Death of a Dancer Read online

  ‘True, but the talent wasn’t entirely one-sided, was it?’ replied Eleanor fairly. ‘He may have been all the things you say, but anyone who can produce choreography of the quality he did must have had some depth. It was clever of him to have the choreographer listed as “Anonymous”, playing into the mystery that always surrounded her. He really was a clever showman.’

  Mollie nodded. ‘You mean the six dances she did, just before they ran off? Yes, they were sublime, weren’t they!’

  ‘Indeed. It’s such a pity that there were so few and that, years ago and in the theatre, they weren’t recorded,’ Eleanor replied, regret heavy in her voice.

  ‘And they showed that he did love her, I suppose. It wasn’t just the lust of an ageing Romeo panting for a young girl’s body,’ Mollie added graphically, recalling the series of dances that had electrified the 1960s market town.

  They both fell silent for a moment, recalling the one short time, when the six dances had been the focal point of an entire week’s show. From wild modern to the gentlest traditional, they had shown the young dancer’s brilliance across the whole range of movement. Each show had been a sell-out and the run had been extended for a further two weeks. Tickets sold out within minutes of the extension’s announcement and The Dolphin was the centre of all the attention and most of the conversations in the town.

  Then, everything changed.

  The fortnight’s extension never happened. Suddenly, shockingly, the theatre’s closure was announced by a short notice on its doors and, overnight, the building was boarded up.

  Then the equally shocking word of the elopement hit the streets. Within hours, Gerald went from admired and respected theatre owner to ‘dirty old man’ in the eyes of the outraged townspeople, those who expressed an opinion, anyway. Those amongst the male population who’d fancied the young dancer themselves and rather envied Gerald, sensibly kept their mouths shut.

  Opinion on Ariana herself was also divided. Those who saw her as the victim of a ruthless predator slightly outnumbered those who saw her as an opportunistic gold digger, but it was a close run thing.

  Whichever side people took, the suddenness of the event, and the glamour of the two central figures kept the topic alive for many weeks. It couldn’t be otherwise, fuelled as it was by the third shock coming immediately afterwards, when the theatre was suddenly replaced with warehouses. Gossip and speculation swept the town like a forest fire. After a while, though, as both the runaways and the theatre faded from people’s memories and no further word was heard from the couple, attention focused on other things and slowly, inevitably, time buried the whole story.

  Until now.

  Chapter 4

  ‘Then that wall over there,’ Desmond continued, his voice echoing around the empty space as he pointed across to the far side, ‘could cover what was the front of the theatre.’

  Eddy nodded. ‘After we spoke last night, I unearthed a plan of the old place and I reckon that the theatre’s various doorways and so on, are about where I’ve marked the walls, to save some time,’ he added, turning to lead them deeper into the echoing complex.

  ‘Eddy, what are you doing here? And where’re your bulldozers?’ asked Gwilym suddenly.

  ‘Eh?’ responded the big man, looking back with a startled look.

  ‘Sorry; that’s clumsily put. What I mean is, you’re demolishing the warehousing, all of it, but why?’

  Good question, thought Desmond, who’d been wondering the same. Though much of it was old, very little was un-useable and could, with little cost, become operative again.

  ‘I checked around before we came over this morning, and, from what I gather, it was running very profitably right through until last year,’ Gwilym explained.

  ‘Aye, that’s right. We used to use a lot of the space for storing stuff ourselves when we had no room in any of our own yards, as a matter of fact. They must’ve been raking it in, going by what they charged us,’ the builder added feelingly.

  ‘So – why have it pulled down? Any ideas?’

  ‘No, none. Me and a couple of other local firms were asked to quote out of the blue about six months ago. We heard back very quickly that we’d got the job. Thing is...’ he trailed off, a puzzled frown appearing on his features.

  ‘Go on...’ prodded, Gwilym.

  ‘Well, it’s just that I got the feeling that we’d got it less on price, than on us being free to do it now.’

  ‘Now?’ echoed Gwilym, puzzled.

  ‘Yes. The quotes and so on were a few months ago. I think we got it because we committed to start when we did, in mid-October, and absolutely guaranteed to be finished by a certain date.’

