Friday 10th November
Jodi was exhausted. She’d spent the entire morning on the phone trying to secure sponsorship for the showcase without much success. Most of the companies didn’t want to hand over hard cash, but some had offered their services to support the event. She supposed that was something. Income was still zilch, but at least she had extra manpower available.
She added the names to the list and ticked off the need to find additional bar staff and theatre ushers. It hadn’t been a totally unproductive morning.
Needing to stretch her legs, she got up from her desk and picked up her notebook. She was about to leave the office when she backtracked and checked her desk drawer was locked.
Ever since the theft she’d been paranoid about covering her arse. Tom had changed the safe combination, which hadn’t surprised her, but she wished he hadn’t told her the new code. He said it would look more incriminating if he didn’t give it to her. Like he didn’t trust her and that would only invite more suspicion. She could see his point. But it didn’t make dealing with the likes of Vivienne and Petrit any easier.
Checking no one was watching, she removed the key from its hiding place under the spider plant and dumped her rucksack in the drawer, along with her treasured copy of The Art of War. She’d taken to reading passages daily in the hope it would improve her warfare tactics for handling the terrible twosome. Locking the drawer, she replaced the key in its hiding place. Until the cloud of suspicion had lifted she wasn’t taking any chances.
Closing the office door behind her, she turned and almost bumped into the Woman-in-Black. ‘Crikey, Vivienne. You made me jump.’
Vivienne’s eyes narrowed. ‘Have I caught you doing something untoward, Miss Simmons?’
It would be so easy to react, but Jodi needed to pick her battles. Retaliating would only give her nemesis further ammunition. ‘I’ve done nothing wrong, Vivienne.’ She tried to move past, but the woman wasn’t budging.
‘But you do have a criminal record for theft?’
Jodi flinched. ‘Keep your voice down.’ A middle-aged couple had arrived for the tea dance and were making their way through the foyer. She didn’t want them overhearing.
‘I’m not saying anything that isn’t true.’
‘No, but this is a public area. It’s not appropriate to talk openly about private matters relating to staff.’ Remaining professional and delivering a consistent message was all Jodi could do to counteract Vivienne’s allegations. ‘If you’d like another copy of the policy relating to data protection, I’ll happily supply you with one. If not, please refrain from mentioning this in the public areas again.’
‘And let you get away with it? Why should I?’ Vivienne raised her chin, her black hair showing flecks of grey. ‘It’s outrageous that you’re allowed to continue working here. If I had my way, the police would be called and you’d be in prison. Locked up for committing another crime.’
How Jodi kept her temper she didn’t know. Only an acute sense of injustice kept her from walking out. ‘If you have a grievance, Vivienne, put it in writing. Becca and Tom will deal with it.’
‘They won’t do anything. You’ve got them fooled with your voodoo witchcraft. Not me.’ Vivienne jabbed her chest. ‘I know what your sort are like.’
‘My sort?’ The instant the words left her mouth, she regretted reacting. The conceited look on Vivienne’s face was galling to witness. The woman knew she’d struck a nerve.
Jodi took the only sensible option and retreated from the battle. Vivienne wanted her to lose the plot and hang herself. No way was she giving her the satisfaction.
‘I’ll also send you a copy of Discrimination in the Workplace, Vivienne. It’s clear you need a better understanding of the subject.’ Jodi walked off, trying to cover the shake in her hands. Awful, horrible, ignorant woman.
‘The only thing I need to understand is why you haven’t been fired,’ Vivienne called after her. ‘Or sent back to prison.’
Jodi’s eyes burned from the effort of trying not to cry. She wouldn’t succumb to Vivienne’s bullying. Although how much more she could take, she didn’t know.
It had been three weeks since the theft and two weeks since Harvey Elliot had dropped his bombshell. Tom had called everyone into the office the following week and apologised for his father’s behaviour. But it hadn’t stopped Vivienne’s campaign to get rid of her. Tom had been at pains to point out that Becca didn’t have a criminal record and his father’s accusation had been unsubstantiated. Unfortunately, the same couldn’t be said for her.
The shame had been almost unbearable. She’d stared at the floor the entire time, too humiliated to look anyone in the eye. Especially Leon.
Tom had said all the right things, talked about respect and privacy and the need to investigate before jumping to conclusions. But it hadn’t stopped the daily abuse.
