Clouds among the Stars

by Clayton, Victoria

  The imp of anxiety that had taken up tenancy in my stomach chewed away. When I wasn’t worrying about Portia being permanently affected, physically and mentally, by her appalling experience, I worried about Pa. Luckily the nuns at St Frideswide’s had made us learn large tracts of poetry by heart. By the time I had got through a good chunk of Goblin Market, I felt exhausted and numb. I fetched blankets from the linen cupboard and made myself comfortable. Gradually the night wore away and I dozed, off and on. Towards dawn, when she seemed to be sleeping more peacefully, I crept upstairs to my own bed. I thought Portia might not like to find me beside her when she woke, a reminder of the terrors of darkness.

  NINE

  ‘That’s a new photographer, isn’t it?’ said Cordelia, three days later, lifting swollen eyelids to look into the street. She was sitting cross-legged on the window seat in the drawing room, with a box of paper handkerchiefs at her elbow, reading her favourite bit in Little Women where Beth March almost dies of scarlet fever. She had Good Wives beside her with a marker at the page where Beth finally joins the choir invisible.

  Idly I strolled over to have a look. We were all extremely bored with our lives. It was difficult to be purposeful with a cohort of reporters dogging our steps and quite impossible to think expansively, confronted as we were at every turn by insuperable problems. Cordelia and I had been to the cinema the evening before to see Robert Mitchum in The Big Sleep but it had been hard to lose ourselves in the story while the press chortled at the seduction scenes, rustled bags of Butterkist and blew so much cigarette smoke over us that our hair and clothes reeked like the snug at The Green Dragon.

  Bron was the only one of us who did not mind having his photograph taken whenever he bought a bar of soap or went to collect his dry-cleaning. But, to his annoyance, photographs of him never appeared in the newspapers. Not a word of the interview he had given had been printed. We no longer merited headlines. Instead, articles about our clothes and our hairstyles and whether we were looking pale and haunted (Bron) or aristocratic and forlorn (Ophelia) or sparky and irrepressible (Cordelia) appeared in the society gossip columns, a whispering that continued to fan the flames of notoriety. According to the Clarion, Ophelia was suing Crispin for breach of promise and Bron was out on bail, paid by a female member of the royal family whose playmate he had been until scandal touched him.

  Because she had not set foot outside the house since her return from Surrey three days ago, the wildest conjectures were made about Portia. The Clarion revealed that she had signed a lucrative contract to star en travestie as Mozart in a new play called Amadeus. The People’s Exclusive had it from a reliable source that she had been the mistress, successively, of Prince Rainier, Lord Snowdon and Ziggy Stardust. The Herald insisted that she was due to fly out to join Lord Lucan, who had taken refuge in a Nazi colony in Tierra del Fuego.

  Probably it was my lack of resemblance to my brother and sisters that fuelled the rumours circulated by The Daily Examiner that I was the lovechild of my father and Maria Callas. I have to admit that I was pleased to be described as svelte and enigmatic.

  Portia joined us at the window. Her bruises were beginning to turn yellow and the swellings to go down, but the broken tooth was startlingly incongruous with her beautiful face. She had not been able to bring herself to confront the outside world in order to visit the dentist. Her sleep had been so troubled by nightmares that she had moved to a camp bed in my room. She refused to say a word more about her experiences and had made me promise not to tell the others. She insisted she was nearly over it but I was worried about her. She glanced indifferently in the direction of Cordelia’s pointing finger and then ducked down beneath the sill.

  ‘It’s one of Dimitri’s bodyguards!’ She clutched my ankle. ‘Not Chico, the other one! I think his name was Dex.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ The man, who was leaning against the lamppost, rolling a cigarette, looked quite ordinary. ‘I can’t see, Cordelia, if you’re going to put your head there.’

  ‘Would I say so if I weren’t sure? You think I’m having hallucinations? Or going mad, perhaps?’ Portia was extremely snappy these days, which was unlike her. ‘He’s got a birthmark on his cheek. I can hardly make a mistake about that, I suppose.’

  ‘Some people think it’s rude to push,’ said Cordelia bitingly.

  ‘Well, I can’t see one.’ I was studying the man’s profile as he fiddled about with a box of matches. ‘He’s so undistinguished, I bet thousands of people look just like –’ I broke off as the man turned his head to stare up at the house and I saw a dark red mark running from temple to chin. ‘Oh. Oh dear. It’s Dex, all right. But what can he want?’

