A disco she said it had to be. A disco it was. Not what he’d wanted, since he could hardly see or hear her, but she’d been set on seeing the trendy night-scene.

  ‘You wanna groove?’ the DJ breathed into his mike. ‘Then stay close as Mercury take you over the tippity-top with … Deep Vibrations.’ The stylus-arm went down, but the sound stayed low. ‘To make it real for you … let’s go … Anthea!’ A couple of spots picked out a girl in gold pants and bra, who started dancing jerkily, as if fitful electric currents were passing through her body. The music blasted.

  With all the light centred on the dance area, and the rest of the place fitted-out in black leather, Roy could hardly see Eleanor’s face. A moment later she leant close to him and said, ‘Are you always noticed?’ In the gloom he saw her indicate a couple of chicks staring at them from an alcove. ‘Could be your clothes,’ he suggested. ‘Okay, they’ve latched on,’ he admitted, ‘and a right drag too.’ He screwed up his eyes and stared. ‘What’s good is I don’t see any big boyfriends. Can be nasty.’

  ‘You mean jealousy?’

  ‘One punch-up was enough. Don’t go anywhere without Tony now.’ As he spoke Roy could see him hunched over a brandy four or five tables away. When Anthea stopped jigging like an electric frog and the DJ gave their ears a rest, Roy murmured, ‘Could be our last chance to talk.’ She looked puzzled. ‘Just saw the creep doin’ the records talk to a bird who stuck a finger our way.’

  ‘Why, what’ll happen?’

  ‘Wait and see,’ he told her gloomily. ‘Everywhere I go’s free publicity for somebody.’

  ‘How awful for you.’ She sounded so sympathetic he didn’t bother asking if she was straight-up.

  ‘Dry yer eyes,’ he muttered. Her being sorry for him was definitely not desirable. ‘Swat I wanted from way back.’

  ‘What about your parents?’

  ‘Me dad wanted me to be an engineer; they can work anywhere in the world, see. Me mum thought I’d make Sinatra give up.’ He lit a cigarette and dragged on it. Remembering the way Gemma had always capped what he said, it was great to be with someone who listened. He smiled at her. ‘When the Beatles had those Cardin suits, me mum made one for me in powder blue … took so much trouble, it was outer fashion by the time she’d finished.’

  Eleanor frowned. ‘Do you think you could’ve … made it without Paul?’

  ‘Doubtful. Mind you he was lucky … dead clever; but the real greats didn’t get over that way. Sophistication?’ He shook his head. ‘Did Elvis have it? Or Chuck?’

  She said, with an eagerness that phased him, ‘So Paul was never really part of it?’

  ‘Couldn’t say that,’ he replied, dismayed to resent her need to talk about Paul. ‘He knew if it was gonna be intelligent, it had to be flash and fast too …’ Wanting to stop there, he felt he had to make her see more – even if it meant coming on like a hero-worshipping schlop. ‘Knew how to give quality the punch to get through … something a bit epic; knew all about razzle-dazzle, did Paul.’

  She looked at him strangely, as if she’d somehow expected him to say something of the sort. ‘You’re very modest,’ she murmured.

  ‘Nuts.’

  ‘I mean you did the singing, and yet listening to you, it’s almost as though you think he …’

  ‘Not all that,’ he groaned. ‘You wouldn’t blame a sodding actor for acting in some other guy’s plays. I’m a fantastic performer; so what else do you want?’ He’d let his voice get too loud, because one of the birds in the alcove waved to him. ‘Why doncha come over?’ he taunted. ‘You’ll hear better if yer do.’ He turned back to Eleanor who was smiling knowingly to herself. Just then the DJ slammed on the kind of Afro-tribal disc that makes floors and walls cave in. Shouting, Roy told Eleanor modesty hadn’t come into it, he had just given credit where it was due; to have denied what he owed Paul, would really have made him the mirror-image creep she’d been hinting he was. Eleanor shouted she was sorry; and, when the record finished, said she admired him for praising Paul, while knowing she wouldn’t like it. He was feeling better when the damned DJ chose to stick his oar in.

