Fine Lines

by Simon Beckett

  Suddenly, I was aware that I was on the outside. For a few seconds I might as wel not have been there, and I felt a sour feeling in my gut at my exclusion. The moment passed quickly

  -Anna was too considerate to neglect me for long but the feeling remained. And now, aware of it for the first time, I noticed that the way she looked and responded to Zeppo was subtly different to the way she looked and responded to me. I could fool myself no longer. The time of procrastination was over.

  If I had stil been in any doubt, it was wiped out only minutes later.

  The residue of her laughter stil about her, Anna excused herself and went to the toilet. Zeppo waited until she was out of earshot before leaning closer.

  "Donald, old son, why don't you fuck off home and let the two of us get on with it?" My mouth went dry. I took a drink, stal ing. "I think it would look rather suspicious if I left now."

  "Bal s. It'l just look like you're being romantic. She'l be grateful to you for it." He grinned. "Almost as much as she wil to me." I searched desperately for excuses. This was neither the time nor the place to have this conversation. "No. Not tonight."

  "Oh, for Christ's sake, Donald, come on! I've been holding back so far because you said it was too early. Wel , now it's not. If I don't do something soon the poor cow'l be rubbing herself against the table leg!"

  "You're disgusting!"

  "And you're an old fart. Look, do you want me to fuck her or don't you? If you don't, let me know now, because I'm sick of pissing around. If you do, then tonight's as good a time as any. You wanted to know in advance, I'm tel ing you. So which is it to be?"

  "I'm not going to be forced into'

  "Nobody'5 forcing you to do anything. If you don't want to leave now, fine. Stay. But I'm stil going to take her back to my flat afterwards. Okay?" His attitude angered me. "No," I said, emphatical y.

  Zeppo bal ed his fists. "Jesus Christ! What is the matter with you? Al right, why? Why not? Give me one good reason!" I looked around to make sure no one was listening. "I'm not prepared to discuss it now."

  "Wel , too fucking bad, because you're going to! I've had enough of your little games. Either tel me why I shouldn't screw her tonight, or I wil anyway!"

  "Don't you dare!" I had actual y begun to shake. Right then I wished I had never set eyes on him.

  "Why not? We're both consenting adults. Anna's a big girl, she can make her own mind up. So how are you going to stop us?" I was almost choking. "I'm warning you, if you do I won't give you a penny!" He was grinning now, infuriatingly sure of himself. "So what? At this rate I'l be dead of old age before I get anything anyway. Besides, she might be so good I won't be bothered about being paid." Abruptly, his entire demeanour changed. The sneering face became solicitous. "Are you sure you don't want a doctor?" he asked.

  I was thrown completely off balance. And then Anna appeared beside me.

  "What's the matter?" Zeppo was looking at me with a worried expression. "Donald's got chest pains."

  "No, I've ... I'm fine," I stammered, struggling to come to grips with the new situation.

  "Are they bad?" Anna looked and sounded concerned.

  "No, real y

  "You're a bit flushed," Zeppo said. The foul-mouthed,

  threatening creature of only moments ago had vanished. "Do you feel out of breath at al ?"

  "No, I'm fine," I said, trying to sound normal and immediately sounding breathless.

  "Do you want me to cal a doctor?" Anna asked.

  "I'm al right, real y." I forced a smile. "It was probably indigestion. It's gone now."

  "Perhaps we'd better go," Zeppo said to Anna, and I suddenly realised what he was trying to do.

  "No!" I insisted. "There's no need. I feel fine. Real y." Anna stil looked worried. "I think we should go. It's getting late, anyway." Despite my objections, I could do nothing to dissuade her. We left the bar and Zeppo hailed a taxi. Before I could stop him, he had given my address to the driver.

  "We should drop Anna off first," I said, desperately.

  "I'd rather see you home," she said. "I can be dropped off later

  "But you live nearer."

  "I think we'd both feel happier seeing you home first." There was nothing in Zeppo's voice to suggest the glee I knew he would be feeling. "The sooner you get to bed the better. You'l probably feel better after a good night's sleep." There was nothing I could do. Helpless, I sat silently, aware of the occasional concerned glances from Anna. Quite probably I did not look at al wel . By that time I did not feel it.