  ‘I expect he wants Maria-Alba’s recipe for minestrone. Honestly, Harriet, you seem to be particularly stupid at the moment. Of course he’s looking for me.’

  ‘Poor man! I think it’s very sad,’ said Cordelia. ‘Imagine having people stare at you all the time. There’s a girl at school –’ Cordelia stopped speaking and begun to hum.

  I was well aware that Cordelia had been deliberately avoiding all mention of school because she was afraid someone would insist on her going back.

  I stared down at Portia. ‘Why?’ Portia had turned round so she could sit on the floor, out of sight. She shrugged her shoulders and spread her hands wide in a gesture of bafflement. ‘I know you don’t want to talk about it,’ I went on, ‘but I’ve been wondering – how did you meet Dimitri?’

  ‘Bron introduced us. He suggested we went down to The Green Dragon for a drink. He pointed Dimitri out the minute we got in there and said he was incredibly rich.’ Portia went faintly pink. ‘I thought at the time it was something of a set-up. Bron shuffled off the minute Dimitri started talking to me.’

  I was silent for a moment. An unpleasant idea had at once presented itself. This might be the explanation for Bron’s new-found riches. No doubt selling one’s sister was a time-honoured method of raising the wind in many parts of the world but I was incensed with my own brother for doing it. ‘The low-down louse!’ I said aloud.

  ‘That’s putting it mildly, I think.’ Portia thought I was referring to Dimitri and I didn’t bother to enlighten her. ‘What’s Dex doing now?’

  ‘He’s talking to one of the reporters.’ Cordelia kneeled on the window seat to get a better view. ‘He’s looking very bad-tempered. I expect it’s his birthmark that makes him grumpy. If he was a girl he could wear his hair across his face like Veronica Lake in I Married a Witch. You remember, the one which starts off with a thunderstorm and the lightning strikes the tree Veronica Lake’s buried under. She and her father, who’s also a witch – or would that be a wizard? – were burnt by the Puritans two hundred years ago and the two witches come out as puffs of smoke –’

  ‘Oh, mercy!’ cried Portia. ‘Just tell me what’s happening, will you?’

  ‘He’s shaking his head. He’s looking at the house – he’s looking at me!’ Cordelia pulled her hair half across her face and began to pout. ‘Golly, he’s really staring at me. I wonder if I remind him of Veronica Lake? I love the bit when they’re going to be married and the woman keeps singing, “I love you truly” and he says, “Oh, shut up!”’ Cordelia began to giggle helplessly.

  ‘If you don’t want to be tied to a railway track and have your Veronica Lake locks cut off by the wheels of a passing express, you’d better shut up yourself.’ Portia put up her hand and got hold of Cordelia’s skirt. ‘Move over and let Harriet see.’

  ‘Don’t pull! He’s getting out a little book and writing something in it. Now he’s tearing out a page. He’s walking up the path – he’s coming up the steps!’ We heard the flap of the letter box clang and Dirk, who had been sleeping off his breakfast on the sofa, went from nought to sixty in one point eight seconds and was at the door attempting to remove the paint from the panels with his front paws. ‘I’ll get it. You beast, Portia, you’ve torn my skirt. I hope it’s a love letter. Or a poem. I shan’t mind about the birthmark. I wish he wa
s a bit more swave, though.’

  She ran off, ignoring Portia’s unkind laughter. She returned, frowning over the note. Written in crooked capitals, bunched together like a cipher was the legend, ‘GIVEUSTHECLOBERANDWELLEVEYOUALONE OTHERWIZYOULBESORYYOUWAZBORN.’

  Cordelia looked disappointed. ‘It’s not a very good letter. I expect he was an orphan and was made to work in a blacking factory instead of going to sch – O-ho, a-ha … What’s a clober?’

  We puzzled briefly over this until the general absence of double consonants suggested ‘clobber’. Bron came in at that moment, wearing only a towelling robe. His hair was wet and sleeked back from his noble brow. He looked every inch a splendid specimen of modern manhood.

  ‘Hello, Portia. Your face is turning quite a fetching shade of gold, like Tutankhamun’s mask. But whatever you do, don’t grin. That tooth really spoils the effect.’

  Now I thought about it, I realised that Portia had not smiled once since her return. Bron wandered to the window, pointedly ignoring me, but I was too angry with him to be hurt.

