by David Nobbs
He didn’t. There was a laugh at Antony Sorrel Thompson. Bradley suddenly gained in confidence. Sweet Basil went down surprisingly well. They cut to Henry for a reaction shot in close-up, as he had known they would. He hoped that his laughter looked unforced. Bradley was off now on a tour of herbs. He mentioned a war-time film called ‘Dill Met By Moonlight’, and the great herb classic ‘Tarragone with the Wind’ and the well-known musical ‘Rose-Mary Poppins’. Oh do stop, Bradley. Don’t overdo it. Have sense.
He did stop.
‘That was really very good, Bradley,’ admitted Dennis Danvers. ‘Henry, we all know what good friends you and Bradley are. Can you top that?’
‘We are good friends, yes,’ said Henry. ‘We weren’t once, but now we are. Now my fictional chef …’
His mind went blank. He suddenly realised with a shock that he hadn’t seen Nicky and he hadn’t even expected to see her and he hadn’t even given her a thought and he couldn’t care less about her. ‘Er … what did you ask me?’
There was a ripple of uneasy laughter. The audience didn’t know whether he was fooling or whether he really had lost the plot.
‘Your fictional chef, Henry. Do try not to go to sleep.’ Dennis Danvers felt that it was safe now to venture a little light mockery. The People’s Chef was no longer untouchable.
Henry dredged up a thought that he had abandoned on the grounds that the studio audience wouldn’t know what he was talking about. Well, it would do. It would have to.
‘It’s not generally known that Rick Stein’s mother Gertrude was a literary figure in the Paris of Hemingway and Scott Fitzgerald,’ he said, not caring whether the audience had heard of Gertrude Stein or not. ‘She gave him sound advice about fish. “Rick, my boy,” she said. “A bream is a bream is a bream. Never forget that.” “Brill,” he said. “That’s brill, mum.” “No, bream, you silly boy,” she said,’ said Henry.
He got a lower mark than Bradley for the very first time, and he was glad.
There was no point in trying to fight his desire for Sally Atkinson. He would give in to it gloriously. Oh God. Supposing she hadn’t meant anything by her remarks earlier. Supposing something got in the way yet again. Supposing they were doomed never to consummate their … their what?
‘Henry!’
Dennis Danvers’s voice came from a very long way away.
‘Sorry. What?’
Again there was a smattering of laughter. Again it was uneasy.
‘I asked you a question.’
‘So sorry, Denzil. I was miles away.’
‘Dennis. It’s Dennis.’
‘Absolutely. Of course it is, Denzil. What was the question again?’
‘Which country is associated with the dish called “red curry”?’
Red. Ah! Reds under the beds. Sally in the beds. Stop it.
‘Russia.’
He didn’t know how he got through the rest of the programme. He felt sick inside.
He was amazed that his legs took him all the way to the Green Room, where he had to sit down.
Sally hurried over to him. His prick leapt.
‘Are you all right?’ she asked anxiously.
‘Fabulous.’
She was holding a glass of red wine, and her hand was shaking.
‘Are you coming to my hotel with me?’
‘If I may.’
‘If you may! Oh yes, you may, Henry.’
Oh, the relief. It swept over him and took all the strength from his body. He knew that if he stood up his legs would collapse. Besides, if he stood up his erection would be obvious to everyone in the room.
Bradley Tompkins came over and sat beside him.
‘Are you all right?’
‘Never better. Fabulous.’
He could see Bradley looking at his crotch. Was his erection obvious even when he was sitting down? He saw Bradley look round towards Sally. A half smile stole across Bradley’s face.
‘Thank you,’ he said.
‘What for?’
‘Antony Sorrel Thompson.’
‘It went quite well, didn’t it?’
‘For me, very well.’
Henry lowered his voice.
‘I wasn’t going to say this, Bradley, but we haven’t seen Mrs Scatchard recently.’
‘I’ve tried to ditch the old girl.’
‘Really?’
‘She didn’t seem necessary any more.’
‘Good. That’s good.’
‘But I can’t ditch her, Henry. She’s my twin, for God’s sake. I’ve given her life. I can’t take it away again. Besides, there’s Jackie.’
‘Jackie?’
‘From Bicester.’
‘Ah. Of course. Your tongue twister from Bicester.’
‘Well, I must get home,’ said Bradley, to Henry’s great relief. He didn’t want Bradley to see him leaving with Sally. He wasn’t utterly sure, yet, if he could trust Bradley completely.
‘Well,’ he said, as Bradley stood up. ‘See you in the Coach and Horses some time.’
