‘Yeh. Mrs Angell. It sounds different, don’t it. And you’re rich now – it all makes a difference.’
‘Being rich doesn’t make the difference.’
‘Tell me, Oyster, just tell me – I’ve often wondered, like. It’s not me, to worry, but I’ve often wondered …’
‘What?’
‘This marrying old Mr Angell. You know. Because he is old – or getting on anyhow. You didn’t marry him because you was scared of me? Did you?’
She smiled at him properly for the first time since their first meeting in the dance hall. ‘Good heavens, no! I married him because I was – fond of him, because he was so kind. He’s always such a gentleman, so considerate, so …’
‘All the opposite of me, eh?’
She took another drink and glanced towards the door. ‘Isn’t it time Lady Vosper was down? If she’s not well, perhaps I could go up and see her.’
He went to the window, peered out, pulled the curtains across again. ‘ Well, I’m sorry, Oyster, but you can’t. She’s not here. She’s in hospital.’
‘What?’ Heart thumped and stopped and restarted.
‘In that old clinic place where she went once before. I says to her, stay out of that place, you never been well since you went in before; you stay here where I can look after you proper. But this Matthewson, her doctor, he says she’s got to go in and be—’
‘When? When did she go?’
‘Yesterday. I went to see her this morning, but she wasn’t looking too good—’
‘But there must have been time to let me know—’
‘Oh, she wrote. She wrote to you and to this pianist bloke. Her daughter was here so she didn’t have to be told.’
‘I never got any letter! Aren’t the others coming, then? Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you tell me when I came so that I need not have come in?’
‘Well, I thought it funny, Oyster, you coming the way you did. I thought, I wonder why she’s come pretending that she knows nothing about it, pretending to ask for Lady Vosper—’
‘But I didn’t know, I tell you! No letter came—’
‘So I said to myself, perhaps, seeing she went to watch Little God box, maybe she’s come to have a chat with Little God, making the excuse, like—’
‘You never posted the letter!’ Perfect anger driveth out fear.
‘I did. I swear I did! You know what the post is like these days. Why only last month Lady V got a letter from Norfolk that’d taken five days. You’ll see if it doesn’t come in the morning—’
‘Well, you should have told me! When I came to the door you should have told me!’
He ran a hand through his comb of hair. ‘You can’t blame me, can you, for hoping? Still hoping.’
She stared at him. ‘It was a trick, wasn’t it. You found I was coming to dinner and when Lady Vosper was taken ill it fitted perfectly. This is what comes of trusting you! This is the way you keep your promise not to – not to—’
‘You came to see me box. Nobody made you do that. It made me think things again, hope things, see. That’s all. What else have I done? Let you come here and have twenty minutes’ talk with me. Why are you so mad at me? I haven’t laid a finger on you. Or only one finger, just for a minute. What are you scared of?’
‘I’m not scared!’
‘Yes, you are, even now. Sit down, Oyster. Let’s talk a bit more.’
‘I’ve nothing more to say.’
‘Why don’t you relax? Why don’t you give way a bit – be easy?’
She moved past him and he put his hand on hers. She pulled it away.
‘What’s the matter with Lady Vosper?’
‘It’s her kidneys. I’m sorry for her. She’s a good old sport.’
‘Is she to have an operation?’
‘They’ll decide tomorrow.’
‘Very well, I’ll ring up the Clinic later tomorrow.’
‘Won’t you stop a bit now?’
‘No. I’m sorry.’ She went to the door, turned the handle. ‘This door is locked!’
‘Yes. I’ve got the key. I’ll give it you in a minute.’
‘Give it me at once! I’ll call the police!’
‘You’re not scared of me, Oyster. Honest you aren’t. You’re scared of yourself. I wouldn’t hurt you. Why don’t you let yourself go?’
‘Give me the key!’
‘I’ll give it you if you tell me why you came to see me box last week.’
‘I’ve told you! Wilfred wanted me to!’
‘That’s an old falsehood. Truthfully.’
‘I was curious myself just to see how it went! We’d arranged it for you. My God, how sorry I am I took the trouble!’
