The Lost Art of Keeping Secrets (34 page)

‘Singers?’

‘He’s
made more money than he knows what to do with. He’s just bought himself a place
in Cadogan Square. Apparently he had a Chevrolet shipped over here from Los
Angeles—’

‘I
know!’ I squeaked. ‘I saw him getting into it at Didcot! I’ve never seen a car
look so out of place!’

‘He’s
never been married,’ went on Harry primly.

‘So?’

‘So don’t
you think that’s a bit odd?’

‘Not at
all,’ I said firmly.
Yes, must investigate further,
I thought.

I lost Harry again as
Marina re-entered the room. She looked as wilful and as powerful as she had
done at Dorset House, her red hair piled on top of her head with a
diamond-studded comb, her wide mouth never still for a second. She saw me and
blew me a kiss.

‘There
she is,’ said Harry softly, ‘the girl who rips my soul apart.’

‘Sounds
painful,’ I snapped. I didn’t see what gave Harry the right to criticise Rocky
when he was fawning over the ridiculousness that was Marina.

‘You’re
so bloody tall, Penelope. Oh, it’s the heels, of course,’ he said
absent-mindedly.

I
rather liked the way that he couldn’t resist pretending that he hadn’t planned
it all. ‘My fairy godmother has wonderful taste, don’t you think?’

For a
moment he glared at me, then he couldn’t help himself, and his face broke into
an unfamiliar smile — all boyish and pleased and quite unlike his usual
self-aware smirk. He looked very young suddenly — young and vulnerable and
sweet.

‘I
couldn’t resist the heels,’ he admitted. ‘Even though they make me ridiculous.
I know I said I didn’t want you to tower over me, but actually I think it’s
pretty sexy.

‘Gosh,
Harry!’ I wasn’t sure I knew how to react to words like this from him. I changed
the subject quickly. ‘So how did you get them into my— Harry placed his fingers
on my lips. ‘I’m a magician,’ he said. ‘Don’t ask silly questions.’

The conversation at dinner was fast and
furious and peppered with noteworthy exclamations like
No! But I only saw
her last week in Monte Carlo! She looked like a Polish whore, I tell you! and
Well my dear, I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, I wish I could live in
a mud hut and be done with interior design altogether.’
I was supposed to
have a man called Ivan Steinberg on my left and Harry on my right, but just as
we were sitting down George reshuffled things and I found Rocky in Ivan’s
place.

‘Steinberg’s
plane’s been delayed,’ explained George. ‘Won’t get here until we’re on to
brandy, at the earliest. Thought I’d move Rocky up your way, since you seem to
be such good chums.’

‘First
sensible idea you’ve ever had, Rogerson,’ said Rocky, sliding up and holding my
gaze. We sat down, and in my flustered state I knocked my glass of Chablis all
over the table and onto Rocky’s beautiful suit.

‘You
clumsy oaf,’ he said, not unkindly.

‘Oh
goodness!’ I gasped, ‘I am sorry!’

‘Don’t
be. The laundry service in this hotel is exceptional.’

‘Staying
here, are you?’ asked Harry.

‘Sure
am.

I think
Harry would have liked to find something smart to say to this, but he couldn’t
think of anything, so instead he drained his first drink of the evening and
reached over for the bottle to recharge his glass. Unfortunately, Marina,
sitting diagonally across from him, caught his eye and he lost concentration
and sent the bottle flying.

‘What’s
wrong with you, Delancy?’ asked George with a bark of laughter, retrieving the
bottle and whipping a napkin onto the soaked tablecloth.

‘He’s
in love, of course,’ drawled Rocky, nodding in my direction. ‘Can’t ya see it?’

I
noticed Marina flush. ‘Don’t embarrass him, George,’ she said. ‘It’s just a
little spill. You know what, guys, last week at the races, my plate of prawns
slipped right out of my hands and into the princess’s lap. You know what she
said to me? She said, “Marina, dearest, I don’t believe I ordered the
shellfish.”’ She put on a very good impersonation of the princess to deliver
this line and everyone, including me, roared. Marina, sensing an audience, was
off. Just like the last time, I found myself fascinated and horrified in equal
measures. She was like trifle: irresistible, but too much made one feel
distinctly queasy. For every time that Rocky looked at me and smiled, I
fidgeted and grabbed at my glass and sipped and gulped and refilled, and before
long I realised I had drunk too much, but of course it was too late.

‘…next
day, I found him rummaging around in the garbage looking for her diamonds!’
Marina concluded.

Everyone
roared again, and a great tidal wave of laughter filled the room and swamped
Marina in praise. She laughed herself, and her eyes watered slightly. I felt an
unexpected and most unwelcome rush of affection for her.

‘In
this country we call it rubbish, not garbage, darling,’ said George fondly.

‘Ah
well. It’s all trash to me,’ Marina said lightly. but I sensed her irritation
and I felt sorry for George. He was a curious character, like something out of
a book. The way he spouted on about the wine, the insistence with which he
talked us through every mouthful of our starter (a cheese soufflé so stunning
that I suppose it did merit
some
discussion) and the way he hung on
every word Marina said made him difficult to take seriously, but for all that
there was a softness about him, an unconscious kindness, that made him more
teddy bear than teddy boy, and I couldn’t help liking him’. I wondered if he
was too stupid to notice the fiery looks that were passing between his future
wife and her former lover, and I decided that yes, he was. Or maybe not too
stupid, but too blindly in love.

‘I like
George,’ said Rocky as if reading my mind when Marina had finished her story
and we were allowed to talk amongst ourselves again. ‘He’s good with her.’

