Chapter Sixty-Six

Ben glanced at his watch and downed the last dregs of his whisky. He was alone in the bar. He suddenly felt a little guilty about sneaking away from the opera. He’d stayed away too long, and Leigh should be back onstage any minute now. That was something he didn’t want to miss.

He made his way back along the red-carpeted passage, up the flight of steps he’d come down and along the curved corridor that led to the doors of the private boxes. They all looked the same, red velvet inset into the red velvet wall. He found his number. Settling back in his seat, he looked down at the stage and saw that he’d been just in time.

The opera was into its second act. An aria was just finishing as the Queen of the Night reappeared. She hit centre-stage and began to sing about love, death and revenge. It was powerful.

But something was wrong.

The voice was wrong. It was a strong, vibrant soprano. It was good enough for world-class opera but it didn’t have anything approaching Leigh’s passion or depth, the things that had made his skin tingle.

He frowned. On the seat beside him were the tiny opera glasses Leigh had given him. Their magnification was scarcely military-grade but they were enough to see the faces of the performers up close. He put the little eyepieces to his eyes and focused in on the Queen.

She was wearing the same costume and she was made up to look just the same. But she wasn’t Leigh. She was another woman.

Everyone was elated. Leigh had had to see a million people backstage after her first aria. She had costume check, hair check, makeup retouches. Some TV guy had sneaked in on a pretext and wanted to talk to her about chat-show bookings but she turned him away. Then one of the opera producers wanted to lavish praise on her. People wanted to give her flowers. And the show wasn’t even over yet.

A breathless runner found her as she stood talking in the wings with the overflowing producer. There was a message for her. Her husband had called the front desk and needed to speak to her. It was something important. He hadn’t said what. But he wanted to meet in her dressing room. He couldn’t see her backstage. It was a private thing. And it couldn’t wait. The runner was apologetic. That was what Mr Hope had said.

She made her excuses and broke away from the producer. It was strange. What did Ben want to see her about? She was in a rush. She didn’t have time to run back to her dressing room. It was miles away through the maze of corridors. But if he’d said it was urgent…

‘You’ve got exactly four minutes,’ the stage manager warned her.

‘I’ll be here, Claudio.’

‘Three minutes fifty-nine seconds.’

‘I’ll be here.’

She’d run. The long, flowing costume wasn’t easy to run in. The corridors were empty. She was a little out of breath by the time she reached her dressing room.

She’d expected to find him standing outside the door. Aside from that, she didn’t know what to expect. Had he been taken ill? Received bad news? The car was stolen? The house was on fire? It wasn’t like him to panic.

But he wasn’t outside the door. There was nobody there. The passage outside her door was deserted. It was in shadow. A whole row of the wall-mounted lamps had gone dark. She stepped over to one of the lamps to check it. There was nothing wrong with the switch. Someone had taken out the bulb. She checked the next one. Someone had taken the bulb out of that one as well.

She walked back across the darkened red carpet and tried the handle of her dressing-room door. The door was locked. She’d locked it before the start of the performance. He didn’t have a key anyway. So where was he?

She only had a couple of minutes to get backstage. No time to wait. He’d have to catch her later. She turned to start running back.

That was when the cold leather of the gloved hand had clapped over her mouth and strong fingers had gripped her arm.

Chapter Sixty-Seven

Ben pressed through the crowd backstage. The Queen of the Night’s aria was over and he caught sight of her coming through the wings. He moved quickly towards her. ‘Who are you?’ he asked her. She looked surprised.

A hand on his shoulder. He turned and saw a heavy-set man with long greying curly hair tied in a ponytail, looking at him nervously. ‘Claudio,’ he said, recognizing the stage manager.

Claudio was biting his lip. ‘Where is she?’ he asked. His English was perfect.

‘I came to ask you that,’ Ben said.

Claudio looked confused. ‘Your message-’

‘What message?’

‘You called the desk and asked for Leigh to meet you at her dressing room.’

‘When was this?’

‘Just five minutes ago. She went to meet you. She hasn’t come back. We’ve been going crazy looking for her. We had to fill in for her.’ He motioned towards the young soprano in the Queen of the Night costume. She was still standing there uncertainly. ‘This is Antonella Cataldi, her understudy.’

‘I have to go,’ Antonella said. Claudio nodded to her and she filtered away through the crowd with a last glance at Ben.

The stage manager looked irritated. ‘Where did she go? She’s never done anything like this before.’

‘I never left that message,’ Ben said.

Claudio’s mouth fell open. ‘Then who did?’

Ben said nothing. He was already pushing back through the crowded wings towards the performers’ dressing rooms.

The corridor was half dark. He tried her door. It was locked. There was nobody around. Claudio caught up with him, out of breath, sweat shining on his cheeks. ‘This is crazy,’ he said. ‘Where did she go?’

Ben stood back from the door. He took two quick steps forwards, bounced on his left heel. The flat of his right shoe crashed into the door, five feet from the carpet. It burst open, tearing a long splinter out of the frame. It juddered against the inside wall.

The dressing-room walls were lined with rich blue satin. There was a cluttered dressing table surrounded with lights. A chaise longue with Leigh’s clothes neatly folded on it. Her coat was hanging from a hook on the back of the door. Her handbag was slung from its strap over the back of the dressing-table chair. Her shoes were neatly lined up on the rug. The book she’d been reading was propped open on a side table. But the dressing room was empty.

‘So where the hell did she go?’ Claudio asked. He was looking more worried every second.

Ben walked fast out of the room. He ran up the corridor. Something was lying on the red carpet up there. He knelt down beside it. It was black, silvery, soft. He picked it up. It was the starry crown from her opera costume. He examined it. Nothing unusual. Except that it was here and she wasn’t.

‘There must be an explanation,’ Claudio was saying. He was sweating heavily.

‘The message is the explanation,’ Ben said.

‘Who could have left it, if not you?’

‘I didn’t leave it.’ Ben pointed up the corridor, past where he’d found the crown. ‘What’s up there?’

‘More dressing rooms. Some storage areas. Offices. A fire exit. The way down to the basement.’

‘Who was the last person to see her?’

‘I was,’ Claudio said. ‘I told her to be quick. She said she’d be right back. I don’t unders-’

His phone rang in his pocket. It was a classical music ringtone. He flipped the phone open. ‘Barberini,’ he said. He listened for a moment. His eyebrows rose. His eyes flickered over to Ben. Then he handed Ben the phone.

‘It’s for you,’ he said.