Lucasta & Hector

by Hugh Canham

‘No, a ring box.’

  ‘Very difficult.’

  By this time the workman had rolled and lit a cigarette and Derek was approaching.

  ‘Derek, could you please talk to this gentleman? He’s emptied the bin I put the ring in and all the rubbish is in his barrow and he says we’ll never find it!’

  ‘Well we could try.’

  ‘No, never do it mate,’ said the workman. ‘Anyhow, legally, all the rubbish belongs to the Council now.’

  ‘Er, look old chap,’ said Derek in his best public school manner. ‘Why don’t you take this (he handed him a £5 note) and go and sit over there on that bench and have a quiet smoke, while I and this young lady have a hunt for it. There’ll be another of those for you if we find it!’

  ‘Yeah, okay then. I’ll take me break now and turn a blind eye. But if I see the supervisor coming round, I’ll whistle and you’ll have to scarper quick.’

  Fortunately, the rubbish barrow consisted of a series of removable metal sections which, with a great deal of heaving, Derek and Lucasta managed to lift out. There were five altogether and they turned each one onto the tarmac path and went through them. Lucasta was amazed at what people put in litter bins in the middle of winter. It was totally disgusting. The most bizarre thing of all was a set of false teeth. But no ring.

  ‘Leave it all there till we’ve finished,’ said Derek. ‘If we come to the end and haven’t found it, we must have missed it and will have to go through everything again.’

  They found the ring in the last container. It occurred to Lucasta as they found it, and as she looked on the diamond once more, that they could have saved a lot of time if they’d asked the workman if he’d any idea into which container he’d emptied the corner bin. But you never thought of things like that when you were in a panic! She showed the ring to Derek and was pocketing it when she heard a shrill whistling. She looked towards the workman who had risen from his bench and was gesticulating at them furiously.

  ‘Better go!’

  ‘What about putting the rubbish back?’

  ‘Don’t know. Must go I think.’

  And so they scarpered into Derek’s car and drove off with a great revving and roaring.

  ‘Pity you couldn’t give him the other £5!’

  ‘Yes, still it saved you a bit. You only owe me £5 now,’ remarked Derek with some satisfaction.

  Lucasta had always remembered Derek as a ‘messy’ sort of person when she was on the art course with him. But she was unprepared for the state of his flat in Pimlico. It was at the top of a period house and the hall and stairs were quite well kept. But once they were inside the flat, the chaos was indescribable. An old bicycle was propped up against the wall by the front door. ‘Quite an athletic feat to carry it up all those stairs,’ thought Lucasta. They threaded their way through an enormous number of grubby black dustbin bags from which rubbish spilled in all directions, and past a pile of dirty washing and a heap of old magazines, as Derek led her to a clearer part of the living room. The walls here were covered with pictures, mainly modern. Derek indicated an abstract which Lucasta recognised as being by a very well-known artist. It consisted of three yellow blobs on a bright magenta background.

  ‘Look at it!’ said Derek, lowering his voice. ‘I think something’s wrong with it. Have a careful look . . . Sorry, I must check to see if Anita’s in before we go any further. . . . Anita! Are you there?’ he bellowed down a passage which presumably led to the bedrooms. He then disappeared for a minute and came back smiling. ‘She’s out,’ he said, ‘so we can discuss this openly.’

  ‘And who, may I ask, is Anita? And personally I would like to have a good wash before we go any further after sorting through all that rubbish.’

  ‘Of course. We both should wash. Bathroom down there, second on left. I’ll do myself at the kitchen sink. Anita is my ex-wife. She lives here in the spare bedroom and that’s her easel over there. She paints.’

  ‘Your ex-wife? Living in the spare bedroom? A bit unusual, isn’t it?’

  ‘She’s nowhere else to go. I’ll explain after we’ve washed.’

  The bathroom was as messy as the rest of the flat, but Lucasta had a good wash of her hands and arms and face in the grubby basin in cold water, as there didn’t seem to be any hot, and dried them on an old towelling dressing gown hanging behind the door, as there didn’t seem to be any towels. She then joined Derek in the sitting room and they looked at the picture together.

  ‘You see, I think Anita may have copied it and sold the original.’

