“Hi, Tim.”
“Hello, my darling. Come and meet a new friend. Joel Sherlock. Joel—Bibi, star of Vogue, Harper’s Bazaar, and God knows what else. Joel’s just visiting. Slumming it at the Palace.”
“That’s a shame.” Bibi smiled at him. She had a low, slightly husky voice, with the obligatory American overtone to her Italian accent. She was gorgeous.
“Yes. Well, I’m thinking of spending tomorrow up here.”
“Oh, really? Well, it’s pretty nice. Isn’t it, Timmy?” Her eyes met Tim’s. “Although I’m a little tired tonight. I thought I might take tomorrow off, not go out on the yacht.”
“Do you know, my darling, I thought the same. A little of our young rocker friend goes a long way.”
“Although not as far as Thandie would like, I think. Anyway, I’d better go and join them. Nice to meet you, Mr. Sherlock.”
“I’d better be off too,” he said. “Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow then? This is a great place for cocktails.”
“You might well. In fact, if you’re at a loose end at lunchtime, come and find me. They do a marvellous poolside buffet.”
“Thanks. Very good of you. Nice to have met you anyway.” He shook Tim’s hand, waved at Bibi, and then went out to his limo. Fate seemed not only to be on his side but to have picked him as her only teammate.
Debbie was hanging out the washing when Richard arrived home. She had spent the whole weekend in an orgy of housekeeping, had vacuumed and polished and dusted, washed paintwork, changed all the beds—and even done some weeding. She wasn’t sure why, since she had no interest in pleasing Richard; she supposed it was so that he would have less to berate her with, when and if he came home.
It was a bit like being in a film; she kept looking at herself in various mirrors as she went around the house, and thought she looked much too ordinary to find herself in such a situation; she needed to look interesting, glamorous, mysterious, with a suntan and big hair…
“Hello.”
She jumped, dropped two of the pegs. It was Richard; he had come through the French windows that led from the kitchen. She looked at him and struggled to appear at least politely pleased to see him, while wishing desperately he was going to be away another five days. Or five weeks. Or five years. How could you live with a person who made you feel like that?
“Hi. Good journey?”
“Yes, it was OK, thanks. I was going against the traffic, of course. Terrible going the other way. Especially at the M5 turnoff.” He yawned.
“Were the children all right?”
“Yes. Let’s go inside, shall we.”
“Must we? It’s lovely out here.”
“Yes, we must. I want to talk to you.”
“We can talk out here.”
“Debbie, I want to go inside, all right?”
She followed him, wondering, half hoping indeed, if this might be the beginning of the end.
“Richard has got it into his head that you and Debbie are having an affair,” said Flora.
They were sitting on the stone bench in the Meadow; below them the sea was calm, brilliantly smooth, and blue. Simon felt quite dizzy.
“He what?”
“Yes. He’s very upset.”
“Christ,” he said, staring at her. “Christ Almighty, how—how absurd.”
“It is a bit.”
“But—why? I don’t understand.”
“Apparently he saw you and her coming out of a hotel last week. And she was kissing you and you were hugging her.”
“Flora, that’s insane. I hug and kiss everybody—it’s what I do. I’ve been known to hug and kiss you—would you like to suggest you’re having an affair with me? Maybe that would distract him.”
“I know that. Of course. But Richard doesn’t. He’s a very, very jealous person, Simon. Like his father. And he was saying how much you obviously liked her, right from the start, how he noticed some sort of chemistry between you.”
“What!”
“Anyway, I did my best. Told him it was absurd. But I think he thought I was holding something back.”
“Flora! For Christ’s sake. What was there to hold back?”
“Nothing, of course,” she said. She didn’t meet his eyes.
“Bloody right there’s nothing. Unless you are thinking of that moment in the kitchen a few months ago. In which case, let me tell you I was extremely upset and Debbie was…well, simply trying to make me feel better.”
“Which is precisely what I thought. I did see you, of course, but I can recognise incipient sex when I see it.”
“Good phrase, Mrs. Fielding.” Simon smiled for the first time. “And the other night, she’d heard about my being fired and offered to buy me a drink. That’s all. So what did you actually say?”
“That I was sure nothing could be further from the truth and that I had never been given any cause to think it.”
“Well, thank you for that.”
“But I’m not sure he believed me. Altogether. The thing is, Simon, you and Debbie are quite close, there is some chemistry between you—he’s right in that.”
“So what do you suggest?” he said. “Any denial would be incriminating. He’s obviously mad, I know he’s your son, but—”
“I don’t think he’s mad,” said Flora. “I think he’s very unhappy. I think Debbie hasn’t been as supportive as she might be, although I can see she’s having a very difficult time.”
“What, over this Scottish business? Yes, she told me about that. Bit of a mess.”
“There you are, you see,” said Flora. “You seem to know a lot about each other. I agree he’s leaping to absurd conclusions but I do have to say, I can see—just about—how that has happened. Maybe that’s what he’s picked up.”
“Dear sweet Jesus,” he said, “and I thought you were my friend.”
“I am your friend, Simon. I feel desperately sorry about the whole thing, and I wish I could help more.”
“So where is Richard now?”
