by Mark Timlin
‘The servants will be here.’
‘They’re hardly security experts.’
‘What do you think, Catherine?’ asked Elizabeth.
‘I think we should have a party.’
‘So do I,’ said Elizabeth. ‘And if we’re going to have one, I’ve got a million and one things to do. I’ve got to invite some people, do some shopping and brief the staff. I’d better get moving.’
‘Me too,’ said Catherine. ‘I’m so glad I went shopping yesterday. I’m going upstairs to get on the phone. I’ll invite everyone I can think of, Liz. I know who you want here. Leave it to me, you get out to the shops. I’ll take care of everything. How many should we cater for? Sixty?’
‘That sounds about right. I’ll get Courtneidge to tell David and Claire and Simon. Do you think they’ll come?’
‘Who knows?’ shrugged Catherine. ‘Nick, you can come upstairs and keep me company?’
‘Okay,’ I said and we dumped our empty glasses and left the room.
I accompanied Catherine upstairs in the lift and followed her into her suite. The shape of the rooms was the same as mine, but reversed. The furniture was covered in a pale brocade which matched the curtains covering the french windows. They opened onto a tiny balcony that was the twin of the one outside my sitting room.
She put a Cowboy Junkies CD onto the player at a whisper and sat down in an armchair next to a table which supported a telephone and a leather address book. I found an ashtray and a pile of magazines and sat on the sofa. First she called Courtneidge and put him in the picture, and then she called Leee, told him about the party, and asked him to drop by at four, so that he could do her hair and then stick around for the festivities. Then she got down to the serious telephoning and I sat with my eyes closed and half listened as she invited twenty or so friends to crack a bottle of vino later.
Lunch was served by Constance at one thirty. She appeared and disappeared like a puff of smoke, leaving a trolley groaning with goodies.
I picked at a Waldorf salad and drank some sparkling wine while we watched Neighbours. Gee, but it’s great to be rich. After lunch we played Trivial Pursuit and I beat Catherine two games to one. We drank more wine and Catherine made more phone calls. At three thirty she went for a bath. I took my glass and a fresh bottle out onto the balcony and stood in the sun, looking out over the roof tops and down at the conservatory and paved garden beneath me. At four o’clock precisely the internal telephone rang. I answered it. Constance told me that Mr Leee was at the front door. I asked her to send him up.
Two minutes later he blew in like a mini typhoon and he gave me a hug, accepted a drink, stole a cigarette, complained about the heat, getting cabs in the West End, the weight of his handbag and asked where Catherine was, all in one twenty-second burst of energy.
‘Slow down, Leee,’ I said. ‘You’re making me feel quite weary.’
‘I’ve got just the thing, dear.’ He produced a wrap from the pocket of his white jacket and cut out two fat lines on a small mirror before you could say knife, or razor blade. ‘Give this a go, it’s good stuff,’ he said, and produced a thick straw cut down to about three inches long. He snarfed his line and danced around the room for a moment, then changed the CD from Elgar’s Variations to Guns ’n’ Roses and whacked the volume up high. ‘Let’s get into a party mood,’ he shouted above the music.
I was game. I snorted my line, cleaned the mirror with my forefinger and gave my gums a treat.
Catherine poked her head round the bedroom door. I could just see that she was wrapped in a bath towel. ‘I might have guessed you were here.’
‘Aphrodite fresh from the pool,’ said Lee. I thought he was getting a bit mixed up but I was too stoned to care.
‘I’ll just get something on and be right with you,’ Catherine told him.
‘Don’t bother on our account, dear,’ said Leee. ‘Au naturelle will suit, I’m sure.’
Catherine grinned. ‘What are you on, Leee?’
‘Wouldn’t you like to know.’
‘Don’t corrupt Mr Sharman.’
‘He’s past corruption, dear, just take a look at his face. And by the way, why isn’t he collating or whatever it is that he’s supposed to do? I get the feeling he wasn’t telling me the whole truth the other night.’
‘It’s my day off,’ I said before Catherine could speak.
‘Of course it is, dear.’ He looked over at Catherine and pulled a face. ‘Of course it is.’
