Free Murder Unprompted: A Charles Paris Murder Mystery by Simon Brett

career had had no more problems. He had become increasingly selective in what he did, avoiding, on the whole, long runs in the West End, and concentrating on starring television parts or extremely lucrative cameos in international films. He became an institution of British acting, respected and loved. In the business, you never heard a word against Michael Banks.
    And, when the cast of
The Hooded Owl
met him, they could understand why. He was an immensely likeable man. He was in his sixties, but had aged gracefully. The familiar acute face had thickened out, and the hair, remembered as darker than it actually was because of all those black-and-white films, had greyed becomingly. It was cut in a trendier style, worn longer than it would have been, but its shape still reminded one of all those gruff but infinitely reliable heroes. He dressed casually in a red golfing sweater, pale blue trousers, and deceptively ordinary-looking hand-made shoes.
    The surprise about him was his size. As actors, they were all used to people looking different off screen, but none of them had expected him to be so tall. He must have been six foot four, with a frame to match. A most impressive figure. The reasoning behind casting him as the father in
The Hooded Owl
became clearer by the minute.
    Clearer to Charles, anyway. He was at the rehearsal, needless to say, having, possibly for the first time in his life, followed his agent’s advice. Through the haze of Bell’s which had been the weekend, it had become clear that he had little alternative. He was being offered a job, being offered good money, and he’d be based in London. His dreams would have to wait, be returned intact to some cupboard deep in the recesses of his mind, whence they would arise, undaunted, at the next glimmer of hope in his career.
    To his surprise, the strongest argument in favour of taking the job had been that it would keep him near to Frances. Her talk of moving, and the indefinable detachment he had felt in her when they had met, worried him. He felt he needed to rebuild the relationship – not, of course, to revive it as a total marriage, but to get back to the level of intermittent companionship which seemed to have gone.
    Similar arguments must have weighed with Alex Household, because he was there too. His face looked strained and petulant, but he had clearly decided to put his mortgage and proximity to Lesley-Jane above pride.
    If the cast had needed a demonstration of Michael Banks’s genuine warmth, they could not have asked for a better one than the way he dealt with Alex Household.
    The first thing he did on arriving at the rehearsal room was to ask Paul Lexington which one was Alex and, having had him identified, he immediately went across to the actor with hand outstretched.
    ‘Alex, I’m sorry. This is a lousy way for me to get a job. I know exactly how you feel. Just the same thing happened to me on one of my first jobs. It was a revue back in the thirties. We were doing a pre-London tour. I got as far as Birmingham, and then was called into the manager’s office. Just the same as you, I was offered the understudy.’
    ‘Did you take it?’
    ‘Oh yes.’ Michael Banks grinned disarmingly. ‘Oh yes, I took it. And it does mean I know exactly how shitty you’re feeling at this moment, and all the horrible fates you’re wishing down on my head.’
    Alex blushed. ‘Oh, I wouldn’t say . . .’
    ‘Yes, you would. You wouldn’t be human if you didn’t. Anyway, all I want to say is – I’m very sorry. This can be a rotten business at times. I sympathise. And, if you’re willing, I’ll be very grateful for your help. God, you must know this character inside-out by now, and I’ve got to get it presentable in a fortnight. Any tips you can give me, old boy, I will welcome as rich gifts.’
    It was beautifully done. Had it been less well done, someone as prickly and paranoid as Alex Household would have bridled, would have pointed out that to lose