‘Terrific.’
In the taxi he put his hand up her skirt, and inside her knickers. She contented herself with kissing his ear.
Her hotel room was pleasant if impersonal. The bed was large.
They undressed quickly, urgently, silently. He gasped at her beauty, which seemed to him at that moment to be untouched by age.
‘Henry!’ she said with admiring surprise at the size of his erection. He bent down and kissed her on the knee, then ran his tongue up the inside of her long, soft, elegant, pale, slender legs. He was on fire. He began to shake. She was shaking too.
His shaking grew worse. He gasped.
He kissed the tops of her legs, at the very edge of her pubic hair. Then he stood up, gasping.
His erection slowly subsided as if demolished by Fred Dibnah.
‘Sally!’ he said. ‘I’m awfully sorry. This isn’t going to work.’
‘You’ve not lost your bottle!’
‘No!’ he almost shouted. ‘No. I’ve found it.’
‘What?’
‘Oh Sally, Sally, I’m so sorry, I should never … I must go. I … this is … Oh dear. Oh Lord. Oh Sally!’
‘It’s the lovely Hilary, isn’t it?’ said Sally drily.
‘Yes. No. Well, yes, but … no. But you understand, don’t you?’
‘Oh God! Yes. Yes. Damn it, sod it, fuck it, I understand.’
She tried to smile. He began to get dressed. She sat on the bed. She looked wonderful.
‘I would have gone back to her anyway, afterwards, so it’s better this way. Isn’t it?’
‘From my perspective, darling, that is a very moot point.’
It wrung his insides when she said, ‘Darling’.
‘I’m not being noble or anything,’ he said. ‘If I was, I wouldn’t have started. I’m being selfish. I know that what I gained from this would be so much less than what I lost. An hour of pleasure …’
‘As long as that?’
‘… a lifetime of regret. Oh, Sally, if I wasn’t married, if I’d never met Hilary …’
‘Please! Go!’
‘No, but … yes. Yes.’
‘No! Don’t kiss me. Go. Not another bloody word. Please.’
‘Right. Yes. Not another word. Sorry.’
‘Especially that bloody word.’
He didn’t think it could be so far from a bed to a door. It felt like a scene in a dream, when you run and run and get no nearer your destination.
‘Henry?’
‘What?’
‘Your shirt’s caught in your zip. It’s the right way to remember you, but … I thought I ought to tell you.’
‘Thank you. Thank you, Sally.’
‘One more?’ asked Nigel Clinton, in the bleak, over-lit bar of their hotel.
‘I shouldn’t,’ said Hilary.
‘Just one more. You deserve it. You were brilliant tonight.’
‘Was I? I thought it was a bit heavy.’
&nb
sp; ‘They wanted heavy. They loved it.’
‘It wasn’t full.’
‘It was almost full.’
‘It would have been full for Henry.’
‘I hoped we could forget Henry tonight, Hilary.’
Their eyes met briefly.
The Hungarian waitress approached their table, smiling. She had been eating out of their hands since they’d praised Lake Balaton.
‘Same again, please,’ said Nigel Clinton.
He went into the house, checked his answerphone, checked his emails. Nothing from Hilary. Why should there be? He felt a quite astonishing stab of disappointment, though.
He loved her. How he loved her. Why had he not told her recently how much he loved her?
He’d make up for it tonight.
He locked up, and settled himself into the Lamborghini. It wouldn’t take long to get to Cheltenham. There wouldn’t be much on the roads tonight.
‘I’ve loved you since the first time we met. I’ve loved your body, your lips, your eyes, your talent, every spare elegant word you’ve ever written has excited me.’
‘Thank you, Nigel.’
He put his hand on her knee.
‘I would say, quite sincerely, that I am a happily married man,’ he said, ‘yet there hasn’t been one day, not one single day, when I haven’t thought of you.’
‘I don’t like hearing that,’ she said. ‘I don’t like it one little bit.’
‘I know you don’t love me.’
‘I wouldn’t go as far as that, Nigel.’
‘What?’
‘I never thought of anybody but Henry. It just didn’t occur to me that I could fancy any other man. I knew you were dashing and good-looking. It didn’t mean a thing.’
‘And now I’m bald and I don’t dash. What chance have I got?’
He smiled.
‘A pretty good chance, actually, Nigel.’
