‘I suppose so,’ she said, shifting from one foot to the other.
‘Well, go on then,’ said Caroline. ‘And knock first.’
‘It’s all right,’ said Georgina. ‘I’ve seen Ella without any clothes on before. She won’t mind.’
There was a short silence as she and Nicola ran off, during which the image of Ella without any clothes on hung unavoidably in everyone’s minds.
‘Right,’ said Caroline briskly. ‘I think I’m going to get changed. We’ll be having dinner around eight, with drinks beforehand.’
‘Very civilized,’ said Stephen. ‘What about the kids?’
‘I’ve sorted that out. They’ll have theirs earlier on, in the kitchen. Mrs Finch is organizing it.’
‘Bliss,’ said Annie. ‘I think I’ll just lie here for a few months or so.’
‘I’m afraid not,’ said Patrick. ‘You’re on again, against us.’
‘No!’ groaned Annie.
‘Patrick!’ said Caroline. ‘I’ve got to get changed! Can’t we leave it till tomorrow?’
‘Hear, hear!’ said Stephen.
‘Well, I suppose so,’ said Patrick grudgingly. ‘But we must play it. Otherwise we won’t know who’s in the final.’
‘We will,’ said Annie. ‘Promise.’
‘We’ll be off home then, to change,’ said Don. ‘Drinks around seven-thirty, Caroline?’
‘Whatever you like,’ said Caroline dismissively.
‘Yes, seven-thirty,’ said Patrick, smiling at Don.
* * *
Caroline wandered slowly up to her bedroom. Passing the room where Georgina had moved to, she heard sounds of rumpus, and wondered briefly whether to intervene. But she really couldn’t be bothered. And she had more important things to think about. The first was the sudden appearance of Ella. Although, of course, she disapproved of Georgina’s lying, a part of her, she realized, rejoiced at the discomfort of Charles and Cressida. This was a meeting which probably would not have happened otherwise. And it would serve Charles right to see what he had turned down.
Ella was looking utterly radiant – and had obviously had an incredible trip. So glamorous, thought Caroline, to go whizzing off round the world like that. Although perhaps it sounded better than it really was. Caroline’s own idea of a holiday was being shipped, with no effort on her own part, from front door to airport to hotel to beach. But Charles had always liked those hippy, studenty holidays with backpacks and no tour rep – and would probably love to go round the world like that. Caroline made a note to herself to ask Ella loudly about her travels at dinner – and watch Charles’ face. She smiled to herself as she turned on the taps and watched the water gushing into her bath-tub.
‘Having a bath?’ It was Patrick, bustling cheerfully into the room. ‘Going to be long?’
‘Yes,’ said Caroline uncompromisingly.
‘OK then. I’ll read the paper. Give me a shout when you’ve finished.’ He opened the balcony door and went to sit outside. Caroline watched him distrustfully, then quickly stripped, leaving her clothes on the floor, and got into the hot, scented, foamy water. She opened her mouth to call to him, and then realized that she would be overheard.
‘Patrick, come here,’ she shouted. ‘Patrick!’
‘What?’ He appeared at the bathroom door.
‘I want to talk to you. Close the door.’
‘What about?’ He stood and let his eyes run over her body in the foamy bath water. She ignored him.
‘About Charles. No,’ she held up a hand, ‘let me finish. I know what you were up to today. You tank him up, disappear off to the study on some pathetic pretext and then all of a sudden, I can just see it, you haul out the brochures and sell him some completely unsuitable product just for your bloody commission.’
‘Now wait a moment,’ said Patrick, raising his voice.
‘Sssh!’ hissed Caroline. ‘Do you want everyone to hear?’
‘Now wait a moment,’ he repeated more quietly.
‘You can stop talking about my bloody commission. It pays for your food, your clothes . . .’
‘OK, OK,’ she said impatiently, ‘but I’m not completely hung up about it like you are. Anyway,’ she held up her hand again before he could interrupt, ‘the point is, why do you have to do business in the house? It’s bad enough entertaining people like Don because they’re good clients,’ her voice mocked the phrase, ‘but when you invite Charles Mobyn here just in order to sell him some crappy policy . . . it’s really naff.’ Her blue eyes regarded him with disdain.
‘And how’, he said, ‘do you know I sold anything to Charles?’
‘Oh, it’s obvious,’ snapped Caroline. ‘You disappear off with him; the next thing you’re in a really good mood, doling out brandy and cigars like there’s no tomorrow. Either you sold some whacking great plan to Charles or else you’ve got a coke habit I don’t know about.’ Patrick gave a small smile. He peered into the steamy mirror, licked his finger and smoothed his eyebrows.
‘Or else’, he said casually, ‘I sold some whacking great plan to someone else.’
‘What?’ Caroline stared at him in surprise. ‘Who? Cressida?’ Patrick continued smiling pleasurably at his reflection. ‘Don?’ she said.
‘I sold the plan’, he said slowly, ‘which will take my bonus this year up to . . . go on, have a guess how much.’
‘Don. It must have been Don. He didn’t go off to feed his dog at all, did he? He went off to be conned by you.’
‘One hundred thousand pounds,’ said Patrick, relishing the sound of the words. ‘That’s not salary, that’s bonus. One hundred thousand pounds of lovely bonus.’
‘But Don’s strapped for cash. He’s in real trouble, Valerie told me. He can’t have invested that much.’ Patrick broke off from his pleasant reverie and looked at her in surprise.
