by Nick Thripp
‘Easy, Neil. That’s my ex you’re talking about.’
‘So?’ He looked at me incredulously. ‘What does it matter to you? You dumped her for what’s-her-name.’
‘Well, in a manner of speaking, but—’
‘There you are then. Don’t be so precious.’
‘We may be divorced but I still respect her.’
‘Respect her? That’s why you went off and shagged someone else, is it? How mealy-mouthed. Give me old fashioned male chauvinism any day. It’s much more honest.’
I could see it was an argument I wasn’t going to win. I had to distract him.
‘What do you get up to these days? In your spare time, I mean.’
He emitted a sound somewhere between a sigh and groan.
‘I work, then I work some more and, just occasionally, I go for a drink with some of the lads.’
‘Any love interest?’
Shaking his head, he took a swig of his beer. ‘Only for this stuff.’
My own existence wasn’t very different. I stayed late at the office most evenings and went in at weekends. Sometimes I went for a drink with people at work. Occasionally I played golf or, if I found myself at home, would watch something trashy on television, a large scotch in my hand. My mirror presented me daily with inescapable evidence of middle age: skin creasing into wrinkles, gut expanding and scalp threadbare. The only compensation was a fattening bank balance.
‘There must be more to life than this, Neil.’
‘Must there? I know lots of folk for whom there’s a lot less. On the other hand, there are loads of supposedly honest so-called pillars of the establishment who are creaming it at our expense in ways most people can’t begin to imagine. I console myself that at least I’m doing my bit to bring some of those smug bastards to justice.’
Chapter 24
A Party at John’s, 1996
While I’d attended business dinners at Beart’s Belgravia mansion many times, I had never before received a gold embossed cocktail party invitation. My first inclination was to decline. However, something, I couldn’t say exactly what, intrigued me.
Arriving late, I heard the loud thrum of voices inside as I pushed my way through a group of smokers clustering on the front steps. A waitress showed me in and I was confronted by a room heaving with people shouting and gesticulating. They didn’t look like City types. Some wore earrings and nose studs, others displayed tattoos. I was the only person wearing a suit and tie. John parted the crowd to greet me.
‘You must come and meet Isaac. He’s made the most fantastic film about Sonny Liston. It’s going to be a box office sensation.’ He led me in the direction of a small, balding man sporting a glittering gold earring on one of his fleshy earlobes.
Isaac’s eyes glazed over as soon as we were introduced. He was much more interested in a very tall woman with bright red lipstick and a tight black miniskirt called Elsa, and I found myself pushed to the fringes of their conversation. Rather than find someone else to talk to, I clung on, interposing the odd question.
‘I see you’ve met Isaac.’ Rachel had approached from behind and took me gently by the elbow. ‘He’s such a darling, isn’t he?’ She pecked me on the cheek. Seizing the opportunity provided by this diversion to exclude me altogether, Isaac closed on the woman with red lipstick. Summing up the situation in a single glance, Rachel said, ‘Let me introduce you to Alison and Mark.’
Alison and Mark had reason to be more welcoming; there’s nothing more dispiriting for a married couple than to go to a party and end up talking to each other. Rachel drifted off.
‘How do you know John?’ I asked.
‘We’ve only met him through Rachel,’ Mark replied. ‘I’m Rachel’s personal fitness coach and Alison is her herbalist.’
‘It’s great they’ve got together, isn’t it?’ Alison said.
I was finding it difficult making out what people were saying against the background noise.
‘Who’ve got together?’ I asked, craning my neck.
‘Why, Rachel and John. They’re an item now. Didn’t you know?’
My legs wobbled and I reached for the wall to steady myself. I pulled out a tissue and blew my nose, hoping it would clear my head.
‘How do you know them?’ Mark asked. Now I knew he was a fitness coach, I could see the definition of his muscles under his tight shirt.
