Read Online Murder Unprompted: A Charles Paris Murder Mystery by Simon Brett - Free Book Online
Authors: Simon Brett
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let him into the flat. The interior was still full of boxes and packing cases, showing signs of recent occupation.
‘I’ve bought a bottle of whisky and I’m planning to drink my way right through it.’ Charles slumped on to a sofa. ‘You going to help me, or are you still on the “no stimulants” routine?’
‘I’ll help you. What does it matter what I do now?’
‘Transcendental meditation no good? Doesn’t the “earth’s plenty” –’
‘Listen, Charles!’ Alex turned in fury, his fist clenched.
‘Sorry. Stupid remark. I’m as screwed up as you are.’
‘Yes, I must say this is a wonderful “new start”.’ Alex laughed bitterly. ‘For the last few months I’ve really been feeling together, an integrated personality for the first time since my breakdown. And now . . . Do you know, my psychiatrist spent hour after hour convincing me that it was all in the mind, that nobody really was out to get me, that the world wasn’t conspiring against me . . . And I’d just about begun to believe him. And now – this. Something like this happens and you realise it’s all true. The world really is conspiring against you. I’d like to see a psychiatrist convince me this is all in the mind. It’s a –’
Charles interrupted him crudely. ‘Glasses. Be too sordid for both of us to drink out of the bottle.’
Alex went off for glasses and Charles put the bottle down on a coffee table. As he did so, he moved a handkerchief that was lying on it.
He uncovered a gun. The Smith and Wesson Chiefs Special.
Alex saw him looking at it as he came back with the glasses.
‘Yes, I’d just got that out when you rang the bell.’
‘Thinking of using it?’
Alex smiled a little twisted smile. ‘Had crossed my mind. Trouble was, I couldn’t decide whether to use it on myself or on the rest of the bastards.’
Charles laughed uneasily. ‘I’m sure your psychiatrist wouldn’t recommend suicide.’
‘No, he wouldn’t. He was a great believer in
expressing
aggression, not bottling it up. If I were to take this gun and shoot . . . who? Paul Lexington? Micky Banks? Bobby Anscombe? Doesn’t matter, there are so many of them. No, if I were to do that, my psychiatrist would reckon it proved my cure was complete.’ He suddenly found this notion very funny and burst into laughter.
Charles poured two large measures of Bell’s and handed one over. The laughter subsided, leaving Alex drained and depressed.
‘So what are you going to do, Alex?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘About the understudy job.’
‘I don’t know,’ the actor intoned lethargically. ‘It’d be work, I suppose. I could keep on the flat.’
‘And see Lesley-Jane . . .’
‘Yes.’ The name evinced no sign of interest. ‘Give me another drink.’
Charles obliged, and filled up his own at the same time.
‘Were you offered the same deal, Charles?’
‘What – the great honour of understudying my own part? Oh yes, Paul nobly offered me that.’
‘And what are you going to do about it?’
‘God knows. Ask my agent, I suppose.’
‘Hmm. Give me another drink.’
‘Maurice, it’s Charles.’
‘I wish you wouldn’t ring me at home. I try to keep work and my private life separate.’
‘I know, but this is important. And it’s the weekend.’
‘You don’t have to tell me that, Charles.’
‘Was that your wife I spoke to?’
‘Mind your own business.’
‘Listen, Maurice, about
The Hooded Owl . . .
I’ve got the boot.’
‘Yes, I know.’
‘Oh, all of a sudden you know. On Thursday you didn’t even know the show was transferring.’
‘No, I had a call yesterday afternoon from Paul . . . Leamington?’
‘Lexington.’
‘Yes. Pleasant young man he sounded.’
‘Oh, a great charmer.’
‘Anyway, he told me about the necessity of recasting. And I said, of course, I fully understood.’
‘Thank you very much.’
‘Now what’s that tone of voice for, Charles?’
‘Well, really! You “fully
‘I’ve bought a bottle of whisky and I’m planning to drink my way right through it.’ Charles slumped on to a sofa. ‘You going to help me, or are you still on the “no stimulants” routine?’
‘I’ll help you. What does it matter what I do now?’
‘Transcendental meditation no good? Doesn’t the “earth’s plenty” –’
‘Listen, Charles!’ Alex turned in fury, his fist clenched.
‘Sorry. Stupid remark. I’m as screwed up as you are.’
‘Yes, I must say this is a wonderful “new start”.’ Alex laughed bitterly. ‘For the last few months I’ve really been feeling together, an integrated personality for the first time since my breakdown. And now . . . Do you know, my psychiatrist spent hour after hour convincing me that it was all in the mind, that nobody really was out to get me, that the world wasn’t conspiring against me . . . And I’d just about begun to believe him. And now – this. Something like this happens and you realise it’s all true. The world really is conspiring against you. I’d like to see a psychiatrist convince me this is all in the mind. It’s a –’
Charles interrupted him crudely. ‘Glasses. Be too sordid for both of us to drink out of the bottle.’
Alex went off for glasses and Charles put the bottle down on a coffee table. As he did so, he moved a handkerchief that was lying on it.
He uncovered a gun. The Smith and Wesson Chiefs Special.
Alex saw him looking at it as he came back with the glasses.
‘Yes, I’d just got that out when you rang the bell.’
‘Thinking of using it?’
Alex smiled a little twisted smile. ‘Had crossed my mind. Trouble was, I couldn’t decide whether to use it on myself or on the rest of the bastards.’
Charles laughed uneasily. ‘I’m sure your psychiatrist wouldn’t recommend suicide.’
‘No, he wouldn’t. He was a great believer in
expressing
aggression, not bottling it up. If I were to take this gun and shoot . . . who? Paul Lexington? Micky Banks? Bobby Anscombe? Doesn’t matter, there are so many of them. No, if I were to do that, my psychiatrist would reckon it proved my cure was complete.’ He suddenly found this notion very funny and burst into laughter.
Charles poured two large measures of Bell’s and handed one over. The laughter subsided, leaving Alex drained and depressed.
‘So what are you going to do, Alex?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘About the understudy job.’
‘I don’t know,’ the actor intoned lethargically. ‘It’d be work, I suppose. I could keep on the flat.’
‘And see Lesley-Jane . . .’
‘Yes.’ The name evinced no sign of interest. ‘Give me another drink.’
Charles obliged, and filled up his own at the same time.
‘Were you offered the same deal, Charles?’
‘What – the great honour of understudying my own part? Oh yes, Paul nobly offered me that.’
‘And what are you going to do about it?’
‘God knows. Ask my agent, I suppose.’
‘Hmm. Give me another drink.’
‘Maurice, it’s Charles.’
‘I wish you wouldn’t ring me at home. I try to keep work and my private life separate.’
‘I know, but this is important. And it’s the weekend.’
‘You don’t have to tell me that, Charles.’
‘Was that your wife I spoke to?’
‘Mind your own business.’
‘Listen, Maurice, about
The Hooded Owl . . .
I’ve got the boot.’
‘Yes, I know.’
‘Oh, all of a sudden you know. On Thursday you didn’t even know the show was transferring.’
‘No, I had a call yesterday afternoon from Paul . . . Leamington?’
‘Lexington.’
‘Yes. Pleasant young man he sounded.’
‘Oh, a great charmer.’
‘Anyway, he told me about the necessity of recasting. And I said, of course, I fully understood.’
‘Thank you very much.’
‘Now what’s that tone of voice for, Charles?’
‘Well, really! You “fully
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