  ‘Try to stay sane on this one,’ he gushed into his mike, ‘have yourself a spasm, and uh … take a journey. So, get yourself a ticket on the Gravy Train Express and take a ride with Rory Craig … That right, Rory? Didn’t I see Mr Craig out there just a few moments back? Sure I did. Okay, move your sanity with Rory Craig.’

  ‘How about dancing?’ Eleanor shouted above the music.

  ‘Whodyerhave in mind?’ he roared back.

  ‘Rory Craig?’

  ‘Dunno him.’

  ‘I’ll introduce you later.’

  He couldn’t help remembering the mocking way she’d danced with Paul on the day she’d let rip with her shot-gun. As he walked out after her on to the floor, several people applauded, and a girl ran forward and banged her head against his, trying to kiss him. Rubbing his cheekbone, Roy strode across to the record console. ‘Get this, you cunt,’ he snarled at the DJ, ‘I’m out to enjoy myself; not to have every fucker in the joint making like it’s the goddam zoo.’ He met Eleanor on the way back and told her he didn’t want to dance. Strangely, she looked disappointed. The song caused less trouble than he’d expected, most of the punters being in their mid-to-late twenties. But one girl had eased herself in at the table next to them. Still in her teens, Roy reckoned, though in the dim light her face wasn’t much clearer than a blob for eyes and a curtain of straw-coloured hair.

  ‘We’ll dance if you’d really like ter,’ he said to Eleanor.

  ‘I can see how you feel.’ She smiled. ‘Who’d’ve thought I’d have found it amusing to have people gawping at me?’

  He looked at her closely. ‘You gonna tell Paul ’bout tonight?’

  ‘Why would I want to?’

  ‘You tell me.’

  ‘You mean I might want to make him jealous?’ Her laughter rang out clearly as his record ended.

  ‘Hey wait a bit,’ he began angrily. ‘He’s really low already.’

  She leaned closer and placed a hand on his. ‘A joke, Roy; just a joke.’

  Seeing her face so close, he couldn’t think clearly. She couldn’t be giving him a swoony come-on look. He looked away, and felt a roller-coaster dive in his stomach.

  Her next remarks brought home how crazy he was being. She spotted the girl at the next table, and asked casually what it felt like to be looked at ‘like that’. He didn’t need to turn his head to know the dumb, lustful gaze that was being beamed at him. While the DJ was fumbling through his discs, Eleanor murmured, ‘She looks so miserable.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘Why not make her evening?’

  So as not to be overheard, Eleanor was leaning closer and closer till their cheeks were almost touching. ‘Cos what’d make her evening would just about finish ours.’

  ‘I can’t see why. It’d be fantastic for her … quite interesting for me too.’

  A surge of anger made him want to crash his fist down on the table. ‘Interesting?’ he jerked out. ‘Creepy, sick, pathetic …’

  ‘They’re your fans.’ She sounded shocked.

  ‘Have it your own way,’ he sighed, looking at the girl and beckoning. Her hands fluttered up to her mouth like a couple of dopey butterflies. As she staggered to her feet, Roy was relieved that she looked too old for a frothing attack of the teeny-bopper shakes. As she moved closer, staring uneasily at Eleanor, Roy took in mascara-ringed eyes and blonde hair cut in a spikey fringe. She hovered nervously.

  ‘You weren’t kidding, Rory?’ she stammered.

  ‘Course not. Hey, what’s your name?’

  ‘Mary.’

  ‘Well siddown, Mary.’

  Bolt-upright next to him on the leather banquette she eyed him moistly, hands pressed together as if praying. Seventeen and shy; must have taken a lot of guts, or lust, to come over when he was with a stunner like Lady Elly.

  ‘Uh … Mary, I’d like yer to meet my personal assistant, Fiona Clack … Fee for short.’ He smiled at Eleanor. ‘Isn’t that right, Fee? Though come ter think of it some people call you Fi.’ He turned back to Mary. ‘I prefer Fee because Fee Clack sounds a little like Feed-back.’

  Mary gazed at him with vacant yearning; he doubted whether she’d heard a word. Then Eleanor asked where she was from, did she buy all Rory’s records (you betcha), was he one of her favourite stars (you betcha), and, after that, did she come here often, and was it popular with other stars. Since Mary’s answers rarely weighed in above two words, and since while Eleanor was talking, the girl never took her eyes off his face, Roy doubted whether ‘interesting’ would be how Eleanor would remember it. In fact she kept glancing at him like he ought to be chatting too: ‘making Mary’s evening’.

