‘What did he say to that?’
‘He mumbled something about Allah protecting holy fools. Can’t think who he was talking about.’
****
‘You see, the captain might have been the worst cut-throat in the Gulf,’ I said to Rosalyn, ‘but he couldn’t bring himself to kill anyone as trusting as Wesley. Is this any good? I mean, can you use it in one of your stories?’
‘Oh, I can use it all right,’ Rosalyn assured me. ‘Only I might have to change it round a bit.’
‘Why?’
‘Because it’s all centred on Wesley again.’
‘But it is his story,’ I protested.
‘That doesn’t matter,’ Rosalyn said.
It seemed to be her motto – if it didn’t matter to her, then it simply didn’t matter.
‘Look, Rob, I know I might come across as a bit unfair, sometimes,’ she continued, ‘but the simple truth is that it’s you who people are interested in. Frankly, no one gives a toss about Wesley.’
8
Rosalyn and I began to see each other regularly – and partnering her opened doors for me which had previously been tightly closed. Whilst in the past I would have had to queue for film premieres, I simply walked to the front of the queue with Rosalyn on my arm, and handed over the celebrity tickets that she’d been sent. At restaurants where I’d been told there were no free tables, one was suddenly found once the maitre d’ realised who I had with me.
She seemed to know nearly everyone, and was very popular with all kinds of people.
‘A guid sort, Ros,’ Eddie McGroom, the soccer star told me at one of the numerous cocktail parties we attended. ‘Niver expects somethin’ for nothin’. Give her an exclusive story and ye can sure she’ll pay ye back in kind.’
By which he meant extra publicity, I assumed.
‘I find Rosalyn so refreshing,’ said Malcolm Toffler, the right-wing literary critic. ‘In an age when most people are so restricted by liberal qualms and petit bourgeois ethics, it’s such a pleasure to meet a woman who knows what she wants – and will go to any lengths to get it.’
And how did I feel about her? At first, I merely found her intelligent, amusing, and an outstanding partner in bed. But as time passed, I was surprised to discover that I was slowly – but irresistibly – falling in love with her.
****
Not everyone was as enamoured of Rosalyn as McGroom and Toffler, as I was to find out one night in my hotel room.
I was sitting at my dressing table, fastening my tie, while Wesley was slumped in the armchair with a pile of newspapers on his lap.
‘Going out with Rosalyn again?’ my “business manager” asked me, out of the blue.
‘Yes indeedee,’ I told him, centring the tie.
‘I’m not sure that her stories in The Globe are doing us much good,’ Wesley said.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, look at the way she covered your last tournament. The Times headline says: “British Success in European Mixed Pairs”.’
I grinned. ‘And what does The Globe’s headline say?’
“‘English Lad Pisses on Frogs and Wops”,’ Wesley answered.
‘What? Does it really say that?’
‘Not quite. They’ve put one of those little star thingees, instead of the “i” in pisses – but everyone understands that. It could be damaging, you know. Being associated with the wrong attitudes could turn your fans off.’
‘You’re over-reacting,’ I said, reaching for my cuff links. ‘The people who read The Globe aren’t my public. Besides, Rosalyn needs the by-lines.’
In the mirror, I could see Wesley frown.
‘Another thing,’ he said. ‘Not really happy, professionally speaking, about the number of nights you’ve been spending out on the tiles.’
‘Really?’ I said, reaching for my hairbrush.
‘Really. Need a lot of stamina for international competitions – can’t afford to sit down at the table feeling clapped out.’
I put my brush down.
‘Wesley, are you starting to get jealous of Rosalyn?’ I asked.
‘Of course not,’ Wesley said quickly. Then the frown in the mirror slowly changed to a shamefaced smile. ‘Well, perhaps a little,’ he admitted.
‘Rosalyn’s become a very important part of my life,’ I said seriously, ‘and I really would like my best friend in the whole world to get on with her. Will you give it a try?’
The shamefaced smile was now tinged with a deepening sadness I didn’t quite understand.
