Pandora (18 page)

‘Don’t be upset, Daddy, please don’t.’

It was Eddie’s day off, so they stayed quietly in the gallery. As Anthea cosseted him with chicken soup and tomato sandwiches made with fresh basil, further details emerged.

‘I want to drop her horrible party list in the dustbin,’ raged Anthea.

There was also a train strike. Anthea rang home.

‘Mr Belvedon’s very kindly lent me his flat, Mum. He’s going to work late and sleep in the gallery, we’re so busy.’

She and Raymond were planning to go out to dinner, but over a bottle of Chablis still more details emerged.

‘I can’t satisfy Galena. Her contempt makes me impotent. She complains I’m too small.’

‘How beastly of her. I’m so tiny, you’d be quite big enough for me.’ Anthea was edging up to him on the sofa.

‘I’m far too old for you.’

‘You’re not, you’re so distinguished looking and you’ve got a figure most young fellows would die for.’

Much encouraged, Raymond put an arm round her shoulders, expecting to encounter angel’s wings. He felt like a collector, taking an exquisite figurine out of a glass case, fondling, examining, making a miraculous discovery: that he could give her pleasure. She was so perfect, so responsive, wriggling on his knee like a little girl, letting him play with her for hours.

‘I’ve got a real daddy at last.’

Anthea’s fortnight ran into months.

It was a bright crisp morning at the beginning of October; dry plane leaves rattled along the gutters. The sun was no longer hot or high enough to necessitate the green-and-white-striped awning outside the gallery. Anthea on the telephone could see cobalt-blue sky between the houses.

‘We’re showing Kit Eskine this week, Lord Partridge. We’re open till six. We don’t close for din— sorry, lunch. Lovely, see you later.’

The switchboard meant power and knowledge. Anthea had also received increasing abuse from Galena, whose pictures were due in today. The Boy David was due back tomorrow. Anthea had pinned his postcards on Raymond’s cork board.

‘I’m like a coffee machine,’ she joked to a passing Raymond, ‘that’s twenty cups I’ve made this morning.’

‘You shouldn’t attract so many collectors,’ said Raymond fondly as he retired into the inner office with one of the madder and richer. ‘We don’t want to be disturbed.’

David was thrilled to be back in London. His honeymoon had been pleasant enough. Rosemary had proved a surprisingly easy companion. He had made good contacts in Florence and Venice, put more of Galena’s money into a Swiss bank while admiring wild flowers around Geneva, and enjoyed the game reserves. Although after a bit one giraffe looks very like another.

Leaving his bride to wake up slowly, anxious to show off his wedding present, he thundered up Piccadilly, only to be distracted by a beige windmill. It was a frantically waving Somerford Keynes.

‘Dear boy, dear boy, how are you enjoying the lap of luxury? Lovely party at the RAC. Liked your new wife, but aren’t people bitchy? “There goes David and his pension fund,” said some wag. I can’t remember who. “Don’t knock it,” I reproved them, “a young lad has to get on,” particularly now it looks as if you’ve got competition at the gallery. Raymond is positively besotted by his new popsy.’

David was shocked. In private he might fawn over Raymond, but he hated outsiders thinking there might be something sexual between them.

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ he said sharply.

Somerford’s sleepy crocodile eyes were suddenly alight with malice.

‘We all know you’re Raymond’s boy.’

Somehow David managed not to betray his fury. He had expected widespread envy when he married money. He’d bloody well show them.

Parking meters had replaced the prostitutes of the Sixties in Cork Street. Fortunately David found a space right outside the Belvedon.

What a lovely brown man, and what a posh car, thought Anthea, checking her curls in the little gilt mirror she’d bought to hang by her reception desk. Since David’s absence, there had always been plenty of petty cash.

‘Where’s Raymond?’ David asked her curtly.

‘With a client.’ Then, as David strode towards Raymond’s door: ‘You can’t go in. He shouldn’t be long.’

