“Anything else?” Ian’s words were hard and sharp edged.

  “No. Look, we’re friends. She’d been crying and I wanted to make her feel better, that’s all.”

  “And did you? Make her feel better?” Wow, Ian could do bad cop when he wanted to.

  Will shook his head. “Honestly, I don’t think so. Ellen had been pretty brutal with her, apparently told her she’d never make it as an actor. Sofia was pretty cut up. I stayed for about an hour and then I had to leave. I offered to take her home but she said she wanted to stay for another pint. So I left.”

  “And with all the posters that are plastered over the campus, you didn’t think to phone and tell us that? Do you know that you are likely the last person who saw Sofia before she disappeared?”

  Will looked hot and very uncomfortable. “I didn’t think. I mean, there were other people at the pub. I couldn’t possibly be the last person who saw her.”

  “Did she mention going away? Have a trip planned? Do you have any idea what may have happened to her or where she’s gone?”

  “No. Obviously, if I did I’d have rung up. She talked about giving up but I thought she meant acting. In fact, I’m sure she did. Look. I left her in the pub and she was fine. I can’t tell you any more.”

  “What time did you leave the pub?”

  “I don’t know. About six, I think.”

  “And where did you go?”

  He scratched his lightly bearded cheek as though it itched. “I went back to my room to study.”

  “Can anyone vouch for you? A roommate?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t have a roommate. I don’t think anyone saw me.”

  Ellen, the director, clapped her hands. “Everybody in scene one please bring your scripts and come on up to the stage.” She looked down at the people who were still left and was clearly puzzled by the fact that there were two of us in the group who were obviously not her actors. And, in that lovely, carrying voice she asked, “Can I help you?”

  Ian introduced himself once more and asked if he could have a minute of her time.

  She looked as though she might argue and then, with a slight shake of her head, climbed down the stairs at the side of the stage and came over to us. She was just as lovely when she grew closer, though her age was beginning to show in the slight crinkling around her eyes and the laugh lines around her mouth. herself

  Unlike me, Ian didn’t seem star-struck. He held up the photograph of Sofia Bazzano, explained that he was investigating her disappearance and asked if Ellen Barrymore knew the girl. She barely glanced at the photograph.

  “Yes, of course I do. Sofia is one of my actors. A lovely young woman with a bright future.”

  “When did you last see her?”

  “The day before yesterday. I’d posted the full cast list, you see. All of them were in and out to find out what parts they’d been assigned.”

  “Did you speak to her?”

  “Yes, I did. She came to my office to see me.” Scarlett and Will were both listening and no doubt anyone close enough to hear anything was avidly eavesdropping. “Sofia didn’t get the part she was hoping for. She came to ask me why.” Ellen smiled, sadly. “It’s the most difficult part of my job to give out rejections. So many lovely, talented actors come through this program. Of course, all of them hope to be the next Kenneth Branagh or Kate Winslet. I assigned Sofia rather a small part when she’d auditioned to play one of the main lovers.”

  She looked up at the stage where, already, actors were settling themselves, getting ready.

  “I told her, as kindly as I could, that she might want to think about other options for a career. Perhaps it sounds cruel, but she struck me as a sensitive girl and I would rather she were let down gently, while still at school, than suffer the brutal rejections that will await her in the real world.”

  Ian said, “Will here said she was crying when he bumped into her.”

  “Oh. I am sorry. She seemed perfectly composed when she left my office.” She glanced at Will and smiled at him fondly. “I hope you cheered her up?”

  He glanced at Ian before answering. “I took her to the pub.”

  She reached out and touched his shoulder. “That was kind of you.” She turned back to Ian and said, “I do hope you find her soon. As I said, she’s a lovely girl.” Then she turned. “Will, do stay. I’ve put you in as the understudy for Demetrius. If Jeremy breaks his leg, you’ll stand in for him.”

  He nodded but didn’t look thrilled. No doubt he’d hoped to play the part, not remain in the wings hoping Jeremy Booth had an accident.

