Summer in Mayfair

by Susannah Constantine

  ‘Piz Buin tanning oil. Not for an English peach like you but perfect for a cactus like me.’

  ‘You are lucky. I never go brown. I get heat rash if I get too much sun.’

  ‘Then I hope you’re being careful, it’s so scorchy hot today. Mind you don’t get it on that pretty face.’

  Esme’s skin prickled at the thought of it and she held out one pale arm against Javier’s burnished skin. ‘Look at you after just one tanning day!’

  ‘Oh, but think what beautiful skin you will keep. You’ll never become a cracked leather sandal like me.’

  ‘You are gorgeous, Javier.’

  Javier’s modesty was false but with the confidence of one born beautiful, he made light of it and regularly put himself down with great humour.

  ‘I’ve come to get my wallet. I left it in the guest room.’

  ‘Stop and have a glass of wine with me. I bet the gallery is like a sweat shop today. And your attic room! Unbearable. Stay until it cools down.’

  He was right. Her room was stifling and it would take the darkness of night to blot the sticky heat.

  ‘That would be lovely.’

  Javier padded off to collect her a glass and poured the pale-pink liquid into it. It was delicious. Ice cold over her tongue, warming nicely down her throat and emitting a different, welcome kind of heat as it hit her stomach. Her parents had always chosen the drinks at home. When it was hot, the Pimm’s had always come out, which she found sickly. But this was more refreshing; strong and clean. She felt the flush of alcohol spread to her skin in little beads of sweat.

  ‘How was day two at the gallery?’

  ‘Oh, you know, a bit of a whirlwind! Deliveries all day. The running of such an amazing place is all new to me and I feel a bit out of my depth. But Suki is sweet and while she shows me the ropes, I can help her out with the art history side of things. For once, I actually feel like I know something useful. I just want to drink it all in and earn my keep.’

  ‘As I have learnt, carina, you will only truly succeed in this game if you are born with an artistic parasite in your gut, one that feeds off beauty. Your father has one so I’m sure it’s found a host inside you, too.’

  ‘Javier, that’s disgusting! But it’s true – between my father’s business and the treasures at Culcairn, I have been surrounded by art since I was born. Sometimes so much so I felt like I was drowning in it – but I look back and see it was the opposite. It’s probably what saved me and I love it for that. I feel a state of grace when I see something really beautiful.’

  Javier clapped his hands.

  ‘See? You have the instinct. You can’t buy that at a fancy school.’

  Esme thought of what she had learnt in Brussels. She had found the endless lists of names and dates dull and dry, compared to the analysis and comparisons of paintings, but now she saw that all aspects of her formal qualification had helped her get the job she so wanted. She might not be able to answer the phones properly yet or find her way around the files like Suki, but she was familiar with the artists whose works were to be on display at the gallery, opening each delivery had been like a piece of a puzzle she could slot together.

  ‘Bill knew what he was doing when he hired you. I knew it from the moment he told me about you. He is never wrong about people.’ Javier smiled.

  ‘How long have you and Bill been together?’ Esme asked.

  ‘A long time.’

  ‘Was it love at first sight?’

  ‘No. Truth be told, he was my ticket out of my sleazy life in New York. There I had many men wanting me. Beautiful, rich and famous ones. But Bill was the only who wanted more than sex. He was prepared to invest his time – and money – bringing me to London, building a home together. He said he knew we would be a perfect fit, and what did I tell you? Bill is never wrong about these things. He was patient, he was funny, he was honest. My gratitude eventually turned into love. Now I can’t imagine life without him. And of course, he is generous. He knows I get my sex elsewhere.’

  Like my mother, thought Esme.

  ‘Doesn’t he get jealous?’

  Javier laughed.

  ‘No! We have loyalty of mind and heart. Our bodies have a will and life of their own, though. Anyway, Bill likes to watch.’

  ‘Oh.’ Not wanting to appear prudish, Esme quickly changed the subject.

  ‘Did Bill tell you about my painting?’

  ‘Briefly. Henry Culcairn left it to you, no?’

  She nodded.

  ‘I never met him but I know all about that deliciously poisonous wife of his.’

