by Guy Adams
‘We’re just heading out.’
‘Does Gerry know? I think I saw him sitting in the kitchens.’
‘I want to drive – you know I like to drive.’
Patience knew better than to argue, even though he was speaking far too quickly, not acting natural at all.
‘Get me the keys, would you?’ he asked, trying to decide which car had the biggest trunk. ‘The Daimler. I just need to grab something from upstairs.’
‘Of course, sir. Might I ask …?’
‘What?’
‘Is the maid with you? Only madam did say …’
‘Yes, she is. Madness, I know, but you don’t argue with Elizabeth.’
Patience felt it safer not to comment on that. ‘I’ll just get the keys.’
Nayland suddenly panicked. ‘Meet me back here, yes?’
Patience gave him a brief look of concern but nodded and walked off towards the kitchens.
Nayland needed to calm down before he aroused any more suspicion. He could probably pass it off as frustration at Elizabeth, anger at her stupid idea to take the maid out. Patience would probably believe that. However much Elizabeth seemed to think that the housekeeper would do as she was told, Nayland knew there was a puritan heart beating away in the woman somewhere. He had no doubt that she wouldn’t cover for them if she suspected murder. Some things were beyond her duty.
He ran up the stairs and into Elizabeth’s bathroom, wanting to check for any signs of what they had done.
They. It suddenly hit him that, as always, he had made himself part of Elizabeth’s business. Something that should have been hers to bear alone was now a weight on his shoulders too.
He grabbed a towel and rubbed at the bath. Elizabeth had done a fair job of cleaning but their wrestling with the corpse had left traces of its own. He ran the towel over the floor, mopping up a couple of blood spills, and then wrapped it up into a tight bundle.
Going back into the dressing room, Nayland grabbed a small holdall, shoved the towel into it and then ran his hands through Elizabeth’s clothes until he found what he was after: another red dress, different of course from the other one but close enough. He bundled that into the bag too and ran to his room to fetch another jacket and a tie. He slung the jacket on, folding the tie into his pocket, and ran back downstairs.
‘The keys, sir.’ Patience held them out to Nayland and he grabbed them without replying.
Having second thoughts at the door he turned back to her. ‘Knowing Elizabeth it will be a long night,’ he said. ‘Don’t worry about waiting up – we’ll manage.’
‘Very good, sir.’ Patience showed no sign of being pleased about the early night but Nayland hadn’t expected her to. He’d seen her smile just twice while she’d been working for them, both times under extreme duress.
He tried to look casual as he left the house, pulling the door closed gently behind him before grabbing his bloodstained jacket from the ground, stuffing it into the bag and breaking into a run.
‘What took you so long?’ Elizabeth asked, still waiting in the shadows behind the garage.
‘Trying to cover our tracks,’ he said, handing her the bag and the car keys. ‘The Daimler, that’s the big black one …’
‘I know, I know …’
‘Open the trunk.’
Nayland picked up Georgina’s body and followed on behind Elizabeth, keeping a lookout over his shoulder in case anyone was watching from the house.
Elizabeth fussed with the keys and finally opened the trunk. Nayland dropped the body into it, slamming the metal lid down with relief. It was good not to have to look into those eyes for a while.
‘What’s in the bag?’ Elizabeth asked.
‘A bloodstained towel, my jacket and another red dress.’
‘What do we need another red dress for?’
‘So we can be seen.’
They drove in silence. Elizabeth lost in her own thoughts, Nayland too terrified to intrude on them. He pulled over at a call box once they hit the Boulevard.
‘I want to speak to Marie,’ he said once the call was answered.
‘Who’s speaking?’
‘Someone who knows better than to give his name to a guy he doesn’t know. Just put her on, for Christ’s sake.’
There was a couple of minutes’ pause and then Nayland’s right ear was filled with a French accent that sounded as if it had been fried in tobacco and vodka. ‘Who is it?’ Marie asked.
‘Nayland. I want company for the evening.’
‘But of course you do, darling. Who doesn’t? Anyone in particular?’
‘Is Val free?’
