The Voices by F. R. Tallis Read Free Book Online

had chosen to wear a three-piece pinstriped suit. Prior to setting up his agency, he had worked in orchestral management, and before that as a barrister. Although his legal career had been short-lived, he hadn’t forsaken the habit of formal dress.
    The two men were sitting at their preferred table in Le Cellier du Midi, a dark, subterranean restaurant in Hampstead village favoured particularly by local residents connected with the arts and television. Christopher and Baylis had finished their filets de boeuf dijonnaise and were now waiting, respectively, for a crème brûlée and a mousse au chocolat. A bottle, their second, contained only an inch of burgundy. Baylis had been gossiping throughout the meal and they had only just started to discuss prospective commissions.
    ‘If they can get Cushing,’ said Baylis, ‘then they’ll go ahead. Almost certainly. But he’s a bit tied up at the moment.’
    ‘What with?’
    ‘Oh, a rather silly American film. Well, I say American, but they’re making it over here to save money’
    ‘What’s it called?’
    ‘Star Wars. Dreadful nonsense, apparently. Cushing thinks it’s utter twaddle.’
    ‘Star Wars? That sounds . . .’ Christopher cleared his throat. ‘That sounds like something I might have been interested in.’
    ‘Oh, no, Christopher, really.’ Baylis produced a handkerchief and mopped his glistening brow. ‘You wouldn’t have wanted anything to do with this one. I’m hearing very bad things. The director’s young and doesn’t see eye to eye with his cinematographer. The actors think it’s rubbish . . .’ Baylis indicated that he could go on.
    ‘So, Henry, what do you think? Is it going to happen?’
    ‘I beg your pardon?’ Baylis poured the last dregs of their burgundy.
    ‘The Warlock.’
    ‘Well, if Marcus and Diane can get Cushing on side, I’m sure they’ll be able to raise the capital. And the script is very good. A nice meaty part for Peter to get his teethinto. He’ll want to do it, I’m sure. Especially after this Star Wars fiasco.’
    Christopher folded and unfolded his napkin. ‘It’s just . . .’He paused before adding, ‘I’ve had a lot of outgoings lately. You know, what with the house and the baby.’
    Baylis offered him a sympathetic and slightly pained expression. ‘Yes, yes. Of course.’
    ‘And . . .’
    The agent nodded. ‘Things could be better, certainly. But I have every confidence in Marcus and Diane. They make a great team and they absolutely love your work. Ah, here comes pudding!’
    Thirty minutes later, they climbed the stairs and emerged into brilliant sunlight. They shook hands and went their different ways. Christopher walked up to the tube station and turned right onto the High Street. As he approached Flask Walk, he couldn’t stifle his disappointment. He had been expecting more from Baylis. Much more.
    Christopher closed the front door and put the keys in his pocket.
    ‘Laura?’ He looked in the kitchen first and then thedrawing room, but his wife and daughter were absent. He knew that they must be somewhere in the house, because he had noticed the pushchair and Faye’s shoes beneath the stairs. He glanced at his wristwatch. ‘Laura? I’m home.’
    His call disturbed the stillness and he observed a flurry of motes in the air. He was about to call again when Laura’s voice filtered down from above.
    ‘I’m up here.’ There was no gladness in her voice, no warmth, merely a flat statement of fact concerning her location.
    Christopher found the stairs surprisingly difficult to negotiate. His legs felt heavy and the large amount of burgundy he’d drunk was starting to make his head ache. He had expected to find Laura in the bedroom, but when he craned his neck around the door jamb he discovered that she wasn’t there. He saw her on the upper landing leaning over the banisters.
    ‘Where’s Faye?’ he called up.
    ‘In the nursery.’
    ‘Asleep?’
    ‘Yes.’
    He tilted his arm and looked at his