‘I’m Rachel’s ex-husband,’ I said in as flat a voice as I could manage. What I’d heard was only sinking in gradually. It made no sense. How could Rachel take up with Beart? I looked around the room and chanced to catch Rachel walking past him. He placed a proprietary hand on her waist and pulled her towards him for a fleeting kiss. The noise faded, I could no longer hear what Mark and Alison were saying; I felt as though, if I moved away from the wall, I’d topple over. After a few seconds, the sensation passed, and I heard Alison’s voice.
‘… so it makes sense for us to move to Clapham.’
I’d no idea what she was talking about, so I nodded vaguely. ‘Quite so. Please excuse me. I must find the loo.’
‘I wonder what she recites when they’re fucking?’ I muttered to myself, as I directed my stream at the plum coloured porcelain. ‘The latest Beart Enterprises’ results? Perhaps climaxing with quarterly EBITDA?’
On my way back, I lurked in the hall until Rachel came out of the kitchen carrying a tray of hors d’oeuvres in both hands. I grabbed her arm and the appetisers wobbled perilously.
‘Why the fuck have you taken up with that bastard?’
She looked nonplussed for a couple of seconds. Then, balancing the tray in her other hand, she shook her sleeve free from my grasp.
‘What’s it to you? I don’t think you have any right to complain if I go out with other people. I’m not the one who went off with someone else and broke our marriage up.’
‘Beart, of all people—’
‘Look, you have no idea what he’s like. Your opinions are based on a load of hazy schoolboy memories and have never altered despite your success being pretty well down to him.’
‘You weren’t his greatest fan—’
‘At least I’m big enough to admit I was wrong. Anyway, this isn’t the place to discuss it.’ She looked over her shoulder. ‘And I don’t think you’re in the mood to talk about it in a civilised manner.’
I took a step back and muttered, ‘Yes, I’m sorry,’ and lifted a chicken vol-au-vent from the plate she was holding. Isaac and Elsa passed by arm in arm, engrossed in conversation. Rachel stared me in the eye.
‘He’s got a lot of good in him.’
‘Sounds like faint praise.’
‘Oh, come on—’
Rachel was interrupted by a tall Arab who, ignoring me, took her by the arm and led her off, whispering into her ear and making her nod and laugh. Waiting a few seconds, I followed in their wake, peeled off and squeezed into a corner of the much quieter study, which was occupied by three highly made-up women discussing their last trip to Milan. I hung around in there for ten minutes, idly scanning the leather-bound volumes which covered the walls while I collected my thoughts before venturing out again. Tentatively I opened the door. Alanis Morissette’s Ironic was now blaring out from speakers fitted in all the reception rooms and the house was pulsating with energy; guests were swirling around the drawing-room, the dining-room, the hall and the kitchen. Several couples were dancing. Someone grabbed my waist from behind.
‘Giles, I thought I’d see you here!’ It was a woman’s voice straining to be heard above the noise.
I turned to meet her deep-chestnut eyes. The smile faded from her face and she let her arms drop.
‘Sorry, confused you with someone else.’
I looked around. Everyone who wasn’t dancing was talking to someone. Only I was on my own. Completely drained, I decided to leave. I saw Rachel’s back, approach
ed her and, interposing myself between her and the Arab, pecked her on the cheek.
‘I’d like to talk,’ I said.
‘I’ll be in touch,’ she replied, resuming her conversation with the Arab. I didn’t bother to say goodbye to Beart.
*
For several days, I waited in vain for her to contact me. Finally, I phoned her at her office and, with a lot of effort, persuaded her to agree to dinner at a Lebanese restaurant in Knightsbridge.
I’d almost given up when she did arrive, an hour and a quarter late. By then I’d drunk three large gin and tonics on an empty stomach and my early concern for her well-being had metamorphosed into a gnawing belligerence.
‘I’m so glad you could make it,’ I said, biting back the words ‘at last.’
‘Sorry. Everything’s so hectic, big deal coming off, very hush-hush, can’t say any more. That looks good,’ she said eyeing my drink. She caught the attention of a hovering waiter.