  ‘Cordelia,’ he went on, ‘be a good girl and ask Maria-Alba to make me a chicken sandwich. I’ve got a date with a girl whose father owns a merchant bank. Just the thought of all that tin is making me hungry. Hello, what’s that bloke doing out there?’ He stabbed a finger at the pane. ‘Geezer who sold me the coat. Fellow with the birthmark. I paid the first instalment in cash so there can’t be anything wrong about it. He’s lowering the superior tone set by the gentlemen of the press. I’ll tell him to go away.’

  ‘No, don’t do that,’ we girls cried in unison as Bron made to throw up the sash.

  ‘It must be Bron’s coat he’s after,’ cried Cordelia. ‘I’ll run and fetch it, shall I?’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ Bron took hold of Cordelia’s arm. ‘Keep your mitts off my gear.’

  ‘But Dex wants it. He’s going to make us sorry we were born if we don’t give it to him,’ Cordelia explained. ‘You’re pulling my jersey.’

  ‘One step further and I’ll pull your head off. You don’t mean to say that you’re actually considering handing that ape my beautiful new coat?’

  ‘Read this.’ Portia gave him the note.

  Bron turned it sideways and upside down before finally interpreting the crude capitals. ‘Go and get it,’ he instructed Cordelia. ‘Chop, chop!’

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ said Portia, crawling across the floor towards the door. ‘I’m getting tired of this ventre à terre existence.’

  Bron watched Portia’s progress with an air of puzzlement. ‘What’s the matter with her?’ he asked me, forgetting that I was in Coventry. Dirk was so enchanted to find a human face at his own level that he followed Portia into the hall, pawing at her bottom and barking loudly into her ear.

  ‘Thanks to you, pretty well everything.’ I regretted breaking my promise to Portia but I was so furious with Bron that I found it impossible to keep silent any longer. ‘How much money did that brute Dimitri give you for an introduction to Portia? You ought to be ashamed, Bron! Selling your own sister to a gangster! She might have been killed! As it is, she may never get over what he did to her. How could you?’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about!’ Bron put on his injured expression, to which I was only too well accustomed.

  ‘Where did you get that money I’ve seen you flashing about recently? Dimitri gave it to you, didn’t he? Portia told me you set the whole thing up. He raped her several times at gunpoint and kept her prisoner in his house. She had to let some other thug make love to her in order to get away. That man you got the coat from is one of Dimitri’s gang. You absolute bastard, Bron!’ I was shouting now. All the anxiety I had been feeling on Portia’s behalf poured out as uncontrolled anger and Bron, for once, looked abashed.

  ‘Is it true? You’re not having me on?’ Seeing my face he went on, ‘All right! No need to scream at me! Naturally, I had no idea he was going to do that. I just thought there’d be something in it for Portia. You must admit she’s never been exactly fussy about who she takes into her bed. Dimitri said he’d seen Portia several times in The Green Dragon and was crazy to meet her. It seemed harmless enough. Of course I’m sorry if he hurt her. But I didn’t take a penny from him, I swear.’

  ‘Where did you get that money then? I don’t believe you. I know what a liar you are!’

  ‘I don’t see why I should keep you informed of my pecuniary dealings.’

  ‘I’m going to the police. I ought to have done it days ago.’ I was halfway to the door when he called me back.

  ‘All right, Goody Two-shoes. But you won’t like it. I got the money from Derek’s last owner. He was mad keen to find him a good home. He said if I’d take the dog he’d give me a hundred pounds. Apparently his wife was kicking up hell because Derek barked all night and stopped the baby sleeping and she told him not to come home until he’d got rid of him. The poor bloke was desperate. He said he couldn’t reconcile it with his conscience to abandon Derek in the streets because he’d grown fond of him. But the missus was threatening divorce. Well, it seemed to me we’d all benefit. He’d be restored to domestic bliss, you’d have the dog you’ve always wanted and I’d have a hundred pounds. What are you doing? Don’t mess up my hair! I’ve just combed it the way I want it to dry. Look, Harriet, remember men don’t like girls who throw themselves at their heads.’

  ‘I’m just so thankful!’ I was halfway between laughing and crying. ‘I couldn’t bear the thought of you being a – procurer.’

