‘Maybe we should go and live by the sea. Not here. Somewhere hot and away from everything. Give it all up. Move on.’ Gioia shifted on the blanket so that she was lying looking up at the sky. A few stars were now visible.
‘What are you talking about? You love the Chapel – it’s your life.’
‘Yeah. That’s the problem.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘They’re trying to close me down. I should have told you, but I hoped it would just get lost. I got this letter from some bloke about wanting to develop the land that the Chapel is on, with that scrapyard behind. Not sure if he means any of the houses.’ The information emerged in staccato points, distancing Gioia from
what she was saying. ‘It came last week. The second one. I got one a few months back. Chucked it in the bin.’
‘They can’t do that … Can they?’
‘We can make it bloody tough for them. And we can make it long and hard, and that’s probably what I’m going to do. I’ve just got to get my head into it. But lying here, listening to the sea and looking out there, I think, fuck it all. There’s another world somewhere. We can go if we want.’
‘I can’t believe you’re even talking about giving the Chapel up. We’ve got to do something. When we get back, show me the letter. I could get Dad’s lawyers on to it.’
‘Did I hear correct? Daddy’s lawyers?’
‘OK. Maybe not. Forget that. But Gioia, we’re not giving up the Chapel. That would be insane. I can’t believe you’re even thinking about it.’
‘I’m not. Not really. Just testing.’ Gioia leant over to kiss her on the forehead. ‘You’re my girl, aren’t you? We’re going to be all right. It’s all going to be all right.’
‘Why did they want you to bring a friend?’ Sal was peering at her reflection through the steam of Annie’s bath. She was hoping the humidity might help with a stubborn blackhead on the side of her nose. The other day, she had taken a pair of scissors and cut herself a very short fringe, the kind she’d seen in pictures of the young Iris Murdoch. She imagined it gave her a kind of Bloomsbury look. On a good day, she reckoned that on the whole the new style had been a success, but when she got worked up about something she could see it managed to accentuate her mood. She practised looking furious in the mirror for a moment, trying to work out if there was a way to do it that was a little more flattering.
Annie laughed as she watched her. She had made a decision, suddenly, one morning as she was getting dressed, to stop being angry with Sal. It was easy to continue to feel resentful but, as the weeks went by, she realized that, if they were going to stay in the flat together, something had to change.
‘I like the short fringe. It’s unusual. I wonder if I should cut one into mine?’
‘Nope. Big mistake. You’re so pretty you don’t need to do anything. I know I’m OK, but I have to try harder. Don’t mess with your hair. I’d kill for it.’ Sal leant against the wall, looking at Annie, who accepted the compliment as she lay in the bath, white foam popping in pools above her body, her knees, poking up, almost as white. ‘What do you think it’s going to be like?’
The invitation was from the owners of Elephants, an expensive gift shop in Chelsea and one of Tania’s smaller clients.
‘We’re having some people over for supper tomorrow. Come and join us, and bring any fun friend you like.’ Tony Potterton had paced around his small office at the back of the store as he offered the invitation. Annie had been sent to collect the Elephants version of Russian dolls: Chelsea dolls with Penelope Tree-style fringes and heavy eyelashes, five of them, fitted one inside the other, the last the size of a thimble.
He kept an eye on the small television showing the afternoon’s racing, jumping up suddenly and banging the desk. ‘Goddamn … came in third. Should have put it on each way … I generally come out on top, you know.’ Annie imagined this was probably untrue. The loss claimed his attention. ‘Nothing dressy, just a get-together, and we could do with some young faces around. Eightish. You know the kind of thing.’
Annie didn’t know the kind of thing, but she didn’t feel she could turn the invitation down. They were clients, and she’d learnt that, in her business, you needed to show them they were valued. Tania was always saying ‘We’re in the people business. Nurture them, water them, feed them – they’re like babies.’
When they arrived, a white-jacketed butler opened the front door then handed their coats silently to a woman in a striped dress and apron. ‘They’re in the drawing room,’ she said. It was very warm inside, a contrast to outdoors, where the sharp temperature drop of November was enough for even their short spell on the doorstep to cause them to shiver.
‘Ugh. I hate that vomit-coloured paint thing everyone’s doing,’ said Sal, referring to the stippled apricot walls.
