“She went to a concert at the Festival Hall. Mozart, I think she said, with some new beau from the City.”
“Right, let’s go,” said Charlie.
“Go?”
“Yes, go,” said Charlie at the top of his voice. He had already reached the door and climbed into the back seat of the car before he realized there was no driver.
He jumped out and was on his way back to the house as Becky came rushing out in the opposite direction.
“Where’s Stan?”
“Probably having some supper in the kitchen.”
“Right,” said Charlie, passing over his own keys. “You drive, I’ll talk.”
“But where are we off to?”
“The Festival Hall.”
“Funny,” Becky said, “after all these years and I had no idea you cared for Mozart.” As she took her seat behind the wheel Charlie ran round to join her in the front. She pulled out and moved deftly through the evening traffic as Charlie continued to explain the full implications of his discoveries in Australia and how imperative it was that they find Cathy before midnight. Becky listened intently but made no attempt to interrupt her husband’s flow.
By the time Charlie asked her if she had any questions they were crossing Westminister Bridge, but Becky still remained silent.
Charlie waited for a few moments before he demanded, “Have you nothing to say?”
“Yes,” said Becky. “Don’t let’s make the same mistake with Cathy as we did with Daniel.”
“Namely?”
“Fail to tell her the whole truth.”
“I’ll have to speak to Dr. Atkins before I can even consider taking that risk,” said Charlie. “But our more immediate problem is to make sure she registers in time.”
“Not to mention the even more immediate problem of where you expect me to leave the car,” said Becky as they swung left into Belvedere Road and on towards the entrance of the Royal Festival Hall with its double yellow lines and “No Parking” signs.
“Right outside the front door,” said Charlie, which Becky obeyed without question.
As soon as the car had come to a halt Charlie jumped out, ran across the pavement and pushed through the glass doors.
“What time does the concert end?” he asked the first uniformed official he spotted.
“Ten thirty-five, sir, but you can’t leave your car there.”
“And where’s the manager’s office?”
“Fifth floor, turn right, second door on the left as you get out of the lift. But…”
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“Thank you,” shouted Charlie, already running past him towards the lift. Becky had just about caught up with her husband by the time the light above the lift indicated G.
“Your car, sir—” said the doorman, but the lift doors were already closing on the gesticulating official.
When the lift doors slid apart at the fifth floor Charlie jumped out, looked right and saw a door to his left marked “Manager.” He knocked once before charging in, to find two men dressed in dinner jackets enjoying a cigarette and listening to the concert over an intercom. They turned to see who had interrupted them.
“Good evening, Sir Charles,” said the taller of the two as he rose, stubbed out his cigarette, and stepped forward. “Jackson. I’m the theater manager. Can I help you in any way?”
“I only hope so, Mr. Jackson,” said Charlie. “I have to get a young lady out of your concert hall as quickly as possible. It’s an emergency.”