  Perhaps Elly had imagined something a bit like a schoolgirl meeting her favourite show-jumper or tennis star. How could she have been so plonking naîve? The young kids might only want to froth and wet themselves, but older ones, like Mary, were into real sex as well as fantasy, and reckoned if they could get close enough they were in with a chance.

  When Mary launched into how he rated feminine looks and character, he knew he’d got to stop it.

  ‘You read all the publicity griff about me?’ he asked. She nodded eagerly. ‘Wellm uh … that’s really about selling discs, so they can’t print a lot o’ true stuff. Like I only dig really fat women.’

  ‘But Rachel Linley …’ she croaked, eyes dilating.

  ‘Gets us both publicity … she’s an actress, baby.’

  Mary turned desperately to Eleanor. ‘Is he on the level?’

  ‘Fee wouldn’t know … she just types for me, fixes dates … business guff.’ He smiled. ‘So whaswrong with big women, huh? Just more to get into … and like if they’re older they’re gonna know things a young chick wouldn’t’ve got on to.’

  She got up and was about to blunder off, when Eleanor laughed and said not to worry; Rory had a wicked sense of humour.

  ‘Are you outer your skull?’ Roy muttered, realizing Eleanor was still grabbed by the beauty of the meaningful dialogue Mary would never forget.

  He heard her say brightly to Mary, ‘Look, I’ve got to get home now, so maybe Rory and I can drop you off somewhere?’

  Roy closed his eyes, but not in time to miss seeing Mary’s head lolling from side to side as if she was going into a trance. ‘You mean ride in Rory’s car?’

  ‘That’s right,’ from Eleanor.

  ‘This is crazy.’

  ‘Say that again,’ muttered Roy, noticing how pleased Eleanor looked. He’d been mean to Mary, so she’d been mean to him; and Mary was going to be happy after all.

  In the back of the Bentley now; Roy sandwiched between the two women, and Tony up-front driving. They had just passed the Ritz and to his left Roy saw the darkness of Green Park. Though it was warm in the car, Mary was shivering as she took little sideways peeks at him. Could Rory Craig be right next to her? Close enough for a little movement of the car to … Roy felt her knee brush against his with predictable results. The shivering quickened to near pneumonia level. Eleanor was staring ahead as though she was all alone. Okay, thought Roy, in five mins they’d be letting her out in Wilton Crescent, and then he’d give Mary an earful she wouldn’t forget. Till then, no more footsy-footsy. He moved away as far as he could without touching Eleanor. A bad idea because a moment later Mary began sniffling. Partly to cover the noise and partly to stop himself swearing, he set out breezily. ‘Listen … ah this isn’t in the hand-outs. When I was a kid and got me first guitar, the neighbours were always goin’ on about the noise; so my mum had this great idea: egg boxes. We stuck up maybe a thousand …’

  ‘Did they work?’ from Tony, who’d been getting plenty of fun out of his mirror.

  ‘Like a dream, Tone. We ate a lot of eggs too.’

  Then a sort of gurgle from Mary. ‘Nothing to you … just a laugh.’

  Roy never answered because at that moment Tony hit Hyde Park Corner at speed and spun them round quick enough to send him sprawling across Mary. Next thing Roy knew, the kid’s mouth was glued to his, and her hands tangling round the back of his neck. He pushed her back as she got going with her tongue.

  ‘Cool it,’ he gasped.

  ‘Please, please … oh … oh …’

  Her face was against his shirt, and she’d managed to slew round so her crotch was pressed up hard against his left thigh. He caught a glimpse of Eleanor staring: the little girl in white socks who feels sick when dogs get randy in the street. The kid’s pink dress had ridden up high on her thighs, giving a clear sight of a shiny nylon triangle between her legs. Heaving her off, Roy got his hands sticky, and didn’t manage to stop her ripping his shirt. ‘Willya stop the fuckin’ car?’ he yelled at Tony, above the sound of her moaning.