‘Yes, I’ll give it a try, old chap,’ Wesley said. ‘You know me – I’m game for anything.’
9
Rosalyn and I had been going out together for about six months when I started to develop feelings of discontent. It was not long before Rosalyn noticed it.
‘What’s the matter?’ she asked me, one night as we lay in bed after a vaguely unsatisfactory session of love-making. ‘Gone off me?’
‘Of course not,’ I replied – shocked she should even think that. ‘But there has to be more to it than this.’
‘More to what than what?’
‘Our relationship; when we’re together, we’re either in bed, or else at some fashionable restaurant or charity gala, where we can be seen.’
‘And what’s wrong with that?’ Rosalyn asked. ‘You’ve certainly acted like you’ve enjoyed it so far.’
‘But it isn’t real life. And it doesn’t seem to be leading us anywhere.’ I put my hand on her shoulder and kneaded it gently. ‘How would you feel about us setting up house together?’
‘No,’ Rosalyn said immediately. ‘No, I don’t think that would be a very good idea.’
It was the speed of her response that hurt me.
‘But I thought you loved me,’ I said.
‘I do,’ Rosalyn replied, moving further away from me.
‘Well, then?’
‘With all the publicity you’re getting at the moment, you’re riding high. But you know what fame’s like – the bubble could burst at any minute. Almost overnight, you could become a penniless nobody.’
‘Why should that make any difference to us?’ I asked her, my hurt increasing with every word she spoke. ‘Do I have to be rich and famous for you to care about me?’
‘Of course not, darling,’ Rosalyn replied. ‘But you don’t know what it’s like to suddenly have the carpet pulled from under you. It destroys people. I’ve seen it happen a hundred times.’
‘And are you saying that if that happened to me, you’d want nothing more to do with me?’
‘Darling, how could you ever even think that?’ Rosalyn asked reproachfully. ‘But you must see that I’d be in a much better position to help you – to give you strength – if I’d hung on to a little of my independence.’
‘I suppose so,’ I replied, though – to be honest – I couldn’t quite follow the logic of her argument.
I might have said more, but just then, the bedside phone rang.
I picked it up.
‘Who?’ I said. ‘What? … Oh, I see … No, I’d be delighted … Eleven o’clock tomorrow morning … that would be fine.’
I put the phone back on its cradle.
‘Who was that?’ Rosalyn asked.
‘The BBC,’ I said excitedly. ‘BBC2 want me to do a series.’
Rosalyn gasped. ‘A series!’
‘They’re going to call it “Learn Bridge with Bates.” They’re planning to put it out at prime time.’
Rosalyn moved closer to me. ‘That’s wonderful news, darling.’
‘Yes, it is,’ I agreed.
We kissed. It was soft and sweet and wonderful.
‘Rob …?’ Rosalyn said hesitantly.
‘Yes, darling?’
‘Would you think me terribly indecisive if I said I’d changed my mind about us moving in together?’
‘Of course not, darling.’
&n
bsp; Rosalyn snuggled happily against me. ‘We make such an ideal couple, don’t we?’
‘All couples in love are ideal,’ I told her.
‘True,’ she agreed, perhaps a little reluctantly. ‘But they don’t all look as good together as we do. And not many of them are both rising stars, like we are.’
****
Within a week, I had used my BBC2 money as a deposit on a short-term lease of a pleasant flat in Knightsbridge. Within a month, Rosalyn and I had moved in. I was very happy.
You can’t beat having your own home, Mother used to say.
And Mother, as usual, was right.
10
In the early days of my relationship with Rosalyn, I was the jealous one.
‘She’s only doing her job,’ I’d tell myself whenever I saw her cosying up to the latest alternative comedian, or to a dress designer whose new collection had caused a sensation.
But I would still feel a stab of pain.
Yet quite soon, things began to swing the other way. My book, Learn Bridge with Bates (based on the television series), was published simultaneously in London and New York, and I suppose that whilst that gave me more confidence, it robbed Rosalyn of a little of hers.
