Chapter Sixty-Seven

Ben pressed through the crowd backstage. The Queen of the Night’s aria was over and he caught sight of her coming through the wings. He moved quickly towards her. ‘Who are you?’ he asked her. She looked surprised.

A hand on his shoulder. He turned and saw a heavy-set man with long greying curly hair tied in a ponytail, looking at him nervously. ‘Claudio,’ he said, recognizing the stage manager.

Claudio was biting his lip. ‘Where is she?’ he asked. His English was perfect.

‘I came to ask you that,’ Ben said.

Claudio looked confused. ‘Your message—’

‘What message?’

‘You called the desk and asked for Leigh to meet you at her dressing room.’

‘When was this?’

‘Just five minutes ago. She went to meet you. She hasn’t come back. We’ve been going crazy looking for her. We had to fill in for her.’ He motioned towards the young soprano in the Queen of the Night costume. She was still standing there uncertainly. ‘This is Antonella Cataldi, her understudy.’

‘I have to go,’ Antonella said. Claudio nodded to her and she filtered away through the crowd with a last glance at Ben.

The stage manager looked irritated. ‘Where did she go? She’s never done anything like this before.’

‘I never left that message,’ Ben said.

Claudio’s mouth fell open. ‘Then who did?’

Ben said nothing. He was already pushing back through the crowded wings towards the performers’ dressing rooms.

The corridor was half dark. He tried her door. It was locked. There was nobody around. Claudio caught up with him, out of breath, sweat shining on his cheeks. ‘This is crazy,’ he said. ‘Where did she go?’

Ben stood back from the door. He took two quick steps forwards, bounced on his left heel. The flat of his right shoe crashed into the door, five feet from the carpet. It burst open, tearing a long splinter out of the frame. It juddered against the inside wall.

The dressing-room walls were lined with rich blue satin. There was a cluttered dressing table surrounded with lights. A chaise longue with Leigh’s clothes neatly folded on it. Her coat was hanging from a hook on the back of the door. Her handbag was slung from its strap over the back of the dressing-table chair. Her shoes were neatly lined up on the rug. The book she’d been reading was propped open on a side table. But the dressing room was empty.

‘So where the hell did she go?’ Claudio asked. He was looking more worried every second.

Ben walked fast out of the room. He ran up the corridor. Something was lying on the red carpet up there. He knelt down beside it. It was black, silvery, soft. He picked it up. It was the starry crown from her opera costume. He examined it. Nothing unusual. Except that it was here and she wasn’t.

‘There must be an explanation,’ Claudio was saying. He was sweating heavily.

‘The message is the explanation,’ Ben said.

‘Who could have left it, if not you?’

‘I didn’t leave it.’ Ben pointed up the corridor, past where he’d found the crown. ‘What’s up there?’

‘More dressing rooms. Some storage areas. Offices. A fire exit. The way down to the basement.’

‘Who was the last person to see her?’

‘I was,’ Claudio said. ‘I told her to be quick. She said she’d be right back. I don’t unders—’

His phone rang in his pocket. It was a classical music ringtone. He flipped the phone open. ‘Barberini,’ he said. He listened for a moment. His eyebrows rose. His eyes flickered over to Ben. Then he handed Ben the phone.

‘It’s for you,’ he said.