“Why?”
“What if there’s a guard on the gate? What if he has some new Al, or the old Al? They’ll be expecting me – they won’t be expecting you. You’ll never get in there.”
“There wasn’t a guard last time.”
“But there’s a place for one and possibly there is this time. Oh, what am I saying? Let’s just give it up, Joe. Walk away and pretend we never had the idea. I’m getting nervous even thinking about it.”
Still, though, she stared at me with wide, entreating eyes. As if daring me to find a solution.
“Maybe I can be your driver,” I said finally. “Maybe if I tell them you’re in the back seat, they won’t properly check.”
Exasperated, she shrugged my arms off her. “You’re not stupid, Joe. I know you’re not stupid. If there’s a guard, he’s going to want to see me. There’s no way round that.”
“What if there’s not a guard?”
“But how can you know until you get there?”
She slipped out of my grasp and lay with her eyes half-open back into the couch. It was like all of life’s energy was sucked out of her.
I just stared at her, doing my best to keep my voice calm, not wanting to give away how much adrenalin was already rattling my nerves. “You can stay in the car,” I said finally. “I’ll go in and you can wait outside. You won’t be near him, you won’t even see him.”
Her voice was flat in response. “Or you could just not do it? We could give this up right now?”
“I can’t,” I told her. “I just can’t.”
“Are you ever going to get tired of being the hero, Joe? Are you?”
“I’ll always want to be a hero to you.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
The rest of the day drifted by for both of us. She didn’t have any singing lesson, of course, but she was supposed to go to Shepperton for a make-up test for a film that was destined never to be made. As for me, I wasn’t working on Wachtel’s bloated epic that day, but I was supposed to be meeting the director of a gangster film that was in pre-production. Neither of us felt like leaving the flat, though, so we both called in sick and made our apologies, and instead nursed half a bottle of whisky between us.
Any of the gossips around the studios (so that would have been a good seventy percent of the people there) would have put two and two together and come up with one hundred and twelve. We didn’t spend that day in bed; for a change, we didn’t spend it in the throes of passion. Instead we pottered nervously around her flat, sometimes holding each other, but mostly not. Just listening to the grandfather clock in the hall count down every second.
I did wonder whether I should do what she wanted and call it off. Or not show up to the appointment at all. But I knew if I did I’d hate myself; I knew if I did that I’d never enjoy a comfortable night’s sleep again. Already I was jangling. Even though I was only going to speak to the bastard, look down on him and tell him just what I thought of men who beat women, I still felt my blood beating faster.
I wasn’t going to harm a dyed hair on his head, but I still felt like I was heading into combat.
It was a comparison I thought, darkly, that Wachtel himself might enjoy.
“I have to do this,” I told her as the time came and she reluctantly put her coat on. “I have to do this for you, for us.”
She shrugged, as if she had no more words with which to try and stop me.
“I’ll be careful,” I promised her. “I’ll be in control.” Then I added: “I’ll look after you.”
Eden peered up with heavy, sad eyes. “I’m more concerned about who’s going to look after you.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
As it turned out there was no guard, no Al – or new Al – lurking in attendance. The old booth was empty and the gates were ajar, so the house was effectively open to the street. Or as open to the street as any large house tucked away up a wide, tree-lined driveway can be.
I’m far from an expert on architecture. I grew up in a narrow terrace in Splott, and to me having an inside toilet still seemed like a miracle of science. But if I had to guess, I’d have said that the house, with its bright red brick and turrets, was some kind of Victorian folly. The pride and joy of a long-dead millionaire, now being squatted in by another millionaire.
At the top of the driveway, I pulled up the handbrake on my Hillman and stared at the house. There were lights on in the hallway and what I guessed was the front room. Although, given the size of the place, it could easily have been a ballroom.
Trying to be as calm as I could, I peered over my shoulder at Eden. Even in the moonlight I could make out that she was shaking on the back seat.