It was a good afternoon. The kind that arrives unbidden every now and then. I lit a cigarette and opened another bottle of wine from the ice bucket.
Catherine came back into the room in a long, thin silken robe that managed to hide everything and nothing at the same time. Leee raised his eyebrows and sat her in an upright chair. He pulled out his bag of scissors and combs and went to work on her hair. He teased and played with it for half an hour until he pronounced himself satisfied with the results. It still looked like it hadn’t been touched for a month and I told him so.
‘But that’s the idea,’ he said. ‘Silly boy. It’s wild, it’s free, it’s so … ’ He was lost for words.
‘Leee,’ I said drily.
‘Exactly.’ He smiled happily. ‘Or are you teasing me? It doesn’t matter if you are. I’m happy and so is dear Catherine, aren’t you?’
‘I am,’ said Catherine admiring herself in Leee’s hand mirror.
‘Now how about you, Nick?’ Leee held his comb aloft. ‘Can I do something for you?’
‘I don’t think so. I couldn’t stand the attention it would bring me.’
‘You are teasing,’ he said.
As the day became evening, the volume of the music dropped and we listened to some Steve Earle and Randy Travis. Leee opened up about his fantasy of being a cowboy singer and rolled a joint. We got slightly higher and Catherine ordered roast beef sandwiches and beer for dinner.
‘There’ll be lots of food at the party,’ she said. ‘And I don’t want Cook throwing a moody.’
‘What about Elizabeth and the rest?’
‘She’s going to join us in a minute. The rest can go and screw themselves.’
‘That’s the spirit, dear,’ said Leee.
Courtneidge appeared with the food at seven and Elizabeth came in behind him with a pile of parcels. ‘This lot’s for you,’ she said to me.
‘What is it?’
‘Open them and see,’ said Leee. ‘I love surprises.’
I emptied the boxes and bags and found a double-breasted dinner jacket and matching trousers with a thin satin stripe up the sides of the legs, three white dress shirts, six pairs of silk socks, a bow tie, and a pair of black patent leather pumps.
‘Thank you,’ I said.
‘Miranda got your sizes,’ Elizabeth explained. ‘I hope they fit. And Catherine and I thought you could use these.’ She dug into her handbag and brought out a small, gift-wrapped parcel. She handed it to me. I peeled off the wrapping paper and found a leather box. I opened the box. Nestling on a satin inlay were a pair of cufflinks identical to the ones that she had put into her pocket in the shop in Molton Street so many weeks before.
‘Don’t worry, they’re paid for,’ she said and the two women collapsed into a fit of giggles.
‘What’s the joke?’ asked Leee. But we refused to enlighten him and he soon forgot about it.
‘You must try everything on as soon as we’ve eaten.’ Leee grinned. ‘You can change here if you like.’
‘I’ll do it next door,’ I said.
‘You’re so modest, I love it.’
We sat down to eat. ‘What are you wearing tonight, Leee? One of those?’ I pointed to the DJ.
He looked at Catherine and they grinned conspiratorially. ‘Oh no, dear,’ he said. ‘Something quite different, a secret.’
‘Please yourself,’ I said.
‘I bought a lovely dress yesterday,’ Catherine announced.
‘Several,’ I said.
‘Wh
ich one did you like best?’
‘I can’t remember.’
‘Typical male,’ said Leee disparagingly.
‘I was too busy to notice,’ I said.
‘Too busy peeping into the girl’s changing rooms, I bet.’ Leee was enjoying himself.
‘Now don’t you start teasing,’ said Catherine.
When we’d finished dinner I took my new threads back to my suite.
‘Will you knock for me at a quarter to nine?’ asked Catherine as I left.
‘My pleasure.’
‘Such a gentleman,’ said Leee. ‘See you later, Nick. Be good.’
10
I went back to my room and turned on the TV. Another soap. I turned down the volume and went through to the bathroom for a shower. When I got back, the soap was still grinding on. I switched off the TV and lit a cigarette.
I tried on my new suit and, as I knew it would, it fitted perfectly. I managed a reasonable job with the bow tie but I remembered better times when someone would have been around to tie it for me. C’est la vie.