  The taxi stopped outside my house, and I reached for my wal et. But Zeppo put his hand on mine, preventing me from taking any money out.

  "Don't worry about paying," he said. "I'l get this." He leaned over and opened the door for me to get out. I could think of no reasonable excuse not to. His face was deadpan as Anna wished me goodnight and made me promise to cal the doctor if the chest pains returned. I stood on the street as the door was slammed, and the taxi pul ed away. Anna waved through the rear window. So did Zeppo. Then they turned a corner and disappeared.

  Almost beside myself with anger and panic, I let myself in and poured a drink. I forced myself to give the taxi enough time to drop Anna off and take Zeppo home, and then telephoned him. My hand shook as it held the receiver. It rang hol owly in my ear,

  but no one answered. I almost cal ed Anna then. But I could not openly ask if Zeppo was with her, and I could think of no other excuse to cal .

  I made myself wait five minutes and then tried Zeppo's number again.

  Then I waited another five. And another. I had lost count of the number of times I tried, and then there was a dick as the receiver was picked up at the other end.

  "Zeppo?" My heart jumped and began to race. But the voice at the other end was not the one I expected.

  "Hel o?" It was an old woman's, thin and querulous. Anticlimax made me feel leaden.

  "I'm sorry. Wrong number."

  "Who?"

  "I've dial ed the wrong number. I'm sorry to have bothered you." I was about to put the receiver down, but she spoke again.

  "Who are you?" Her voice was raised and feeble. I spoke a little louder.

  "I said I've got the wrong number. I'm sorry."

  "Who did you want?"

  "Someone cal ed Zeppo. I must have mis dial ed

  "Steptoe?" I closed my eyes. "No. It doesn't matter. I'm sorry if I disturbed you."

  "There's nobody here cal ed Steptoe."

  "No, I know. My mistake."

  "What?"

  "I said I know!"

  "Why'd you cal me, then?"

  "It was a mistake. I'm sorry. Goodbye." Her voice was becoming louder and more irritable. "Do you know what time it is?" I hung up. Exasperated, I cal ed Zeppo again, making sure to dial the right number. When it was answered almost immediately I expected to hear the old woman's voice. But this time it was him.

  My first overriding emotion was relief. But that was quickly lost in a surge of anger. "How dare you do that to me!" I shouted. "How dare you!"

  "Hel o, Donald. You're not miffed about something, are you?"

  I could almost see his smirk. "This time you've gone too far! How dare you?"

  "You've said that twice already."

  "Where's Anna?"

  "She's in the bedroom. Just a second, I'l cal her." Before I could say anything, I heard him shout, "Anna, get dressed, it's Donald. He wants a word with you." I was paralysed. I tried to make myself hang up, but nothing happened.

  I felt hot panic as I waited for Anna's voice.

  "Just kidding," Zeppo's said instead. "Bet that had you shitting yourself, didn't it?" My legs would suddenly not support me. I sat down, trembling.

  "Donald? You stil there?"

  "Yes." My voice sounded weak. I tried to clutch at my anger for support. "I don't find your sense of humour very amusing."

  "Better than not having one." He laughed. "Oh, come on, Donald, you asked for it. It serves you right." I did not know whic
h of his moods I disliked the most, sul en, aggressive, or playful. "Where is Anna?" I asked, a faint anxiety stil lurking at the back of my mind.

  "Safe and sound at home. We stopped off for a drink at a pub, and then I escorted her to her door. Al very proper, don't worry. I didn't even give her a goodnight kiss." Reaction was beginning to set in. I lacked the energy to argue. "I trust you enjoyed your little joke?"

  "Yes, I did, actual y. But just think of it as a warning. Next time I won't be joking. I'm tired of being messed around. I don't like being treated like hired help, and if it happens again I won't just leave Anna on her doorstep. So either tel me what you're playing at, or you can shove your money and your pictures, and I'l fuck her anyway.

