Free Murder Dancing by Lesley Cookman Page B

your friend who’s a bit of a specialist.’ Tom’s face showed intense curiosity. ‘That’s your friend who was here the other day, isn’t it? What’s she a specialist in?’
    â€˜She helps the police sometimes,’ said Libby vaguely, ‘but the point is she said how would you two like to come with me down to where she lives in Nethergate? Then you’ll be right away from here.’
    â€˜Sure. When?’ asked Tom.
    â€˜Will Max mind?’ asked Jonathan.
    â€˜No, but I’ll ask him. How about this evening?’
    Jonathan looked at Tom. ‘Will we have time?’
    â€˜Do you like Indian food?’ asked Libby. ‘Only there’s a terrifically good restaurant in Nethergate. We could go there for supper.’
    â€˜Sounds good. When would we go?’ asked Tom.
    â€˜I’ll call Fran now and go and tell Ben and Max,’ said Libby.
    â€˜Max won’t be with us?’ said Jonathan in horror.
    â€˜No, but I said I’d tell him, didn’t I? You two go into the sitting-room and I’ll come and tell you what I’ve organised.’
    Max was all for the expedition, but did show a tendency to try and accompany them. Ben declined, saying Libby and Fran would be better without his interference. Libby grinned.
    â€˜All set,’ she told Tom and Jonathan five minutes later. ‘I’ll pick you up in half an hour. OK?’
    Appealed to, Fran had agreed to book a table at The Golden Spice and meet them there at a quarter to seven. Guy also declined an invitation.
    The journey to Nethergate in the Range Rover was enlivened by anecdotes from the world of dance from Jonathan and Tom, which kept Libby laughing all the way there. There were some scurrilous attacks on well-known figures but she understood that essentially these two were neither malicious nor cruel.
    Fran greeted them from a table in the window and they were immediately presented with menus by a bowing waiter. When they had ordered drinks and food, Fran opened the meeting.
    â€˜What we want to know,’ she began, ‘is why any member of your present company might wish to harm either the production or an individual.’
    Jonathan and Tom looked at one another.
    â€˜We’ve all been asking ourselves that since London,’ said Jonathan.
    â€˜Not quite,’ said Tom. ‘We were thinking of the production, not individuals.’
    â€˜So you didn’t think it was directed specifically at anyone? Not the two who left, Paddy, was it?’ said Libby.
    â€˜And Gerry. No,’ said Jonathan. ‘After all, it was Tom who got the worst of it.’
    â€˜The cockerel?’ said Fran.
    â€˜Yes,’ said Tom, ‘but at least I wasn’t threatened with burning.’
    Fran leaned her elbows on the table, clasped her hands and rested her chin on them. ‘So you felt there was nothing personal in the attacks.’
    â€˜Well, no.’ Jonathan looked uncomfortable. ‘Not exactly.’
    â€˜There were very random accusations,’ said Tom cheerfully. ‘And I got the impression it was more against the staging of the piece, but not why: because we were taking the piss out of witches, we were men, or we were homosexual.’
    â€˜Which a lot of you aren’t,’ said Libby.
    Tom shrugged. ‘It’s a popular perception.’
    â€˜Oh, I know. Just as all actresses were considered to be whores in the good old days.’ Libby shook her head. ‘And old perceptions can stay alive and dormant for years, more’s the pity.’
    â€˜But,’ said Jonathan reasonably, ‘no member of the company could have felt like that.’
    â€˜No.’ Fran was thoughtful.
    â€˜Fran?’ Libby peered across the table at her friend.
    â€˜I was just thinking …’ Fran fell silent.
    Tom and Jonathan looked at Libby, who sighed.
    â€˜She’s rather good at – um – seeing beyond the