  Ian handed Ellen Barrymore his card. “If you see or hear from Sofia, you will let me know.”

  “Of course. I’m certain she’ll show up. She’s a Hero, not an Ophelia.” And she laughed softly. “Forgive me, I tend to think of people as Shakespearean types. Hero is a sweet young innocent in Much Ado About Nothing while Ophelia tragically loses her mind and takes her own life in Hamlet.”

  She looked at Ian as though waiting for him to thank her and let her get back to her duties but he said, “Interesting that you should choose Hero. She hides away and pretends to be dead after her heart is broken.”

  Her soft laugh was as musical as her speaking voice. “I’m impressed. The police officer who knows his Shakespeare. I wasn’t making any connection between Sofia’s disappearance and Hero’s actions, merely suggesting that both are highly romantic and somewhat naïve.”

  He said, “Thank you for your time. I’ll let you get on.”

  The actors gathered around Ellen Barrymore. I leaned closer to Ian. “Isn’t she remarkable?” I asked softly.

  “Yes.” He wasn’t looking at Ellen, though, he was looking at the group containing Scarlett and Polly.

  “I’m going to go and catch up with the set design and building group.”

  I thought he’d walk out with me but he said, “All right. Think I’ll stay here and watch for a bit.”

  “All right. See you tonight.”

  “Mmm.”

  As I was heading back to Alex Blumstein to find out where to go, Scarlett came running up and stopped me. “Lucy, wait. I was thinking maybe you could work with the actors, help us run lines and so on.”

  “Oh, but I’m supposed to help with sets.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Really, you’ll be painting rocks and trees and things. Much more interesting to work with us.” She leaned in, “Shall I ask Ellen?”

  Of course I’d rather work with the actors than paint scenery, and then I’d be able to spend time in the presence of Ellen Barrymore, but I’d come here to support Theodore. “I’ll have to check. If my friend doesn't need me and Ellen approves, then, of course.”

  “Excellent, then it’s settled.” And she ran back.

  Theodore found he had more scene painting helpers than he needed, what with the two women who’d suddenly volunteered to help him after drinking the magic-laced coffee, and Mabel and Clara who’d promised to help, so I went back to the main rehearsal room to help.

  I watched them, this excited group of actors, with a world-renowned director, at their first rehearsal. It would have been an entirely happy moment if Ian wasn’t sitting, watching, a reminder that one of the players was missing.

  Chapter 8

  When I got back from the rehearsal, I wanted nothing more than to kick back with a cup of coffee and relax. Instead, I found Meri looking excited and agitated. It was half an hour before closing time and I worried she’d had an awkward encounter with a customer.

  “Is everything all right?” I asked. And where was Violet? She was supposed to keep an eye on Meri in case anything came up that she didn’t understand. Like electricity.

  “Oh, yes.” She put her hands together as though I were her queen and she was my slave. She hadn’t done that for months, so she was clearly emotional.

  “Meri, what is it?”

  Before she could answer, the door opened and Pete walked in. Pete was an Australian, an archaeology grad student who also happened to be a wizard. “G’day, Lucy. You’re looking good.”

  “Pete!” I held out my arms and he pulled me into a robust hug that nearly cracked a rib or two. Pete had helped me defeat the soul-sucking demon who’d tried to destroy me and all my kind. At the time, I’d thought he was sweet on me, but the minute he met Meri, he was smitten.

  I thought she felt the same. He was working with my archaeologist parents at a dig site in Egypt and when my mom and dad had suggested Meri come for a visit to her homeland, she’d seemed really interested. Of course, we couldn’t let her get on a plane by herself. There was too much that could go wrong for a woman who hadn’t really been active in three millennia. Pete had volunteered to come to England and escort her back.

  I felt suddenly sad, knowing that now Pete had arrived, I’d be losing Meri, who’d become a friend as well as a shop assistant. He read my feelings with ease. “I’m sorry I can’t stay very long, but I’ve got to get back. I’ve booked a flight back tomorrow.”

