theatre. There was one small concern, the risk of raising unreal expectations. ‘We were just exploring theories. What Titus was saying sounds possible.’
‘You see?’ Titus seized on it at once. ‘When people listen carefully, they discover truth in my remarks. Peter, how would you like to join me on a ghost hunt?’
‘The grey lady?’ He gave a token smile, about to turn the offer down. ‘Inside the theatre, you mean?’ Instinctively he baulked at the prospect and it wasn’t the ghost that troubled him. Old reactions were stirring, a profound resistance to stepping inside the place. Yet as a professional he knew he ought to take up this chance. ‘Would they allow us in?’
‘My dear, I’m on the strength. I can take you in.’
He turned a deaf ear to the ‘my dear’ and swallowed the rest of his beer and with it some of his anxiety. ‘All right, Titus. You’re on.’
The barmaid had seen all this with amusement and drawn her own conclusion. ‘Mind how you go,’ she warned Diamond. ‘Watch out for things that go bump.’
Titus led the way outside, left into Saw Close and through one of the arched entrances to the theatre foyer. Inside, people were queuing at the box office on the left, although whether to buy tickets or return them was not clear. Various others, probably press, filled most of the remaining space, looking bored. With a curt, ‘Do you mind?’ Titus made a beeline for the steps to the royal circle entrance. He had such an air of authority that no one challenged him or took photos and no one gave Diamond a second look.
If they had, they would have seen his face taut with stress.
Titus tapped out a code on the digital lock and pushed the door open. ‘I’ll begin by showing you the corridor where she’s often been sighted.’
Diamond followed, deeply uncomfortable. The magic of theatre had always eluded him. His mother had never tired of telling friends and family how she’d taken the children to a theatre in Llandudno for a birthday treat only to have young Peter make a scene of his own even before the curtain went up. It wasn’t as if it had been Dracula; it was a seaside variety show. He’d run out of the theatre and couldn’t be persuaded to go back in. Years later, he’d been caned at grammar school for escaping from a trip to see Julius Caesar , a set work for his English Lit exam. He’d failed the exam as well. He’d told himself he wasn’t minded to believe in people dressed oddly and speaking lines against painted backdrops. There was drama enough in the real world. He didn’t have to go to the theatre to experience it. But in his heart he knew there was something else behind his unease, something visceral.
In the low-ceilinged corridor, Titus spoke in a hushed tone. ‘The door to your right is the bar. Let’s see if it’s open.’
‘Good suggestion,’ Diamond said.
‘The door, I mean. We won’t get a drink at this time of day.’
They went in and switched on some lights. Diamond’s spirits lifted a little. This could be a saloon bar in any classy pub. He could forget where he was.
Titus stepped inside, took up a stance with hands clasped and launched into his tour guide routine. ‘I’m taking us back to June, 1981, the week before the theatre was closed for the major renovation. A production of the Albee play, Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? with Joan Plowright and Paul Eddington. The audience are streaming in here at the interval. Suddenly a woman screams, points at that wall behind you and demands to know what is wrong with the wallpaper. Everyone looks and sees an uncanny spectacle. The wall is shimmering as if in a heat haze.’
A summer evening, Diamond was thinking. All those people packed into this small bar.
‘Ah, but that is followed by a sudden icy draught. All the heads turn, sensing that something not of this world has rushed past them to the door. In its wake is a distinct smell of jasmine perfume.’
‘The grey lady?’ All of
‘You see?’ Titus seized on it at once. ‘When people listen carefully, they discover truth in my remarks. Peter, how would you like to join me on a ghost hunt?’
‘The grey lady?’ He gave a token smile, about to turn the offer down. ‘Inside the theatre, you mean?’ Instinctively he baulked at the prospect and it wasn’t the ghost that troubled him. Old reactions were stirring, a profound resistance to stepping inside the place. Yet as a professional he knew he ought to take up this chance. ‘Would they allow us in?’
‘My dear, I’m on the strength. I can take you in.’
He turned a deaf ear to the ‘my dear’ and swallowed the rest of his beer and with it some of his anxiety. ‘All right, Titus. You’re on.’
The barmaid had seen all this with amusement and drawn her own conclusion. ‘Mind how you go,’ she warned Diamond. ‘Watch out for things that go bump.’
Titus led the way outside, left into Saw Close and through one of the arched entrances to the theatre foyer. Inside, people were queuing at the box office on the left, although whether to buy tickets or return them was not clear. Various others, probably press, filled most of the remaining space, looking bored. With a curt, ‘Do you mind?’ Titus made a beeline for the steps to the royal circle entrance. He had such an air of authority that no one challenged him or took photos and no one gave Diamond a second look.
If they had, they would have seen his face taut with stress.
Titus tapped out a code on the digital lock and pushed the door open. ‘I’ll begin by showing you the corridor where she’s often been sighted.’
Diamond followed, deeply uncomfortable. The magic of theatre had always eluded him. His mother had never tired of telling friends and family how she’d taken the children to a theatre in Llandudno for a birthday treat only to have young Peter make a scene of his own even before the curtain went up. It wasn’t as if it had been Dracula; it was a seaside variety show. He’d run out of the theatre and couldn’t be persuaded to go back in. Years later, he’d been caned at grammar school for escaping from a trip to see Julius Caesar , a set work for his English Lit exam. He’d failed the exam as well. He’d told himself he wasn’t minded to believe in people dressed oddly and speaking lines against painted backdrops. There was drama enough in the real world. He didn’t have to go to the theatre to experience it. But in his heart he knew there was something else behind his unease, something visceral.
In the low-ceilinged corridor, Titus spoke in a hushed tone. ‘The door to your right is the bar. Let’s see if it’s open.’
‘Good suggestion,’ Diamond said.
‘The door, I mean. We won’t get a drink at this time of day.’
They went in and switched on some lights. Diamond’s spirits lifted a little. This could be a saloon bar in any classy pub. He could forget where he was.
Titus stepped inside, took up a stance with hands clasped and launched into his tour guide routine. ‘I’m taking us back to June, 1981, the week before the theatre was closed for the major renovation. A production of the Albee play, Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? with Joan Plowright and Paul Eddington. The audience are streaming in here at the interval. Suddenly a woman screams, points at that wall behind you and demands to know what is wrong with the wallpaper. Everyone looks and sees an uncanny spectacle. The wall is shimmering as if in a heat haze.’
A summer evening, Diamond was thinking. All those people packed into this small bar.
‘Ah, but that is followed by a sudden icy draught. All the heads turn, sensing that something not of this world has rushed past them to the door. In its wake is a distinct smell of jasmine perfume.’
‘The grey lady?’ All of
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