  ‘Lucia? How do you know about her?’

  ‘Only her reputation and the legend of her background.’ He made a face of gleeful revulsion. She is no more Italian than I am Scandinavian. You British are too stupid and insular to distinguish one accent from another. In London, we all know she is Uruguayan. An air hostess who helped a Scottish earl join the Mile-High Club.’

  ‘She’s South American? I thought she was from a noble Spanish family.’

  ‘You look surprised, Esme. Didn’t you know she’s a gold-digging hustler?’

  Esme found it hard to imagine the Contessa – that tall column of granite devoid of empathy – coming from poverty. But it was new information she relished. How had her parents not known? Or maybe they did and because of her acquired title chose to ignore it. She couldn’t wait to tell Sophia.

  ‘That’s amazing. She comes across as being grander than royalty.’

  Javier shrugged, stroking his bare chest then stretching his arms up, arching his back until his spine gave a satisfying crack.

  ‘Just an act that has now become her reality. I know many people like her. Very few remain true to themselves,’ he said.

  Esme thought about this. How could she be true to herself when she had yet to become the person she wanted to be? Or was that the point? To remain the same inside and adapt by decorating the façade to fit in. She definitely didn’t want to put herself in a position to be judged too quickly. She was used to people having decided who Esme Munroe was before they even met her. It was easy to make assumptions that turned out to be false – she’d done it herself, after all.

  Javier shared the last of the wine between them and said, ‘I’m going out tonight. Why don’t you come with? Do you have any plans?’

  ‘Um…’

  ‘You are trying to think of some excuse because you look a mess and have nothing else to wear.’

  Esme laughed. It was true. She didn’t want her first night out on the town to be ruined by scruffy jeans.

  ‘Can I go like this?’

  ‘Absolutely not. Sure, it’s chic in a retro way but the gays like glitz. What have you got underneath that shirt? Anything?’

  She looked down her cleavage.

  ‘Just a camisole.’

  ‘Perfect! Let’s see.’

  Esme slipped her shirt off to reveal a pretty antique lace and satin vest.

  ‘Heaven – but the bra has to go. I’ll lend you my Gucci belt and we’ll ransack the safe for some of Bill’s mother’s jewellery. She’s too tight to pay for the insurance herself, so she keeps it here, luckily for you.’ He stepped back and appraised Esme. ‘Earrings, I think.’

  Javier bounded upstairs and returned with a box. She recognized it from the kind her own mother had, navy leather with a gold crest embossed in the centre. Inside were a pair of fabulous pearl and diamond clips.

  ‘I can’t wear those,’ she said. ‘They’re far too good.’

  ‘Not for my friends they’re not, and anyway they’re insured for being worn as well as just cluttering up our safe. Just don’t take them off, even if they pinch like witch’s fingers.’ He handed them to her. ‘Wonderful! All a girl needs is some diamonds and fewer clothes. My friends are going to be dazzled by you.’

  ‘By the earrings.’

  As she put them on and looked at her reflection in the glass of the window, she realized she felt cool for the first time ever. Expensi
vely casual. Then she wrapped her arms around herself in embarrassment – her nipples were visible through the fine satin.

  ‘Don’t worry about that. It’s testicles not tits the boys there want,’ Javier said as he went to dress.

  Still, Esme felt extremely exposed and draped her shirt over her shoulders – ‘In case I get cold,’ she said, although with London baking in a heat wave, her excuse was as transparent as her top.

  When Javier reappeared, he was wearing a matching outfit but with a white vest in place of her camisole. Esme took a deep breath and followed him out into the summer night.

  They took a taxi to Soho. The club was hidden away down a cobbled cul-de-sac. The street was dimly lit by lamps that flickered as moths divebombed the glow in constant frenzy. She had hated moths ever since one had got caught in her hair as a child. The memory made her skin crawl. She shivered.

  ‘I thought you’d be immune to the cold coming from Scotland. It’s not exactly Arctic tonight,’ said Javier.

  ‘I’m not cold, just revolted by all those moths.’

  Javier followed her gaze. ‘You should see the ones we have in Puerto Rico. The size of eagles and bloodthirsty too.’

