Thick and Fast

by Tommy Dakar

everything and… do her the world of good.’

  Mr. Stein’s words were to be taken as final. It was not Pet’s place now to contradict him, so she let it go and bent with the conversational wind.

  She was right about one thing – Harvey had come to stay. He had discovered that Andrea pined to be treated like a princess, to be showered in gifts and unexpected treats, to be adored and admired. So he sent roses, dozens of them, by private courier. It was not cheap, but it was easy and effective. At the swipe of a credit card he had her enthralled, delighted that the old world clichéd charm of being surrounded by red rose buds should at last be hers. Because Harvey had soon realized that he needed to fill the gaps that Sydney had failed to attend to, and being romantic was definitely the fastest route to goal. Personally he considered it to be sickly sweet, pathetic, infantile, puerile, and something that he hoped she would eventually grow out of. He had once dated a girl whose room was a display of soft toys and dolls, many of them still in their plastic coverings to keep the dust off them, not the most erotic setting. But for the time being playing the game was what Andrea required of him, what distanced him from his predecessor. Sydney had made her laugh, had overawed her, had managed to turn her to jelly in his presence. She had fallen in love with him to such a degree that, looking back, it now appeared as if their love had been a lop-sided affair. She had been infatuated by his persona, inebriated by his carefree nonchalance and joie de vie, had all but worshipped the man. She did not want that to happen again. If she were to start afresh, she wanted to be pampered, if she were to love again, she wanted to be loved back, if she were to let Harvey into her life, he would have to be both the perfect gentleman and an ardent fan of everything that was Andrea. He could begin by sending roses.

  So it was that Harvey Paulson became a fixture at the Haute household, arriving at all hours, invariably bearing gifts, courteous and attentive. His attentions were obsessively turned on Andrea, and she was so overwhelmed by this show of devotion and affection that she did not realize that Harvey was never any more than correct towards young Sydney. He only has eyes for his love, she assumed, and thought no more of it. She was being swept off her feet and enjoying every moment of it. After so much suffering, after such a long winter, she believed she was entitled to a little happiness.

  But Pet had noticed it, how Harvey kept the child at bay with sweets, how he could not bring himself to cuddle the boy, or pick him up and carry him in his arms. He patted him on the head and then waited for someone to intervene, to lead him off to his toys, or upstairs for a siesta, or to the kitchen for his lunch. If Sydney started to pester Harvey, to pull at his trousers, or insist on showing him some twig or soft toy, Harvey would smile his paternal smile, and move behind Andrea, holding her by the waist, impatient to be alone with the object of his desire, begging her understanding. It worked, of course, and Andrea would fob the boy off with some excuse or other and disappear into her rooms with her impulsive lover.

  Pet also observed, a little despairingly, how the rest of the staff, Ambrose included, were all gradually falling under Harvey’s smooth talking spell. Because Harvey was a charmer, a real charmer, a born charmer. He knew exactly what to say to whom, in what tone, with what facial expression, and with what subtle yet detectable body language to match. It was as if he had taken a master’s degree in Social Grace, and had learnt how to make people believe that the mask faithfully represented the man. So he joked with Brendan, and helped him dispose of the grass cuttings and pruned branches, putting his back into the work as a real man does, uncomplainingly, without expecting either thanks or recompense. Mr. Stein he treated with huge respect, acknowledging the man’s worth, his history, his wisdom, and above all, his rank. He pretended to be speechless when confronted with Luz’s superior efficiency, he had no words to express his admiration for her diligence and professionalism. Ambrose was easy. He knew that he demanded nothing more than the odd greeting, the occasional ‘well done’. It had not taken him more than a second to calibrate Ambrose’s mental agility, so he knew there would never be any question of rivalry or competition. Ambrose was a push over, a marginal character who posed no problem.

  He thought much the same of Petunia, too, never going beyond a polite ‘good day’ and the praise of a specific meal. She was, he concluded almost instantly, her brother’s sister. Overweight, with terrible teeth, an odour of stale cigarettes and cheap cologne about her, she was jolly enough though not particularly articulate, and as thick as a brick. A secondary member of the household staff. He politely ignored her or avoided her as much as he could.