‘For you? Everybody is free, my love. Do you want me to have her drop by?’
‘No, I’ll come to you.’
‘A personal visit? How thrilling. When?’
‘Soon. Maybe half an hour.’
‘Oh sweetness, you’re not giving me much time to make the best of myself.’
‘Like you need it.’
‘God but I love you, darling man. Come quickly so I can kiss you!’
She hung up.
Marie had never been to France in her life, though she had spent one passionate night in Paris, Texas during her distant youth. Even now she looked back fondly on her ‘Lovely Cowboy’ and the hours they had spent in a flophouse by the rail tracks. ‘I came more often than the fast train to Houston,’ she would joke to anyone who would listen.
The accent matched the heavy red and black satin she often wore and she felt it conferred a sense of class on what, in all honesty, was a pretty sordid business. For all its moral grey area, however, there wasn’t a single business in Los Angeles that wouldn’t have killed for Marie’s client list. There were few famous names from either side of the camera lens that hadn’t used her services at some point during their careers. She was terrifyingly expensive and there was nothing the movie industry approved of more than an unwieldy invoice. It spoke of value, exclusivity and discretion.
The business was run out of a small hotel just off Franklin Avenue. It had the look of an old Cajun residence, a slice of Southern decadence in the heart of the city, and was surrounded on all sides by a high wall that kept the inquisitive at bay.
Nayland pulled up further along the street, not wanting to be so brazen as to park right outside the front gates.
Elizabeth pulled on the door handle but Nayland leaned over and shut the door.
‘I’m not sure that’s a good idea.’
‘Why the hell not?’
‘Because of the way you look … Jesus, Elizabeth, people are going to be asking questions.’
‘Then let them. I haven’t done this to hide it, I want people to see. What’s the point otherwise?’
Nayland sighed and nodded. It was obvious she wasn’t going to hide the effect of her bloodletting: as far as she was concerned you didn’t paint a beautiful picture and then hide it in the attic. He would just have to hope that they could weather the inevitable storm of media curiosity that her appearance would cause.
They walked to the front gates and Nayland rang the bell. He looked around, unhappy to be loitering outside what, for all its glamorous reputation, was still a whorehouse.
‘Good evening, sir and madam,’ came a deep voice from between the bars.
There was the creak of old iron and then they were standing inside. The doorman, a towering black man whose muscular body stretched every stitch of his old-fashioned footman’s uniform, looked like a relic from the seventeenth century, Nayland thought. He played the part beautifully, stockinged calves turned out as he bowed and gestured for Nayland and Elizabeth to walk ahead of him up the drive. The front courtyard was filled with the whisper of fountains, shedding cut-glass crystal reflections of the moon into a deep pool that could have contained all manner of creatures beneath its fat lily pads.
‘It’s lovely,’ said Elizabeth, eyeing the servant with unabashed hunger.
‘Indeed, madam,’ he replied, showing no sign of being aware o
f her appreciation. ‘My mistress likes to surround herself with beautiful things.’
‘Indeed she does,’ Elizabeth replied, touching the man gently on his arm.
Nayland couldn’t hide his irritation at her open flirting. Everything he was doing for her and the first chance she got she was fluttering her damned eyelashes at niggers. The woman made his blood boil.
‘Come on,’ he said, tugging her towards the door. ‘Leave the slaves alone.’
‘Slaves?’ Elizabeth laughed and looked towards the doorman. ‘You’ll have to forgive my husband, darling. He’s such a racist pig.’
The doorman smiled and waved the comment away. ‘I am a slave, though not in the way that sir suggests. My mistress makes it quite clear that my body is not my own.’
Elizabeth roared with laughter at that. ‘How wonderful! I love Marie more and more by the moment.’
Nayland bit his tongue as the doorman loomed past him, opening the door for them.
The inside of the house was as decadent as its exterior. Black and white floor tiles, heavy red drapes, dark wood. Everything chosen for its opulence.
‘If you would please follow me through to the right.’ The doorman led the way, pushing a heavy pair of double doors open to reveal a spacious parlour whose colour scheme was every bit as deep and rich as that of the entrance hall.
