    ‘We already have a