‘Oh, stop fussing, Paul.’ His brother Freddy, sitting on his other side, nudged him sharply. ‘Let the old duck have what she wants. If she keels over as a result she’ll die happy and you can’t say it’d be premature, can you?’ And he grinned down the table at their other brother, Leonard, and shouted, ‘You agree, Lenny? Let Anya have all she wants, greedy old darling – you agree?’
Leonard who hated above all things being called Lenny, regarding it as an infra dig label for so eminent a dentist as himself, frowned.
‘It’s up to Paul,’ he said frostily. ‘He looks after her, which is more than you ever do –’
‘Or you,’ snapped Freddy, and was clearly about to say more, but his wife Ruth very obviously kicked him under the table and he subsided, and Laura again felt her lips quirk.
It was quite absurd that these three were brothers; both Freddy and Leonard were so prosperous, so round, so obviously earthy and practical and so very clearly old men. Leonard, the oldest, must be, she worked it out – sixty five or so, and was bald as well as plump, and quite ridiculously pleased with himself, while Freddy, a couple of years younger, looked what he was, a successful businessman (and it amused the family greatly that he dealt in garden novelties, and particularly gnomes) who had let himself run to seed.
Paul, on the other hand, looked wonderful. He too, must be sixty now, she thought, but he didn’t look it; possibly fifty, he could easily be taken for younger with his thick mane of glossy silver hair and his lean body and well kept face. As clearly a man of intellect and spirit and sensitivity as his brothers were men of hard cash and practicality, he had nothing in common with them, and indeed seemed to have little in common with any of his relations. A quiet person, sensitive, hiding himself and his feelings behind that well made face and the watchful dark eyes, it seemed as natural as breathing that he should be an actor. Not as successful as he should have been perhaps, with his looks and presence, but still, he made a living and had a lifestyle that left him free to look after his mother to whom he was clearly very attached. A nice man, my cousin Paul, Laura thought, and once again wondered briefly about what sort of person was hiding behind that elegant surface.
She had from time to time wondered about him; was he, like her brother, gay? It was easy to think so, for he had never married; yet he was always to be seen out and about with women. He often brought them to dine with her downstairs, clearly proud of the family connection and she had always been amused to see how dazzled by him the most beautiful women could be. She had seen them turn to stare at him, ignoring their own escorts quite blatantly, and surely, she asked herself now, that wouldn’t happen if he were – and she shook herself mentally and smiled at Paul, leaning forwards to touch his hand across old Anya Zsuzske’s bulk.
‘I wouldn’t worry, Paul,’ she said. ‘I’ve seen your Anya eat more than this and still come up smiling,’ and she bent her head and spoke loudly directly into the old woman’s ear.
‘Are you all right, Anya Zsuzske? Can you eat some more?’
The old lady looked at her with her deep eyes, still dark and lively for all her great age and said in a surprisingly melodious voice, ‘Of course I can. It’s the only thing I get any fun out of any more. The liver – it’s good – tell Angie –’ And she began to eat again.
Paul made a little moué and looked at his mother doubtfully, and then, catching Laura’s eye, managed a smile and she smiled back as reassuringly as she could and he returned to his own meal.
‘Laura!’ She looked up and across the table, further down, and saw Philip Cord grinning at her. ‘Laura!’ he said again. ‘I have to say it. This is marvellous. I’ve made a pig of myself and loved every moment. It’s all right for everyone else – they’re used to it, but to me it’s a revelation!’ And he lifted his glass at her and she bent her head in acknowledgement, furious with herself as she felt the redness rise in her cheeks.
Ever since the party had begun she had been trying not to notice him. Not to ignore him, precisely, but just to be unaware of his presence, as though that were possible, and she began to eat, pushing her galuskas around her plate in a way that would have scandalised Angie, who prided himself on the delicacy of his dumplings. It was, she told herself yet again, quite absurd to let this man upset her so. She ought to be used to him by now, for heaven’s sake. He and Ilona had been back in England almost a year now, and they had come to eat downstairs several times; they had moved from seeming like little more than recently introduced acquaintances to being members of the family again – yet still she found it uncomfortable to be with him.