“On his way back to London. To see Debbie.”
“Oh God,” said Simon wearily. “What a fucking mess.”
That he didn’t apologise to Flora for his language showed her how extremely upset with her he was.
Joel had never tried parasailing; it was fantastic, rather like flying very slowly through the warm air. After that he went out on a Jet Ski a couple of times, snorkelled for half an hour; and then changed into shorts, polo shirt, and deck shoes, put his wet swimming shorts into his rucksack, and made his way up to the Ocean Hill. It was still only half past twelve, far too early to appear for lunch. The rich lunched late. He went into the bar, got himself a glass of ice water, and wandered outside to explore the grounds. They were spectacular, terraced gardens, complete with statues, lush green lawns, brilliant flowers, a great swathe of tennis courts, a large lake, and what looked like a chapel.
“Incredible, isn’t it?” It was Bibi. “Hi. I saw you wandering round the courts. Tim and I were contemplating a game, but the standard seemed a little high. McEnroe was the last person to play here.”
“Sounds challenging,” said Joel, laughing.
“Just a little bit. What are you doing now? Timmy’s gone to change.”
“Oh, just exploring.”
“Oh, OK. Well, I’ll maybe see you by the pool. That’d be nice.”
“Indeed.”
She smiled at him. Her eyes lingered, rather pointedly, on his mouth. Confusing. Very confusing.
“I’ll see you later then,” she said. “Oh look, there’s Timmy coming now.” And she leaned towards him and kissed him briefly, but quite firmly, on the mouth.
“Tell me,” said Joel to Allinson when he had greeted him, “what on earth is that place over there? That looks like a chapel.”
“A chapel, my boy. Genuine late twentieth century.”
Joel nodded. If nothing else came of this trip, it would make a fantastic travel piece. They walked across the drive to the chapel: it was purest kitsch
, complete with stained-glass windows.
“Big favourite for Nassau brides,” said Allinson. “Can you wonder?”
They strolled back to the hotel, changed, and then went down to the pool, which was set in the heart of the gardens. Waiters scuttled about ready to do their masters’ bidding.
“Right. Buffet’s over there, or you can order off the card. I usually have a club sandwich, they’re excellent. And what about a beer?”
“Good idea,” said Joel. “This is very kind of you.”
“Oh, not at all. Nice to have you to talk to.”
“Is Bibi around?”
“She’s gone to have a nap. She doesn’t eat.”
“Today I do.” Bibi flopped down on a lounger next to Joel, removed her bikini top, and started to apply sun lotion to her breasts. They were incredible: full, but very firm. Joel tried not to stare at them, but she saw him trying and smiled, before closing her eyes and surrendering herself to the sun.
“So, what exactly does your company do?” said Allinson.
“We import glass and fine china. Which I’m sure you know have a huge sale here.”
“Oh right. Interesting. And where do you manufacture?”
“Mostly in the north of England, but we also have a factory in Limoges.” Joel had just happened to read an article in one of the in-flight magazines about the pottery and porcelain of Limoges, and had added it to his story. “And then we have another line, completely different—linen. We buy a lot from Russia, sell it to hotels, mostly American.”
“Uh-huh. Family company, is it?”
“Yup. My grandfather started it. I enjoy it, but it’s hard work.”
“Most ways of making money are. Mine host now, he works like the proverbial black. One mustn’t say that anymore, of course. But eleven months of the year, pretty well eighteen hours a day, he’s at his desk.”
“What does he do there?”
“He manufactures nuts, bolts, screws, and so on. Supplies firms like that new IKEA place.”
“I see.”
“And the voluptuous Thandie is the third wife. She’s very sweet, but a little exhausting.”
“And where do you live?”
“I’m in the throes of trying to decide that. I’m contemplating Jersey or Guernsey, possibly New England.”
He was obviously very rich then, Joel thought. Bastard. He’d been sinking beneath Allinson’s charm; he remembered Gillian Thompson and Neil Lawrence and hauled himself briskly to the surface.
“And what do you do? God, this sun is hot, must find some sun lotion. Excuse me a second…” He rummaged in his rucksack, found the Ambre Solaire, and managed to switch on his tape recorder. He lay back again, smiled at Allinson. “Sorry. You were saying?”
“I wasn’t. But I think you’d asked me what I do.”
“Yup.”
“Oh, a bit of this, bit of that. My family owned a textile company, which I inherited and then sold a few years ago. Invested the money in stocks and shares, which have more or less stood the test of time. Although Black Friday didn’t do me much good.”
“My uncle said he thought you worked for one of the banks.”
“No, not really.”
“Or was it Lloyd’s? Lloyd’s of London. Or was that wrong?”
“No, not entirely wrong. I wasn’t a Working Name. I introduced people to Lloyd’s, people I thought would benefit. Increased a lot of people’s incomes for them.”
“But you weren’t a Name yourself?”
“Oh, I was, yes. For a while.”
“I’d heard they were having a rough time.”
“Who, Lloyd’s? A little, yes. Nothing serious.”
“I read something the other day about—what was it called?—asbestosis.”
“You don’t want to believe everything you read in the newspapers, dear boy. I can show you a great many people who are still making a lot of money from being Members of Lloyd’s.”