She moved away from the door and walked to the telephone by the fireplace. She picked up the receiver and heard him come behind her. He kissed her neck. She slewed her head away and began to dial. He put his fingers in the dialling holes and made nonsense of the call. She turned and hit him across the face. He smiled and turned the other side of his face. She hit at him again. She was a strong girl and this time she used her fist, but he rocked his head two inches and the blow slid across his forehead. She picked up the telephone and threw it at him. He fended it off with his hands, half catching it, then it fell to the floor with a loud clang.
‘Drop your fists, Oyster,’ he said. ‘That’s the end of the round.’
She stared at him with wide angry eyes, out of breath. He looked her over admiringly, with particular interest in the movement of her breasts. Then he looked at his watch.
‘Half a minute yet … Seconds out of the ring. Time.’
He feinted to put his hands on her throat, and she hit at him again, but he slipped under her guard and took her round the waist and began to kiss her. She beat at his shoulders and the side of his head, but to his relief did not kick his shins. She tried to turn her mouth away but was not too successful.
‘This,’ he said, breathless himself now, ‘is where – in the old movies this is – where the bird always gives in.’ His mouth against her cheek, his hard body pressing against hers. ‘Give in. Go on. Give in, Oyster. Just for the fun of it. We’ve always – had this date. Give in.’
She clutched his hair and began to pull at it. He didn’t seem to feel normal hurt. His mouth was finding hers more successfully. She thought she should bite him but her mouth didn’t want to. Only her hands wanted to go on destroying him. Jees, he thought, it is like the old movies, it’s working. I’m going to get away with it, I’m going to get her. That old sofa bed of Flora’s, drag it up to the electric fire, how’m I going to get her clothes off without her going scared on me again? Just go on like this, get her to a state when she won’t think any more. Not tear her frock, I got to be gentle, but does she really want gentle or can she take it rough? Gentle at first, mustn’t scare.
Pain, she thought, pain and pleasure have a frontier where they meet. Do I want to hurt him or be hurt myself or kill him or be killed? Dagger, if I had a dagger, not to kill but to draw blood, his blood. Vile little God, vile God, conquering, compelling. Cheap shoddy mind, cheap trick, making me cheap, myself cheap. But what is this to do with what is happening? Fine body, clear, fresh skin, young arms, smooth slim easy muscles, light, strong, beautifully made. Is there cheapness in beauty or beauty in cheapness? Youth in age or age in youth? I can’t stand here, I can’t stand here, half naked, like a prostitute in a brothel, while he pulls a couch which unfolds. How has he got out of his clothes, I never saw him, they seemed to slip away. Wilfred stepping out of his pants, breathing heavily, the roll of fat, the particular roll of fat at the base of the abdomen which creases up when he bends, the slow ponderous climb into bed. Slim and light and vital Little God, like Mercury, olive-skinned body gleaming like pewter in the low light. ‘Here, let me help you, Oyster, little Pearl, lovely Pearl, oh, lovely Pearl, aren’t you fabulous. I’ll take your things. Pearl in the oyster. Smooth Pearl, silky Pearl, satin Pearl, velvet Pearl, sleek Pearl, soft Pearl … oh,
aren’t you fabulous, just like that, just like that …’
Little God, great God, conquesting, searching, probing, finding. Pleasure in pain, pleasure in pain, pleasure in death, pleasure in ecstasy. God, great God, great God, great God, great God.
Chapter Thirteen
Not a single national newspaper had made any comment on Godfrey’s victory at the Albert Hall, some had not even bothered to record it. All they were concerned with was the title fight and the controversial decision which had ended it. But the weekly, Boxing News, commented: ‘Comparative newcomer Godfrey Vosper, called in at short notice to oppose Vic Miller, the amateur champion turned pro from Dundee, provided one of the surprises of the supporting contests by knocking out Miller in the sixth round. The 23-year-old boy from Kensington dominated the fight from the opening round when he rushed in and drove his Scottish opponent to the ropes. Miller fought back but never carried quite the same power of punch or ring-craft. Vosper with his good footwork and his fast fists should go far.’