She had wondered at first whether her unease stemmed entirely from Ilona. She knew Ilona’s history of course; in this family everyone talked so much it was impossible not to know far more about everyone else than she sometimes wanted to know – and that she was tense and possessive about her good looking young husband was understandable.
It wasn’t just that he was fifteen years her junior; it was the fact that he had been so very impecunious when they had married – she a few days before her fortieth birthday and he a glowing twenty five year old – and she had been so very well off. It had caused a considerable fuss in the family when Ilona’s father Gyorgy had died and his will had been made public; no one had ever done what he had done; to leave all his money to one child, and she a girl, ignoring the claims of not only her sister but her brother – that had been much more than a nine days wonder. They had all talked about it interminably for months, and looked sideways at Ilona; to have been so publicly branded by her own father as a hopeless spinster – that had been dreadful, but she had gone her way through it all holding her head as high as she could. Her father had meant kindly; the fact that his will had been worded in an unfortunately tactless manner could not be helped.
For he had left her his whole fortune on the grounds that her sister was married to a comfortably off man (Susan, much to her father’s admiration, had married a very successful owner of three jeweller’s shops) and her brother was as well provided for as a busy G.P. should be. It had been Ilona who needed the major share of the family property to keep her in her lonely old age, Gyorgy had told the world in his will, and so there it was. She had it.
And then she had met and married Philip Cord in a story book affair that had left them all gasping and darkly prognosticating big trouble in the future. He would rob her blind, the sisters-in-law, Dolly and Evelyn, had announced, united for once in the face of a common enemy, and then go and leave her, mark their words –
He hadn’t. They had been married now – Laura worked it out as she always did work out all sums; being accurate with numbers was one of her minor obsessions – for almost sixteen years. Not bad for a man they all swore was a fortune hunter. Whether he was a faithful husband no one could know; Laura suspected he was not, not only because of the way Ilona always looked so very watchful when she was with him but also, she had to admit, because of the way he made her feel.
There was something so practised and glossy about Philip; she had seen other women not only stare at him with unashamed interest, but had seen even some she would have regarded as cool and sophisticated in the extreme reduced to blushing and stammering by his attention. It wasn’t that he was so spectacularly good looking; he wasn’t, though he had a great deal of dark gold hair that was very attractive; or that he was so witty; his conversation was largely common place. It was something else. A warmth that seemed to emanate from him to wrap his listener in comfort, a look in his eyes that made you feel he was really interested in you and only you, a sort of sideways grin that was conspiratorial and which drew you into his special world of delicious private jokes and fun – and she looked up and again caught his eye and there that look was again, and once more she blushed and tried to return her attention to her galuskas.
With luck he and Ilona would go back to live in Florida again, where Ilona had bought a flat and where they spent long periods of time. Philip was said to be something in the art dealer line; no
one had ever actually seen any exhibition with which he had to do, nor did he seem to be attached to any particular gallery, but it didn’t seem to matter anyway. They lived quietly and comfortably, he and Ilona, either in Florida or in their small house on Harrow Hill. And I should have more sense, Laura told herself stoutly than to let myself become so silly and fussed when he turns on his charm. I don’t envy Ilona with that one. I’m not surprised she’s so anxious; and deliberately she caught Ilona’s eye and said loudly, ‘Ilona – I adore that suit. You look wonderful in it. It has to be American – I wish we could get clothes like that here –’
Ilona looked first startled and then, oddly, relieved, and smiled and her whole face lifted, so that she looked much younger and much more attractive. She had always had a good face, with the high cheekbones and broad forehead that had been so vivid a feature of old Viktor’s face, going by the family photographs, and when she smiled she looked stunning. Most of the time, though, she sat with her face closed and still with the pair of lines that were etched between her brows whenever she looked at her husband scarring her face with fear. Someone ought to tell her to be more relaxed, to smile more and then she wouldn’t have to be so fearful about him, Laura thought. I’ll tell her. One of these days I’ll tell her. But she knew she never would.