  ‘I am never going there,’ she laughed.

  The stairwell into the basement was steep and drab. It smelt of beer and yesterday’s cigarette butts. But it was exactly what Esme was after; the underbelly of a London her peers would never see. At the bottom two men were kissing. They parted to let Javier and Esme through the door.

  ‘Javs!’ said the blond of the two. ‘Great to see you, girlina. Where have you been hiding?’

  ‘Chained to the stove.’

  ‘Lucky you. I have to go to Charing Cross for that,’ said the other, smart in his expensively cut pinstripe suit. They both lit a cigarette.

  ‘Want one?’ said Blondie, proffering his packet to Esme.

  She extracted an elegant gold-tipped Sobrani from the packet. She didn’t smoke often but didn’t want to seem inexperienced.

  ‘Let me present Esme Munroe. The new hottie in town,’ said Javier, pushing her forward like he was introducing her to a dance partner.

  ‘Lovely to meet you, lovely Esme,’ said City Boy. ‘I’m Ben. You should go in and grab a table. It’s filling up fast. We’ll come and join you after I’ve found Gary’s tonsils.’

  Gary was the younger of the two and undoubtedly from what Esme’s father would call ‘the underclass’. She smiled at him. He was incredibly handsome and looked closer to her age than City Boy.

  ‘He’ll be searching for hours. Had them taken out when I was a kid.’ Gary laughed as he returned his attention to Ben’s mouth.

  Esme was delighted by their sense of fun and acceptance. It was the same warmth that emanated from Javier. This was who he was, what he was and he wore his sexuality with pride.

  The club bore little resemblance to its exterior. As a private members’ bar there was a faded splendour to the small space. Large ornate mirrors dominated the walls. The banquette seating was buttoned leather with low glass tables straining under crowded bottles and glasses. Cigarette smoke curled around an overbearing chandelier, its weak fingered glow casting shadows in recessed booths.

  The company was eclectic and predominantly male. Men of all ages were coupled up dancing to Barry White, chatting or locked in intimate embrace. Not so different to any other club Esme had been to but there was definitely more emotional freedom here. No one was judging.

  Javier led her to a bench. The carpet was sticky underfoot and she placed her shirt under her bum to stop sliding about on the shiny upholstery.

  ‘Easy to clean. Things get a bit heated in here later,’ said Javier.

  ‘It’s already boiling,’ thought Esme.

  A tall waiter appeared with a notepad in his hand and a biro behind his ear.

  ‘Javier!’

  It took Esme a second to realize he was in fact a she. The waitress was striking with cropped auburn hair and pale skin. A large dragoon tattoo breathed fire across her shoulder, emerging from the man’s vest she wore. Esme was surprised to hear an Australian accent.

  ‘Where the hell have you been, you old bugger? It’s been, what, two months?’

  ‘Work, work, work, Cece.’

  ‘Oh fuck off, Javs. You’re a kept woman. All play and no work for you,’ she laughed and turned to Esme. ‘Hi, I’m Cecelia. Cece to my friends.’

  ‘This is Esme. She’s just arrived from Scotland. A country girl and new to London,’ said Javier putting an arm around her.

  ‘Throwing her in at the deep end, eh, Javs?’ Cece put out her hand. ‘Great to meet you, Esme. Now, what will I be getting you two lovebirds to drink? Your usual, hon?’

  ‘Si. And Esme will have the same. They make the most divine champagne cocktails here.’

  ‘Lovely. Thanks,’ said Esme.

  She watched Cece navigate her way across the small dance floor to the bar, giving and receiving kisses along the way.

  ‘She’s a great girl, Cece. Balls of steel and a heart of gold. And funny. So funny. She doesn’t care who she offends.’

  ‘She’s very pretty,’ said Esme, watching the Australian lean over the bar and give their order to the bartender. She turned to wave at them and rolled her eyes as a short fat man came to talk to her.

  ‘The only girl who could turn me straight,’ Javier said, ‘and now you too, carina.’ And kissed her on the cheek.

  Cece returned with the drinks tray expertly balanced on one hand. She put their champagne down, along with two small bowls of nuts. She sat herself next to them.