  What's it to be?" I rubbed my eyes. I felt very tired. Suddenly, I could not wait to get him off the line. "I'l meet you after I close tomorrow. At your flat."

  "What's wrong with now?"

  "Tomorrow," I repeated. "I'l tel you then."

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  "There's a Mr. Dryden on the line for you." Anna waited expectantly, but although I had heard the words they failed to register. I shook myself. "I'm sorry, Anna. What did you say?"

  "There's a Mr. Dryden on the phone. Shal I tel him you're busy?"

  "No. No, that's al right, I'l speak to him." I was in the back room of the gal ery, ostensibly to finish cleaning a tobacco-stained oil.

  But the materials lay almost unused at my feet, the canvas as dirty as before, except for one corner where the colours shone through more brightly. I had managed that much before my mind wandered.

  "Are you al right?" Anna asked. She had been solicitous al day, concerned after my "chest pains" of the previous night. But I had been too preoccupied to feel touched. I smiled, reassuringly.

  "Fine! Just daydreaming." That was almost the truth. The meeting with Zeppo that evening was preying on my mind, but there was another reason for my distraction.

  I had had the dream again.

  Once again I was in the same room as before, watching my mother brush her hair in the firelight. But this time there was nothing comforting in the sight. The feeling of contentment and security had gone.

  Instead, as I lay on the sofa and watched her hair gleam in the flames, I was fil ed with apprehension. Each crackle of the fire, each brush stroke, seemed pregnant with impending catastrophe. I knew that something terrible was about to happen, but had no idea what. I could only lay there, my anxiety growing with each moment, waiting for the unknown disaster to arrive.

  This time when the doorbel rang in the dream I did not wake up. I saw my mother put down her brush and come towards me. The white silk of her robe glowed in the half-light as she studied me for a moment before walking from the room. There was a pause. I heard the door being opened and listened in dread to the murmur of voices. My mother's and one other. A man's. A stranger's.

  Then my mother laughed and my fear became panic. I knew with awful certainty that the moment had arrived, and with utter terror heard her say, "It's al right. He's asleep." I woke. I was sweating. I stared around my room, heart bumping, until I realised where I was. Gradual y, I calmed down. But I could not go back to sleep. I lay and stared at the ceiling, watching it lighten with the approaching dawn. I could not understand why the dream had been so disturbing. It was not as though it had been a nightmare. It was just a dream, after al . There was nothing in it to justify such a strong reaction.

  But tel ing myself that had done little good. Even daylight had failed to lift the mood of foreboding it had instil ed. I almost had another accident on the way into the gal ery, and since arriving I had been unable to concentrate on anything for more than a few minutes.

  Now, with Anna watching me, I began to walk to the telephone in the gal ery before I realised what I was doing and stopped.

  "I'l take it in the office." I went upstairs and closed the door. I picked up the telephone. "Thank you, Anna." There was a click as she replaced the other receiver.

  "Donald Ramsey speaking."

  "Hel o, Donald. It's Charles Dryden here." The voice was plummy and rather smug. "I thought I'd let you know that I've come by one or two new pieces you might be interested in." At one time, that would have been enough to make my stomach knot with excitement. Dryden was a specialist dealer in erotica. I had dealt with him several times in the past, although I did not particularly like the man. He had no feel for the pieces that passed through his hands. To him they were simply objects to be bought and sold, appreciated in direct proportion to their market value. But he had his uses. I had come by several beautiful pieces

  through him. And, indirectly, I had him to thank or blame for my present situation. It had been in the back room of his shop that I came across the examples of Zeppo's less public model ing work.

  Now, however, my customary excitement was diluted to a mild curiosity.

  "Oh yes?"

  "Two Rowlandson prints. And a Fuseli." The way he said this last implied a silent fanfare.

  "A Fuseli? Authenticated?"

  "Of course." He sounded slightly indignant. Despite his merchant-like motives, he stil had professional pride. "No doubt about it. I'd put it as one of his later courtesan drawings. It's from the same col ection as the Rowlandsons. They've al got unimpeachable provenances. But the Fuseli is quite exceptional. Absolutely exquisite." I distrusted this last piece of information, since Dryden's aestheticism was purely monetary in nature. But he was rarely mistaken about the authenticity of his pieces, and a Fuseli, exquisite or not, was a find indeed.

