Sugar Mummy (44 page)

'Yes,' she says sweetly. 'Isn't that good timing?'

'I thought you were going at eight.'

'Oh, did you?' She says innocently. 'Well, seven-thirty, eight
o'clock. Something like that, Channing will just have to scrape off his face mask
before it's dry, that's all.' She slips on her shoes and then looks at herself in
profile in the mirror. 'What do you think? Good enough to eat?' By this time the
little girl voice has become quite sinister.

'Delicious,' I say quickly.

'Shame you won't be having any then, isn't it?' she says sweeping
past me. I stare at the floor in disbelief for a moment and then follow her downstairs.
Then she turns round and walks upstairs again. 'Where are you going?'

'I forgot my earrings.'

I pace around the living room and flick the telly on and then
off. Then on again. Marion returns.

'That's better,' she smiles. 'OK, let's – oh - oh.'

'Now what?'

'Wrong shoes - that's you hurrying me.'

Twelve minutes - twelve minutes - later she comes back down again
with the same shoes on as far as I can see. We finally walk out to the car. I decide
I'll drop her off at Channing's and then walk onto the Oyster Bar.

'Evening, madam,' says Chris as we get in. He looks at me in
the mirror.

'Evening, Sir.'

'Good evening, Chris,' says the seven-year-old Marion. 'How's
your mother?'

'She's much better now thank you, Madam.'

'I'm glad to hear it. I'm going to Channing's and we're dropping
Mr Collins ... Where are we dropping you, Andrew?'

'Albero & Grana in Sloane Street,' I mumble.

'Where?' says Marion, innocently.

'Albero & Grana. That bar near the top of Sloane Street.
I'll show you.'

'Sounds very expensive for your friends,' says Marion.

'We don't drink much,' I say.

'Very sensible,' says Chris. I shoot him a look. He grins again.

'Oh, my God. I forgot my pocket book,' says Marion, ferreting
around in her handbag. 'What is the matter with me today? Won't be long, dear, you
wait here.'

She gets out. I look at my watch. It's already twenty to eight.
I look up and see Chris staring at me in the mirror so I get out of the car. At
a quarter to I go back in to shout to Marion that I'll walk after all but she is
coming out again.

'Sorry about that.'

Without saying anything I get back in the car. 'Right, Chris,
to where was it?'

'Albero & Grana.'

'Yes, to Albero & Grana and on then to Mr Charisse's please.'

'No. Well, we may as well go to Channing's first,' I suggest
half-heartedly.

'But you've got to be there at seven-thirty. Oh look, it's nearly
ten to eight now. Chris, step on it will you?'

We set off into the early evening traffic. As we move into Sloane
Square Marion suddenly pipes up; 'Is there an office licence near here?'

Chris is as flummoxed as I am this time. 'A what?' I say.

'An office licence. Is that what they're called? Channing asked
me to bring a bottle.'

'Bring a bottle?' I gasp. 'What do you mean? Your friends never
bring bottles.'

'But he's run out of booze. He had a party last night.'

I sit back. It's nearly five to eight. OK, Marion, you've won.
You've so won.

'Safeway might be the best bet, madam,' says Chris helpfully.
'They've got quite an extensive selection of wines and spirits.'

I think 'Cunt' at Chris but he just smiles helpfully. 'Safeway?'
says Marion. 'There's a thought. Is there one nearby?'

'In the King's Road, madam, five minutes from here.'

'Marion, I'll just get out and walk.'

'Bit difficult to stop here, sir,' says Chris.

'I'll see you later,' I say to Marion and give her a peck on
the cheek. But the door handle doesn't work.

'Better wait,' Marion says quietly, without looking round.

Minutes later we're at Safeway. Marion goes in. I debate whether
to get out and run off. Instead I pick up the car phone, get the number for the
Oyster Bar from directory enquiries, scribble it on a piece of paper that I've been
sitting on, and begin to ring it. I don't care that Chris knows that I'm not going
to Albero & Grana.

'Hello, I'm supposed to meeting someone there and I'm slightly
late,' I say quietly, aware that Chris is listening to every word, probably ready
to relay it all back to Marion. Above the roar and clatter of the restaurant the
girl at the other end doesn't sound very hopeful.

'What do they look like?'

'She's got dark red hair, early twenties, pale complexion ...
erm ...'