His smile froze. He was astonished.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Dear dear Nigel. Sadly, I don’t think it would matter much to Henry any more. He need never know, but, do you know, even if he ever did know, I don’t think his pain would be remotely as great as your joy. Not now, sadly. Love you? Oh yes. It’s a love born out of a lifetime working together. It may not be a love that’s enough for a lifetime, Nigel, but it’s enough for one night if you really want it.’
She stroked his leg very gently.
The Croatian waitress approached them, smiling. She had been eating out of their hands since they’d praised Dubrovnik.
‘Same again?’
‘No, thank you,’ said Nigel. ‘I rather think we may be going to bed.’
He was driving too fast. Over ninety. He’d had a few glasses, but he wouldn’t be over the limit, not with the amount of time that had elapsed. Besides, he drove better when he’d had a few drinks.
He roared down the dip at High Wycombe, soared up the other side, overtaking everything. There wasn’t a great deal on the road. It was well past midnight.
Exultation drove him on. He had been mad to even think of going to bed with Sally. Hilary was wonderful. To lose her again would be dreadfully careless. He shouted it in his Noël Coward voice. ‘To lose her again would be dreadfully careless.’ He wound down the window and shouted it to the dark beech woods. ‘To lose her again would be dreadfully careless,’ he shouted, loud enough to shock owls and awaken red kites. He laughed. How mad he had been. How much he loved her.
He wouldn’t do the European chef’s tour, even if they begged him.
‘I am sorry to say that during the interminable delay while you made up your little minds I have decided not to do it.’
He wound the window down again.
‘That’ll teach them,’ he shouted.
The white van was in the middle of the road, and swerving from side to side.
He unbuttoned her trousers and pulled them off gently, then rolled her tights down. He kissed her thigh and gasped. His pleasure hurt.
She ran her hand over his genitals.
‘I’m afraid there’s not much there at the moment,’ he said. ‘I’m so terribly nervous, Hilary.’
‘Oh don’t be, Nigel. It isn’t an exam,’ she said, ‘and there’s plenty of time. I’m not going anywhere.’
He braked hard, almost lost control, tried to overtake on the inside of the van. There wasn’t room. He was on the hard shoulder, his off-side wheels were on the grass, the car was spinning, he turned the wheel desperately. He heard the crunch of metal, the scream of tyres, the agonised cry of the driver. He heard the alarms of the ambulance and the police cars. He saw, in his mind, Hilary’s stricken face.
At that moment her face was not stricken. It was smiling with gentle love.
‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘Relax. Enjoy this moment, dear, darling Nigel.’
She kissed his lips, gently, lovingly, reassuringly.
He realised that he was still on the road, driving in the right direction, on his own. He looked in his rear-view mirror. The van was there, unharmed. It wasn’t just Hilary’s stricken face that had been in his mind. All the noises had been in his imagination in that moment of terror.
He longed to pull over on to the hard shoulder and stop, but he didn’t dare. The van driver might be awkward about his speed.
He drove on, towards Oxford, towards Witney, towards Cheltenham, towards Hilary.
They lay side by side, fondling each other gently. He felt her stiffen.
‘You’ve stiffened,’ he said. ‘I should have stiffened, but you have.’
‘You were just beginning to,’ she said.
‘Yes. Yes, I was.’
‘Oh, Nigel. Nigel …?’
‘I know what you’re going to say. Don’t say it. Allow me the dignity of saying it myself.’
‘Of saying what?’
‘Of saying what you were going to say. “Oh, Nigel. This is all wrong. I shouldn’t be here in your bed. I still love him. I always have loved him. I always will love him.” ’
‘Oh, Nigel.’
She stepped out of his bed. They both sighed.
Past Burford, on on on. Hilary, here I come. ‘Hilary, darling, I don’t give a damn about fame and fortune and fast cars any more. I don’t care about being loved by the whole world. I only want to be loved by you. I always did, that’s the stupid thing. I always did. We’ll sell Clapham and all the Cafés and live at The Manor House and I will retire and you will write and we will make love and have Mrs Scatchard and her bisexual bicycle repairer from Bicester to dinner.’
She couldn’t get to sleep. She so wished Henry was there.
‘Henry, darling, I think you should take the European job if it comes up. I’ll come with you and write in the hotels. I can write anywhere. We’ll sell The Manor House and just live happily on Clapham Common and travelling around Europe while you do your book. I never much liked the village anyway, and I certainly don’t like the thought of being so near to the eerie Mrs Scatchard. Henry, darling, I’ll be a proper wife to you from now on.’
*
In the event, perhaps luckily, neither of them said anything much. They just stood hugging each other, and then they both had something warm and lovely, and it wasn’t cocoa.
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