David’s lips tightened. Fiona had often let in the wrong people. Not wanting his searchlight charm diffused, Raymond preferred dealing with one person at a time.

‘Would you like a catalogue?’ asked Anthea. ‘It explains about the pictures.’

And I wrote the fucking blurb, thought David.

Anthea went back to her press cuttings. David mooched around, noticing the number of red spots, pausing in front of an exquisite watercolour of a black girl cuddling an off-white baby.

Anthea decided to charm this unfriendly stranger. He was so good looking in that white suit and lovely shiny shoes.

‘D’you like that picture?’

‘Very much.’

She was wearing Penhaligon’s Bluebell, noticed David, which Raymond often gave to clients’ wives.

‘Well, I’ll let you into a little secret,’ she whispered, ‘that’s Mr Belvedon’s favourite. I know he’d like to keep it himself, but they’ve got so many pictures already in their beautiful Limesbridge home. I expect you’ve visited it.’

‘Frequently,’ snapped David.

‘Perhaps you’d like to be invited to Mrs Belvedon’s private view next week? If I ask Mr Belvedon nicely, I’m sure we can smuggle you in.’

‘How very kind,’ murmured David. Let me let you into a little secret, he wanted to shout, I’m Mr Belvedon’s favourite.

Next moment Raymond came out of the back room with the rich mad old collector, who was clutching a china Alsatian wrapped in the
Daily Mirror
.

‘This clearly has huge sentimental value,’ he was saying to her. ‘Unfortunately public taste has yet to catch up with it. But hang on to it. Who knows what may happen. Thank you so much, I’ll get my assistant to find you a bag.’

Looking round, he caught sight of David, and his face lit up.

‘My dear boy, you look so well.’

‘So do you.’ Spontaneously David crossed the gallery, embracing Raymond, kissing him on both cheeks.

‘How were the game reserves?’

‘Rather tame after Casey and Joan. It was all fine, but it’s great to be back. Come and see my new car.’

Outside was an olive-green Aston Martin.

‘Won’t show up when it’s parked under trees on summer evenings.’ David grinned wickedly. ‘It’s Rosemary’s wedding present.’

‘What did you give her?’ said Raymond, laughing yet disapproving.

‘My undying respect.’

‘You must come and meet Anthea.’

Anthea was scarlet – ready to explode like a hurled tomato. How dare David make a fool of her?

‘I’d no idea. You must think me
so
stupid.’

‘I think you’re a great operator. She nearly sold me a picture, Raymond. Your favourite evidently.’

‘Anthea’s wonderful,’ said Raymond, detecting tension.

‘How about some fresh coffee and home-made chocolate cake?’ asked Anthea, frantic to regain the ascendancy.

‘I’d like something stronger,’ said David, who for the past month at half past ten in the burning sunshine had been enjoying Bloody Marys that scorched the roof off one’s mouth.

‘Bit early,’ said Anthea primly.

David raised an eyebrow: ‘I’m still on Kenya time. Come on, Raymond. Where’s Fiona?’

‘Gone to Hong Kong for six months.’

‘You must miss her terribly.’

‘Not now I’ve got Hopey.’ Raymond smiled at Anthea.

‘Hopey?’

‘Mr Belvedon’s nickname for me, my name’s Rookhope after a village in Durham.’

‘Well, you’ve certainly made some changes, gallery looks like Laura Ashley. Are we selling cushions as well?’

Wandering into Raymond’s office, he picked up the photographs of Galena and the children. Asking after each one to emphasize his intimacy, he was appalled to learn of Alizarin’s rheumatoid arthritis.

‘That’s terrible. Rosemary and I’ll drive down and see him. I don’t suppose all this has helped Galena.’

‘No, she’s had a terrible time. We’re expecting her pictures any minute. Eddie’s gone down with the van.’

David noticed Anthea hovering in the doorway. To get rid of her, he asked her to bring in the party list.

‘When I’ve finished updating it,’ said Anthea coolly.