‘It costs thousands,’ Annie whispered. ‘It’s done by a specialist painter – we’ve just signed up to represent one. He takes a month just to mix the paint, and Tania’s already got the
Sunday Times
interested in doing a big story on him. It probably helps that he’s the son of an earl. And that he’s got a massive coke habit. Not that we’re encouraging that as part of the story.’
‘Sounds mad to me.’
At the far corner of the L-shaped room Annie could see Tony Potterton. He had said it was going to be nothing dressy but, to her, all the women looked extremely smart. There was a certain style – their hair in blow-dries held in place by sticky-looking lacquer, large jewellery (pearl earrings the size of golf balls) and big coloured-glass necklaces. Annie recognized one from the window of Butler & Wilson, from when Jackson had taken her there. Seated on a kelim-covered ottoman in front of the fireplace was a woman wearing a flame silk dress displaying a massive cleavage with the dimpled consistency of a scone.
‘That’s Trish, she’s the wife. And Christ … there’s Lee. How come he never said he was coming here tonight?’ Trish appeared to be completely engrossed in some story of Lee’s. ‘That’s the thing about him. He’s good when it comes to doing all the chat stuff,’ Annie observed of her co-worker.
‘He’s waving at us.’ Sal negotiated a path through the many armchairs and small tables, her fitted tartan shift merging with the cacophony of printed fabrics contained in the room – kelims, paisley prints, the swirls of Art Nouveau.
Lee stood up, looking past Sal to Annie, who was wearing a bias-cut skirt in a pale grey which stood out against the garish colours of the older women. He introduced the two to Trish, just in case she couldn’t remember who Annie was.
‘I see Tony has recruited some bright young things too,’ Trish commented. ‘I rely upon Lee to keep me cheerful. Sometimes I think I’ll tell Tania that she’s keeping that retainer only because he’s such a nice boy to an old bag like me.’
‘Oh, please don’t do that,’ Lee squealed. ‘It could go down so badly you couldn’t even imagine. Anyway,’ he added diplomatically, ‘Elephants is one of her favourite accounts. She’s always coming in to us all excited by something new you’ve got. I thought she was going to go up in smoke when she saw those distressed copper wall sconces.’
Trish stood to look at her sitting room, mentally ticking off who had arrived, who was missing, who was talking to who.
‘I think it’s time to eat. Help me round everyone up – it’s serve yourself. Just shepherd’s pie.’
Shepherd’s pie was a mystery to Annie. It was such ordinary food, the kind of thing she would have for tea at home. Letty wouldn’t dream of serving it at a dinner, but since she had been working in London she’d been amazed by how many times it seemed to be on the menu at places which she thought were meant to be grand. Maybe she was missing the point.
The huge central table in the basement kitchen soon filled with guests and Annie carried her plate back upstairs to find a seat where she could manage the task of balancing a plate of pie and bright-green peas at the same time as holding a wine glass. She poked at the peas with her fork as they disobligingly rolled all over the plate.
‘You look like you’re having a spot of trouble with those peas.’ Annie looked up to see a pair of dark-blue trousers in front of her. ‘Can I sit here?’ their owner asked.
‘Yes, of course.’ Annie felt the sink of the sofa as he lowered himself, his legs extending into the room like planks.
‘Charlie. Charlie Sethrington. I won’t try and shake hands, as it looks like you’ve got enough going on as it is.’
‘Hi. I’m Annie. I work for Tania Torrington. Elephants is one of our clients.’
‘Tony told me. I do some business with him from time to time. I asked him who you were earlier – got your whole CV.’
‘Well, it must have been very short, because he doesn’t know much about me. And, anyway, it is pretty short. I was just in the shop yesterday and he asked me to come. Me and my friend, Sal.’
‘Well, that’s good news for me. Tony and Trish like to have some pretty girls around, it makes them feel they’re not past it.’ Annie wasn’t sure how she felt about being described in this way, even though she knew it was intended as flattery. Sal would no doubt have pulled him up on it, but she didn’t feel inclined to be awkward and, anyway, there wasn’t anyone else to talk to.
Tony approached the couple, his face flushed with the warmth of the room and the good red wine he was serving. ‘Ah, Charlie,’ he boomed. ‘I wouldn’t have expected anything less from you but, even by your standards, pretty quick off the mark. You have to watch this one, Annie. He’s a wily sod.’
