HIS OTHER SON (18 page)

June
Gafney
wiped a tear from her cheek and smiled at the
receiver.
One day,
Finlay
Crawford
, she
thought,
you are going to get what’s coming to you
. But she knew she was
too frightened to go against him, and the knowledge of that fear made her
despise herself. She sat down in an armchair in the cramped lounge, sipped her
sherry, opened the scrapbook again and waited for the doorbell to ring.

When Gareth returned with the drinks Meg
was still staring out at the sea, but her thoughts were turned inwards. She was
thinking about
Finlay
Crawford, worrying about the
woman with the cropped hair, and puzzling over the pale-faced girl who’d led
her to the locked door at the end of the burgundy painted corridor. It was such
a confusing jumble of thoughts, all vying for dominance in her mind, that her
head began to ache.

           
‘Cooler now?’
Gareth asked her

           
She
nodded and thanked him for the drink.

           
They
both turned as someone stepped out onto the veranda. Meg recognised the short,
rotund figure immediately.

           
‘Clifford!’
Gareth said, and shook the man’s hand enthusiastically.

           
‘Good
to see you again, Gareth. Martin tells me you’re on at the Palace,’ Clifford
Stein said.

           
‘In the
Showstoppers
show, yes.
Only chorus but...’

           
‘It’s
a living, yes?’

           
‘Indeed.’

           
‘And
is this young lady also in the show?’

           
Meg
felt herself wilting under the man’s gaze. His face was fat and florid, his
forehead covered with a thin film of perspiration. He peered at her myopically
through a pair of thick-lens spectacles, and there was something in that look –
something Meg found unwholesome. She could feel his eyes boring through her
clothes, undressing her.

           
Gareth
introduced her and she shook the man’s slightly clammy hand. She resisted the
urge to wipe her palm afterwards.

           
Stein
was still staring at her lasciviously when he spoke next. ‘Come inside, both of
you. I’ve persuaded
Finlay
to give us an impromptu
recital.’

           
As
if on cue the opening bars of
Moonlight Becomes You
drifted out to the
veranda,
and
Finlay
Crawford’s
rich baritone filled the night air. Stein stood between them and encircled
their waists with his arms, propelling them inside. As they moved towards the
open door Meg felt the man’s fat fingers fluttering slightly – they felt like
fat, damp slugs crawling up her body. She shuddered and once inside pulled away
from him.

           
A
group gathered around the piano. Almost everyone in the room was there, all
paying homage to the great man. Crawford himself proved to be not only a
wonderful singer but also a very adept pianist, his hands stroking the keys
with astonishing dexterity.

Meg
stood on the periphery of the group, letting herself be carried away by the
music. It was only by chance that she happened to glance back at the veranda.
Clifford Stein was back outside, talking to the woman with the cropped black
hair. They seemed to be having a heated exchange, and Meg could see that the
woman was crying. Stein had her by the shoulders and was shaking her, bellowing
something into her face, but what it was Meg had no idea.
Finlay
Crawford possessed a strong voice and a bravura piano technique, and his sound
filled the room, obliterating any ambient noise.

           
As
Meg watched, the woman broke free from Stein’s grasp and swung her hand, aiming
for his face. Stein caught her wrist in mid-air and started to laugh, mocking
her. Suddenly his face contorted and he pulled her to him, bringing his mouth
close to her ear. Whatever he said to her Meg had no way of hearing, but
judging from the look on the woman’s face it was something dreadful. Her eyes
widened and for an instant they seemed to be filled with abject terror. She
began to cry again and Stein released her. The woman ran down the steps to the
garden and Meg lost sight of her. She looked back at Clifford Stein who stood
on the veranda, smoking a cigarette, an untroubled expression on his face.
           

Suddenly
Meg felt she did not want to be here any more. There was something going on
under the veneer of gaiety and bonhomie that was making her feel uncomfortable.
She could not pin down what it was, but everything she’d experienced tonight
seemed designed to unsettle her.

           
During
a break in
Finlay
Crawford’s impromptu cabaret she
turned to Gareth.
      
‘I’m sorry but I
think I’m going to go home now. I have a splitting headache,’
It
was a lie but she did not want to tell him what she’d
witnessed on the veranda – at least, not here. ‘Could you call me a taxi?’

           
 
‘I’ll get our coats,’ he said.

           
‘No,
please. You don’t have to come with me. You stay on. I’ll be fine on my own.’

           
A
troubled frown creased his brow. ‘I’m not happy with you going off by
yourself.’

           
‘And
I’m not prepared to drag you away from your friends. I’d never be able to live
with the guilt.’ She smiled at him. ‘I’m a big girl now. I’m more than capable
of looking after myself.’

           
Gareth
bit his lip. ‘Well, if you’re sure.’

           
‘I’m
certain. Go and call that taxi.’

           
Finlay
Crawford started another song, and was staring
intensely at Meg, a slight smile playing on his lips. Meg turned away and
walked out into hall. When Gareth returned a short while later she saw to her
dismay that Clifford Stein was with him.

           
‘Gareth
tells me you’re not feeling so well,’ Stein said solicitously.

           
Meg
was dismissive. ‘It’s just a headache,’ she said. Stein was the last person she
wanted to talk to.

           
‘Can
I get you anything?
An aspirin perhaps?’