  When Tony had heaved her out on to the pavement in Birdcage Walk, and was dabbing at a badly scratched cheek, Roy turned on Eleanor, ‘Interestin’ enough?’

  ‘I’m terribly sorry, Roy … really I am. I didn’t …’

  Mary was tottering about near the railings, sobbing.

  In Wilton Crescent Eleanor apologised again. ‘You weren’t to know,’ Roy muttered glumly.

  ‘Your poor shirt,’ she murmured, staring as though at torn flesh. Then flickers round her mouth as the tragic act fell apart, and she began quaking. ‘I know it was awful … but you did look so …’ She fought back her laughter and looked solemn again.

  ‘Daft?’ he suggested, just keeping the stopper on. She nodded with a meek smile; then, as he was about to explode, kissed him softly on the forehead.

  While he was still floating, she skipped out and waved to him from her door.

  17

  In mid-December Eleanor told Paul she intended to be unfaithful – her visit to Delvaux being apparently for the sole purpose of giving him this news. Since she knew he thought married people should be free to have relationships with others, provided these didn’t threaten home base, he realized that to express outrage would make him ridiculous. For a long time he stared out of the smoking room windows at the snow-covered gardens.

  ‘I suppose I ought to feel flattered you wanted to tell me before going ahead,’ he said at last, still not turning to look at her.

  ‘Flattered?’ he heard her reply, with a sharp intake of breath.

  ‘Well yes,’ he murmured, coming over and sitting beside her on the leather fender-seat. ‘It suggests that my reaction matters to you.’

  ‘Mightn’t I have wanted to spare you hearing from someone else?’ she whispered.

  Paul gazed at the late Victorian photographs of nonchalant Oxford sporting groups hanging above the chimneypiece. In similar circumstances wouldn’t the most supine of them have reached for his horse-whip? ‘If you say that’s why you came, I’m sure it’s true.’ A faint smile. ‘Though frankly I’d have preferred you to go ahead and tell me later … if possible when it was over.’

  ‘If Daddy hadn’t told me about Gemma, would you ever have said a word to me?’

  He sighed heavily. ‘I’m over a barrel there, Elly … I don’t deny it. Except to say some old habits don’t die quite fast enough.’

  ‘And new ones?’ she burst out.

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Like mousey Mrs Nairn.’

  ‘Roy can explain how that idiotic story started. Ask him.’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘He got confused about what he was meant to have seen.’

  Paul threw up his hands. ‘God save us from good intentions.’

  ‘They were good ones, Paul.’

  He didn’t answer but stared absently at the huge salmon in its glass case between the windows. After several minutes he felt calm enough to say that he loved her, wanted her back, and was hurt beyond words by what she intended. Instead of reacting, she said, ‘I gather you’ve been quite the local magnate since I went away … So Emma Broughton tells me. Never missing a meet; always accepting invitations to shoots. “Such good company”. What the hell am I meant to make of that? For months I try to get you to give the county a chance; then the moment I give up … what do you do?’ She looked at him sadly. ‘I wonder how long till people down here start taking your side.’

  ‘You think I care?’ he yelled, advancing on her. ‘All right, you’re telling me because I was unfaithful to you, I shouldn’t care if you do the same to me.’ He reached for her hand as she backed away. ‘There’s just one flaw in that argument – I was always easy-going about that kind of thing, and you were always strict.’

  ‘How convenient for you.’

  ‘It’s the opposite,’ he cried. ‘When you break one rule, it’s as if I’d broken ten. You think knowing that makes me happier today?’

  Eleanor retreated, placing herself by chance in front of three coyly erotic Seraglio prints. She looked at him with amazement. ‘So you’re the vulnerable one … Is that it?’

  ‘Of course not.’ He sat down heavily in one of the deepest armchairs and added quietly, ‘When virtuous women take lovers, they usually justify the step with talk of long-term commitment.’

  She tossed her head. ‘Isn’t that rather old-fashioned of them? I’m certainly not going to square my conscience with talk of “commitment” or any other trendy jargon.’

  He clapped with genuine appreciation. ‘Let’s be more direct then. Do you love this man? Are you thinking of sex for its own sake? What are you expecting?’

  She smiled easily. ‘I don’t know yet.’