‘How is Rosemary?’ asked Raymond hastily.

‘About to start househunting, for somewhere near you.’ With every sentence, David tried to exclude Anthea, emphasizing his and Raymond’s closeness. Why the hell didn’t she fuck off and leave them?

‘Where shall we have lunch?’ he asked Raymond. ‘I’ll take you to the Capital in Basil Street – it’s wonderful.’

Oh, the joy of a joint bank account!

‘I expected you tomorrow,’ sighed Raymond, ‘I’m committed to taking Somerford to Wilton’s, softening him up for Galena’s private view.’

‘Pity,’ said David lightly, then, turning to Anthea, ‘Come and have lunch and tell me’ – he smiled slyly at Raymond – ‘what the old fox has been up to.’

Anthea thawed like butter in a microwave.

‘I’ve got to chase up the press who haven’t replied, and I told Lord Partridge we stayed open through the dinner hour. Perhaps Eddie could hold the fort when he gets back.’

Raymond felt distinctly deflated to see his new little friend going off with his old little friend, but after all, he was ashamed to find himself thinking, they were the same age and class.

David took Anthea to Jules Bar in Jermyn Street. Outside on the wall was a giant royal-blue cocktail glass. Inside was filled with sleek young bloods in pinstripe suits, noisily discussing the afternoon’s racing as they downed large gins and tonic. They all eyed up Anthea, who confessed to David she was not much of a drinker. David suggested Pimm’s and surreptitiously persuaded the waiter to add a double measure of gin.

‘I’m going to have a steak, very rare,’ he announced. He didn’t like bloody meat any more than he liked black coffee, but asked for them because Raymond did.

‘I fancy a prawn cocktail and perhaps a dessert. That gâteau looks tasty,’ observed Anthea. ‘We mustn’t be longer than an hour, Fiona took such frightful liberties.’

She was clearly beady about her predecessor, justifying her anger by cataloguing Fiona’s misdemeanours: ‘She left everything in such a mess.’

‘One mustn’t speak ill of the deb,’ confided David, ‘but Fiona’s tiny mind was on other things: Wimbledon, Henley, Ascot, Goodwood, skiing. Raymond loved her because she was
very
glamorous and knew all the right people. She’s a particularly good friend of my wife, Rosemary.’

Then, seeing Anthea was feeling upstaged, softened his approach.

‘Raymond’s very pleased with you. He adores small pictures, so easy to smuggle, and they don’t take up too much room on the gallery walls. Similarly he likes small, very feminine ladies; you’ve stepped out of a Fragonard.’

‘He’s such a gentleman,’ sighed Anthea, taking a delicate sip of Pimm’s. ‘We have so much in common, despite the age gap: classical music, fine wine, lovely restaurants.’

She and Raymond had clearly been spending a lot of time in the latter recently. She was also able to give David a detailed update of Raymond’s family life and the dark horror of Galena’s moods and Alizarin’s illness.

‘Little Jonathan seems the only ray of sunshine.

Sometimes I feel Mr Belvedon can’t wait to get back to town. He was so distressed when Shrimpy chewed up his address book. I’ve been making him a new one.’

‘With Rookhope at the top of the Rs,’ teased David.

Anthea’s soft pink lips lifted, but her big blue eyes were serious.

‘Mr Belvedon seems so lost.’

‘That’s because I haven’t been around,’ said David brutally. ‘If I’d known Fiona wasn’t going to be here, I’d have come back early from Kenya.’

‘We’ve managed,’ said Anthea shirtily.

‘You’ve done a wonderful job filling in while I’ve been away.’

Anthea rootled around in the shredded lettuce and pink sauce for more prawns. David, she decided, was very glamorous, but on the make, and not to be trusted. Yet she was so anxious to emphasize her value as a helpmate that, after the second Pimm’s, which was really a meal in itself if you spooned out all the fruit, she told him about Galena’s leaving the Tate party with Khalid the handsome Pakistani.