  ‘Pimp is the mot juste, I fancy.’ Bron waggled a finger at me. ‘Let that be a lesson to you, Harriet, not to jump to conclusions. You’ve got a nasty censorious nature. Were you really going to tell Plod all my evil doings?’

  I shook my head. ‘Not really. I wanted you to tell me the truth. Dear Bron, let’s make it up. I’m sick of quarrelling. I’ll forgive you if you’ll forgive me?’

  ‘What are you forgiving me for, exactly –’ Bron broke off as something dark and voluminous dropped past the window. He pushed up the sash and put out his head. ‘There goes my wonderful coat. Straight into a dustbin.’

  We heard Cordelia’s voice from the upstairs window, yelling, ‘It’s yours. Take it and go away! If you wouldn’t mind!’ she added as an afterthought.

  ‘What a shame. I’m so sorry. But if you bought it from Dex, it was probably stolen.’

  ‘So? I didn’t steal it. Damn it, look at those reporters!’

  The press were jostling each other to get down the area steps. There was an ugly scene as they fought for possession of the coat. Instead of joining the scrum Dex was back at the lamppost, rolling another cigarette.

  ‘I don’t get it. Why isn’t Dex interested?’

  ‘Presumably, though you girls were so eager to fling my raiment to the wolves, it is not the clobber referred to in the note.’

  ‘But what …?’ Light dawned. ‘It must be Chico’s clothes he’s after.’

  ‘Where are they?’

  ‘I gave them to Maria-Alba to give to Loveday to burn in his incinerator.’

  ‘You muff!’ Portia was standing in the doorway, her expression alarmed. ‘You absolute fathead!’

  ‘I’m sorry. I just hated having the nasty smelly things around reminding – me.’

  ‘Let it be a lesson to you to stop bloody tidying up! Now we’re going to be made sorry we were born and I can tell you, in my case, it won’t take much.’ Portia put her head in her hands.

  ‘That does it! I’m ringing Inspector Foy.’ I went into the hall and picked up the receiver. It seemed like weeks until I was finally put through.

  ‘Hello, Harriet. How are you getting along?’ I felt comforted at once by the jolly uncle manner. I launched immediately into the tale. ‘What was there about the garments in question to justify a threat like that?’ he asked when I had told him everything I knew. All the avuncular cheer had gone out of his voice.

  ‘I don’t know. Nothing as far as I could s
ee. The jacket was leather but it was worn and the collar was filthy. And the jeans were just ordinary.’

  The inspector made his characteristic pom-pomming noise. Then he said, ‘Stay indoors and don’t let anyone in. I’ll be an hour at the most.’

  He was as good as his word. I happened to be standing at the window as his car drew up. Though it was his usual plain black, unmarked saloon, Dex took one look at it and melted into the ether.

  ‘Now, Miss Byng.’ The inspector looked at Portia. ‘You’d have done yourself and us a favour if you’d come along straight away and told us all about it. We’d have had some evidence then.’

  ‘If you mean presenting myself knickerless on a table to be groped by a sadistic doctor in full view of a bevy of sniggering female police officers so that you can earn another pip, thank you, but no.’ Portia gave him a glare of defiance. ‘Nothing would persuade me.’

  ‘Well, I can understand that.’ Inspector Foy sat down, got out his pipe and lifted an eyebrow at me. I nodded. ‘I’ve always thought the victim of a rape gets a thoroughly raw deal. Not just the physical examination, though that’s bad enough, but all the questioning afterwards. Her past life raked up, counter-accusations from the defence, public humiliation – no, things are stacked against the victim from the start. And, naturally, when you’ve been through an ordeal like that, the last thing you want to do is talk about it with a lot of strangers who are bent on trying to prove you wrong. I agree, you’ve suffered enough already.’ Portia’s stern gaze softened fractionally. ‘If you’ll co-operate with me I’ll see your privacy’s protected. But I’d like you to help me put the culprit away.’ Portia looked noncommittal. ‘Do you recognise any of these men?’

  He handed her a portfolio of photographs. She began to go through them. ‘No, no, no,’ sigh ‘no, no – wait a minute. My God! I think it’s him! I can’t be sure. I never saw him without sunglasses.’ Inspector Foy took out a pen and scribbled black circles over the eyes, then handed the photograph back. ‘It’s him. That’s Dimitri.’ Her eyes filled with tears and her mouth trembled but she continued to fix the inspector with a mutinous look that made me feel tremendously protective of her.