  ‘That dag Clement is giving me grief tonight. Someone’s been dipping their fingers in the till and he accused me. It’s bullshit. And you know, it’s not like it’s much that’s missing. Just a few pounds. I make more than that in tips.’

  ‘Ignore him, silly old queen,’ said Javier, rising. ‘Just nipping to the little boys’ room. Save my place and look out for Gary and Ben.’

  Esme took a sip of her cocktail. Bubbles fizzed from a sugar cube resting on the bed of the glass. It was sweet and bitter at the same time with a hint of something much stronger than champagne.

  ‘So, Esme. What brought you to London?’

  Esme paused. She badly wanted to impress this girl who was so cool and at ease with herself.

  ‘I’ve got a job and I’m looking for somewhere to live. Where do you come from in Australia?’ she tried shifting the focus back to Cece.

  ‘A Hicksville town called Maryborough. Close to the Gold Coast. Noosa and all that. I miss it, the beaches and outdoor life. But I don’t miss the claustrophobia of the place. Nothing to do but drink, fuck and surf. Gets boring after twenty-five years of it.’

  Esme would have put her as being older. She felt like a schoolgirl who’d sneaked out for the night compared to her.

  ‘Don’t you miss your family?’

  Her question was automatic, and now she dreaded being asked it in return. Any mention of her family still sent her emotions into overload – a whirling mix of anger, guilt and grief – everything she was trying to escape in her new life.

  ‘Shit, yeah, but it’s not forever and Mum’s sister lives Cardiff. She’s old now and on her last legs, so I expect Mum and Dad will be over for the funeral when she cops it.’

  Esme drained her drink and reached for Javier’s. ‘I’d buy him another one but…’

  ‘No need. He gets them on the house, courtesy of Clement. Must have something on him because he’s a tight bastard. What about you? Where’s your family?’

  Was she going to lie or tell this girl the truth? It seemed not much would shock her and perhaps her dysfunctional parents would seem glamorous.

  ‘Well, my mother’s in a nuthouse and my father has pissed off to France. Sophia, my sister, is living in New York. She got on a plane as soon as she could afford to escape.’

  Esme immediately felt disloyal.

  ‘Crikey. That sounds very aristocratic. Are you from a posh
family? Are those heirlooms?’ she said, fondling one of Bill’s earrings.

  ‘The jewellery’s borrowed! And in answer to your other question: no, or rather, sort of. My mother had a long affair with an earl and I had to live in his castle with his horrid wife, the Contessa, when my mum had her “episodes”. All in all, I’ve had enough of the upper classes; they’re not as glamorous as you might think.’

  ‘Hang on, hang on. You actually know an earl and a contessa and lived in an actual castle?’ Cece let out a slow whistle.

  ‘It sounds more exciting than it was, trust me.’

  With a wave of embarrassment, it occurred to Esme that she had never really thought what her life at Culcairn must seem like to those on the outside. Until now, practically everyone she met knew her family’s background and took it for granted. Now she was having to explain it out loud, she heard how eccentric it sounded.

  ‘Have you been to Scotland?’ she asked Cece.

  ‘Nah. The furthest north I’ve got is Camden Lock.’

  ‘I don’t even know where that is.’

  ‘You don’t? Christ, Esme, it has the best market in the world.’

  ‘I don’t really know London well. Just Kensington and Chelsea. My parents used to have a house in South Ken. I’d be living there if my father hadn’t spent all his money.’

  ‘How about this: you can take me to Scotland and show me your fancy pants castle and friends and I’ll show you Camden?’ Cece’s grin was infectious.

  ‘I’d love that. It’s a date.’ Esme smiled back.

  A sudden commotion erupted from behind the bar. Everyone sat at it turned to look in their direction.

  ‘Oh God, Clement is flapping his hands at me. Better get back to work. I’ll call you.’

  Cece gave Esme a quick hug and sauntered back to an irate Clement.

  The champagne cocktail was doing its work. Esme had an urge to dance and before Javier had a chance to sit back down, she pulled him onto the dance floor. Whether it was the music, the drink or the fact that she might actually just have made a friend, she felt something she’d missed for a long while. She felt joy.