Excerpt from “One False Move” by Robert Macklin ~~Thirteenth~~
Ronnie Fortt was all charm, an actor who occasionally made the West End playing character parts. His great ambition was to become an impresario managing his own company and staging melodramas and musical comedies. He spoke with a clipped Oxford accent, habitually carried a black cane with a silver knob, and suffered all the superstitions common to his profession. The down-to-earth Australian found him delightful company as they travelled together to the area where at least two mines had fallen overnight.
Fortt had been allocated a C type that had crashed into the courtyard of an old soldiers’ home. Its nose was buried but it rested quite firmly, with all RMS access areas handily exposed. The local police had finally cleared the grumbling inhabitants to a nearby pub.
‘Piece of cake,’ Hugh ventured.
‘Yes, yes, jolly good,’ the actor said, but his tone and manner belied his words.
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