It was like she was folded in on herself, her long, svelte body now a scrunched-up ball. Her eyes peered fearfully out, glimmering in the half-light of the evening. They were wide eyes with almost no pleading left.
I gave her a nod of my head and then glanced at myself in the rear-view. My face was slightly flushed, a sheen of sweat already on my brow. “I won’t be long.”
“I’ll be waiting here.” Her voice was completely flat.
I closed the car door slowly, gently tapping it back into place. Then I crept across the gravel driveway like some kind of burglar. A guest was expected, but it was a lovely young lady, rather than a big bloke with a broken nose.
Of course, if he was staring out of the window, he’d instantly know the truth. But somehow I didn’t think that Wachtel would be so suspicious.
When I got the front door, I rolled my shoulders and stood up tall. Made sure I was at my full height. Then I pressed my finger to the doorbell. It was a big gothic clang, one which seemed to echo through the entire house.
The thought went through my mind of Eden stood there and doing exactly the same thing. My fists clenched, even as I tried to relax them.
For a fleeting moment, I thought I’d have a long wait. That a ring like that somehow meant he was probably at the other side of the house.
But no, the big, stained-oak door was pulled back swiftly.
Boris Wachtel’s heavy-set and unimpressed face was staring at me.
This time he wasn’t in his dressing-gown. Instead he was semi-formal, as if for a business meeting, in dark trousers and white shirt. I noticed instantly that around his waist was the skull belt buckle, straining to hold in his now-impressive gut. The very implement which caused Eden’s otherwise perfect skin to be scarred.
I’d expected him to be shocked, for his jaw to drop, but there was a disappointing lack of surprise on his face.
Maybe he had watched me come up the driveway after all.
“You!” he spat. “What the holy fuck do you want?”
I stepped towards him, closing off the space between us on the doorstep. “I’ve come because you and I need to have a little chat.”
There was no way a man like Wachtel was going to give ground to the likes of me. He chewed his tongue around in his mouth. “That bitch! That tramp! I heard that she was slumming with the likes of you now and I guessed she must be up to something. I guessed it when I saw you staring at me across the set. You’ve got the eyes of a fag, do you know that? The eyes of a fucking fag!”
Leaning in with my shoulders, I got closer to him. Still he didn’t yield. Instead he just seemed to get more enraged.
“That bitch!” he yelled. “That worthless fucking bitch!”
He bellowed the words as loudly as he could. As if he knew that Eden was in the car barely ten feet away, as if he wanted to make her shudder.
Up close he was a hefty bloke, not as gone to fat as I’d thought. When I slapped my palm on his chest to push him back, to stop his noise being such a bellowing advertisement, it was like trying to shove a Victorian dresser.
Still he didn’t yield, an enraged determination in his scrunched up eyes as he glared at me. Daring me to do something that might hurt him. Breath snorted out of his nose like it was dragon fire. Then, maybe having decided that he didn’t real
ly want a big scene right on his doorstep, he stepped back. Momentarily he unpuffed his chest and slipped out of my way, letting me pass him into his hallway.
A courtesy he hadn’t shown Eden the last time she came to see him.
He stood staring at me, his arms crossed and a pout of infinite meanness on his lips.
“Listen, pal,” he said, “if your ambition was to come here tonight and get your ass fucking fired, then congratulations! You’ve done it. Don’t even bother trying to pick up any final pay cheque, as you ain’t getting an extra fucking cent out of me. If your ambition was to come here and play some kind of knight in shining armour – a cut-price fag of an Ivanhoe – then I got bad news for you, you’re about four fucking years too late!”
“You admit it then?”
He managed a half-shrug. “Shit happens. We all have bad days. I had a bad day that day, and because she was making a fucking scene, she had a bad day too. What the fuck are you going to do about it now? So your girlfriend took a tap once upon a time? What of it? She didn’t make a fuss, so I don’t see why the fuck you’re here now. Get back on your fucking horse, ride off into the fucking sunset and leave me the fuck alone, you fucking clown!”