  ‘So any new building could go ahead on schedule, you mean?’

  ‘No. That’s another funny thing. I had a look at the planning office’s records, just before we started. There’s no re-development scheduled, either soon, or ever, as far as I can find out.’

  ‘Good lord! How curious. When have you to be done by?’

  ‘In three weeks’ time: November 25th.’

  Desmond and Gwilym locked eyes. November 25th! They’d first come across the date, the previous evening. It was fifty years, to the exact day, from when Gerald DeLancy and Ariana Kujenikov had eloped.

  Chapter 5

  ‘How intriguing! And you’ve no idea why?’ asked Desmond into the short silence that met the builder’s words.

  ‘No, none. All our dealings were with a third party, a local solicitor, and though he was very clear about the terms, he was tight-lipped about who he was acting for. As for where my bulldozers are, they’re out on other jobs. Another part of the contract was very specific too. We were to dismantle the buildings, but, and they were very clear about this as well, not to bring in the bulldozers.’

  ‘Even odder,’ murmured Gwilym.

  ‘Yes it is; particularly as we made it very plain that doing it that way lengthened the time it would take to demolish the buildings and would come out a lot more expensive.’ He shrugged. ‘They weren’t bothered. Once we guaranteed we could start and finish within their time-frame, money wasn’t a problem,’ he continued, as he led them deeper into the building.

  The experienced builder’s calculations proved spot-on and his expertise, together with the old photographs Desmond and Gwilym had brought along, meant they quickly located the spot where one of the gilded staircases had led down into the theatre proper.

  Once the heavy wooden panelling had been gently prised away from the wall, a doorway, festooned in cobwebs, stared back at them, its red and gold colouring, though faded, still visible in the wavering light of their torches.

  Finding the door locked wasn’t a great problem for Gwilym. He brought out a curiously shaped set of keys. ‘I never travel without ’em,’ he murmured to a startled Eddy. He then quickly performed his mechanical trickery and the door opened; somewhat slowly and creakily to be sure, with the resistance of unused decades in its dry hinges, but – they had access. Pushing aside an old velvet curtain, they stepped inside. The air that met them was stale, with a faint, unpleasant tang and was overlaid with the reek of old tobacco smoke, but it was surprisingly free of dampness.

  ‘You were right, Eddy,’ murmured Desmond in a hushed voice, his eyes following the aisle stretching down to the stage, as the torch above his forehead picked out the rows of empty seats either side. ‘It does look just like it could’ve been closed only yesterday. It’s bloody spooky!’

  ‘Don’t say that too loud!’ said Eddy in a voice suddenly not quite steady. ‘I had trouble getting some of the older guys to work on this job, so I had to offer them a bloody bonus!’ he went on in an aggrieved tone.

  ‘Why? The work’s not dangerous, surely?’ Gwilym asked.

  ‘No,’ the builder replied, setting the blackness dancing, as he shook his head. ‘It wasn’t that. Some of the daft sods said it was haunted!’ he explained, with a little laugh.

  Out in the daylight, the other two men might have laughed their d
isbelief with him; inside the old theatre, with its thick darkness and flickering shadows, his words didn’t sound quite so unbelievable.

  ‘Haunted? How?’ asked Gwilym after a moment, fighting the urge to look over his shoulder.

  ‘Oh the usual – someone crying, ghostly footsteps, someone laughing too,’ replied Eddy dismissively. ‘As far as I can gather, no one ever actually saw anything, so it was just the usual stuff kids dream up. I suppose,’ he added, after a short pause.

  ‘We didn’t come across that when we were doing our research last night,’ murmured Desmond, a little shakily.

  ‘No, the stories started after it was supposedly demolished. People went around saying it was “the souls of the voices silenced when it closed its doors” and all that rubbish,’ scoffed Eddy, though in a voice considerably less than robust.

  Shrugging off a sudden, faint sense of unease, the three men carefully and slowly made their way down the aisle, their lamps brightly lighting their way, but casting the remainder of the space into spectral, dancing shadow.