  ‘Why do you think that?’

  Derek grew quite heated.

  ‘She keeps telling me I’m a mean old bugger and should give her more money. Well, it’s unfair, given how she behaved, and seeing as how I’m putting her up in the spare room and letting her paint here. And all after I bought out her share in the flat!’

  ‘Why do you think that’s not the original?’

  ‘Well, it looks funny somehow. . .’

  ‘If she copied it, wouldn’t there be signs of interference with the pins holding it in the frame?’

  ‘Mm. I’ve looked. I can’t see any. But you see, she’d have been very careful, wouldn’t she, in picking out the pins and putting them back in the same place?’

  Lucasta took down the picture. It was an oil painted on hardboard. The frame was very simple – of plain pine. She could see no interference with the frame or the picture at all and so she put the picture back on the wall.

  ‘Anyone else been in the flat recently that you know of?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so. Only the cleaner. She comes in once a week to tidy up. As you can probably tell, she’s due tomorrow. Wonderful woman. Black as coal. She cleans the place up beautifully, and then of course we mess it up again as soon as she’s gone!’

  ‘And do you do your dealing from here?’

  ‘Ah, yes, but nobody’s been in the last week. I told you, trade is very slow.’

  ‘And what about Anita? Would she have had any friends to visit? . . .’ Lucasta suddenly stopped. She realised she was sounding like Hector when he was investigating. And what was she doing here anyway? She’d said she wouldn’t help any more. But Derek, for all his oddities, had been a good friend in the past . . . ‘Well, we’ll see what Hector has to say when he gets back. I can’t take it any further at the minute, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Well, to answer your question, Anita’s become a recluse. She wouldn’t have had anyone to visit her. By the way, I’m very sorry to hear about your engagement. Presumably it’s off, is it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Feeling very sore about it?’

  ‘I don’t think it’s sunk in yet; but somehow I was expecting it.’

  ‘I see. Tell you what – you can treat me to lunch and I won’t press you for the £5 I gave to the workman!’

  Lucasta agreed. As well as there being no hot water, there didn’t appear to be any heating in Derek’s flat. She shivered and Derek looked at her.

  ‘I’ve probably forgotten to pay the gas bill! I’m rather bad at things like that.’

  Meanwhile (give or take the time difference), Hector was driving down Sunset Boulevard in a large rented American car. He’d always wanted to drive that sort of thing since he’d seen them in films of the 1940s, and he was very pleased with it. It rolled beautifully and the air conditioning was wonderful. Since arriving in LA he’d been more than a little uncomfortable in his heavy pinstripe suit, though it had been perfectly all right in New York of course. Gloria, when she initially greeted him, had told him that he looked ‘just cute’ in it, but in LA he felt it was unsuitable. Anyhow, he wasn’t stopping for long, so, just as a gesture to LA culture, he’d dispensed with his tie and waistcoat. Although he looked a trifle ludicrous, he also felt extremely happy. His visit to New York had been successful and exciting. Gloria had arranged for him to stay at a very smart hotel at her expense. She had turned out to be what Hector considered a really elegant lady of uncertain age. Possibly
nearer fifty than forty. She was tall, blonde, and had very pale white skin. She was both amiable and excitable, and when Hector had traced the whereabouts of the cherub picture so quickly, she had flung her arms about him and hugged him so hard that he’d felt well, let’s say indescribable! And then there’d been the business of the picture being damaged and the other picture being visible underneath. But in the middle of all that, Gloria had received a telephone call from the producer in LA and had announced: ‘We must all go to Hollywood at once, and you too, Hector darling. You say you’ve never been to LA and I’m sure you’d love it! We’ll change your ticket so you can fly back to London direct from LA And you must have a trip round a movie studio.’

  So Hector had joined Gloria’s entourage, as he had come to think of it. It consisted of a maid/dresser, a hairdresser/manicurist and a chauffeur. The English manservant had been dismissed over the picture theft . . .

  Gloria always travelled in a stretch limo, so she and her entourage were met by one at LA airport, whither they were all transported to her place on Sunset Boulevard. Hector was told he could use one of the innumerable spare bedrooms for a couple of nights. It was a beautiful room – so different from his bedroom in St. James’s.

