Star Trap Read Free

King’s Theatre on November 27th.’
    â€˜Isn’t that a bit near Christmas? I mean, it’s a dodgy time for audiences.’
    Gerald smiled smugly. ‘No problem. Christopher Milton’s name will carry us over Christmas. And then . . . we’ll be all right. Ideal family entertainment. Nothing to offend anyone.’
    â€˜I see. And when do I start rehearsal?’
    â€˜Tomorrow morning, if all goes well.’
    â€˜If all goes well? You mean, if I’m not poisoned overnight by the mysterious saboteur.’
    â€˜You may laugh, but I’ve a feeling there’s something up.’
    â€˜I will keep my eyes skinned, word of honour.’ Charles made a Boy Scout salute.
    â€˜And if you do find out anything . . . untoward or criminal, let me know first.’
    â€˜Before the police?’
    â€˜If possible. We have to watch the publicity angle on this.’
    â€˜I see.’
    â€˜We don’t want the fuzz queering our pitch.’
    Charles smiled. It was reassuring to hear Gerald dropping into his thriller slang. The solicitor had always had the sneaking suspicion that crime held more exciting dimensions than the minor infringements of contracts which occupied his working life. His thirst for criminal glamour had to be satisfied by thrillers and, in moments of excitement, his language showed it. Gerald was excited now. He thought they were on to a case.
    Charles didn’t. He felt certain that the whole idea of saboteurs had been dreamt up by nervy managements suddenly counting up the amount of money that they had invested in one stage show and one star. They were scared and they had to give what frightened them a tangible form. Sabotage was as good an all-purpose threat as any other.
    Still, he wasn’t complaining. Nine months’ work, however boring it might be, was nine months’ work. It could sort out the taxman and one or two other pressing problems.
    â€˜I’ll be very discreet, Gerald, and tell you everything.’
    â€˜Good.’
    â€˜Now let me buy you a brandy.’
    â€˜I wouldn’t worry. It’s all on Arthur Balcombe. You didn’t really think I was taking you out on my own money?’
    â€˜No, Gerald, I know you never do anything on your own money. Still, let’s have another brandy on Arthur Balcombe and imagine that I’ve bought it to thank you for the job.’
    â€˜Okay. There is one thing, though.’
    â€˜Yes.’
    â€˜I’ve offered you the job, you’ve accepted it, but in a way it isn’t mine to offer.’
    â€˜Now he tells me.’
    â€˜I mean, I don’t think there’ll be any problem, but it’s just that you’ll have to go and see Dickie Peck before it’s all definite.’
    â€˜Oh.’
    â€˜Just to check details of your contract.’
    â€˜ Just to check details of my contract.’
    â€˜Well, it’s also . . . sort of . . . to get in know you, to see if you are the kind of person who’s likely to get on with Christopher Milton, if you see what I –’
    â€˜What you mean by that formula of words is that Christopher Milton has an Approval of Cast clause in his contract and I’ve got to go and see Dickie Peck to be vetted.’
    Gerald tried to find another formula of words, but eventually was forced to admit that that was exactly what he meant.
    â€˜I get it. When do I see Peck?’
    â€˜You’ve got an appointment at four o’clock.’

CHAPTER TWO
    DICKIE PECK WORKED for Creative Artists Ltd, one of the biggest film and theatre agencies in the country, and he was big. His clients were said to be managed by ‘Dickie Peck at Creative Artists’ rather than just by ‘Creative Artists’. In the agency world this designation often preceded a split from the parent company when an individual member of the staff would set up on his own (usually taking his best clients with him). But Dickie Peck had had his