Authors: Jan Warburton
I nodded. 'Yes, quite sure.'
'She's not fabricating or exaggerating this story?'
'No, it's just as she remembers it. And before you ask, Lynda did
not
go to the press with it.'
He sighed heavily and leaned back. 'Well, this sure throws an entirely different light on things. Can't see how we can prove it yet though. But it might just work in my favour; if Susannah is told I have knowledge about Mel's murky past... which of course indicates that there could after all be an atom of truth in the lesbian allegation. It might put her in quite a spot, I'd say. Why the hell didn't you tell me about this before, honey?'
'Oh Alex, I'm sorry. It was so difficult. You were away for over three weeks during that time remember? And then, when you eventually got back, I didn't want to spoil our reunion talking about Susannah. Then Mum had her operation and I rushed off to Wales, and don't forget you were away again on my return. Most recently of course there have been all your business worries too. There's really been no chance to talk ’till now.'
I then explained how I'd seen the paper cutting in his jacket, and about discovering the report myself in a back copy of the
Morning Sun
today.
He accepted it all without a word, and then went on to say he would be returning to the States on Monday to see what could be sorted out with his lawyers. But now, armed with this latest information, he was far more hopeful of dissuading Susannah from being so hard on him.
'There's still one thing you haven't made clear to me yet, Alex, and I think you should now. Why have you and she lived such separate lives, especially since Nikolas was born?'
Susannah had always been such a taboo subject, but now I was determined to get a truthful explanation.
He shifted his position, and took a deep breath. 'Well, what I've always told you has been basically true. Our marriage really was one of convenience for both our families ... for business and financial reasons mostly. And I'm not exactly proud of being drawn into such a union. She's never appealed to me physically, but she could sometimes be quite amusing company ... before she started drinking, that is. Anyway, it now turns out, the family alliance hasn't been such a great help to us after all, particularly in our recent financial crisis. But that's another issue.'
He lit another Marlboro. 'Sex was always lousy between us. She's frigid, you see.’ He grunted. ‘
Now
we know probably why! But my father insisted we produced an heir. So when she got pregnant we agreed between us that if a son were born, that would be the end of any sexual obligation towards one another. In other words, Nikolas's birth meant I no longer needed to share a bed with her.' He looked away and sighed. Talking about Susannah was clearly painful.
'But didn't she want to know how you satisfied your needs?'
He shrugged. 'I guess not. But to avoid family embarrassment on both sides, I always chose to be discreet and she's never questioned me or made an issue of it.'
'Of course that could be down to the fact that she's had a happy little thing going with Mel, don't you think?'
He nodded, his mouth set glumly. ‘Could be, honey.’
'Alex, did you have other girlfriends, when you were in the States?' I was recalling the long gaps there'd often been in the past between his visits to London.
'Yeah, I did and I'm not proud of it. But not since we've been more permanently together here.' He squeezed my hand tightly, gazing into my eyes. 'You believe me, honey, don't you?'
'I want to...' I paused there, wondering tentatively about his most recent long spell in New York. I drew my hand away. 'Oh, it's all such a sordid business! I'll get dinner. I need time to digest all this.'
I went into the kitchen and began frantically chopping onions and mushrooms, whilst Cleo went mad for some meat titbits. I heard Alex go off to have a shower. My mind was swirling, with the all details we'd discussed. I was worried sick about the possibility of my name being drawn into the divorce case. There was no certainty that I could be kept out of it, despite Alex hoping to avoid it. I wondered about the lesbian story and whether we were right about Susannah and Mel? What if we were proved wrong? Should I have kept it from Alex? On the other hand it could be invaluable to him now with his divorce negotiations.
I must have been on automatic pilot, because when Alex reappeared the meal was somehow ready and the table was laid; even wine glasses hadn't been over-looked.
There was nothing exactly to celebrate though, I agonised. I'd always thought the idea of Alex finishing with Susannah would be such a joyous occasion, hardly the case now.
Over dinner I casually mentioned Kate's dinner invitation at Parker Brown's and to my surprise Alex instantly agreed.
'Why not? It's hardly going to make much difference who knows about us now, is it?'
I shrugged, feeling little consolation in knowing he was probably right.
When I phoned Kate to tell her, she'd just arrived in.
'Fab! Oh, I'm so glad,' she said. 'Norm will be too. Be here for drinks at about eight-thirty and we eat at about nine. By the way, tell Alex, dress is optional.
Lynda was off with a bad cold next day so I couldn't discuss any of my worries with her; that any time now I could be named as co-respondent in Alex's divorce. I prayed it would be kept out of the British press for several reasons really, and not all my own. To be ill thought of by my employers was bad enough, but mostly I was thinking of my family. They'd be so embarrassed by it all. My heart was leaden with worry.
Somehow I managed to get through the day, but it wasn't made any easier realising my relationship with Alex had suddenly begun to lose a little of its gloss. Our lovemaking last night had been a disaster for me yet again. What the hell was happening to us?
*
Parker Brown's flat in South Kensington, near the Natural History Museum, was large and spacious with elegant Regency decor and furnishings. Massive old paintings, luxurious Chinese rugs, delicate china ornaments and several antique clocks gave the place an air of tasteful opulence.
Norman Parker Brown put us both immediately at our ease, as Alex handed him a bottle of
Chateau Neuf du Pape
. To my complete surprise, he appealed to me instantly.
Not once did I feel inadequate or out of place as we were introduced to the other four dinner guests, none of whom I recognised initially. Alex, of course was used to moving in such affluent circles, but this was quite a new experience for me.