  And so Hector smiled as he drove along. Yes, Gloria really was a very lovely lady, even though she did try to make herself out to be years younger than she obviously was when viewed close to. And the business of having an entourage was ridiculous too. The English butler had been sacked – which was a good thing – but the chauffeur was totally effeminate in spite of his bulging muscles (he doubled as a bodyguard) and the maid and the hairdresser seemed to be engaged in some sort of lesbian affair. This appeared to give Gloria great amusement. Anyhow, he’d been able to knock back an enormous quantity of champagne, which was very pleasant, even though some of it was Californian, and now he’d been asked to attend the meeting with the film producer as Gloria’s attorney, as her usual one was away somewhere.

  ‘But Gloria, I know nothing about film law, and even less about Californian law,’ he’d protested.

  ‘Darling. . . you’ll be wonderful. I just want you to protect me from Max. He’s a bastard.’

  So he was now on his way to Max’s suite in a hotel in Beverly Hills in his hired car trailing behind Gloria’s white stretch limo, and after the meeting he was going on for his trip round the film studios. He was a little delayed due to his unfamiliarity with the complexities of ‘valet parking’, and by the time he was shown in to Max’s suite an argument was already in full swing between Max and Gloria. They were standing about ten feet apart, glaring at one another.

  ‘Look, honey, don’t take on so. Give me five,’ Max was saying. ‘I want to make a call.’ He grasped a telephone and punched out a number. ‘Nymie,’ he bellowed, ‘I’m waiting to hear from you. You said you’d get me out of this hellhole pronto. I’m still here. What’s keeping you?’

  Hector heard a muffled response from the other end.

  ‘Well it ain’t good enough. I want to be out of here within the next thirty minutes after I’ve finished with Gloria. Got it? . . . Now, darling, as I was saying: No can do.’

  Hector by this time had realised that Max, who was a man in his sixties, bald and fat, was strangely dressed in a pair of blue denim dungarees which he couldn’t do up at the side because of his bulging stomach. A diamond glittered in a ring on his finger and he waved a very large cigar about as he spoke.

  ‘What the hell do you mean?’

  Gloria looked very angry indeed. Two big red spots had appeared on her normally pale cheeks.

  ‘Like I say, honey, no can do.’

  ‘But you promised me the part!’

  ‘Well I’ve changed my mind.’

  ‘Who, may I ask, are you going to give it to?’

  ‘Haven’t decided yet. But I don’t think you look young enough.’

  ‘How dare you, Max! God, I’ll sue you. This is my attorney just arrived. I’ll sue him, won’t I, Hector?’

  ‘Well, I don’t know,’ stuttered Hector. ‘Look, we’d better go into another room and discuss it if, er, Max will allow.’

  ‘Sure, go ahead. You can’t sue me darling, there’s no contract.’

  ‘My God, I’ll kill him,’ shrieked Gloria once she and Hector were in an adjoining bedroom. Gone was Gloria’s normal poise and calm. She looked mad and Hector realised that as a woman she may have been charming, but as a client she was going to be difficult and emotional. However, rising to his full height and looking down into Gloria’s face, he said, ‘Just tell me, Gloria, what you and Max agreed about this film. What’s it called?’

  ‘Danger Be My Friend, of course, and Max said I could play the lead.’

  ‘But were any other terms discussed? How much you were to be paid, that sort of thing.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did you put off accepting any other work because of it?’

  ‘Well I could have had a thousand parts, but everyone knew that I was going to do Danger.’

  ‘But did anyone actually offer you a part?’

  ‘Er . . . no.’

  ‘Well, as I said, I know nothing about Californian law, but under English law I wouldn’t advise you to sue.’

  Hector thought he’d never seen anyone look so angry. Gloria didn’t look just angry even, she looked like a lunatic.

  ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she spat at him. ‘You’re a fool!’

  Hector remained very calm.

  ‘Very well – there’s a phone by the bed. Call the best movie attorney (he was rather proud of his American phraseology) in LA and see what he says.’

  ‘I shall, and you can wait outside in the hallway!’