‘I
think so too,’ I found myself saying. Harry, overhearing us, frowned at me. I
ignored him.

‘So,’
went on Rocky, ‘tell me everything.’

About
what?’ I asked nervously.

‘Oh,
you know — what you were doing on the train the day that we met, what you like
to watch at the movies, how old you were when you realised you could sing—’

‘I can’t
sing!’ I spluttered.

‘No?
Betcha can.’ Rocky grinned.

‘My
brother’s the singer,’ I said. ‘It’s all he ever wants to do —sing and play the
guitar.’

‘I must
meet him some time,’ said Rocky.

I
laughed because I was starting to feel whizzy with champagne. Rocky would love
Inigo, I thought. Inigo would love Rocky.

Between mouthfuls of
soufflé, I started to talk and found that once I had started, I couldn’t stop.
I talked about Johnnie and Charlotte, and about Mama and Inigo and everything
in between. Occasionally, Rocky interrupted me with a question —what actress
would I most like to invite to Magna for tea? (Grace Kelly,
naturellement.)
What
did I miss most during rationing? (I lied here and said new stockings but the
true answer was Cadbury’s chocolate) and was my mother really only thirty-six
years old? (Yes, and more’s the pity, I said indiscreetly.) Then our main
course appeared, and I felt a wave of fear and nausea. It was duck.

‘Pretend
it’s goose,’ murmured Charlotte, sensing my unease, and I smiled thankfully at
her and took another gulp of champagne. Charlotte was opposite me, sandwiched
between two very beautiful boys of about twenty. They were obviously very taken
with her, vying for her attention, telling elaborate stories about people she
knew, filling up her glass and lighting her cigarettes, and she responded
amiably enough, but there was none of that fire, the nerves, the jittery legs,
the spark that there had been when we had been out with A the T at the caff
These boys, with their two addresses and fast cars and their Garrick Club
membership, bored her.

‘Sometimes I find it hard,
being eighteen,’ I said to Rocky. Waiters were clearing our plates away now. I
was amazed to notice that I had eaten almost all of my duck.

‘You
hate being eighteen?’ Rocky looked amused, but not in the edgy, self-conscious
way that Harry did. Rocky was amused because he could afford to be. ‘Why would
anyone hate being eighteen?’

‘I don’t
know,’ I said. ‘Guilt, I suppose. That Papa died fighting somewhere I can’t even
imagine in the middle of the Pacific, yet I spend more time thinking about when
I’m going to see Johnnie Ray or what to wear to parties.’

‘My
dear Penelope, your father would expect nothing less. He fought and died so
that you could think luxurious thoughts about pop singers and Yardley perfume.’

I had
one of my odd moments when I thought I might cry, so I drank some more and went
on talking.

‘It was
hard, during the war. Mama kept it together until the news came through about
Papa. Even then she refused to believe it. Inigo and I were so little that when
she told us that he wasn’t coming back, it didn’t really mean much. We hated
her being sad more than anything else. Still do.’

‘I
guess the strangest thing about your generation is that you grew up with the
war as your normality. That’s something
I
can’t imagine.’

‘You’re
right,’ I said slowly. because it was the first time that anyone had
articulated this, although I had always felt it somewhere inside. ‘When it
ended, it seemed completely unreal to me. I think I was a bit scared of what
would happen next. Isn’t that craziness? Scared of life without war?’

Rocky
lit a cigarette and passed it to me. I took it with shaking hands and our
fingers touched.

‘Frightening
to think what you lot will do with yourselves,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘All
this freedom after all that deprivation!’

‘Sometimes
I think I want to do something mad, something outrageous. I talk to Johnnie all
the time, and imagine myself with him. My friend Charlotte and I, we just want
to be’ different, I suppose. She’s much more successful than I am in that
sense. She just doesn’t really care what anyone thinks; she’ll wear strange
hats and make them look right, she’ll spend all her money on one pair of silk
stockings. I can’t even eat a whole packet of sweets myself without feeling
bad.’

‘You
will, darling, you will. And if you can’t, your children certainly will.’

Children!
Heaven forbid, I thought, and hastily changed the subject. ‘So how do you know
Marina and George?’

Rocky
leaned in towards me. ‘Ah. That’s an interesting question. Unfortunately for
me, you’re the type of girl who makes a guy feel bad unless the truth is told.’

I wasn’t
entirely sure if this was a good or a bad thing. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Marina
was auditioning for a movie I produced.’

‘Was
she any good?’

‘She
was wonderful,’ confessed Rocky. Oh, terrific, I thought, wanting to throw all
my toys out of the pram or whatever the expression was. I had always imagined
that the reason Marina wasn’t a famous actress was because she wasn’t any good.

‘How
come she hasn’t been in anything big yet then?’ I asked. ‘Ah. There’s a
question.’ Rocky shook his head and lowered his voice. ‘She’s trouble. She’s a
difficult, spoilt girl and she drinks too much.’

‘Drinks
too much?’

‘Of
course. If your whole life’s a dinner party, then what do you expect? She can’t
be trusted, but I believe she’ll sort herself out one day. It may take longer
than any of us expect, but she’ll wake up to the truth eventually.’

‘So she
auditioned and you became friends?’

Rocky
nodded. ‘She’s vulnerable and self-destructive. I’ve always found myself
attracted to people like that.’

‘A-attracted?’

‘Oh no,
nothing like that’s ever gone on between us,’ said Rocky quickly. ‘She’s far
too exhausting, even by my standards. But it was me who introduced her to
George.’

‘You
did?’