Parker Brown was a good looking, well built man in his mid fifties; with thick, longish, silver grey hair combed back off his forehead. He sported a well-cultivated beard and square silver rimmed spectacles. Kate, dressed delectably in figure hugging crimson velvet, appeared relaxed, as she chatted to everyone in the large entrance hall. If I hadn't known otherwise, I'd have assumed she adored this sort of occasion; quite the actress in fact.
'You look lovely, Annabel!' she remarked, as I handed her my coat and smoothed the skirt of my black crepe
Miss Courtney
dress which had become a little creased in the taxi. Alex, of course looked his usual dishy self, in a black tie and dinner jacket.
As Kate and he met, I sensed an instant sign of mutual appreciation pass briefly between them. Only to be expected, really. Socialising with Alex would, I imagined, always be like this. I'd require the confidence of steel to rise above it, because all women were sure to find him attractive. Likewise, no man could fail to be captivated by Kate's beauty.
So what! I was looking pretty good tonight too. Alex had said so before we left. I also knew he mostly referred to models as 'stick insects’… with the sex appeal score of about one.
However, I sensed Kate probably scored a little more in this instance. Although I could smugly console myself with the knowledge that Alex had a liking for large boobs, and on that score she most certainly failed abysmally!
Over cocktails, conversation was light and relaxed. The women were especially interested in discussing fashion, which gave me a brief forum to air some of my thoughts and opinions.
'Mary Quant's success must make you want to set up on your own business too, doesn't it, Annabel?' asked a ruddy faced, middle-aged lady called Tabitha. She was with an equally red faced man called Quentin, who was talking in an animated way to Alex about having once sailed round the Greek Islands.
I explained that I fully intended to start my own business eventually, once I could get the finance together. You never know, I thought, broadcast it enough in the right circles, and someone might get interested enough to invest?
We were altogether a party of eight, seated at a large shiny round table, beautifully laid with crisp white linen napkins, floral sprays, gleaming silver table-wear and an elegant six branched candelabra. A hired waitress in navy and white with a frilly lace apron served us. Although Norman disappeared occasionally during the meal to supervise Harold, his assistant chef in the kitchen, he was the perfect host, well organised, calm and sociable throughout.
The meal was a gastronomic delight. In Alex's honour, which I thought was a charming touch on our host's part, we started with some Greek
mezedes
; mixed Greek appetizers –
keftethes
; tiny meat balls of tender, ground lamb, flavoured with tomatoes and herbs;
dolmades
small packets of savoury mince wrapped in vine leaves, accompanied by aubergine salad and
tzatiki
.
'These are excellent, Norman' said Alex, and everyone agreed. This started other members of the party reminiscing about holidays spent in Greece. The main course of succulent roast duckling a
l'orange
was followed by pears flamed in brandy, apparently a speciality of Parker Brown's.
I discovered the gentleman on my left was non other the Shakespearean actor, Rufus Elgin. Of course, I should have recognised his rich, resonant voice earlier on. It was fascinating hearing him reminisce about touring old theatres around the country, some of which, he said were haunted.
I knew he was married to the actress Phyllida Morton, but tonight a pretty young blonde called
Nicola, who seemed totally empty headed and unable to converse at length about anything, accompanied him. She was next to Alex, and it was most amusing watching him attempt to draw conversation from her. Fortunately for him, Kate was on his other side.
They were directly opposite me, and through the ornate candelabra I could just earwig on the conversation, which was mostly about New York. Kate had been working there recently and it seemed she was acquainted with one or two people whom Alex knew.
Quentin, on the other side of me, was a member of parliament; Quentin Robards, Shadow Minister for Agriculture and something or other...'
As he droned on about the PM and his weekend visits at Chequers I successfully stifled a yawn. Norman briefly mentioned the Astors. Apparently Bronwyn, ex-model wife of Lord Astor, was suffering from a severe dose of influenza.
Later, I was all ears at the mention of Jack Profumo. But it was just in reference to his wife, actress Valerie Hobson. Rufus had recently worked with her in a play, and everyone there was full of admiration at the way she had bravely stood by her husband throughout the Christine Keeler scandal. I'd met his wife myself briefly, when I worked in the main Courtney Salon, where she was an infrequent client.
Tabitha Robards, now redder than ever in the face, started to giggle loudly while the pear dessert was being served. Quentin stopped talking abruptly, and I suspected he was becoming irritated by her.
Later, whilst we were enjoying coffee and liqueurs, he looked again across the table at Tabitha. 'Tabs, no more, for Christ sake, woman! Sorry, everyone, but Tabs can't hold her booze at all!'
'That's all right, old boy,' said Rufus, 'I'll catch her if she falls my way.'
To this Quentin grunted and mumbled, 'Silly mare.'
Kate was still engrossed talking to Alex. I tried to catch his eye a few times but he seemed too absorbed. My hackles rose slightly. Nicola was talking to Norman, who in a polite way was doing his best to advise her against pursuing a fashion-modelling career.
'But I've already done some topless work for a calendar last year… and for
Men Only
.'
I stifled a giggle this time.
'And I was Miss Brighton two years runnin',' she persisted in her whiny voice.
At this point all conversation ceased, as Norman, distracted by a movement to the side of him, turned round in an attempt to grab Tabitha Robards before she neatly slid beneath the table.
'I bloody knew it!' exploded Quentin on my right, jumping up. 'Sorry everyone.'
Kate exchanged amused looks with me, and rose to see if she could help the woman. Soon, aided by Kate and Quentin, Tabitha was sleeping things off in one of the spare bedrooms.
On the ride home in the taxi I discussed the evening with Alex. We agreed it had been great fun and the meal superb. The driver was one we'd used several times, and he'd also brought me home from work once or twice. We'd got to know him quite well by now; a cheerful man and extremely obliging.