Then again, the change may have come about because I was becoming popular in London society, and now at least half the invitations we received were addressed to me.
Whatever the reason, Rosalyn grew more and more possessive.
‘Did you have to spend so much time with Bazoom Bazooms?’ she demanded angrily, after we’d just got home from attending the opening of a new disco.
‘She was upset,’ I said, in my own defence. ‘Her pet dolphin, Moby, has just died.’
‘Upset my fanny!’ Rosalyn retorted contemptuously. ‘She was practically undressing you with her eyes.’
‘You’re exaggerating,’ I assured her.
‘Exaggerating!’ she screamed back at me. ‘No, I’m bloody not. They’re all after you.’
‘Even if they are, I’m not interested in them,’ I said soothingly.
It was true. Mother had been a one-man woman, and had she lived to see me grow up, I’m sure she’d have expected me to be a one-woman man.
****
I don’t want to make too much of Rosalyn’s bouts of temper. Certainly she would blow up quite regularly, often in public, but I soon learned how to handle it. I never regarded our little arguments – if, from my side, they could be called arguments at all – as serious. And only once – if you don’t count the mammoth row at the end – did we come into serious conflict.
It happened one rainy afternoon in October. I’d just flown in from the States, where I’d been promoting my book, and had only been home for half an hour when Rosalyn stormed in, slamming the door behind her.
‘Bloody weather!’ she said, taking off her wet raincoat, and flinging it on the floor.
‘How was America, Rob?’ I asked, reprovingly but gentle. ‘How did the book signing go?’
‘Bloody editors!’ my fiancée screamed. ‘Four years, I’ve been working for that bloody paper. What do I have to do to be assigned one of the really big stories? Sleep with the entire editorial staff?’
‘You’re tired,’ I said. ‘You’ll feel better after a G and T.’
But I knew her well enough by then to realise that she would not feel better until she’d had a go at someone or something else.
I watched as she searched her mind for a convenient target.
‘Bloody Wesley!’ she said finally. ‘Where is the snivelling parasite, anyway?’
‘He’s—’
‘You’ve got to get rid of him, you know.’
‘He’s my manager.’
‘Your manager! He’s bloody useless, and you know it. And yet he goes everywhere you go.’
‘You could come too,’ I pointed out.
‘No, I couldn’t,’ she countered, ‘because, unlike Wesley, I have a career – my own way to make in the world.’
‘Well then, you can’t blame Wesley—’
‘Do you have any idea how much he costs us?’ Rosalyn demanded. ‘How much his flights and hotel rooms are every month? We can’t afford it.’
‘Yes, we can,’ I said. ‘Easily.’
‘All right, then,’ Rosalyn replied, stamping her foot on the floor, ‘I don’t want to bloody afford it. He gets on my nerves, swanning around the place with his plummy accent and his vague look. There’s real life out there, and it’s about time he found out about it.’
‘Wesley and I have been through a lot together,’ I said. ‘There was that time in Qagmire—’
Rosalyn stamped her foot for a second time. ‘Please, not the same old song again, for Christ’s sake,’ she screamed. ‘I used up that story in the very first article I did on you.’
‘It isn’t something you can just use up,’ I said hotly. ‘He saved my life in Qagmire – more than once.’
‘Yes – and he’s been treating you as a meal ticket ever since then. Don’t you see that whatever you owed him has been paid back in full, and now it’s time to say goodbye?’
I can rarely find it in myself to be firm with a woman – it’s my early training, I suppose – but I was firm then.
‘Wesley and I are friends, not partners,’ I said. ‘We’ve never added up what we owe each other, because we know before we start that we could never even begin to pay it back.’
‘And what, exactly, is that pretty little speech meant to mean?’ Rosalyn demanded.
‘It means I will not get rid of Wesley.’
‘It’s him or me,’ Rosalyn said, her voice suddenly cold and clinical.