The waiters had cleared the dishes from the main courses now and were getting ready to serve the vast birthday cake which Angie had made and decorated in the shape of a ninety one and there was a little stir at the end of the table as her cousin Richard Balog got to his feet. Laura took a deep breath and steeled herself; she always hated this part of the proceedings.
‘Everyone – everyone!’ Richard was tapping on his glass with a knife over and over again, until at last they had all stopped chattering and had turned expectantly towards him. ‘Everyone! Relatives and friends – and to my own amazement it’s possible to be both in this family!’ There was the usual titter of laughter at this hoary old joke, which someone made every year. ‘I want to make one toast before we make the special one of the day, to dear Anya Zsuzske who, though she isn’t actually Mummy to every one of us, certainly feels as though she is. We’re very proud of her and thrilled to be here yet again at her birthday party – and just as thrilled with what has been provided here for us all today. As ever, it’s been a sumptuous feast – I’m off to Champneys tomorrow. I have to go every year to get rid of several extra inches after Anya Zsuzske’s birthday party – but I wouldn’t have missed a single glorious mouthful. And as ever, I want to say for all of us a heartfelt thank you to the person who made it possible – our own dear Laura, the queen of Soho. Whoops. Erase that, run it again – the queen of Soho restaurants!’
And as the second time-honoured joke of the day came trotting out Laura raised her glass to him and the table and managed to smile without, she hoped, looking as embarrassed and irritated as she felt.
‘It’s my pleasure – mine and Angie’s,’ she said. ‘All I ask is that you remember to pop into the kitchen before you go and tell him you enjoyed your lunch. He cares more for this family than we do ourselves, as well as you all know. Well, here’s to next year – and here’s to our own Anya Zsuzske.’
And then they were all on their feet with glasses held high, looking at the old lady who sat vast and Buddha-like in her place at the head of the table staring at the great cake that had been set ceremoniously in front of her by the waiter and clearly much more interested in that than in the toast they were drinking to her.
Nothing, Laura thought as she leaned over to help the old lady make the first cut in the iced confection, nothing is ever any different. Every year it’s like this – and that’s the way it ought to be, really. I’m glad it is – I think. And she set to work to cut the cake and distribute it as quickly as she could, so that she could go downstairs and finish off the normal lunchtime work. There was still half the day to get through yet –
She had managed to forget her discomfiture about Philip Cord completely, until he stopped her as they all milled about downstairs, ready to leave, and murmured in her ear, ‘Laura – I’ll be in to see you later this week. Just me on my own. There’s something I really must talk to you about,’ and then went before she could say anything, either in agreement or protest. She tried to tell herself she didn’t want to see him and that really he was being a wretched nuisance, pushing himself on her like this. But she wasn’t convinced in the slightest.
6
‘The thing is, getting the information in on time, and making sure it’s accurate,’ Leo said. ’I know how it is with these things – I used to do the newsletter for an old people’s charity I worked for when I was single, and it was the biggest headache. ‘Still –’ He brightened. ‘If you’re really willing to help that’ll make a big difference. I mean, the old people’s thing, I was on my own. Completely. Same with the Balls and theatre trips and things like that I used to organise. Always there ready to share the fun, oh, yes, but when it came to the work, they didn’t want to know –’
‘It’s always the same,’ Edward Malplackett said. ‘If there’s someone willing and able then everyone thinks he’s a workhorse and leave it all to him. But I’ll gladly help. Any way you like. Just say the word, and I’ll be there.’
‘Mind you, I’m not complaining about the Trust.’ Leo sounded suspicious suddenly. ‘It’s a privilege and a pleasure to be the Chairman, believe me. I wouldn’t have taken on the job if I didn’t reckon I could bring something useful to it.’