  Any serious col ector would be desperate to possess it. Not long ago so would I. Now I found myself completely unmoved.

  "I appreciate your letting me know, but I think I'l have to pass on them." I said.

  "Oh." Dryden's surprise was obvious. "They are al excel ent pieces.

  Particularly the Fuseli. I'm sure that would be very much to your taste."

  "Quite possibly, but I'm afraid I'l stil have to say no."

  "Wel , of course, that's up to you. But I think you'l regret it.

  Perhaps you'd like to see them before you make up your mind ...?"

  "I don't think that's necessary. I'm real y not interested in buying just now." There was a subtle change in his tone. "In that case, perhaps you might be interested in sel ing? I know you have a sizeable col ection yourself. If you're considering letting go of one or two pieces, I'm sure we could come to some arrangement." With shock, I realised he thought my reasons were financial. My dislike for him grew. "I've no intention of either buying or sel ing.

  I simply don't want to add to my col ection at the moment."

  He picked up the coldness in my voice. Now I was no longer a prospective client, he responded to it. "That's your choice, Mr.

  Ramsey. I'm certain I don't need to tel you what an opportunity you're missing. But I'm sure you have your reasons. If you change your mind about anything you know where to find me."

  "Thank you. I don't think I wil ." I hung up before he could, furious that he should have the nerve to try to patronise me. The man was nothing more than a common trader. I had no doubt that Dryden had already made, or was planning to make, similar telephone cal s to other possible buyers, hoping to play them off against each other in a blind auction. I was glad that I had robbed him of at least one potential bidder. But as I began to calm down, I began to think about what he had said, and wonder if he had not had a point. Although I had no financial need, perhaps I should consider sel ing some of my pieces.

  They no longer held any fascination for me, and there is no point in keeping anything once the passion for it has gone.

  Then I remembered my meeting that evening with Zeppo, and suddenly my col ection, Dryden, and his wares seemed unimportant. Even the unsettling influence of the dream final y faded into the background in the face of this much more real crisis. This was the watershed.

  Everything depended on Zeppo's reaction to what I told him.

  Shaking off the last wisps of my earl
ier abstraction, I focused my energies on preparing myself for the coming confrontation, imagining almost every permutation of Zeppo's possible reactions to what I had to say, and preparing my arguments in advance. There was one, however, that I shied away from considering too closely. Refusal.

  Even so, fear of it was very much with me later that afternoon as I said goodnight to Anna, closed the gal ery, and drove to Zeppo's flat.

  He answered the door with a sardonic grin. "Nice of you to drop by." I had nothing to say. I fol owed him inside silently. "Drink?"

  "A brandy, if you have it."

  "Oh, I think I might just be able to rustle one up." He went over to a black table that held a vast col ection of bottles. From what I could see, they were al costly and famous brands. But not

  necessarily the best. His knowledge of quality seemed to depend largely on name and price, and I reflected that his model ing career must pay better than I expected. The room too was expensively, if rather gauchely, decorated. But I was not real y concerned with that just then. He handed me a drink and sprawled on the huge black leather settee opposite. He smiled, condescendingly.

  "So. Confession time." I looked into my glass. "It's hardly a matter of confession. More making sure we understand each other."

  "Donald, you can cal it whatever the fuck you like so long as you tel me what you're playing at."

  "I'm not "playing" at anything."

  "Wel , you certainly seem to have been making up new rules as we go along. So come on, let's have it. What's been going on in that devious little head of yours?"

  "You're making this sound much more Machiavel ian than it is. I've not been plotting anything, I assure you."

  "What is it then? Second thoughts?"

  "No, not at al . Far from it."

  "So what's wrong? Either you stil want me to get Anna into bed or you don't. Which is it?" I could not look at him. "Yes. I do."

  "Then why al this pissing about?" There was an impatient edge to his voice. I could feel him staring at me. There was no avoiding it now.