  ‘Very well,’ said Hector calmly and went into the hall, where he sat on a very uncomfortable upright chair beside a table with an elaborate floral arrangement on it. From there he could hear Max yelling instructions down his telephone in the sitting room of the suite.

  After ten minutes or so, the door of the bedroom opened and Gloria reappeared. She seemed quite collected, but stared straight in front of her. Hector got up from his chair.

  ‘Well?’ he asked.

  Gloria walked straight past him and out of the suite and banged the door behind her.

  Hector was not sure if he should say goodbye to Max, but decided against it. When he got outside the hotel he noticed that the sky had suddenly darkened. But he supposed he’d better continue with his visit to the film studios.

  ‘And that was that,’ said Derek in the restaurant. ‘The first two I overlooked, but coming in with a potential client and finding my wife in flagrante on the sofa in the middle of my valuable stock of lovely modern art was too much even for such an easy-going man as me. At least you were told by letter, not by visual display!’

  ‘You poor thing!’ said Lucasta, patting Derek’s hand. The lunch was going to cost her very much more than £5.

  ‘You’re very sympathetic, Lucasta. Come back to the flat. I’ve got some very good Turkish coffee to sober us up a bit. I’ll nick the fan heater from Anita’s bedroom.’

  The coffee was indeed very good, but its sobering effect was ruined by a bottle of Calvados which Derek found in the kitchen cupboard.

  ‘You know I came across Melv recently, who taught us figure drawing,’ said Lucasta by way of conversation.

  ‘Ah yes, old Melv! How was he?’

  ‘Somewhat lecherous!’

  ‘Yes, he always was I think. But the sight of you would be enough to make anyone lecherous. You know I’ve always liked you, Lucasta. You’re so attractive. Lovely figure, lovely legs. That mini-skirt more or less reveals all, doesn’t it? In fact, I’d rather look at your legs than my lovely pictures at the moment. Can I come over and sit on the floor beside you?’

  And without waiting for her reply, that’s what he did.

  Lucasta, who had only had one glass of Calvados, was pleased that someone, even if it was only Derek, seemed to like her. She was feel
ing very rejected. But when he put his bald head on her lap and groaned slightly she thought it was time to take evasive action. She’d been sitting in an armchair opposite the picture Derek thought looked strange and an idea had occurred to her – no doubt helped by the Calvados.

  ‘Excuse me one moment, Derek, please,’ she said, gently pushing his head off her skirt. ‘I want to have another look at that picture.’

  She went over and took it off the wall, then looked at the picture cord that was holding it up.

  ‘Just as I thought,’ she cried triumphantly. ‘It’s been hung upside down. I can tell from the way the cord is marked. How’s that?’ she said, re-hanging the picture.

  Derek scrambled to his feet. As he stood beside her swaying slightly and clutching his glass he said, ‘Goodness, I do believe you’re right! That bloody cleaning woman must have taken it down to dust it and put it back wrongly. Lucasta, you’re wonderful! Here, I must kiss you.’

  Lucasta was glad to escape from the ensuing tussle with all her clothes still more or less on. She grabbed her coat and handbag and fled down the stairs.

  ‘Well, good trip?’ asked Lucasta as Hector entered the library two days later.

  ‘Quite successful in some ways. Got terrible jetlag though. I think Jolly said you’d had an enquiry while I was away.’

  ‘Oh, that’s right. I’ve written you a little note all about it – it’s on your desk somewhere. It was for an old friend of mine and I dealt with it. I don’t think you can make a charge for what I did, though. Also, I’m afraid I shall be here somewhat longer than I thought. I discovered that those two cupboards at the end there are crammed with books too. Some of them look rare and old.’

  ‘Good Lord! Do you think they’ll be worth a lot?’

  ‘I can’t really tell. I must do some research.’

  ‘Well, I’m jolly glad you’re not leaving yet anyhow.’

  ‘Did you know that Duncan’s broken off our engagement?’

  ‘Good Lord, no! When did this happen?’

  ‘While you were away. He found some Chinese girl.’

  ‘I am sorry, Lucasta. I wouldn’t have thought it of Duncan. Known him years. Steady sort of chap, I always thought. Still, I know that these Chinese girls can be terribly attractive.’