Felix ordered lunch before she told him.
She wished she'd stopped him. It seemed a small cowardice beside the larger ones, but she would remember it: letting him ask for soup while she sat with a truth large enough to ruin his appetite.
They were in a quiet pub outside Larkhaven. He'd chosen it because he knew the road and thought she might like the fire.
She'd liked it before he arrived.
Now it made the room too comfortable.
“Well,” he said when the waiter had gone. “More serious than paving.”
“Yes.”
“Good. I was running out of ways to care.”
“My name isn't Celia.”
He looked at her.
“Ah.”
“It's Frankie Voss.”
He waited.
“The Tuesday Table was real. A long time ago. The old menus, the photograph, Vivian's history. There isn't a surviving company selecting people. I invented the invitation.”
His face remained attentive. She could see him trying to find the version in which this was an amusing confession about a harmless piece of theatre.
“The people at the preview,” she said. “Some were paid actors. The patrons were invented. Duncan Mercer was Lorne Bell. He's an optician.”
“Does Gideon know about Duncan?”
“Yes.”
“Does Vivian?”
“Yes.”
“And Gideon.”
“He didn't at first.”
Felix looked towards the fire.
Then he looked back.
“How much?”
“The first advance was ninety thousand pounds. For a false founding place and actual production.”
He sat very still.
She went on because pausing now would let her pretend he'd asked her to stop.
“He found out. One of the actors has a public commercial reel. He recognised her, checked it, came back to us.”
“And you told him.”
“He knew enough.”
“So what am I?”
The words were quiet.
“The next job.”
He looked down at the cutlery.
She could hear people talking near the bar. Somebody was laughing with no idea what anyone at their table needed laughter for.
“He offered a separate hundred and eighty thousand,” she said. “If you actually ask for entry to the Table. Voluntarily. In front of him.”
Felix lifted his eyes.
“And then?”
“At the launch on the twenty-first he intends to refuse you. In front of a company he expects to be obedient. Make it look as though you'd asked to belong and weren't wanted.”
Felix said nothing.
“He wants you to ask. That's the condition for paying the new fee. He agreed to pay after the request, before the final night.”
“Before humiliating me.”
“Yes.”
“Very prudent.”
She held her hands still on the table.
“He plans to say something about you taking applause home and leaving him the bill.”
Felix's mouth moved.
Not a smile.
For a moment she thought he was about to leave. He looked towards the door, then at the place where he'd hung his coat.
The waiter brought the soup.
Frankie almost said they weren't ready.
Felix made room for the bowl.
“Thank you.”
The waiter set hers down.
When he'd gone, Felix picked up the spoon and put it down again.
“I've been having lunch with the invoice.”
“Yes.”
“That should have been less pleasant.”
“It was pleasant.”
“For whom?”
“For me.”
He looked at her.
“Don't give me the little true thing now.”
She felt herself stop.
He pushed the bowl away.
“Did you intend to tell me?”
“Not at first.”
“When did you decide?”
“After he rehearsed the rejection.”
“Because it was worse than you'd thought?”
“Yes.”
“Not because I deserved to know.”
“I should have told you before.”
“That isn't what I asked.”
She looked at the soup.
“It became something I couldn't continue doing without telling you.”
“How unfortunate for your schedule.”
He wasn't raising his voice. She could have borne that more easily.
“I came to you as Celia because I'd agreed to get you interested. I liked you. I still kept going.”
He sat back.
“So he was right.”
“About?”
“People enjoying what I do while he pays for it.”
“No.”
“You don't get that answer.”
She nodded.
“No.”
He looked towards the bar.
She wanted to explain Gideon's hurt, the performance he'd never been thanked for, the company he'd wanted to buy. She wanted to explain her own victims and their money, why they'd made this, why ninety and a hundred and eighty meant something other than greed.
All of it would be useful if she were trying to reduce what Felix now knew.
She waited.
He turned back.
“Who else is in this?”
“Vivian, Duncan, Nina. Nina produces the evening. The regular hotel staff know they're working a theatrical relaunch. The actors know they're playing invented people. They weren't told the financial deception.”
“And the second audience.”
“We're deciding.”
“Are they told to laugh?”
“He wants agreement. He asked about a sound cue. Sol refused.”
“Sol?”
“Sound. Nina's colleague.”