  ‘Dear Heaven!’ murmured Gwilym, looking around, excitement tightening his voice. ‘It looks almost perfectly preserved!’ he added, as his gaze took in the ornate mouldings on much of the ceiling and upper walls. Though dusty and heavily draped in cobwebs, he could see that many were still covered in gold leaf and colourful paintwork; faded but still impressive.

  He carefully felt one or two of the old seats. The activities of mice or rats were to be seen clearly in the chewed fabric of many of them, but what material remained, though giving under his fingers, had none of the dampness or advanced rot usually associated with a building so long abandoned. Pressing on one or two of the hinged seats, he found they could be pushed down, albeit with a noisy, protesting screech. Which means, he thought, that the frames were probably salvageable.

  Carefully testing the floor as they went, they slowly made their way down until they stood in front of the stage itself. Its red curtains, silent sentinels under its soaring, multi-coloured, proscenium arch, were closed, as though barring their further entry. Unable to resist, Desmond climbed the short flight of steps set to one side and moved across to centre stage. Like the fabric covering many of the seats, the curtains tore, but again, only slightly, as he gently parted them and stepped behind the curtains, onto the stage proper.

  ‘Good Lord! How beautiful!’ he exclaimed, as, his eye caught a glittering image, frozen in the torchlight, seemingly suspended in mid-air, above the centre of the stage.

  The others, their curiosity piqued, climbed up to join him behind the heavy curtains. They all stood silently, spellbound, transfixed, by one of the most beautiful sights they’d ever seen. The strong but wavering lights of their head lamps caught and fired back the image seemingly floating above them; its blazing beauty scarcely muted by the dust coating its surface. It was a life-size image of a dancer encased in a translucent, inverted tear drop. Standing en pointe, her face was turned sideways to the right between her upraised arms, her lips parted in a soft smile. The fingers of the right hand were delicately pointed and the arm itself was half-raised around her head, framing the lovely face. The left arm was raised to shoulder level with its hand stretched out to her left, its fingers extended as though in a heartbreakingly vulnerable wave. The shimmer and glitter of her silver ballet dress, itself covered in crystals, flashed with a cold fire, emphasised by the sheer beauty of the casing.

  As they watched, the figure seemed to stir slightly, come alive in front of their eyes and begin to dance gently above their heads. The sight, though beautiful, was unnerving. It was as though the shimmering image, encased within its transparent setting, had been waiting only for an audience to be brought back into life.

  Each man felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise in something beyond awe and more akin to fear, as the soft, ghostly dance continued only inches from their upturned faces.

  ‘It’s suspended! Look, see the chains! That’s why it’s moving!’ exclaimed Desmond, his voice cracking a little in relief, as their lights caught the glint of tarnished, dust covered, metal swaying gently above the head of the capsule.

  The spell broken, Desmond, seeing an old stepladder at the side of the stage, brought it to the foot of the suspended figure.

  ‘How incredibly beautiful,’ murmured Gwilym, as they all took in the perfect detail of the image.

  Desmond, carefully testing each rung of the metal ladder, climbed up to get a closer view. The detail was extraordinary. The texture of the shoes, the flesh tints of the legs and arms; the beautiful sheen on the dress. Even the delicate pink of the lovely face with its sweet and innocent smile, its eyes closed as though in the gentle ecstasy of the dance, all seemed cast by a master craftsman.

  Then: ‘It’s Ariana!’

  ‘Yes, it’s a dead ringer for her, isn’t it,’ agreed Gwilym, recalling the photographs they’d downloaded from the internet. The images, though, were in the comparatively crude colour of the day. Here, the artist had captured every nuance of the beautiful dancer’s body and face.

  Exquisite, thought Desmond, entranced; so incredibly life-like, it was mesmerising.

  His blood chilled suddenly, as he looked at the subtle tints of the face. It was too perfect a likeness, too detailed, too much like the young girl.

  ‘Eddy, I think you’d better call the police,’ he said suddenly, all pleasure leached from his voice.

  ‘The police? What for?’ the other man asked, understandably confused.

  ‘I hope to God I’m wrong, but I think that what we’re looking at isn’t a sculpture. I think it’s Ariana herself!’