  “So soon?”

  “Fraid so. We need to get some critical funding and your dad thinks Meri could be a big help in identifying some household items we don’t recognize.”

  She looked at me with her eyes shining. “Lucy, I could be really useful to your family. After all you have done for me, I wish to try.”

  “Of course, you do. And you’ll be going home.”

  She nodded. “Yes. Though I do not think I shall recognize very much.”

  “Not a lot changes in the desert,” Pete said. “You’ll recognize that. And I think the bugs will be familiar.”

  We laughed. Then Vi came in from the door to my flat. “Oh, good. You’re back. I was helping Meri pack. I lent her one of your suitcases. Hope that’s okay.”

  “Of course.” I didn’t have any travel plans. And my parents would return my case next time they came to visit.

  We closed the shop and then Violet said she had to go. She had a date with a guy she’d met online. Pete said he wanted to take Meri out on the town. He invited me to come along, but I was happy to say I also had a date, so they could spend an evening alone, renewing their acquaintance.

  I was happy for Meri, but once again, I was looking for more help in the store. I dreaded going up to the corner grocer and putting up yet another notice for a new assistant.

  Tonight, I wouldn’t worry about the future. I’d enjoy my evening out with Ian. Who knew where it might lead?

  I got ready with extra care for my date that night with Ian. He’d hinted that we were going somewhere special for dinner and so I dressed for the part.

  Having spent so much of the day with actors today, I understood the power of costume. I had a little black dress I’d splurged on in the January sales. I wore it with the diamond necklace Sylvia had bought me and low-heeled pumps. I wasn’t sure about a coat and so popped down to ask Sylvia, who had an eye for fashion and always knew the latest trends.

  Popping down to see Sylvia involved going to Cardinal Woolsey’s, into the back room, opening the trap door and climbing down a set of stairs that led to a tunnel that ran beneath my shop. It was dark and smelled musty but I’d been down here so often that I barely thought about it. I tripped along the stone path until I came to the ancient oak door and knocked.

  It was my good luck that Sylvia herself answered the door, gorgeous in a black silk floor-length negligee. Her silver-white hair was sexily tousled. She’d obviously just woken up. I apologized for coming so early but she waved me inside. I explained about the date and my coat issue.

  She nodded approvingly when she saw the dress. “Very nice. You’re dressing like a woman for a change.”

  “How do I usually dress?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “A cross between a Harvard co-ed and a middle-aged housewife.” She dropped her voice. “It’s all those hand-knitted jumpers you insist on wearing.”

  My jaw dropped. That was so unfair. “How can I avoid wearing sweaters when you all keep making them for me?”

  She shrugged elegantly. Sylvia did everything elegantly. “You don’t have to wear them all.”

  But I did. I was too nice to reject the gifts that came my way from the vampire knitters. Once I’d worn the sumptuous knitted silk sweater in midnight blue that Sylvia knit, or the complex work of art that Theodore made me, how could I refuse to put on the sweater Mabel so lovingly crafted, even if it did make me look like a giant tea cozy? Before I could argue my point, she asked, “And what are you doing with your hair?”

  “My hair?” I touched the blonde mass that curled past my shoulders. I’d washed and blow dried it. What more did she expect?

  She shook her head. “Come,” she ordered. I came. We went into her private suite of rooms and into the large bedroom. On the walls were stills from her heyday, when she’d been a movie star. There she was across from Douglas Fairbanks, and in another, enjoying cocktails with Greta Garbo. Her bedroom was like something out of a twenties film, with blue and silver bed linens and sleek art deco furniture.

  The lamplight was soft. If it weren’t for the lack of windows or any kind of natural light, we could have been in a five star hotel room.

  She sat me before a dressing table with triple mirrors, though the mirrored surfaces were covered in photographs. It must be difficult for someone so vain to manage without ever seeing her own reflection, but I suspected that she and my grandmother helped each other with hair and makeup. She plugged in a fancy curling iron and, while it was warming, brought out her cosmetics case. I’d only planned to do my usual beauty routine—slick of mascara, a bit of eyeliner to be fancy, and the rose lipstick I wore when going out, but Sylvia had other ideas.