I knocked on Catherine’s door at eight forty-five precisely. She was sitting alone in the room. She stood as I entered. Her dress was something else. It was made of raw silk and was exactly the colour of her hair. Standing there, she looked like a statue carved out of pure gold. The dress was high-collared with long buttoned sleeves, but the cut of the skirt, which joined like the petals of a flower at the front and showed a lot of inner thigh, took any decorum out of the style.
‘You don’t think I’ll be too warm do you?’ she asked.
‘You won’t,’ I said. ‘But I might.’
‘What a lovely thing to say.’ She walked over and kissed my cheek. I’ve had slaps that were less devastating.
‘Where’s Leee?’ I asked.
‘In the bathroom, getting ready. He’ll be ages yet. He’s much worse than me. Let’s go downstairs and see what’s happening. I’ve got the collywobbles. It seems like months since I’ve been seen in anything but black.’
‘Come on then, Miss Pike.’ I offered her my arm.
‘Too kind, sir,’ she said as she took it, and together we walked to the lift.
Courtneidge and Constance were stationed in the hall as greeter and cloakroom attendant respectively. Miranda and Vincent were maid and footman, ready with champagne and glasses. Vincent was straitjacketed into a tuxedo, starched shirt and bow tie of his own, and avoided my eye. I began to wonder if my own evening suit was to save embarrassment at the dinner table or to get me into domestic uniform with the least fuss. I pulled at my collar and knew how Vincent felt. I thought that maybe later I’d go in for the Tom Jones unbuttoned collar and tie hanging loose look. See if any women threw underwear at me. Fat chance.
I caught Miranda in the dining room and took a glass each for me and Catherine. ‘You look smart,’ she said.
‘I think I’ve got you to thank for that.’
‘Do you like the suit?’
‘Perfect. Thanks for getting the sizes right.’
‘I went to Mr Simon’s tailor. He fancies himself, you know, a bit trendy.’
‘I bet he does.’
‘Don’t drink too much, I hate to see you ill.’
‘That’s not ill, Miranda,’ I said. ‘That’s enjoying life. You should know that by now.’
‘Just be careful.’
‘I promise,’ I said, but I would have crossed my fingers if I’d had a hand free.
I took the champagne through to Catherine. ‘Still nervous?’
‘Yes, does it show?’
‘No.’
The front door bell rang. It was just after nine. ‘Good luck,’ I said. It was bullshit, but it mattered to her, so what the hell. She smiled and smoothed down the skirt of her dress.
First past the post were a pair of post-punk reptiles and their androgynous girlfriends. They were dressed to slaughter in leather and lace and torn tights and that was just the men.
‘Nice idea about the suit,’ I whispered to Catherine after we’d all been introduced and I’d just had time to forget their names.
‘Don’t be so stuffy,’ she said. ‘You look great and there’ll be plenty more men who dress formally along later.’
‘I hope so,’ I said. ‘I feel like I should be serving the drinks.’
‘You look like you own the place.’ She certainly knew how to get round me.
And she was right. The male half of the very next couple to arrive was wearing a very smart tux with satin lapels. The female half was shoehorned into more satin and greeted Catherine like a long-lost friend. ‘Darling,’ she screamed. ‘You look marvellous.’ And she launched into raptures about Catherine’s frock.
Just then I saw David, Claire and Simon come through the door from the hall. David had on a suit similar to mine and Claire was wearing a cleavage-revealing creation that she had just too much weight on the hips to get away with. Simon wore a white tux and black trousers with a black shirt and white bow tie. He looked like an extra from Casablanca.
The woman who was yapping to Catherine yapped herself out. I caught Catherine’s eye and looked towards the door. She picked up my signal and excused herself.
‘I see the rest of the family decided to attend,’ I said.
‘I’d better speak to them.’ She put on a smile and moved in their direction. I followed like a shadow.
David shook my hand again and Claire nodded to me like a little plastic dog in the back window of a car. Simon studiously ignored both of us.
‘Hello, everyone,’ said Catherine.
David looked disgusted. ‘This really isn’t on, you know, Catherine. Whose brilliant idea was it? Yours?’
‘Elizabeth’s actually,’ said Catherine.