Jude Davis was not quite of the same opinion. ‘ That’s not boxing, Brown, that’s fighting. Oh, I’ll grant you it worked; you’ve got plenty of guts and against someone like Miller it paid dividends. But put you up against real class and that approach’ll get you absolutely nowhere. If you had tried that on with someone like Legra or Saldivar …’
‘Well, you’re talking of champs now. I’m not a champ yet.’
‘Nor ever will be if you play to the crowd. Remember it’s just one man you’re fighting – and he happens to be in the ring with you.’
Godfrey grinned. ‘It was a bit riling – all them people and none paying any attention. You got to admit it.’
‘I’m matching you with Goodfellow at the National Sporting Club on the 18th November. He’s nobody’s pushover. So it’s strict training from now on.’
Godfrey cut out the piece from the Boxing News and posted it to Angell. Angell passed it to Pearl. ‘Perhaps between us we’ve fostered a champion after all.’
‘Perhaps we have,’ said Pearl.
Angell inflated his chest and then blew out the breath through pursed lips. The steam rising from Pearl’s coffee wobbled.
‘I’m going to Christie’s before I go on to the office. There are some Tiepolo drawings on show. One might put in a modest bid.’
‘Or jewellery?’ Pearl asked.
He winced. ‘Not in this sale.’
‘I had a thought of buying something for Father. Gold cuff-links perhaps. I haven’t seen much of him since our marriage, and I thought I might go and see them this evening.’
‘Gold cuff-links are out of date. One can get much more handsome links at half a dozen shops in Bond Street, and at half the price.’
She sipped her coffee.
He said: ‘But tonight I’ll be home to dinner.’
‘Well, would it matter you going to the club for once?’
‘Why didn’t you go last night?’
‘I didn’t think of it at the time. And next Tuesday seems a long way off.’
‘Are you feeling suddenly homesick?’
‘Oh, no. It was just an idea. I’m a woman, so I get ideas.’ She rose and patted his shoulder. ‘Do you mind for once?’
‘Oh, I expect arrangements can be made,’ he said shortly.
That morning Miriam McNaughton called at Wilton Crescent. Godfrey let her in. That is to say he opened the door, then half closed it again, and only when she insisted did he just give her room to squeeze past him into the hall.
‘Where’s Mrs Hodder?’
‘Gone shopping.’
‘Why are you in, then? My mother said you were training every morning.’
‘Not every morning. I don’t go Fridays. How’s Lady V?’ ‘I came for some things for Lady Vosper. Allow me to pass.’
She went into the big bedroom at the end of the flat and closed the door in his face. After a minute he opened the door and went in.
‘Yes, what is it?’ she said.
‘Can I help you?’
‘No.’
She went to the built-in cupboard and took out a dressing-jacket and a nightdress. Then she stopped.
‘Well?’
‘I thought you might want help.’
‘I don’t want help picking out some clothes for my mother! You can go.’
He did not move.
‘Will you please go!’
He shifted his balance from one foot to the other. ‘Sorry. While Lady V’s ill this flat’s in my charge, see. She told me so. She told me to look after it.’
‘Well, look after it! I won’t run away with it.’
‘No, but other things might run away, see, and me get blamed.’
Miriam’s skin flushed dark red. ‘You insolent little swine! How dare you speak to me like that!’
‘Because sometimes when you come here something walks that’s not got two legs to walk on its own.’
She stared at him viciously. ‘I shall tell Lady Vosper exactly what you have said and I shall ask her to discharge you.’
‘You already have. It doesn’t do no good, does it?’
‘For the last time, will you please leave me alone!’
‘I’m not interfering with you. I’m just watching.’
She swung away from him, began to open drawers, take out handkerchiefs, underwear, bed-socks. These she dropped into her leather bag while he leaned against the door and watched. Then she swept past him into the dining room, snatched up two clean napkins and a couple of new novels.
‘My mother’s dangerously ill, you may be interested to know.’
‘Yes, I know. I know that.’
‘And a lot you care!’