His voice was like John Wayne’s, just faster and more nasal.
He’d taken three steps back, but was clearly going no further. I stopped right in front of him. The two of us staring eyeball to eyeball.
“So you’re sorry about what happened? You’re sorry that a big strong man like you beat a woman with a belt?”
“Of course I’m fucking sorry!” he snapped. “I’m sorry I met her, I’m sorry I had anything to do with that needy bitch, I’m sorry I had anything to do with that self-important cunt!”
My fists balled, but I did my best to control myself. He smelt of sex and too-strong aftershave. It was like he sweated aggression.
“Oh, I’m sorry, am I insulting your girlfriend?” His lip curled up. “Oh dear, love’s young fucking dream. I can see it now – ‘The Hero and The Cunt’. Some frigid bitch to play her and some absolute fag to play you.”
I tried counting down silently from ten, but only got to seven. My finger came up and poked right into his face. “You better watch your mouth!”
“Or what?” he yelled, his jaw jutting towards me like he was going to bite off my fingertip. “Or what, cocksucker? I knew it was a mistake to agree to see her again, I knew that it would just be some shit. And here you fucking are – some shit. What the fuck is it you want?”
The hallway was like a monument to war. There were large canvasses across the walls; Napoleonic, the American Civil War, and (inevitably) the English Civil War. Scattered around the varnished wooden floor were numerous statues of warriors: medieval, oriental and even Second World War infantry. To our left was a 4ft-high figure of an American cavalryman, his sword brandished high in the air. Next to that were two crossed sabres, their points glittering.
It was all tough guy stuff. Possessions he’d come down to in the mornings to make him feel like he really was a big man.
Desperately I tried to keep my cool. Dropped my hands, took a deep breath. Even though I had a couple of inches on him, he clearly wasn’t going to back down. Even though I was the one in the right, he had the puffed-out beetroot face of the injured party.
Somehow, through incredible effort, I managed to keep my voice level. “I want you to start by showing some respect for Eden when you talk about her.”
He rolled his eyes. “She had my respect along with my dick. Both things are gone now.”
Almost unconsciously, my fists tightened again. Fingernails digging into my palms. “I want” – my voice rising despite my best efforts – “I want you to remember this visit the next time you raise your fist to a script girl or an actress or any other woman. Because if I hear of it happening again, I’ll be back here and will swing a few bloody fists of my own. Do you understand me?”
“Oh, Jesus Christ, you bleeding heart fag!” he yelled, his jaw jabbing even closer to me. “Women are resilient. They swiftly get over these things, acknowledge it was their fault and get on with their lives. A little slap occasionally is good for them, helps them learn from their mistakes. Jesus fucking Christ! Are you fucking kidding me with this? Have you never been with a woman before, fag? Have you never had to reprimand one?”
“I would never…”
He cut me off with a wave of his arm. “This is what fucking happened, okay? I made it clear that it was over between us. She didn’t pay attention, though, did she? She didn’t use her stupid female brain. So she showed up here acting all fucking jealous, making a scene, disturbing my time with my new lady friend. She showed up and ruined my fucking evening. And she’d have shown up again and again and ruined other fucking evenings if I hadn’t dealt with her.” He rocked himself forward on his heels. “I’d say she learnt a real fucking lesson that night. I’d say when it comes to be your time to get rid of her that you’re going to be thankful to me for what I did. That you’re not going to be playing some stupid fucking hero then. That you’ll be on your knees in gratitude to me, fag. She got what she fucking deserved!”
I gritted my teeth. “I want to hear you say that you’re sorry. I’ll make you say it if I have to. I’ll make you understand that you can’t behave that way.”
“What?” he drawled. “You’ve never been tempted to pop her one? Never? Not even when she’s so superior in her Scandinavian way? Making you feel like you know shit compared to her? Don’t try to deny it, I know exactly what she’s like. And I know that any man – any real man – wouldn’t have a moment’s hesitation about blacking that bitch’s eye just to show her who’s boss.”