‘I just don’t understand it. And today of all days.’
‘Then why did you come?’
‘Because we must put up a united front for the sake of my father and the business. If anything that went on this morning leaks out, our shares will crash.’
I thought it was a bit late for him to worry about that after he’d stormed out of the lawyers’ office screaming at the top of his voice, but what do I know? I think Claire understood the situation better than anyone. She grabbed him by the arm and hustled him away hissing, ‘Come on, dear, we must circulate.’
‘You know I hate parties. I need some air already,’ he complained, but allowed himself to be dragged off.
‘I think I shall circulate too,’ said Simon. ‘There must be someone interesting to talk to here.’ And with that he turned on his heel and walked away.
Catherine looked after him. ‘Miserable little fucker.’
I couldn’t have agreed with her more and said so. She pulled a funny face.
By that time the guests were coming in thick and fast. I left Catherine to talk to them, captured a bottle of Brut and took up position by the wet bar in the conservatory where I could keep an eye on Catherine and give the people the once-over as they entered and spoke to her. They ran the spectrum of London society. There were Two-Toners for the second time round. Dowagers, dukes, and duchesses. Models, models’ boy friends and models’ girl friends. Session men, AIDS victims and those you knew were just waiting to be. Minor pop stars, equerries and barrow boys. Space cadets of every ethnic minority and funny farm rejects of all sorts. Catherine knew everyone and everyone wanted to know her.
Elizabeth showed at around ten. She looked gorgeous in a dress of dark red velvet that seemed to add a tint to her auburn hair. Her lips were carmine and stood out against the paleness of her face. She made a beeline for me.
‘Enjoying yourself?’ she asked.
‘Now that you’re here.’
‘You’re being gallant again, Mr Sharman. I bet you’re the scourge of the over-twenty-fives’ disco in Peckham Rye.’ She was calling me Mr Sharman again. Bad sign.
‘Are you taking the mickey?’
‘Only a bit. Don’t be angry – I’m not used to compliments.’
; ‘That surprises me.’
‘Most men are scared to speak to me. I’ve got a reputation as a bit of a bitch.’
‘I’m amazed.’
‘Now who’s taking the mickey?’
I grinned and she grinned back.
‘Are you alone?’ I asked.
‘No, you’re here.’
‘Funny,’ I said. ‘I mean, no escort?’
‘No, no escort, or husband, or boy friend, or significant other, or live-in or, for that matter, live-out lover.’
I held up my hands in mock surrender. ‘Pardon me for asking. I just thought there might be someone.’
‘Why?’
‘Because you said you were dining out with a friend on the night your father died, and I assumed – ’
‘You should never assume, Mr Sharman.’
‘I know, it was just something in the way you told me.’
‘Am I that transparent? Well, yes, I was, but it was no one important. Not now.’
‘Forgive me for asking then.’
‘It’s you who should forgive me, I get a bit touchy.’
‘Touch away.’
‘No smut, Mr Sharman, not when you’re working.’
‘And when I’m not?’
‘We’ll see.’
I grinned again and snagged a glass from behind the bar and poured her a drink. ‘Tell me about some of these people,’ I said. ‘They’re all a bit rich for my blood. Too William Hickey, if you know what I mean.’
‘I do. What do you want to know?’
‘Who’s who.’
‘There’s a copy in the library.’
‘I’ll get to the book later. For now, just run a few down for me.’
‘All right. Where shall I start?’
‘Anywhere. Have another drink and let me into a few secrets.’
She held up her glass and I topped it up with champagne.
‘I’m afraid they’re not very interesting, unless you like sleaziness.’
‘I do,’ I replied.
‘Okay, do you see him over there?’ She pointed to a stout, red-faced party in evening dress who was looking down the cleavage of a young woman so intently that he was in danger of spilling his drink. ‘That’s Sir Stafford Fontaine. He’s on the board at Pike’s. He likes young girls and old Scotch, not necessarily in that order.’ The stout man dragged his eyes away from all that young flesh and, noticing Elizabeth’s interest, raised his glass in salute. Elizabeth toasted him back. ‘He tried to get my knickers off when I was thirteen. I’m much too old for him now and he’s lost interest.’