‘My darlings!’ Marie was reclining on a chaise longue, wrapped in a confection of black lace and red satin, her considerable bulk glistening in the light of countless candles. ‘How fabulous to have you here.’
She got to her feet, gave Nayland a lingering kiss on each cheek and then turned to Elizabeth. The pause was surprisingly brief but no less marked for it. ‘Oh Elizabeth, darling,’ she said, ‘what have you done? I swear you look younger than ever.’ Marie held Elizabeth’s hands. ‘You simply must give me the secret, it’s …’ She turned Elizabeth from side to side, inspecting her from all angles. ‘It’s breathtaking. I hate you with a passion.’ She pulled her close. ‘You have to give me his name, darling, anyone that can achieve what I see before me … I’ve heard how these doctors are getting better every day but I never imagined how good they were.’ She suddenly realised that her appreciation could also be seen as criticism. ‘Not that you weren’t stunning enough to begin with, naturally.’
‘I owe it all to the most fabulous new treatment from India,’ said Elizabeth. ‘I can’t remember the last time I ate a solid meal but it’s worth every sacrificed mouthful.’
‘Oh, I am a slave to the sweet.’ Marie sat back down and gestured for Elizabeth and Nayland to follow suit. ‘I just can’t stop filling my mouth, can I, Robert?’
‘Indeed not, mistress,’ the doorman replied, not acknowledging the double entendre but bowing low towards her. ‘Can I provide anything else?’
Marie looked to Nayland and Elizabeth. ‘We won’t be staying, I’m afraid,’ said Nayland. ‘We have a table booked at Gabrizzi’s.’
‘Oh Lord, I think half of me is made from their peppered escalope,’ said Marie, waving Robert away. ‘The lovely Benito sometimes delivers for me as these days I rarely leave the house.’
‘You must get lonely,’ said Elizabeth.
‘Not a bit of it, nor do I get bored. I have everything and everyone I need within these four walls. In fact, the only time I do leave is to get a little peace and quiet.’
‘Well, I can’t promise that,’ Elizabeth replied, ‘but we’ll be having a party at the end of the month and I would adore it if you could come.’
‘Perhaps bring a few of my friends?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘Oh, I’m sure that would be utterly divine – it’s been years since you last had one of your gatherings. About time that lovely garden of yours was put to good use again, I’m sure it does the bougainvillea no end of good. Mine positively explodes all over the place.’
‘Is Val ready?’ Nayland asked, eager to be moving again, only too aware that they were still driving around with a dead body in the trunk. He wouldn’t relax until that was safely dumped somewhere the coyotes would find it.
‘Such an eager boy,’ Marie smiled at him. ‘If only Elizabeth would let me borrow you for a night – I’d love to see that energy at work.’
‘Help yourself,’ Elizabeth laughed. ‘We’re not restrictive in our marriage, are we, darling?’
Nayland couldn’t think of a polite reply to that. Marie, perhaps sensing his discomfort, filled the silence. ‘She’s ready and waiting,’ she said, standing up and tugging at a heavily tasselled bell rope. ‘Will you be bringing her home or shall I have Robert come and collect her?’
‘We’ll bring her back,’ Nayland assured her.
‘In one piece or not, I leave it up to you. Val’s a resilient little thing.’
The door opened and the girl herself walked in. She was, as Nayland remembered, perfect for his plans. About the same height and build as Georgina (though with considerably better bearing), she would fulfil her role admirably.
‘Oh, she’ll be in one piece, all right,’ Nayland assured Marie. ‘We just want to take her out for the night.’
Back in the car, Nayland pulled the red dress from the bag and handed it to Val on the back seat. She gazed at it somewhat dreamily. He was quite sure she was doped: she certainly moved like a woman whose feet weren’t quite touching the ground.
‘We’d like you to wear this,’ he said.
‘Whatever you like,’ Val said, leaning back against the upholstery and unfastening the black dress she had been wearing. ‘Do you want to watch?’
‘That’s fine,’ he said, though he couldn’t quite manage to keep his gaze from the rear-view mirror as she writhed in the limited space.
