Solo - Jack Higgins [86]
On stage, the orchestra was coming into the closing stages of Haydn's Symphony No. 101 in D Major, known to concertgoers the world over as The Clock.
He opened the door and went out into the passage. The stage manager was standing at the end of the Bull-run, the sloping gangway that was the artist's entrance to the stage. He moved a little way along until he could see Previn on the conductor's stand and beyond him, at stage left, the Loggia box on the very end of the curve, that he had reserved for Katherine Riley. There was no sign of her or of Deville.
His disappointment was acute and he went back into the Green Room at once, found a coin and dialled the flat, using the pay phone on the wall. He allowed the phone to ring for a full minute at the other end, then replaced the receiver and tried again with the same lack of success.
'Come on, Katherine,' he said in a low voice. 'Where in the hell are you?'
The door opened and the stage manager looked in. 'Ten minutes, Mr Mikali. Right old crowd out there tonight, I can tell you.'
Mikali smiled brightly. 'I can't wait.'
'Cup of tea, sir?'
'My one weakness, Brian, you know that.'
The stage manager went out and Mikali lit a cigarette and smoked it furiously, pacing up and down. He stopped abruptly, stubbed out the cigarette and sat at the old upright Chappell piano against the wall, flexed his fingers and started to run through a series of scales.
The only thing which interested the driver of the police car parked outside Morgan's flat was the colour of the small Mini van which drew up. Bright yellow. The Flower Basket - Interflora - 24 Hour Delivery Service.
The driver was wearing a cloth cap and a heavy oilskin coat the colour of the van, the collar turned up against the rain. He produced a large gift-wrapped bouquet, ran up the steps and went inside.
The first thing Morgan saw when he opened the door was the bouquet of flowers and then the figure in the yellow oilskin coat moved past him into the flat.
He closed the door and turned to discover that it was, in fact, a very attractive young woman which only became apparent when she took off the cloth cap.
'And who in the hell might you be?' he said as she unbuttoned the oilskin coat.
'Amy Kelso, Colonel. I've grown some since you last saw me, but we haven't time for conversation. Please put the coat and cap on. You'll find a yellow Mini van at the entrance. Get in and drive round to Park Street. My father's waiting there in a white Ford Cortina.'
'But what about you?' he demanded as he pulled on the oilskin.
'Just leave the Mini in Park Street. I'll pick it up within five minutes. Get moving, Colonel, please!'
Morgan hesitated, then pulled on the cloth cap, picked up a holdall and moved to the door.
'And keep your collar up.'
The door closed behind him. Underneath the oilskin she had been wearing a light town raincoat. Now, her hands went to the hair piled high on top of her head. She withdrew the pins quickly and then combed it down shoulder-length.
A couple of minutes after the Mini van had driven away, the driver of the police car saw Amy Kelso emerge from the entrance. She paused, looking out at the rain, then went down the steps and hurried away.
He watched her go with frank admiration, turn the corner and move out of sight. He would not have been so pleased if he could have seen her reach the yellow Mini van in Park Street, slip behind the wheel and drive away.
When Katherine Riley hurried through the glass portico and went into the foyer at the front of the Albert Hall, the first person she saw was Harry Baker talking to two uniformed police officers. He saw her at once and cut her off in a few quick strides as she made for