Felix looked at her.
“Someone said no.”
“Yes.”
“How refreshing.”
She took the sentence.
He pulled the soup back towards him.
For a moment she thought eating meant the conversation had softened.
Then he said, “Are you telling me because you want me to do it anyway?”
“I don't know what I want you to do.”
“Try.”
She looked at him.
“I'd like the show to be funded. I'd like him not to get the response he's buying. I'd like you to have the choice.”
“And you'd like to be the person who gave it to me.”
She nodded.
He picked up his spoon.
“Honesty is surprisingly untidy.”
“It is.”
He ate.
She couldn't.
Felix finished half the bowl before he spoke again.
“What do they call you?”
“Frankie.”
“All of them?”
“Yes.”
“And why do they need you?”
She held his gaze.
“Because I'm good at this.”
“This.”
“Getting people to want a thing.”
He laughed once.
“Better before you explain it.”
“Yes.”
“How do you know them?”
She took a breath.
“I robbed them.”
He lowered the spoon.
“As Frankie?”
“As Anna, Claire and Maxine.”
He looked at her long enough that the names stopped sounding clever.
“The amounts?”
She told him.
Vivian seventy-four. Duncan thirty-six. Nina twenty-two.
“What did they think they were buying?”
“Bookings. An emergency I lied about. Sponsorship for a festival.”
He looked at her hands.
“An emergency.”
“Yes.”
“And that man is helping you.”
“Some of it. By choice.”
“That must be a difficult choice.”
“It is.”
“Does the money go back?”
“If we receive it. After actual production costs and returning the first advance. We can divide what's left.”
“Can.”
“Yes.”
He looked into the bowl.
“You've brought me an extraordinary number of ifs.”
“I know.”
“No. I don't think you do.”
She let him speak.
“My brother isn't wrong about everything. I was happy to take the gratitude. I thought he enjoyed arranging things. He thought I enjoyed owing him. We both found evidence.”
“You don't have to—”
“Don't stop me because it complicates your version.”
She closed her mouth.
He pushed the bowl away again.
“I'd quite like to see what he does when I ask.”
Frankie looked up.
“That isn't—”
“I know what he intends.”
“Yes.”
“And he doesn't know I know.”
“No.”
“Then perhaps there's still an evening available.”
She could feel the job becoming possible again, and disliked the relief before she'd even decided how to use it.
Felix saw.
“There you are.”
She looked down.
“Yes.”
“I might ask. Knowing all this. Because I'd like to watch him hear it, and because apparently somebody should get paid before the room begins behaving.”
“He won't know we've spoken.”
“He may work it out.”
“Yes.”
“He isn't a fool.”
“No.”
Felix considered.
“But he does enjoy believing he understands me.”
She didn't answer.
He leaned forward.
“If I do this, you don't give me a response to perform.”
“I won't.”
“No speech you've written. No surprise reconciliation. No magnificent exposure of him which makes you the person who arranged a better ending.”
She felt the last possibility disappear. She'd only just begun to imagine it.
“All right.”
“I can leave.”
“Yes.”
“I can say what I want.”
“Yes.”
“I might not give any of you what you want.”
“I know.”
He smiled slightly.
“Do you?”
She looked at him.
“I'll find out.”
It was the only answer she had.
The waiter returned to ask about the bowls.
Felix said yes. Frankie handed hers over almost untouched.
“Anything else?”
Felix looked at the menu.
“Lunch,” he said. “Something more substantial.”
She almost laughed.
He glanced at her.
“You can eat as well. It won't undo anything.”
She ordered.
They stayed while the fire settled, talking very little. When the food arrived, Felix began without waiting for the room to become comfortable again.
Near the end he took out his phone.
“Send me the date for the request.”
“It's not fixed yet.”
“Then fix it.”
“I will.”
He put the phone away.
“And another name.”
“What?”
“For your invitation. I don't want to put Celia in my contacts.”
“Frankie.”
“I heard.”
He changed it.
He read the new contact once before putting away the phone.
Outside, he put on his coat.
“I liked the display we made.”
“So did I.”
“That was real.”
“Yes.”
He looked at her.
“Keep track.”
Then he went to his car.
Frankie stood by the pub wall until he'd driven away. Then she took out her phone and opened the schedule he had asked her to send.