Aunty Ruby had told her she needed to ride out the storm, and she was trying, but it wasn’t easy.
Jodi headed through the bar, but there was no sign of Leon. Not that he would have acknowledged her. Gone were the days when he’d make her a drink and leave her a little gift.
Shaking off the disappointment, she found Petrit in the kitchen, rolling out pastry.
Tom had offered to accompany her when she needed to talk to the surly chef and it was a tempting offer, but if Petrit knew he unnerved her, it would only encourage him. He had enough of a chip on his shoulder as it was.
With no supervision, Petrit had been allowed to come and go as he’d pleased, smoke wherever he wanted, and never be taken to task for his rudeness. According to Eddie, Carolyn hadn’t been present enough to notice his behaviour, or if she had, she hadn’t had the energy to deal with it. But they couldn’t afford to keep turning a blind eye. The Starlight Playhouse was in serious financial trouble. Unless they pulled together and worked as a team, the place would close. And that would be a huge loss to the community.
Petrit looked up when she entered the kitchen. ‘What you want, thief?’ He’d taken to greeting her this way every time she spoke to him. No doubt he was hoping she’d eventually cave under the pressure and quit. But that wasn’t going to happen.
‘I’ve repeatedly asked you to use more respectful language, Petrit.’
‘Why? You steal money.’
She held her ground. ‘The matter is being investigated. Until we know the outcome, you need to stop making accusations.’ She felt like a stuck record, repeating the same request every day, only for her authority to be continually flouted.
He grumbled something under his breath.
Ignoring him, she focused on work-related matters. ‘The showcase is in two weeks. I’ve asked you several times to come up with catering requirements for the event. Have you done this?’
He banged the worktop with the rolling pin. ‘You come in here, telling me what to do. Not your place!’
‘It’s a simple question. Yes, or no?’
‘No!’
Her instinct was to back away, but she stayed firm. ‘In that case, I’ll contact Buddies Café and accept their kind offer to provide catering for the event. We would’ve preferred to use in-house facilities, but clearly that’s not possible. I’ll be noting your behaviour in your personnel file.’
He began shouting in Romanian – although the word ‘thief’ remained in English.
Jodi made a hasty escape in case he lost it completely and threw the rolling pin at her. She backtracked through the empty bar, wishing she still had Leon’s support. What she wouldn’t give to look over and see his reassuring smile. But she had to deal with this on her own now. And that saddened her more than she wanted to admit.
She’d almost reached reception when she heard Tom’s voice. ‘This is Jodi Simmons,’ he said. ‘One of the co-managers I was telling you about.’
She ground to a halt and turned to face them. Charging about the place was hardly professional.
‘Elaine and Stewart are here to discuss exhibiting at the showcase,’ he said, approaching.
Jodi mustered a welcoming smile. ‘Hello.’
‘Elaine makes pottery and Stewart is an abstract artist.’ Tom turned to the couple. ‘Jodi’s organising the event. She’s the one with the business expertise. We’re very lucky to have her working at the Starlight Playhouse.’
Jodi shook their hands, hoping her palm wasn’t clammy. ‘Lovely to meet you both.’
Tom touched Jodi’s elbow. ‘Do you know where their work will be exhibited?’
‘I’ve allocated the foyer for the paintings,’ she said, gesturing to the space around them. ‘And the art studio for the pottery. It’s a bigger space, and the exhibits will be more protected from passing footfall.’
‘As you can see, Jodi has everything organised.’ Tom pointed behind the couple. ‘If you’d like to come this way, I’ll show you the art studio. The roof is currently being repaired, so I’ll need to check it’s safe to enter first.’
Tom glanced back and gave Jodi a thumbs-up. His smile was so genuine it almost made up for the horror of dealing with Petrit and Vivienne. Almost.
She watched him lead the couple towards the art studio.
Having calmed down from her run-in with Petrit, she made her way to the grand ballroom for the tea dance. She wasn’t overly keen on ballroom dancing – she didn’t know a waltz from a quickstep, but Becca needed her. Her cousin had supported her throughout the tough times, so it was time to repay the favour.
As she opened the ballroom door, Jodi was greeted by the dulcet tones of Frank Sinatra crooning softly in the background. He was periodically drowned out by bursts of drilling from above. The roof repair team were working directly overhead.