  Chapter 6

  ‘Heavens! It must have been unnerving! And were you right? Is it Ariana?’ asked Eleanor, her refined, usually calm features still tight with shock. It was early evening and the partners had just arrived back at The Plovers. They’d telephoned when they knew they’d be delayed, explaining why, so Eleanor and Mollie had been on tenterhooks all afternoon, waiting to hear more.

  ‘They don’t know,’ answered Desmond, gratefully tucking into the sandwiches his mother had prepared, anticipating that they’d not have had chance to eat. ‘They were a bit sceptical at first, thought we were just a pair of theatricals with too much imagination, I think!’ he laughed. ‘Though the very down to earth presence of Eddy caused them to re-think a bit! And, of course, the arrival of Robert Calderwood and Colin Bulmer,’ he added, smiling as he recalled the look of resignation on the faces of the two officers when they’d seen Gwilym and himself.

  ‘It also helped that, when you look closely at the figure, it does look uncannily life-like.’ He stopped. ‘A bad choice of words, looks very much like an actual person,’ he amended, grimacing.

  ‘So what are they going to do next?’ asked Mollie, her eyes round with horrified disbelief. ‘They’re going to look into it, surely?’

  ‘Oh yes. They photographed and videoed the image from every angle, as though it was an actual body and then re-sealed the site. Until they’ve done an analysis, they’ll keep the whole theatre area cordoned off, much to Eddy’s annoyance, as he’s got his deadline to meet.’

  ‘And mine too, in a way,’ added Gwilym. ‘We didn’t have a chance to explore the rest of the place, unfortunately. I’d have liked to see more, it looks so incredibly well preserved.’

  ‘Even after all these years?’ queried Mollie in surprise.

  ‘Yep; the bits we saw anyway. Eddy thinks it may be because the actual theatre itself was encased, cocooned, inside the shell created by the warehouses,’ he added.

  ‘It would be wonderful if it was save-able; see it come to life again. We were all too casual in letting such lovely buildings be lost in those days,’ Eleanor added, voicing what they were all thinking.

  ‘Yes, but that would depend on who owns it now and that’s one of the big questions. Another, of course, is where are DeLancy and Ariana, if the figure isn’t her. Are they still alive? If not, who did ownership pass to?’ asked Desmon
d. ‘It’s a fascinating story, from what we found out on the net last night,’ he added, for Mollie’s benefit.

  ‘Well, as far as that goes, we’ve not been idle this afternoon, either,’ said Eleanor, pointing to a bulky file on a side table near her seat. ‘We collated everything we’d downloaded last night and got a fair bit of additional information today. Do you know,’ she added, ‘the story of The Dolphin and the DeLancys, regardless of whether or not the figure is, or isn’t, poor Ariana, is even more fascinating than we remembered...’

  *

  ‘…incredibly fascinating, sir,’ added DC Cerian Morgan in her soft Welsh accent, her small, dark features sparkling with their usual animation, as she started to brief Calderwood and Bulmer. They had just got back to County HQ, after ensuring that the site was secure under the watchful eye of two constables to augment Eddy’s small security team.

  At a nod from the DI she continued, giving the results of the searches she and her colleagues had started after receiving Bulmer’s telephoned instructions. ‘The DeLancy family arrived in Estwich, as if from nowhere, sometime in the mid-19th century. At the time it consisted of Joseph DeLancy, his wife Mara and their two sons, Benjamin and Edmund, along with Joseph’s brother, Victor, a widower, and his daughter Isabel. Wherever they came from, they’d done well there, as they had money and lots of it. They bought two large adjoining houses on Hillsview Road, which was then the place to live.’

  Bulmer nodded; even in his early childhood, the quiet, tree-lined road had retained some of its former graciousness and cachet. Its big houses, each with their own driveway, and many with servants’ cottages in extensive grounds, carried a heavy premium whenever one came up for sale which, until thirty or forty years previously, had been a very rare event. Most people had wanted to hand it down within the family, and had been affluent enough to do so. Nowadays, however, the grandeur of the area had faded somewhat, with many of the old houses broken up into tiny flats, or even tinier bedsits. To add further to the air of decay and neglect, many of the latter were occupied by students from the town’s new university.