  Before I could protest, I was being expertly made up. I thought about arguing and decided that with a vampire as strong-willed as Sylvia it was easier to let her make up my face and then wash off the cosmetics when I got back upstairs.

  It was surprisingly soothing being pampered and beautified after the hectic day. I tried not to think about the potential love tangles caused by the potion I’d helped make. I consoled myself that Margaret Twig had said the effects would only last for three days.

  How much could happen in three days?

  “Close your eyes,” Sylvia commanded.

  I did and felt a brush slide across my lids, then something that felt bristly and a cool slickness on my upper eyelid.

  “And look up.” When I did, she slicked on mascara, not once but twice.

  She stepped back, holding my chin in her hand and surveyed her handiwork. She looked as serious as a painter contemplating her masterpiece. “It’s a great shame you don’t do more with those pretty blue eyes. Of course, they’ll never rival mine. In my prime a Maharajah presented me with a set of perfect sapphires which he said were the precise color of my eyes.” She smiled in reminiscence. “I contemplated marrying him, but becoming a Maharani meant I’d have to give up the theater, and I couldn’t make such a sacrifice. Not even for him.”

  “What happened to the sapphires?” I was certain if she had such jewels Sylvia would wear them. She wasn’t one to hide her light, or her diamonds, under a bushel.

  Her full lips turned down at the corners. “The financial crash happened. The 1930s happened. I sold them. I’d have bought them back but they’re in a private collection now.” She shrugged. “One day I’ll buy them back. I have plenty of time.”

  She busied herself with the curling iron. Since I had no idea what she was doing, I tried to be philosophical. I had more than an hour until Ian was picking me up. I could redo my hair as well as my makeup in a pinch. Sylvia had been in the theatrical world and I imagined she still kept up, though from a distance.

  I asked her, “Do you know Ellen Barrymore?”

  She narrowed her eyes slightly as though trying to remember who that was. “Oh, yes. Know of her. She was quite good, one of those pretty young things that seemed to have a future. But she fizzled out. Most of those young girls do. Not many of them have the staying power of The Dames. She said it with reverence, and I knew she referred to Helen Mirren, Judi Dench and Maggie Smith. “I heard she went into teaching.”

  “She did. In fact, she’s directing A Midsummer Night’s Dream at Cardinal College.”

  “Ah, that’s why Theodore’s going around looking so pleased with himself.”

  “Yes. He’s painting the sets and I’m helping him.”

  “Good for you.”

  “I have to be honest. I was a bit starstruck. I mean, she’s so famous.”

  “She’s a teacher.” She leaned in, always one to enjoy a gossip. “Also, she’s not a real Barrymore, no relation to Lionel, Ethel or John. I suspect she took that as a stage name, hoping it would make her seem like theatrical royalty.”

  “Well, she’s moving out of teaching. Next year she’ll be the artistic director of the Neptune Theater in London.” I was pleased to be able to tell her something she didn’t know.

  Sylvia tugged the curling iron free and stepped back. Nodded, pleased with her work and came at me again. “That was clever of her. Yes, clever indeed.”

  “What do you mean?” I knew so little about the world of London theater.

  “I imagine she used her time at Oxford to pave her way back. She’s directed a few plays and if she’s very lucky, one or even two of her pupils will make it big. Perhaps, under her direction. Yes, very clever. She’ll never be a star again, but she’s hoping to shine in the reflected brightness of a new star.”

  “That’s rather cynical.”

  She chuckled. “Welcome to show business, my dear. You’ll learn all about human nature at its worst working in the theater.” She chuckled again. “What fun.”

  When she was done, she stepped back and her face softened. “Lovely. You were right to come down. I’m always happy to do your hair and makeup.”

  “Thank you. But I really came down to ask about a coat.”

 

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