She half expected to see plaster falling from the ceiling, but there were no signs of damage.
The room was chilly, but light from the chandeliers bounced off the white and gold décor making the room glow. The large mirrors made the room seem bigger, creating multiple reflections around the room.
Becca was standing on a chair addressing those gathered for the tea dance. She was wearing an electric blue Fifties swing dress with red Mary Jane shoes. Her hair was pulled into a high ponytail, secured with a blue ribbon, the same shade as her hair. She looked both cute and sexy. A look Jodi had never managed to pull off.
‘It’s wonderful to see a few new faces,’ Becca said, the petticoats beneath her skirt swishing as she moved. ‘Thank you for attending the Starlight Playhouse weekly tea dance.’ She clapped, encouraging everyone to join in.
Jodi felt self-conscious in her dull grey work suit and plain shirt. Especially as there were still faint tomato stains visible under the bright lighting. She wished she’d brought a change of outfit. Everyone else had made an effort.
‘This afternoon we’re going to focus on the social foxtrot,’ her cousin said, radiating a confidence Jodi envied. ‘This is a dance-hall classic and is particularly well suited to a crowded room. It’s also easier to learn than the traditional ballroom foxtrot.’
Aunty Ruby stood close by, her green hair partially hidden under a black scarf. She was wearing a black dress with matching tights looking scarily like Vivienne. Thankfully, her aunty was nothing like the evil front-of-house manager. Her choice of clothing was probably an attempt to blend into the background. Jodi could empathise; it was a tactic she adopted herself.
Becca looked eagerly at the group. ‘Before we start, I have some exciting news. On the twenty-fifth of this month, the Starlight Playhouse will be participating in the Brighton Arts Festival. We have numerous performances and exhibitions planned, but the event will conclude with a communal dance. It would be fantastic if you were able to join in.’
Mrs Busby raised her hand. She was wearing her best pale green pinafore dress. ‘Are you asking us to perform?’
‘Damned if I can remember what I had for breakfast this morning,’ Dr Mortimer said, looking dapper in his military blazer, ‘let alone learn a dance routine.’
A few people nodded, sharing his concerns.
‘I’m not suggesting a choreographed routine,’ Becca reassured them. ‘It’ll be a relaxed informal dance where people watching will be encouraged to join in and hopefully come along to the weekly tea dances.’
Eddie raised his hand, looking very smart in his dark jeans and checked shirt. ‘I’m new to this. I don’t know any of the steps.’ Jodi suspected his motivation for ‘dressing to impress’ was her aunty.
‘I don’t know the steps, either,’ Aunty Ruby said, voicing her agreement. ‘It won’t look very impressive if we don’t know what we’re doing.’
‘The spectators will be encouraged to join in if they can see varying abilities,’ Becca said, pausing when the banging above got too loud. ‘We want to demonstrate that the tea dances cater for all abilities from beginners to seasoned pros.’ She gestured to Mrs Busby, who beamed and patted the side of her new hairdo. ‘Have a think about it and let me know. I’d really love for you all to take part.’
Jodi gauged the response. Her aunty and Eddie didn’t look convinced, but the middle-aged couple she’d seen arriving earlier were chatting animatedly. As were two women dressed in Forties tea dresses and seamed stockings.
Becca clapped her hands, calling for a lull in the noise. ‘Shall we get started? I’m sure you’re eager to begin. If everyone could find a partner, we’ll begin with a closed position. You need to face your partner square on.’
Becca climbed off the chair and turned up the music.
Jodi recognised the song. It Had to be You.
And then she spotted Leon. He was leaning against the grand piano looking relaxed and amused. He was wearing a fitted dark grey T-shirt and black jeans. He looked sexy and adorable. Her belly dipped at the sight of him.
When he looked over, she felt herself blush. He pushed away from the piano and walked towards her, his gait slow and sexy. Her pulse kicked up another notch. Was he about to ask her to dance? His reflection bounced off the mirrors lining the walls, creating multiple images. One Leon was enough to derail her composure. A roomful was overwhelming.
As he neared, butterflies filled her tummy, sparks of pleasure raced through her veins. Maybe he was still interested in her after all…
And then he stopped and invited Mrs Busby onto the dance floor.
Jodi tried not to let her disappointment show. A weight settled in her stomach, killing the butterflies dead. It was like the floor had disappeared from under her, dragging her from hope to the depths of despair.