           
‘No, really.
I think I’m just tired. It’s been a long day. I
probably shouldn’t have come.’

           
The
butler approached and whispered something into Stein’s ear. ‘Thank you,
Jarvis.’ Stein turned to Meg. ‘Your taxi has arrived.’

           
‘Thank
you.’ Meg made to move towards the door.

           
Stein
stepped into her path. ‘I’m having another gathering here Sunday. Gareth tells
me you won’t be working, so would you care to come along? I can’t promise it
will be as lively as tonight, but
Finlay
and
Narina
are staying on for a few days, so I’m sure it will
be far from dull.’

           
Meg
hesitated. She wanted to say no, but couldn’t without appearing rude. She
looked to Gareth, willing him to bail her out, but he was nodding his head
slightly, urging her to accept the invitation.

           
‘Thank
you,’ Meg said. ‘I’d be delighted to come.’

           
Stein’s
face split into a wide grin and he slapped Gareth on the shoulder. ‘You see,
Gareth. I said I could persuade her into accepting.’ He turned to Meg. ‘Gareth
was convinced you’d say no. I’m glad you didn’t. Three o’clock suit you?’

           
Meg
smiled slightly and nodded.

           
Stein
stepped aside. ‘Splendid. I look forward to seeing you again.’ He took her
hand. Bending forward slightly he put it to his lips. Not an actual kiss, but
the faintest of touches. Even so Meg felt her skin crawl. There was something
unsavoury about Clifford Stein.

As she turned the key in the front door a
feeling of foolishness overwhelmed her. How could she have been so naive, so
gauche? This wasn’t Sevenoaks and the people she was mixing with tonight were
the cream of the theatre-world, not a ragbag of fading repertory actors.

           
Yes,
she’d seen Clifford Stein apparently behaving like a bore, but she didn’t know
the circumstances of the altercation, and he’d been perfectly charming to her.
As for her feeling that there was something unpleasant going under the surface
of the sociability, the long lonely ride home in the taxi convinced her it was
nothing more than her imagination working overtime – like seeing the face in
the mirror and imagining it was the same girl she’d seen at Stein’s house. She
had to get a grip.

           
To
make matters worse she found that when she went to pay the taxi-driver he told
her that Stein himself had covered the fare. She would have to send a letter of
thanks and apology to Clifford Stein, and she would have to apologise to Gareth
also. Leaving him in the lurch like that was unforgivable.

           
She
turned the key and pushed open the door,
then
groaned
as she saw Mrs
Gafney
emerge from her room.

           
‘You’re
back early,’ she said. She was holding a half-filled schooner of sherry. Her
cheeks were flushed and her words slurred.

           
‘Yes,’
Meg said. ‘I had a headache.’

           
Mrs
Gafney
snorted with laughter. ‘And I’ve used that one
in my time, believe you me!’

           
Meg
ignored the innuendo. ‘Besides, rehearsals start tomorrow, and I want to be
fresh.’

           
A
gruff male voice called from the landlady’s room, ‘June! Are you coming back or
what?’

           
‘All in good time, Bill.
Turn the record over and pour me
another drink,’ she called back, then stared blearily at the glass in her hand
and laughed again.

           
‘Well,’
Meg said, ‘goodnight.’

           
‘Was
it a big house then? Ostentatious job was it? Gold taps in the bathroom and a
bidet?’

           
‘It’s
a nice house, yes. But no, the bathroom is very plain, very tasteful.’

           
‘What
about the bedroom then?’ Mrs
Gafney
said, and belched
loudly.

           
‘Mrs
Gafney
!’ Meg said indignantly.

           
‘June!
Come on! I’m getting cold!’

           
The
landlady ignored him, swaying slightly. ‘I would have thought a pretty girl
like you would be right up
Finlay
bloody Crawford’s
alley. I was young once, you know… and pretty. Likes a pretty face does
Finlay
.’

           
Meg
shook her head. She wasn’t going to get any sense out of the woman tonight.
‘Excuse me, Mrs
Gafney
. But you’re drunk and I’m
tired. I’m going to bed.’

           
The
woman belched again. Meg winced as the stink of sherry wafted over her. Mrs
Gafney
leaned forward and patted her arm. ‘Sorry, love.
No offence, eh?’

           
The
telephone of the hall table rang and Mrs
Gafney
swore
loudly, the oath echoed by the disembodied voice in her room. ‘Who could that
be at this time of night?’ She picked up the receiver and barked a hello into
it. She listened for a moment, said, ‘Who?’ then laughed bitterly and handed
the receiver to Meg. ‘It’s for you.’ she said and staggered back to her room,
slamming the door behind her. A second later Meg heard a glass smash and the
sound of swearing from behind the closed door.

           
‘Meg
Johnson,’ she said. ‘Hello?’

           
There
was silence for a long moment and Meg was about to speak again when
Finlay
Crawford said, ‘Meg?’

           
‘Oh.’
Meg was in a slight state of shock. Whatever could he want with her?

           
‘Your
friend Gareth gave me your number. Actually I had to twist his arm and offer
him all manner of favours before he would let me have it. I hope you don’t mind
me phoning you so late, only one minute you were there and next you were gone.
I didn’t get the chance to properly say goodbye. Clifford tells me you were
taken ill. Nothing serious I hope.’

‘Just a headache.
It’s almost gone. I think the night air did me good,’ she said.