'Hold on,' says the girl. I hear her shouting something to someone
else. I look up and Chris is watching me 'Oh, fuck off, will you?'

He laughs and looks away.

'I can't see anyone exactly like that, listen we're really busy,
can you ring back later?'

'Oh, please, she must be there. She's got a sort of bob and-'

There is a knock of the window which makes me jump so that I
bang my head on the ceiling. It's Marion with a Safeway guy struggling under a huge
box. The door seems to be working now.

'Well, give me a hand, won't you?' says Marion, who is not doing
anything. The boot pops open and I help the Safeway assistant who is sweating under
the strain of putting a box of Veuve Cliquot into it.

'Phew,' says Marion, giving him a tip. We get in. 'Who were you
calling?'

'No one.'

'OK, let's go to - where was it?' Chris moves off slowly.

Then Marion grabs my arm and shouts at him: 'Stop! I forgot:
Channing asked me to bring cigarettes.' I'm almost past caring. We reverse back
into a place on the double yellows lines.

'Look, I'll walk,' I say firmly.

'You can't,' says Marion. 'It's going to rain.' She slams the
door and immediately the central locking clicks in. Biting my lip hard, I sit back
and wait. There is nothing I can do now. Marion will be ages - she'll make sure
of that. It's nearly ten past eight. I consider giving the Oyster Bar another call
but then decide against it because I can't stand the thought of Chris listening
in and laughing at me. I look at the piece of the paper I've written the number
down on. Along the top it says: 'Montague Car and Van Hire, Wimpole Street, WI -
Leasing Agreement'. It's for this car - it mentions a black BMW Seven Series and
I recognise the number plate but under client it says 'Kremer Holdings Ltd' with
an address in the City. Suddenly there is click and Marion gets back in again.

'Sorry about that. Right, let's go.' I slip the paper down onto
the floor.

I run into the Oyster Bar at just after twenty past eight. It
is busy and there is a queue.

'Can I help you, sir?' says a young waiter, assuming that I'm
trying to push my way in which, of course, I am.

'I'm supposed to be meeting someone,' I say irritably, looking
over his shoulder. A few people stare up at me from their tables as I look around
the room for her. I push past and then wander around, wanting to believe she is
still there, that I just haven't seen her yet, that I'm just looking through her.
Is that her? No, it's a middle-aged bloke with a beard. Not quite. After what seems
like half an hour, by which time I've disrupted the whole restaurant and made a
total tit of myself, I walk out, past people in the queue who stare at me with narrowed
eyes.

I look down Sloane Avenue and then the other way towards South
Kensington Tube. Suddenly I see her. In the distance. It must be her. I run across
the road. A taxi blows its horn and a car stops inches away from me. I can see her
walking along slowly, looking up at a poster, moving out of the way to let a woman
with her pushchair past, swinging her bag at one point. When I'm near enough I shout.
She doesn't turn round. I get nearer and shout again and this time she does. Thank
God!

'Hi,' I say, running up to her and panting slightly.

'Oh, hello,' she says flatly, her strong intelligent mouth set
determinedly.

'I'm sorry,' I gasp.

'I thought I'd been stood up.'

'I know, I'm so sorry. I just couldn't get away.'

'Don't worry about it,' she says and starts walking again.

'Jane.' I walk after her, sweating now. I catch her arm. She
looks round angrily and shrugs my hand off her. 'I'm really sorry.'

'Oh, Andrew, forget it,' she snaps. 'I waited over half an hour
for you, sitting there like a fucking lemon in that poncey place. Five quid for
a glass of wine, for Christ's sake.'

'Look, let me buy you another,' I say and immediately regret
it because it doesn't come out the way I meant. It sounds like I'm offering to reimburse
her, not talk to her. She looks at me for a moment, face contorted with contempt.

'Don't worry. Really, don't worry about it.'

'Look I'm so sorry, I just couldn't get away. I tried to ring.'

'I told you it doesn't matter.' She starts to walk again. I run
up to her again. I'm conscious of stopping other people walking down the street.

'Marion just screwed things up when I was trying to get out.'

Jane looks at me again. 'Is that her name?'

I realise I've never mentioned it before. 'Yes'.

'Marion. Mmm.' She carries on walking.

'Jane.'

'Wasn't that the mother in Happy Days?' she says casually, still
walking.