‘Oh, I care,’ he said. ‘I care a lot. But a fat lot you care.’
She said suddenly, viciously: ‘You think you’re a ladykiller, don’t you. You think women fall for the profile. But all you really are is a nasty little bantam cock crowing on a dung-hill. You prey on a sick woman and think you’ve made a conquest. Poor mother, she must be out of her mind to have sunk so low!’
‘All right, all right, spill it all out. What’s the matter with your husband, can’t he give it you? You’re all sour, Miriam, like a sour grape that’s got left on the tree. You’re jealous really, aren’t you, jealous of your poor old mum. She can get ’em any time. She’s got all it takes. But you got nothing! I wouldn’t lift my hand to you!’
‘Don’t you dare touch me!’ she said, as he came towards her. ‘ If you touch me I’ll have you up for assault!’
‘Who’s touching you? I’m not. I’m just seeing you don’t nick anything. That’s all.’
She went past him to the door of the dining room and then to the door of the flat. He followed her and saw her out and stood in the open door watching her walk away towards Knightsbridge.
That morning Angell learned from Hollis that the option agreement and the annexed schedule of sale had been posted to Viscount Vosper in Geneva for signature.
Angell had an appointment for lunch with John Square, one of the directors of Christie’s. Wilfred had chosen Scott’s for the meeting because there one could eat oysters, which were not fattening and which had the reputation of increasing virility. He had had some unusual pains recently in unusual places and he was concerned for his health. His public reason for entertaining Square was that they had not met socially for six months; his private reason was a small Canaletto which was coming up for sale next week and on the authenticity of which some doubts had been expressed. The doubt might bring the price down and no one could know better than Square what the inner, confidential belief of the firm of Christie’s was. Angell himself was not interested in the Canaletto, but Sir Francis Hone had his eye on it. Francis Hone knew absolutely nothing about art except its value as a hedge against inflation, and he had often, profitably, taken Angell’s advice. One therefore didn’t want to advise badly.
John Square was late arriving, so Wilfred had the opportunity to sip a Dry Sack and let his mind drift to c
onsidering the shape of Pearl’s upper arms and think of the little mole between her shoulder blades and remember how she looked when she smiled. When Square came he apologized but said his brother had been taken ill and had just gone into the London Clinic for an operation. In the course of the meal Wilfred was able to learn that in the opinion of Christie’s the Canaletto was genuine. He also learned that in the next room to Arthur Square Lady Vosper, known slightly to them both, was dangerously ill.
After lunch, and still hungry, Angell took a bus back to his office. When he got in he asked for an outside line.
Godfrey’s voice. Quite heavy over the telephone.
‘This is Mr Angell speaking. I called to ask how Lady Vosper is.’
‘Oh, she’s not here now, Mr Angell. She went into the Clinic last week.’
‘You did not tell me.’
‘Sorry. I been busy. I been real busy in training for a fight a week Friday.’
‘How is Lady Vosper?’
‘I seen her yesterday, Mr Angell. She’d been having a machine or something.’
‘A kidney machine?’
‘That’s it. It didn’t suit her. She’s real sick.’
His voice was vaguely different. He was trying to talk better, with a drawl, the over-politeness had a suggestion of insolence.
‘What do the doctors say?’
‘They don’t say anything to me, Mr Angell. I’m just the chauffeur.’
Angell grunted.
‘She reckons to be out Saturday but I say to her stay in another week. She wants to come to my fight, see, but I say to her she can’t even if she gets out because it’s men only this time.’
‘Men only?’
‘At the N.S.C. Café Royal. All posh in dinner jackets. You going to come, Mr Angell?’
‘No—’
‘It’ll be important this. Important. I’m matched with Goodfellow. He went the distance with Wesker last year, so it’s top of the milk. Coming to see me win, Mr Angell? I know I’m going to win.’
‘I’m not interested in prize-fighting.’
‘I’d have liked you to come. I’m ever so grateful for what you done for me, Mr Angell. Honest to God. I’m doing fine now since you just put in that word for me. Doing fine.’
Angell, Pearl and Little God Page 21
