smiling.
‘Attention,’ he said quietly. ‘I like that.’
There was a long silence. Addison looked pointedly at his watch.
‘Are you through? Only I’ve a life to get on with.’
‘We need to be clear, Mr Addison.’ It was Dawn this time. ‘Do you have any kind of relationship with Shelley Beavis?’
‘Of course I do. She’s a student of mine. I teach her. I watch her learn, watch her develop. From where I’m sitting, that’s a privilege as well as a pleasure, but if you’re asking whether it ever goes further than that then the answer’s no. We don’t hold hands. We don’t go to the pub together. We don’t screw. I talk. She listens. I teach. She learns. It might sound simple, and in many ways it is.’
‘Nice speech.’ Stapleton was smiling again. ‘Why so passionate, Mr Addison?’
‘Because I’m frankly pissed off with the line you’re taking. You barge in here. You’ve obviously made up your minds. And now all you want is for me to make some crass admission about a relationship that doesn’t exist. Don’t invent mischief where there isn’t any. Life’s complex enough as it is.’
‘Is it?’
Dawn let the question hang in the air. She thought she detected a hint of colour beneath Addison’s tan, but she wasn’t sure. Stapleton began to ask about the masks again.
‘They’re upstairs. Along with the other stuff, the costumes and so on.’
‘Mind if we have a look round up there?’
‘Of course not.’
Stapleton glanced across at Dawn. The premises search forms were outside in the car. Dawn was back within a minute, showing Addison where to sign. This sudden formality sparked another shake of the head from Addison, but he scribbled his signature readily enough, carefully folding the carbon copy and leaving it on the mantelpiece. Shelley’s been on to him already, Stapleton thought. She’s phoned him on his mobile and told him about our little chat in the basement flat.
Dawn told Addison she preferred to look round with him in attendance. Just in case.
‘Just in case what?’
‘Just in case there’s any problem later.’
‘With what?’
She smiled at him, not saying anything, then gestured towards the door. They both left the room and Stapleton listened to their footsteps on the stairs before he wandered through to the back room. Overhead, he could hear drawers opening and closing, then the bang of a wardrobe door. He paused beside the edit suite. The master power switch was mounted on the left of the controller. He flicked it on, watching the monitors come to life. The play and record machines were on the floor and there were cassettes in both. Curious to know what preoccupied Addison evening after evening, he peered at the control panel, then pressed one of the two play buttons.
The screen on the left-hand machine fizzed for a second or two, then the picture stabilised. A man was making love to a naked woman on her hands and knees. Light from an open hearth fire in the background flickered over their bodies, and in the gloom beyond there was a hint of roughcast stone walls. As Stapleton watched, a voice stopped the action. The camera began to move, circling the bodies on the floor. The woman was young, no more than twenty. She had olive skin and a long fall of thick black hair. The shot closed on the woman’s buttocks. The man’s genitals swam in and out of focus and then the camera steadied and he began to make love again, long deep strokes, taking his time.
Stapleton heard footsteps coming back down the stairs. His finger found the pause button and he turned in time to catch Dawn coming in from the narrow hall. She was shaking her head, obviously disappointed.
‘
Spitting Image
masks,’ she said. ‘Reagan, Thatcher, the Queen, Madonna, but no Donald Duck.’
Her eyes left Stapleton and he stepped aside to give her a better view. She stared at the screen for a long moment before Stapleton hit the pause button again and the action recommenced. Addison was
‘Attention,’ he said quietly. ‘I like that.’
There was a long silence. Addison looked pointedly at his watch.
‘Are you through? Only I’ve a life to get on with.’
‘We need to be clear, Mr Addison.’ It was Dawn this time. ‘Do you have any kind of relationship with Shelley Beavis?’
‘Of course I do. She’s a student of mine. I teach her. I watch her learn, watch her develop. From where I’m sitting, that’s a privilege as well as a pleasure, but if you’re asking whether it ever goes further than that then the answer’s no. We don’t hold hands. We don’t go to the pub together. We don’t screw. I talk. She listens. I teach. She learns. It might sound simple, and in many ways it is.’
‘Nice speech.’ Stapleton was smiling again. ‘Why so passionate, Mr Addison?’
‘Because I’m frankly pissed off with the line you’re taking. You barge in here. You’ve obviously made up your minds. And now all you want is for me to make some crass admission about a relationship that doesn’t exist. Don’t invent mischief where there isn’t any. Life’s complex enough as it is.’
‘Is it?’
Dawn let the question hang in the air. She thought she detected a hint of colour beneath Addison’s tan, but she wasn’t sure. Stapleton began to ask about the masks again.
‘They’re upstairs. Along with the other stuff, the costumes and so on.’
‘Mind if we have a look round up there?’
‘Of course not.’
Stapleton glanced across at Dawn. The premises search forms were outside in the car. Dawn was back within a minute, showing Addison where to sign. This sudden formality sparked another shake of the head from Addison, but he scribbled his signature readily enough, carefully folding the carbon copy and leaving it on the mantelpiece. Shelley’s been on to him already, Stapleton thought. She’s phoned him on his mobile and told him about our little chat in the basement flat.
Dawn told Addison she preferred to look round with him in attendance. Just in case.
‘Just in case what?’
‘Just in case there’s any problem later.’
‘With what?’
She smiled at him, not saying anything, then gestured towards the door. They both left the room and Stapleton listened to their footsteps on the stairs before he wandered through to the back room. Overhead, he could hear drawers opening and closing, then the bang of a wardrobe door. He paused beside the edit suite. The master power switch was mounted on the left of the controller. He flicked it on, watching the monitors come to life. The play and record machines were on the floor and there were cassettes in both. Curious to know what preoccupied Addison evening after evening, he peered at the control panel, then pressed one of the two play buttons.
The screen on the left-hand machine fizzed for a second or two, then the picture stabilised. A man was making love to a naked woman on her hands and knees. Light from an open hearth fire in the background flickered over their bodies, and in the gloom beyond there was a hint of roughcast stone walls. As Stapleton watched, a voice stopped the action. The camera began to move, circling the bodies on the floor. The woman was young, no more than twenty. She had olive skin and a long fall of thick black hair. The shot closed on the woman’s buttocks. The man’s genitals swam in and out of focus and then the camera steadied and he began to make love again, long deep strokes, taking his time.
Stapleton heard footsteps coming back down the stairs. His finger found the pause button and he turned in time to catch Dawn coming in from the narrow hall. She was shaking her head, obviously disappointed.
‘
Spitting Image
masks,’ she said. ‘Reagan, Thatcher, the Queen, Madonna, but no Donald Duck.’
Her eyes left Stapleton and he stepped aside to give her a better view. She stared at the screen for a long moment before Stapleton hit the pause button again and the action recommenced. Addison was
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