'Yeah, yeah it was. She's not very like that, though,' I add
helpfully, talking to keep Jane where she is while I try and think of something
to say. She takes a deep breath. 'Did she know you were coming to see me?'

'No, of course not.'

She thinks about it for a moment. 'Andrew, I don't really want
to talk about her.'

'Oh, no, neither do I.' I'm looking closely at her, trying to
work out what she is thinking, trying to will her to forgive me. 'Shall we go and
have a drink somewhere?'

She is silent for a moment. Then she looks straight ahead, avoiding
my eyes. 'I can't do this. I can't be the other woman. I've just got more self respect
than that.'

'Of course, I-'

'Funny thing, is,' she says, the muscles in her pale smooth neck
twitching as she fights back the tears. 'Funny thing is, I'm always meeting complete
... fucking ... arseholes trying to be nice guys and you're basically a nice guy
trying to be an arsehole.' She gives an irritable, confused laugh. 'Why? I just
don't understand.'

'Jane, I-'

'Oh, never mind,' she mutters, which is quite a relief because
I don't actually know how to answer this accusation. 'You know how I feel about
you, Andrew, but you've got to decide. I've had enough. Like I said, I just can't
do this.' She sniffs and looks around her. 'The phone's working again, you've got
my number. Just, er ...' She starts to walk away and I know she's crying. I don't
go after her. It would just make it worse.

I begin to walk back home. 'Home'? Is that what it is? By the
time I get to the King's Road it has become very dark and as I walk into Sloane
Square the heavens open. Big warm splats of rain clear the streets and some people
at a cafe start squealing and running inside.

I don't care, though. In fact I walk all the way round Eaton
Square as well, taking in the warm, sweet-smelling air. By the time I get back I'm
well and truly soaked, even my shoes are squelching. I ring the doorbell and Ana
Maria opens the door very slowly. She gasps, begins to giggle and opens it properly.

'Mr Andrew, you soaked.'

I look at her for a moment. This is the woman I'm going to marry.

'I know,' I say unnecessarily. I walk in and trudge upstairs,
leaving big soggy grey footprints on the white carpet. I decide to have a bath because
I need to think.

By the time Marion gets back at just after eleven I'm sitting
in front of the TV still in my bathrobe. She looks slightly surprised to see me.

'How was Vinny?'

'Fine,' I say looking her in the eye and realising that I must
have drunk an awful lot. I've spurned Ana Maria's kind offer of supper. To be honest,
I just can't bear to look at her at the moment. Not since we've become engaged.

'Where'd you go? The pub?' she says brightly, putting her bag
down on the settee. She eyes the bottle of Scotch sitting on the coffee table next
to my feet, neither of which I can be bothered to move. God, Marion don't you ever
give up?

'Yeah.' I don't care that she's probably had Chris following
me again with his Polaroid camera. He'd have got some good shots this time, though
- me charging; round the restaurant glaring at the customers while the staff try
to decide how much longer they'll give me before they chuck me out or call the police,
me haring around outside looking for Jane, me running along the road in front of
oncoming cars to catch her up, her turning her back on me and walking off. In a
way I'd quite like Marion to see those pictures, I'd like her to see what I'll do
for someone I really love, really care about, someone who is straightforward and
honest and just wants to have a normal relationship, not play weird mind games.
And I'd like her to know that I'd never bother to run after her like that.

'Andrew, would you fix me a Perrier with ice, I'm terribly thirsty.
I'm just going to change.' She grabs her bag and walks off.

When I get up I realise that actually I'm really pissed. I stumble
over to the drinks cabinet, gashing my shin on the coffee table. I look at it for
a moment and then kick it hard with the underside of my foot. The huge vase of lilies
shifts very slightly but the table itself hardly moves.

Chapter
Twenty-Two

I wake up in the spare room, I can't quite remember how I got
there but I'm just so relieved I don't have to face Marion. I reach over and check
my watch. Twenty past ten. I try and swallow and find that my mouth is dry. I'm
horribly hungover, of course, really sick as well because I didn't eat anything
last night. I take a deep breath, stand up and have to sit down on the bed again
quickly. I feel hot and cold at the same time and an icy hand seems to be very slowly
squeezing my brain. I lie down again, perhaps I'll fall asleep and feel better when
I wake up. But I can't.