She was tearing me apart. Both she and Wesley were central to my existence – aces in my pack of life – and the thought of sacrificing either of them was totally horrendous.
True, as well as being an ace, Wesley also had a bit of the knave about him, too – his scant regard for the safe and strictly-legal having landed us in any number of scrapes – but in the end he’d always come up trumps. And whatever else his failings, there wasn’t a malicious bone in his body.
‘Well?’ Rosalyn demanded.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said.
If I had actually slapped her, it would not have produced the mixture of astonishment and rage which now appeared on her face.
‘Let me get this straight,’ she screamed. ‘You’d pick Wesley over me? Is that what you’re saying?’
‘If you forced me to, that’s the choice I’d have to make.’
Rosalyn’s anger suddenly evaporated, and where there had been a towering fury, there was now only a vulnerable little girl.
‘You just don’t love me anymore, do you, Rob?’ she said, with a catch in her voice.
‘Of course, I love you.’
Rosalyn ran across the room, buried her head in my shoulder, and started crying.
‘There, there,’ I said, stroking her hair.
‘If you really love me, prove it,’ she sobbed. ‘Get rid of him.’
‘Couldn’t seem to get to sleep,’ said a voice from the guest bedroom doorway. ‘Hello, Rosalyn.’
My fiancée lifted her head from my shoulder to look at the new character who had just entered our little melodrama.
‘Hello, Wesley,’ she said sullenly.
‘Wesley was tired from the flight,’ I explained. ‘He wanted a little rest before he travelled up to his parents’ place in Hertfordshire.’
‘Feel absolutely fine now,’ Wesley said – unconvincingly. ‘I’m fighting fit and raring to go.’
‘What we were just talking about—’ I began.
‘I heard,’ Wesley interrupted, flinging his hair out of his eyes. ‘And I agree with what Rosalyn said. You’re a couple now. It’s only natural that she doesn’t want me around.’
‘The age of miracles has finally come to pass,’ Rosalyn said, without a hint of her previous tears in her voice. ‘Wesley, of all people, has fin
ally started developing some common sense.’
‘I want you to stay on as my manager,’ I told him. ‘I need you.’
‘No, you don’t,’ Wesley said sadly. ‘You never did – and we’ve both always known that.’
‘Wesley …’
‘I’ll be off now,’ my old friend told me.
He started to walk towards the door. I tried to move, but Rosalyn was clinging on to me as tightly as if her life depended on it.
‘We’ll talk in the morning, Wesley,’ I said, ‘when you’ve had time to get over your jet lag.’
‘That’s right,’ he agreed – far too easily. ‘We’ll talk in the morning.’
He opened the door, stepped out into the hallway, took one last regretful look over his shoulder – and was gone.
‘I can’t let him leave like that,’ I said.
‘Let him go,’ Rosalyn urged, gripping me even tighter. ‘Let him go.’
And to my eternal shame, I did.
I rang his parents’ home the next morning but, of course, he’d never arrived there. For the sake of my relationship with Rosalyn, Wesley chose to disappear, and though I’ve spent years – and a small fortune – trying to track him down, I’ve never been able to find him.
11
The knock on the door – as they used to say in Soviet circles – came as I was packing for my trip to Germany, where they were planning to show Learn Bridge with Bates with sub-titles. And since Rosalyn was out tracking down a transvestite golfing champion, it was me who opened the door to the big man with Neville Chamberlain’s moustache and Jack the Ripper’s eyes.
‘Chief Inspector Gouge,’ he announced, producing his warrant card then pocketing it again with the speed of a prestidigitator. ‘Mind if I come in, sir?’
‘Can I stop you?’ I asked.
‘Stop me, sir? Yes, I suppose you could. But then I’d have to go all the way back to the station and get a search warrant, wouldn’t I? And by the time I returned here, I’d probably be in a very bad temper indeed.’
‘Then you’d better come in now,’ I said resignedly.
Gouge tramped down the hallway into the living room, looking around him with undisguised curiosity.
A Conspiracy of Aunts Page 20