‘I’ll have one of those.’
‘How are you? Obviously still keeping busy.’
‘Absolutely rushed off my feet, darling.’ The ‘darling’ didn’t ring true. It sounded like an affectation picked up from the showbiz set I’d seen at John’s house. She’d never called me darling in all the years we’d been married.
‘How’s John?’ I’d decided to start the conversation neutrally and build up to an interrogation. Rachel forestalled me.
‘Please don’t give me a hard time. I know what you’re going to say and I don’t want to hear it. You really don’t understand and, besides, I’m old enough to know my own mind. And I don’t want to spend the evening defending him.’
I could tell by the glint in Rachel’s eye that if I persisted, I’d be in for an argument.
‘OK,’ I sighed. ‘Let me say one thing and then I won’t mention it again. I hope you know who you’ve taken up with, because I don’t know anyone, even the people who are close to him, who say they really know Beart. He’s a mystery.’
Rachel looked at me dispassionately. ‘All right, you’ve said your piece, so I’ll respond and then we’ll move on. OK, so John’s a secretive person. What you aren’t aware of is all the good he does, all the charitable causes he supports and never speaks about. There’s a lot you don’t know about him. In any case, who’s to say that being mysterious is a bad thing?’
I leant forward, my heart beginning to thump.
‘Underneath all those good deeds and all that pastel leisurewear there’s something deeply untrustworthy.’ I could tell by the way in which her body stiffened and she leaned forward aggressively to mirror my posture that I’d gone too far. I sat back in my chair and waited for the onslaught.
‘You should be careful lecturing people when you don’t know the facts. John and I have things in common you know nothing about.’
‘Such as?’ I knew I was pushing it but I couldn’t stop myself.
‘None of your business,’ she snapped. ‘In any case, I won’t take any lectures from you. How many successful relationships have you had?’ She drew breath to complete the crushing demolition of my lack of social success. I read the signs and capitulated.
‘OK, OK, let’s drop the subject.’
I didn’t see Rachel again for a long time, and when I did she was very cool towards me.
Chapter 25
A Death, 1998
‘He’s been found dead.’ Alana, normally so calm and measured, rushed into my office. ‘The police have sealed his flat.’
‘Who?’
‘Martin, Martin Vokes,’
My heart beat faster. Martin had been a lynchpin in Beart Enterprises. I sat forward, put my croissant down on a paper napkin and pointed to the seat in front of me. She perched on the edge of the chair, quivering.
‘Hanged in his apartment.’ She shuddered. ‘They’re suspicious. No clear motive. Why would he do it?’
Alana’s eyes started to fill with tears, unnecessarily in my view. While we’d had a close business relationship with him, we’d never crossed the line and become friends. She looked at me expectantly.
Leaning back in my chair, I brushed some pastry flakes from my chalk-stripe trousers.
‘People have lots of reasons for hanging themselves: unrequited love, money problems, drugs, a sexual thrill which goes wrong—’
‘He’s been a bit odd for a while. Last time I saw him, he reeked of alcohol and was very nervy, even a bit shifty.’
I affected a drawl.
‘About what?’
‘Everything.’
My heart started to race at the thought of Martin falsifying the accounts and then losing control and tumbling into a deep pit of despair.
‘I want you to put a special investigative team onto Beart Enterprises. If anything doesn’t smell right, tell me about it immediately. Oh, and you’d better look particularly closely at the irregularities you recommended and make sure they’re not material.’
‘You approved them.’ Alana stood up. ‘I only said they were of the same order as ones we’d signed off in the past.’ She teetered to the door in three-inch stilettos, shutting it firmly behind her. The last piece of croissant had congealed in my mouth and I needed a swig of coffee to swallow it.
Later I received a call from Beart. He opened cordially before coming to the point.
‘I assume you’ve heard about poor old Martin?’
I grunted.