“I’m sure. God, this is nice. I’m in danger of drifting off. And I have to leave in about an hour. Might take a quick dip.”
“And I’m going to find some cigarettes. See you later.”
It was a risk; Allinson might find someone else to talk to. But he didn’t want to appear as if he was interrogating him. He swam a couple of lengths, then paused, hanging on to the side at the deep end, breathing heavily. God, he was unfit. He was suddenly aware of a hand slithering into his trunks, caressing his buttocks.
“Hi,” said Bibi. “Nice bum.”
“Well, thanks.”
She moved slightly, and moved her hand too, so that it was at the front of him, probing his pubic hair, seeking out his cock. His inevitably flaccid cock.
“Sorry,” he said. “Cold water. Not a great aphrodisiac.”
“That’s OK,” she said, and laughed. “Do you normally need aphrodisiacs?”
“Absolutely not.”
“I didn’t think so. It’s very nice to see someone young here. A young man, anyway. They all seem to be a hundred. Except our friend the rocker, of course. How old are you, Joel?”
“Thirty-four.”
“Uh-huh. Good age.”
“I’m glad you think so. Er, here’s Tim back again. I think we might get out.”
“He’s not my keeper,” she said, and added, “or yours.”
“No, of course not. But—”
“Go on then,” she said. “I’ll see you later.” She set off towards the steps, pulling a sarong round her.
“That was great,” Joel said, settling down again beside Allinson. “You going in?”
“No, too soon after lunch. Mind if I smoke?”
“Of course not.”
Allinson produced a pack of cigarillos, lit one, inhaled deeply.
“So no truth in the rumours about Lloyd’s then?” said Joel.
“None that troubled me,” said Allinson easily.
“Now come on…Don’t tell me you didn’t know about it at all. I mean, why did you get out?”
“Well, there’s no doubt it’s going through something of a bad patch,” Allinson said. “But you have to look at the big picture. Last bad patch was 1961. That’s not a bad record.”
“But you still encouraged people in? As did Lloyd’s.”
“Well, yes. It’s a business, for God’s sake. And it needed further investment. My job was to help them find that. Look, I don’t know how you run your company, but I imagine you don’t go round telling your customers about the mistakes you’ve made. That, let’s say, several consignments of porcelain get smashed every year. You tell them you have a very small percentage of breakages.”
“Correct.”
“Well then. Lloyd’s weren’t about to tell a whole lot of prospective investors that they might get their fingers burned. That’s not good business practice. They told them the truth—that the last time anyone lost a lot of money was twenty-five years ago.”
“Oh, OK,” said Joel slowly. “Very good.”
“They took the view that any problems could be solved by substantial further investment, as I said. More Names, spread the risk. Which is where I came in.”
“Excellent,” said Joel. He grinned at Allinson. “I really admire that. Good presentation, as you say. Tell me, is it true you have to be superrich to be a Name?”
“It used to be. Lately they’ve lowered the bar considerably. Allowed much smaller people in. Who, of course, were delighted to join such a prestigious club…”
“Of course. Lot of snobbery there, I imagine. Which you could presumably cash in on.”
“Indeed.”
“Must have been fun.”
“It was, actually. There is no doubt I brightened a lot of people’s lives, and their bank accounts.” He smiled at Joel.
“But have they continued to be brightened?”
“I hope so. I really don’t follow them all up, you know.” He paused. “You seem very interested in all this. Any particular reason?”
“Well, yes, to be honest
. I had been considering joining myself, as a Name. Would you recommend it?”
There was a long silence; then Tim said, “Possibly not. Just at the moment. Give it a year or two, then talk to me. I’ll give you my card.”
“Great. But I thought you weren’t involved anymore?”
“Not officially, no. But I can certainly put you in touch with the right people there.”
“Thank you. I’d really appreciate that. In the fullness of time. So are you saying it’s not true about the asbestosis?”
“My dear boy, I’ve told you. I don’t worry about the detail.”
“Of course not. Do you think they suspect it?”
“Who, the Lloyd’s people? Some of them may, I suppose.” He lay back, pulled his Panama hat over his eyes. “It’s quite a strong rumour.”
“But they need to keep the money coming in?”
“Absolutely. Only way to get by.”
“And is it working?”
“Oh, too early to say. I hope so.”
“And—you never find yourself lying awake at night, any of you?” Joel sat up now, moving in for the kill. Ready to run.
“Why should we? We’ve helped a lot of people make a lot of money.”
“But not the ones you’ve hauled in over the past—what—seven years? They must be losing it now.”
“I don’t know that I like the phrase ‘hauled in,’” said Tim rather stiffly. He was sitting up, looking at Joel.
“But that is what you’ve been doing, surely…And now it’s all gone wrong and they’re hopelessly in debt; people have actually killed themselves, you know. In despair. People who simply can’t afford to meet the claims.”
“That’s ridiculous!” said Tim.
“It’s not ridiculous. People whose lives have been ruined, completely ruined. Like—well, let’s just take one person, shall we? Does the name Gillian Thompson mean anything to you?”
An Absolute Scandal Page 38