Annie was wedged between the two, content to listen to their easy banter and happy to be the subject of their appreciation, even if it was just a way of passing the time. As the evening wore on, she began to feel a tinge of attraction for Charlie, with his hawkish nose and the high colour of his sharp cheekbones. He had an intensity about him that made you want to listen to what he said. She was amused by the way that, when he stood up and became animated, he swayed slightly, as if there was a wind blowing at his height that didn’t affect lesser beings. From up there, it was clear that he was watching her and, for the first time in months, she felt intrigued by a man’s interest in her.
‘You should consider Docklands for another Elephants, you know, Tony. It’s moving fast, and there are some real bargains. We’re getting stuck into all kinds of new areas in one way and another, but you need the right kind of footfall. The property market’s wide open right now.’
Annie could see Sal moving across the room in their direction. When she arrived it was like a rush of air. ‘Hi,’ she said, as she crouched on the floor, her tartan dress riding up her thighs.
‘This is Sal. She’s a journalist on the
Herald
.’
‘Ah. Do we have to watch what we say now, with a hack among us?’ Tony joshed, his eyes glinting with pleasure at the sight of Sal.
‘I’ve just been talking to some bloke down there about the bomb at the conference. He was saying it was the best thing that could
happen to the Conservatives, because now they’ve got this huge sympathy vote. It’d take more than that to get me to feel sympathetic to them. Every time I think of them I have this vision of that creep Cecil Parkinson. They’re all like him.’
‘I’m surprised you’re working at the
Herald
, with those views,’ Charlie intervened.
‘They don’t mind. It’s not like they ask me to do anything political. I’m their bit of fluff. Until a couple of months ago I felt like I was spending my life on baby watch for Prince Harry. What a relief now he’s popped out. It raises the chances of me being given something more interesting to work on.’ She shifted, knocking over the glass of red wine that Charlie had placed at the foot of the sofa. ‘Oh shit. Sorry.’ She watched the wine spread, darkening the blues and reds of the Persian rug. She pulled at the hem of her dress to use as a cloth. ‘Lucky it’s tartan. You won’t see the difference.’
Annie was aware that, as always, the conversation was instantly all about Sal. Some people slowly infiltrate a group, but Sal immediately inserted herself. Her confidence in her own opinions, along with her quicksilver movements and easy laugh, often at her own expense, somehow made it work.
At the end of the evening, as Annie drove Sal and Lee home, they were in good spirits.
‘I’m dossing at a friend’s in Soho, so if you can drop me off somewhere a bit nearer than here, I’ll walk,’ said Lee. ‘What about that tall bloke? He looked keen to me.’ He leant forward from the back of the car, poking his head between the two girls.
‘He’s got my number, but he’s not really my type. Everyone’s telling me I’ve got to keep my options open though.’ Annie fixed her eyes on the road ahead, still full of cars although the Chelsea pavements were empty save for the odd dog-walker.
Sal leapt in. ‘Well, Tony asked me for my number. What do you think he has in mind? Afternoon assignations at Blakes? Isn’t that where guys like him hole up? Wouldn’t mind a bit of an affair, but not with Tony Potterton. Can you imagine?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. Think of the gifts. You could have a whole line
of Chelsea dolls to put on your mantelpiece. Surely that would swing it. I’ll hop out here.’ The white sailor cap atop Lee’s retreating figure could be seen for a long while in Annie’s rear-view mirror.
She recognized the sound of his car as it turned the corner into her street, the cranky gear box catching when it reached second gear then halting. The recognition was comforting, an audible endorsement of their relationship, which had been unusually simple in its evolution. Charlie had conferred the status of girlfriend on Annie almost without her noticing. He wanted her to spend not only the nights with him but the days too, he included her in all his plans and he had slid her into the fabric of his life with an ease that was unlike any boyfriend she had ever had. Some might say that his predictability, the way that he was never early, never late, the fact that he always made a cup of Earl Grey tea in the morning to drink with his brown toast spread with apricot jam was dull, but she liked the way she knew where she was.
It had taken her ages to decide what to pack for this first weekend with his old friends, and just as she was tugging the zip on the squashy Mulberry leather bag Letty had given her for her last birthday, she had had a crisis of confidence about its contents. He’d told her they would be changing for dinner, but into what? Did that mean a long dress, or just something tidy? At least it was only for one night. Charlie had been keen to leave the previous day, but Tania had wanted her at a dinner to pitch for the account of an evening-wear designer.