‘Oh, I’m sure,’ Malplackett said and smiled. ‘It’s not something I’d ever take on I can assure you. Far more involved than I could cope with. But I’m always glad to be useful as Secretary because that’s in the background. Can’t be doing with all the public bits, you see. All the chairing of meetings and being spokesman at public affairs – no, that I could never handle. Not my style. But a bit of background work to help things along – that suits me nicely.’
Leo relaxed; the glory that was to come to him as Chairman of the Trust was clearly safe, and he beamed on the older man. ‘Splendid. Good to have you aboard. We should be able to get a good deal done now. Mrs. Capitelli – good old soul in many ways, did a sound job, but no fire in her, know what I mean? A Trust like ours should have had much more effect this past fifteen years – but look how it’s been. The number of real businesses in the area cut by over half, nothing but strippers and peep shows these days. Got to put a stop to it – and got to try and get rid of some of those that are already here. It won’t be easy – it’s always better to keep ’em out than to have to get rid of ’em once they get in, like mice, eh? But we can spice things up a bit.’ He laughed, pleased with himself. ‘The Vinegar Trust’ll spice things up a bit, no question.’ And he tied his camel hair coat belt into a modish knot, pulled the collar round his ears to give himself a rakish air, and sleeked his hair back with both hands.
‘The newsletter,’ Malplackett said putting on his own much less elegant raincoat. ‘It’s a great idea, I really like it. I thought – I can collect information about which businesses are coming, which are going – that sort of thing? Not just local gossip, but real facts, eh?’
‘Absolutely,’ Leo said. ‘Absolutely. Real facts –’ He looked at his watch and pursed his lips importantly. ‘Look at that. Half past three! Lunch here eats your day the way we eat the food, eh? I’ve got a lot to get out this afternoon – time I was back –’
‘I’ll walk along with you,’ Malplackett said easily. ‘My next appointment’s at half past four, so I’m not in too much of a rush. I was thinking – a column about property values – would that be useful?’
‘Property values? How do you mean?’ Leo was suddenly guarded and he went out through the now almost empty restaurant, nodding at Laura and Maxie as he went, leaving the other man to follow him. Out in Little Vinegar Yard he lifted his chin and took a deep breath of the chill spring air, and then looked sideways and with some suspicion again at Malplackett who had fallen into step beside
him as they made their way to the archway that led to Frith Street. ‘We want a newsletter people’ll read. Don’t want to make it too dry, do we?’
‘Nothing too revealing, of course,’ Malplackett murmured. ‘I don’t want everyone knowing what rent I’m paying for my little office or what my rates are, any more than you do for your shop. I just thought – when a property changes hands, it could be useful for all of us to know the sort of money involved. Helps us keep an eye on our own investments.’
Again Leo relaxed. ‘Oh, I see what you mean. Not any sort of table of comparative values, nothing like that –’
‘Good God, no!’ Malplackett looked scandalised. ‘No one’d co-operate on a thing like that. But everyone’d want to know what a place fetched, wouldn’t they? Really fetched I mean. You can’t trust the estate agents – least of all people like Davriosh. They lie the way they breathe – naturally. But the real figures – that would be interesting. Take Laura’s now – that little place – suppose that went on the market. Wouldn’t it be useful to know what she got for it?’
Leo laughed. ‘Laura’s? She wouldn’t sell that till the day the sky falls in. And even then she’d wait till the day after –’
‘Still and all, it’d be really interesting to know what value the place has. I mean, take yours. Good street frontage, building in good heart, ample workshops, I imagine – compare that with a little place in Little Vinegar Yard, like Laura’s!’
Leo was feeling more expansive by the minute and he put his hand companionably on the other’s shoulder as they halted on the kerb to let a string of traffic pass them. ‘My place? Well, yes, I’ve no complaints. My grandfather took just the one shop, you know, when he came here to Soho. That was in 1923. It was my father added the next door premises and knocked through, in ’55, and it was me who overhauled the flats upstairs and turned ’em into the workshops. Not bad, now, eh? I’ve got fifteen people working up there. Fifteen –’
Lunching at Laura's Page 6