‘So,’ he said to his wife, ‘where do you want to go?’
‘Anywhere there will be cameras!’
They spread themselves wide.
First they gatecrashed Gabrizzi’s. Nayland was concerned that neither of them had the reputation to sidestep the reservation list but Elizabeth’s beauty weaved its magic. It was an exercise in nostalgia, watching how easily a pretty face opened doors. Nayland remembered how it had been when they had first broken out in this town, surrounded by eagerness, curiosity, adoration and the flash of cameras. Nothing had been out of their reach, everyone, everywhere wanting to brush up against them in the hope that something would rub off.
Now the city was at it again. This time none of it was for him, it was all about Elizabeth. Of all the emotions he had anticipated feeling as a result of what she had done, jealousy had been the last thing he’d expected. He had to admit it was tempered with a degree of admiration: watching her work the crowds was to witness an astonishing thing. She bounced from one group to another, each shocked by her incredible transformation.
‘It’s all about mung beans,’ she told one. ‘A serum from China,’ she told another. ‘Exercise and meditation,’ yet another.
Everywhere she went the explanation was met with the same responses: a knowing smile, a pretence to have heard of the power of such curatives, a claim to be considering doing just the same.
I live in a city of idiots, Nayland thought, or is it just that we’ve been making up dreams and fantasies for so long that we’ll believe anything? He supposed that was the real answer: the terrible act she had committed to forge her new beauty was no less absurd than any of her excuses. Who could have thought that bathing in the blood of the young would have any effect at all beyond impending insanity and a prison sentence? Ultimately they couldn’t dispute the evidence. Elizabeth looked half her age, and most of them only cared about the how of it so they could do it themselves. In a world of image she was once again the queen.
From Gabrizzi’s they went to the Tip-Top Club, where Elizabeth continued to hold court, moving between the tables as if she owned the place. Nayland sat still, drinking the bar dry while Val watched.
‘You want to go outside?’ she asked him.
‘Just drink your drink,’ he replied,
unable to take his eyes off his wife.
Val shrugged and did as she was told. If he wanted to pay her to get drunk then that was fine by her.
From there they went to the Hot Shoe Lounge and that was where Nayland eventually lost track of Elizabeth altogether. One minute she had been carving up the dance floor, the next she was gone, leaving Nayland stranded in the club with Val on his arm and a dead body in the trunk of his car.
He realised that this didn’t surprise him one bit as he stared into the bottom of his glass and fed on the dregs.
Elizabeth was on fire. She felt like a starving man at a banquet, gorging herself on the adoration and attention that she had missed for so many years.
As she had predicted, the response to her new appearance had been jealousy rather than incredulity. She laughed to see the poisonous looks from her contemporaries (hell, her descendants!) and basked in the hungry stares she got from the men on their arms. You only realise what power is when you’ve been without it. She relished that power.
Perhaps, perversely, that was what first attracted her to Henry.
Not that he wasn’t handsome – he was, aggressively so. He was also immaculate, from the cut of his suit that alternately hugged and hung from him – an extension of his body, not just something that covered it – to the thin moustache that drew a line above his soft yet powerful mouth. He was young (and now so was she) and he didn’t look at her like the other men. Most of the boys in the room had an open hunger on their faces, a desire that was unmistakable. Henry simply looked amused. He was interested, yes, he made eye contact, he laughed at Elizabeth’s jokes, he listened to her talk, but he talked back, he told her about himself, assuming her interest in him. When they danced they moved apart as much as they moved together. He swung his hips with a sexual confidence that she recognised in herself. He knew he was exciting, he knew he was sexy, he knew that she was as lucky to be talking to him as he was to her. Quite simply he was the most attractive man in the room, knew it and worked it. He was her. And if that wasn’t a decent challenge then what was?
Elizabeth kept an eye on Nayland, turning his whiskies sour with the intensity of his disapproving expression. He wanted her for himself, of course he did – hadn’t she encouraged as much in him from the very first day they had met? But she had fought that battle and won; there was simply no pleasure in fighting it again.