  Still, he knew he needed them on his side for the time being, so he played his part as he had learnt to do throughout his life. That does not mean that it was all deviously mapped out by Harvey in advance. There was no master plan to follow; it all came naturally, instinctively. He aspired to what every human aspires: more. He felt that he had been born superior, that he was the one-eyed man in the world of the blind, and it was his destiny, his duty almost, to accept that and act accordingly. Life had anointed him with an excellent standard of living, a healthy body, a fine education, and a sharp mind. He had no say in the matter, there could be no question of blame, we cannot be held guilty for being born, it was merely a matter of circumstance. So he automatically appraised the situation and worked out what would be the best path to follow with natural ease, always remembering that the ultimate goal was personal benefit. This was survival of the fastest. He had been gifted with the tools necessary to triumph, and he would do so, because it was his responsibility to do so. Not everyone in life can be a winner, not everyone has what it takes to succeed. But Harvey Paulson was convinced that he had been chosen at birth to stand out amongst men, to rise above the average mass of humanity, not only to survive, but to thrive. So controlling the situation, foreseeing events, responding tactfully and tactically he saw as second nature, as part of his innate ability to manipulate his world and his fellow men. There was no morality involved, no desire to do evil, only a life to be lead using the tools at hand. That he had been blessed with the finest instruments available was nothing more than chance. He would not let the opportunity escape him.

  Nonetheless he was aware that the road to fortune was a rocky one, and that he had to step very carefully. The timing was not perfect. Andrea had been a widow for just three years. Internally she was still a tangle of emotions, part of her wanting to start afresh, to pick up her young life and begin to live again, whilst another side of her still wept for her loss. She could not help but see Sydney in her young son; he was like a miniature version of his dead father, a constant reminder. That on top of Alice Haute’s passing away so recently, the appointing of the administrators, the legal ins and outs that she had no interest in but that had to be attended, all of this and more meant that Harvey’s appearance had been more than a little rushed. But he had to grasp at this opportunity with both hands or Andrea would eventually be snapped up by someone else. That would not happen. This was a unique opportunity and he could not let it pass. He would find the patience necessary, push only as far as could be expected, demand only what she was capable of giving. He would wear her down, work his way into her life, waiting for the moment to pounce with an offer of marriage. At the right time, at the right place. In the meantime, caution and best behaviour.

  Eighteen months later, just after Sydney Jr.’s fourth birthday, Andrea and Harvey were married in a side room of the local Town Hall. At Andrea’s insistence it was a simple affair, more like signing the deeds of a house than a marriage ceremony. They repeated the words a little embarrassedly like children, afraid they would make a silly mistake and be laughed at. They vowed what they were expected to vow, they exchanged rings, they kissed. Twenty minutes and it was all over. There was to be no banquet, no band, no honeymoon. Andrea had begged Harvey to understand her, and he had been happy to comply. He was not interested in the paraphernalia of a wedding, the guest list, the bouquets, the awkwardness of wedding presents. He just wa
nted the papers signed and safely in his pocket. In a way he was grateful to Sydney for having previously supplied Andrea with a fairy tale wedding day, it had saved him the time and effort, as well as the expense.

  For Andrea had become Mrs. Haute in the most traditional way imaginable. The service had taken place within the grounds of Haute House, under a white canvas marquee, with beautifully laid tables, and chairs with little dresses on them to hide their ugly legs. Catering care of the Carlton Hotel chain. The forecourt was a makeshift parking lot full of glamorous vehicles that glittered like dark gems. The pool had been filled with multi-coloured balloons that popped every so often under the early summer sun. Guests in absurd gowns and uncomfortable suits walked about like extras in a film, unsure exactly what the director expected of them. There was a protocol that only a chosen few had seen, so a stately chaos reigned, which grew in intensity with the heat of the day and the amount of alcohol imbued. After the mock solemnity of the ceremony itself, a deadly serious affair that only