‘Poor chap, bit of a break down. Personal issues. Andrew Goldstein will be standing in until we appoint a full-time replacement. Nothing for you chaps to worry about. Business must go on, as they say. Why don’t you come over to dinner soon? Rachel says you haven’t been in touch for ages. We’d both love to see you. I’ll get Mary to contact your secretary and arrange a date.’
*
Rachel phoned me at my new flat. I’d been re-potting my house plants and smeared the ivory handset with compost answering.
‘I’ve got something to tell you which you’re not going to like.’
I wiped the phone with a tissue. The line was silent. Rachel seemed to be waiting for a response from me.
‘You’re going to marry Beart?’
I was delighted by her uncomfortable intake of breath.
‘He proposed to me, and I’ve accepted. Thought I’d better tell you before you come to dinner in case it came as a surprise.’
‘Hope he did the full works, down on one knee and all that.’
‘Yes, all that and more. In a gondola on the Grand Canal.’
‘Sounds very uncomfortable and quite risky. Those things are most unstable. It could have turned turtle and drowned you both before the gondolier had finished the first verse of O Sole Mio’.
‘Don’t be daft. It was perfectly safe and very romantic. You’re not upset, are you?’
‘What’s there to be upset about?’ I dug my fingernails into the palm of my left hand so hard I was surprised I didn’t drawn blood. ‘I suppose you know what you’re doing.’
*
The police investigation into Martin’s death proved inconclusive and the coroner entered an open verdict. Our scrutiny of the Beart Enterprises business revealed nothing untoward and I signed off the accounts without qualification. Martin’s replacement arrived. Within a few weeks, it was as though Martin had never existed, leaving me wondering whether we were all as expendable and as forgettable.
My dinner at Beart’s house was dominated by discussion of the impending nuptials. Five other people had been invited, two couples and an ungainly woman in PR who smelled of liniment. The whole experience seemed surreal. The two couples quizzed John and Rachel on the minutiae of their wedding plans while, at the other end of the table, the PR woman took me through a detailed comparison of Goodwood and Kempton Park. Now and then fragments of the main group’s conversation would drift over to me, reminding me of t
he time Rachel had planned our wedding. I shifted and wriggled in my seat as the PR lady droned on. To make matters worse, despite one or two deft nudges from the toe of my shoe, one of Beart’s seal point Siamese persisted in rubbing itself against my legs under the table. Already my eyes and nostrils were itching and would soon be swollen. I took a tissue out and blew my nose. My cat allergy was getting worse.
Towards the end of dinner, Rachel caught my eye and indicated she’d like to talk privately. We excused ourselves and went into the drawing-room.
‘I’d like to have our marriage annulled.’
I cleared my throat, but Rachel continued regardless.
‘John’s a Catholic and we’d like to marry in church. He’s got friends in high places and can fix it. All you have to do is sign a piece of paper.’
‘Saying what?’ I could feel the colour rise in my cheeks.
‘That you were never serious about marriage and never wanted children.’
I rocked back on my heels. ‘It wouldn’t be true. Although it was you who insisted on getting hitched, I did my best to make a go of it. And as for children, the main reason we didn’t have any was because you never sodding well had time for sex.’
‘Hush,’ Rachel said, and I realised I’d raised my voice. ‘Please, it would mean a lot to John and me. You’re not religious, so what would it matter to you?’
‘I didn’t realise he was a Cat.’
‘He wants to please his mother, especially now she’s not well. She’s very religious. Like so many other things, he’s always kept quiet about his own Catholicism and his contributions to the church.’
I thought of my sexual encounter with Mrs Beart all those years before. My abiding memory was of her slim body spread naked across the sofa, the soft light of gratification in her eyes. She hadn’t seemed very religious then. If she was so devout, had she been using contraception? The thought intrigued me. I might have got her pregnant and unwittingly fathered a half-sibling for Beart.
‘Well, what do you say?’ Rachel tugged my arm. ‘Will you do it for John and me?’