To anyone watching, there’d been no slight. He hadn’t been spiteful, like Vivienne. Or cruel, like Petrit. His reaction to seeing her had been polite, pleasant…and totally detached. And that’s what hurt so much.
Dr M appeared. ‘Would you do me the honour?’ he said, tipping his non-existent hat.
She forced a smile. ‘Of course, Dr Mortimer.’
‘The man, or lead partner, starts on their left foot,’ Becca instructed, shouting above the music and drilling. ‘We’re looking for a nice relaxed frame.’
Jodi tried to focus, but her mind was elsewhere. She’d known this would happen. Even when she’d first met Leon and he’d shown an interest in her, she’d known that once he found out about her past his attraction would fade. She hated being proved right.
Stupidly, for a brief moment she’d allowed herself to enjoy his attentions. Even hoped they might not be temporary. More fool her. And now it was over, and she was sadder than she could have imagined.
‘We’re going to step forwards for a slow count of two…and then backwards,’ Becca yelled, ‘followed by two quick steps to the side.’
Jodi flinched when someone jabbed her on the shoulder. She turned to find the Woman-in-Black looking grim.
‘What is it, Vivienne?’ She couldn’t imagine the woman was there to foxtrot.
‘There’s a delivery.’
‘Can’t you deal with it? You can see I’m busy.’
‘Yes, dancing. You should be working.’
Jodi felt aggrieved. She regularly worked extra hours, far more than she was paid for. ‘I’m supporting Becca’s efforts to increase visitors to the playhouse, Vivienne. I’d appreciate it if you dealt with the delivery yourself.’
‘No.’ And with that she turned and walked off, like a vampire bat returning to Dracula’s coffin.
Apologising to Dr M, Jodi left the ballroom and headed for reception. She might not have been overly enthusiastic about learning to dance, but it was a damned sight better than dealing with the Woman-in-Black.
A guy with a clipboard was waiting in reception. He smiled when she approached. ‘Afternoon, love. Where would you like these?’ He gestured to a pile of boxes.
She wasn’t expecting a delivery. ‘Can I look at the paperwork?’
‘Sure.’ He handed her the clipboard.
The delivery was from London Theatrical Supplies. It was the curtains for the stage.
Puzzled, she looked up. ‘I cancelled the order,’ she said, wondering what had happened. ‘Our funding situation changed and I emailed to cancel. There’s obviously been a misunderstanding. I don’t know how this happened. I’m so sorry but I need to reject the order. We don’t have the funds to settle the account.’
‘Nothing to pay,’ he said, pointing to the ‘paid in full’ stamp on the document.
She looked at the paperwork again. ‘How…I mean, who… I don’t understand?’ The contact name at the top said Mr T Elliot. Tom had placed the order?
‘All I know is, I’m to deliver these boxes. Where would you like them?’
‘Err…in the theatre, if that’s okay. If you could wait a moment, I’ll fetch the key.’
She headed towards the office, her head spinning. Tom had paid for the curtains? He must have taken on board her concerns about the stage looking too bare for the dance routines. She’d tried unsuccessfully to borrow curtains from a local theatre, and now they didn’t have to. Just like the roof repairs, Tom had financed the work himself.
Lost in thought, she almost didn’t see Petrit in the office. He was crouched behind her workstation, sifting through the items on her desk. ‘What are you doing?’
The sound of her voice startled him. He straightened, but far from looking ‘sprung’, he folded his arms. ‘I need timesheet.’
‘What happened to the one I gave you yesterday?’ She didn’t believe for a minute he was looking for a timesheet.
‘I need replacement.’
She looked over at the safe, checking it was shut. He didn’t have the combination, but his body language told her he was guilty of something. ‘I’ll print off another one.’ She noticed the spider plant had moved. ‘In future, please don’t come in here and search through my desk.’
The next thing she knew his face was inches from hers. He’d moved so quickly she didn’t have time to escape. ‘You have something to hide?’
‘Of course not. But that doesn’t give you the right—’
‘People who take money should be punished.’ He reeked of sweat and cigarettes. She held her breath, partly because of the smell, mostly from the fear of what he’d do next.
He grunted and left the office.
She sagged against the wall, her heart racing, her hands shaking.
What had Petrit been looking for in the office?