It was almost involuntary, but I smashed my fists into his chest and pushed him back. He staggered, but his bare feet held their grip on the polished floor.
When he stared at me, he was like a big bull trapped in a corner.
“I wouldn’t try it on me,” I warned him. “I’m bigger than you, I’m younger than you, I’m much tougher than you. You need to just shut your mouth. If you know what’s good for you, you will shut your bloody mouth.”
Already I regretted pushing him, already I could feel the situation getting out of my control.
“What are you going to do, fag? What are you really going to do? I could ruin your entire fucking career, do you know that, stuntman? I could destroy your entire fucking life with just a word. Not only are you gone from my movie, you’ll be gone from the entire fucking industry. The only place that’ll pay you to fall off a fucking horse will be the circus.
“And what about your cunt?” he snarled. “Are you thinking about her? I could ruin her too. A few words from me and the only performances she’ll give are to the gentleman callers she sees of an afternoon to help make the fucking ends meet. That’s all the acting she’ll do!
“You can kiss goodbye to your fucking lives, faggot, as I am going to destroy them!”
I took a step back, not because I was scared or worried, but because I knew that if I stood where I was I’d lamp him one. I’d have the bastard counting his teeth on the floor. I’d promised Eden it wouldn’t come to that, that I wouldn’t do that. Even though all I could think of was flattening his nose over his fat round face, I’d sworn I’d keep my temper.
So I stepped back and he must have seen it as a sign I was weakening, as the bastard leapt at me.
He was much faster than I’d imagined a man of his size could be. Suddenly he grabbed out at me and we were wrestling. My reactions weren’t anywhere near quick enough and he got me in a headlock. I squeezed tight around his waist but he punched me repeatedly up and under, into the gut.
Punched much harder than I thought he could.
As I scrabbled to get a grip, my feet weakened under his onslaught.
“Cocksucker!” he screamed at the top of his voice.
My mouth was filling with the taste of blood and bile. When he’d grabbed me, I’d been determined not to fall, to hold my ground.
But with my insides being pulverised I realised it was the best choice, let him come down with me, throw him off balance, maybe get the edge on him.
So I let my legs go numb, let my whole weight fall, and I could feel him toppling.
I could feel us both dropping. Evening things out.
The floor zoomed in closer to me, and I felt his grip slide from around my neck. But then there was something else. Movement to my side.
Eden had heard him scream out his vulgarity.
She’d heard him and knew things were going wrong. Despite all her fears, she’d pulled herself out of the car and crept through the darkness to see what was happening.
Nervously, she’d peered through the doorway and when she saw Wachtel having the better of me, she charged into the hall.
Becoming bravery itself, she dashed, arms out, at the man she’d once been foolish enough to love.
She charged at him, as I let my legs go numb.
Hit him with her weight, just as I dropped mine.
Her movement distracted him, so must the surprise of seeing her again. The two of us moving simultaneously threw Wachtel completely off balance. He tumbled over the top of me, staggered backwards, seeming to trip over his own heels and came to an abrupt halt, as if suspended in mid-fall.
Gasping with shock, his body arched backwards at a horribly unnatural angle, he stared down at his chest. Stared down at the blade that now ran right through the middle of him.
That sharpened cavalryman’s sword had pierced him from back to front.
It took a moment for Eden to straighten up and see what had happened, but when she did, she screamed. A cry of fear and horror from the bottom of her lungs.
Still shaking, I staggered up and grabbed her. Spun her around and clamped my hand over her mouth. Any neighbours close enough had already had an exciting enough radio play tonight, they didn’t need any more.
With Eden quivering in my arms, we turned to Wachtel. His expression was still livid, even as his chest wheezed.
Somehow he managed to push himself forward, to force himself up and off that blade. He came free with a squelch and a pop.
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