“I wouldn't interrupt him now, miss,” the little old man said. “They're in the middle of the final dress rehearsal.”
“Don't worry, I'll wait for the right moment,” I said and walked past him before he could come out of his cubbyhole and stop me. I made my way past dressing rooms and props closets to the stage. This time the stage was ablaze with light. The actors were in full costume and makeup and their words echoed down the hallway toward me. I could see shadowy figures standing behind the curtains, but there was no sign of Ryan, so I slipped through the stage door out into the theater. In the darkness I could make out several dim shapes sitting a few rows back from the orchestra pit. As my eyes accustomed themselves to the darkness I recognized Ryan's riot of curly hair among them. I heard the breath of relief escape from my lips. He was here and he wasn't alone. I wouldn't be in danger while other people were around. I hesitated in the shadows, my heart beating so loudly that I felt sure it could be heard over the actors' voices. A funny line was delivered onstage and the row of people in the audience laughed. I could see Ryan's white teeth as he too laughed at his own joke.
“Go on, get it over with,” I told myself, but I couldn't make my feet move. I might have become fond of Ryan, but I was equally aware of how little I knew about the man behind that well-polished, amusing facade. Oh, well, there was no sense in standing here worrying. I had come to see him, and see him I was going to. I waited until a scene came to its end, then I moved out of the shadows and slid into the row of seats beside him. Ryan looked up, startled.
“Molly, what on earth—? Lovely surprise, but why didn't you tell me you were going to be in Buffalo?”
“I came to see you, Ryan,” I whispered. “We have to talk. It's important.”
He put his finger to his lips. “Only one more scene in Act One and they'll take a ten-minute break then,” he whispered.
We sat. I was conscious of his presence close beside me. I tried to follow the play, I tried to laugh at the funny lines, as Ryan and the gentlemen around him were doing, but my mouth and throat were dry and my face felt frozen into a mask. Now I was here, I wished with all my heart that I hadn't come. I wished I could be anywhere else in the world than here about to confront Ryan.
“You'll be sorry for this,” the actress onstage said. “By God, you'll be sorry!” and she stalked offstage as the curtain came down.
To my relief the house lights came up. Ryan turned to me and gave me a beaming smile. “I realize I am completely irresistible, my darling Molly, but surely chasing me to Buffalo is going just a teeny bit too far.”
“Ryan, I'm afraid it's not funny,” I whispered. “I must talk to you about something very important.”
The man beside Ryan got up. “I'm just going to stretch my legs and have a puff at my pipe,” he said. “Great stuff so far, O'Hare.”
I hoped that the other men wouldn't follow suit.
Ryan was looking at me with amused interest. “Don't tell me that George at O'Connor's sent you after me because I haven't paid my bar bill?” The same old Ryan, flippant and amusing. I glanced across to see if those other men were listening, but they were talking together.
“I'm not sure where to start,” I whispered. “I want to know about you and someone called Czolgosz.”
“Leon?” He looked surprised but still amused. “My dear, that was all over ages ago.”
“Over?”
He leaned closer to me. “We had a very brief fling last year. I got bored. I usually do. I met Angus. Leon went home to Cleveland. End of story.”
“Not quite end of story,” I said. “He came back here this summer, didn't he? You met him at O'Connor's.”
“Have you been spying on me?” Ryan was still smiling. “Don't tell me you are jealous!” He glanced around and suddenly grabbed me by the arm. “I think that maybe you and I should carry on this conversation somewhere a little more private.” He steered me out of the row of seats and up the steps toward the stage door. “The provinces tend to be—uh—rather narrow-minded, shall we say,” he muttered in my ear. “Those men are reporters. Any hint of scandal and I shall be doomed, my dear.”
Before I could do anything sensible to react, he hustled me before him through another door. It was a room with a couple of aged couches and a table littered with halfdrunk cups of coffee. The door clanged shut behind us. I was alone with Ryan O'Hare, whether I wanted it or not.
“Now then,” he said. “What is this very important thing you have to tell me about Leon? Is he back in town looking for me and pining again? He's not saying slanderous things about me, is he?”
I had no choice but to tell him the truth. “Leon is a very dangerous man,” I said.
A smile crossed his face. “Leon dangerous? Deluded yes, but—”