‘It wasn’t Don. What made you think it was him?’
‘Well who the fuck was it then?’ Patrick smiled at her.
‘Stephen, of course.’
Annie was trying to make conversation with Mrs Finch in the kitchen. The children, including a resentful Martina, were assembled round the table, munching fish cakes, cheesy baked potatoes and salad. Georgina had insisted on grinding piles of fresh black pepper on to everyone’s potato, with the result that Toby had found his too hot to eat and had had to have the topping scraped off. Annie suspected that Nicola was finding hers a bit too hot as well, but was valiantly refusing to say anything in front of Georgina. She was breathing rather heavily as she put each forkful in her mouth, and was gulping lots of water. The Mobyn twins, meanwhile, had each been given a mound of grated cheese, which was now all over the table, the floor, their hair and stuck between their fingers. Martina gave each of them a perfunctory wipe every so often, but otherwise seemed content to leave them to their own devices and stare moodily into space.
Mrs Finch was sitting on a kitchen stool, smoking a cigarette. Having discovered that Annie was willing to give a hand with administering the children’s supper, she had relinquished all responsibility, and was now comfortably regaling Annie with the failings of the village shop.
‘Went in there the other day, when I’d forgotten to get a sweet for our evening meal. There wasn’t nothing I could buy! I just had to walk straight out again.’
‘What were you looking for?’ said Annie absently, as she poured out glasses of Ribena.
‘Well . . . I don’t know,’ said Mrs Finch consideringly. ‘A nice chocolate mousse, maybe. Or creme caramel. Those ones that come in little glass pots, they’re nice, now. Or a frozen gateau. But you have to go to Safeway for those.’
‘Are we having chocolate mousse?’ said Georgina suddenly.
‘You’re having ice-cream,’ said Mrs Finch. ‘Raspberry ripple.’
‘Yummy!’ said Nicola. Mrs Finch regarded her fondly.
‘Poor little pet,’ she said. ‘It’s a shame.’
‘We were thinking of taking the children to church tomorrow,’ sai
d Annie hurriedly. ‘Do you know what time the service is?’ Mrs Finch wrinkled her nose.
‘Can’t say I do. I see them walking up there sometimes on a Sunday, you know, but I can’t say I’ve ever noticed what time it was.’
‘So the congregation isn’t very big?’
‘Oh, I don’t know about that. It’s a pretty church; people come to it from other villages. I’d say they get a fair crowd. I was married in that church, you know,’ she added surprisingly.
‘How lovely,’ said Annie enthusiastically. Mrs Finch stubbed out her lipstick-stained cigarette end and nodded.
‘Fifteen years ago, that was. Reception at the Horse and Groom in Moreton St Mary. We went on a package to Ibiza for the honeymoon. First time I’d been abroad. You wouldn’t believe it now, would you?’
‘Well, no,’ said Annie.
‘We’ve been abroad every year since then. Spain, Portugal, the Canaries, you name it. This year, we went to the Gambia. Took the kids, you know, proper family holiday. They loved it, of course. Lee, that’s our eldest, learnt how to water-ski. He’s got a real knack. We’re thinking about Florida next year. Disneyworld.’
‘Gosh,’ said Annie.
‘You fond of holidays abroad?’
‘Well,’ said Annie honestly, ‘I do love going abroad, but we haven’t been away for a while. It’s a bit difficult.’ Mrs Finch nodded wisely.
‘I suppose what with the kiddy and all . . .’ Her eyes fell on Nicola, awkwardly spreading butter onto a piece of bread.
‘It’s not that,’ said Annie hastily. ‘More the money, really.’ She laughed.
‘Finished!’ announced Georgina. ‘Shall I get the ice-cream?’ Mrs Finch nodded, and lit another cigarette. Georgina disappeared out of the kitchen and Annie put her dirty plate in the dishwasher. Mrs Finch didn’t move.
‘Can’t decide between Florida and California,’ she said musingly, as Annie returned to her seat. She took a long drag on her cigarette. ‘Maybe we should do both.’
Patrick couldn’t understand why Caroline was so angry.
‘Oh very funny,’ she had said, lifting up a foamy leg to admire it. ‘Come on, who? It’s Charles, isn’t it?’
‘No it’s not. I told you. Stephen.’
‘Oh right, yes, Stephen’s really got that kind of money.’ Her tone was confidently sarcastic, and Patrick, who usually glossed over the details of his business transactions when he talked to Caroline, felt nettled.
‘He has if he takes a mortgage out on his house.’ He gave her a triumphant look. ‘Which he has done, more or less.’
‘What?’ Caroline’s leg stopped moving and she turned disbelieving eyes on him.
‘It’s very easy to set up,’ said Patrick. ‘I mean, if you think about it, he’s underborrowed at the moment. Not using his potential.’
‘You’ve conned him into taking out a mortgage?’ Patrick looked uncomfortable.
‘There’s no need to put it like that.’
‘How much?’
‘Does it matter? It’s well within his means.’
‘What means? He hasn’t got a job, or had you forgotten? How much?’
‘I think he’d probably want that information to remain confidential,’ said Patrick smoothly.
‘Fucking hell, Patrick!’ Caroline got out of the bath with a great swoosh of water and stood in front of him, dripping and furious. ‘How much?’
‘Only eighty thousand, for Christ’s sake! Stop getting so worked up. His house must be worth at least three times that.’
‘He’s borrowing eighty thousand to invest?’ Caroline put her hand to her head. ‘And what’s he putting it in?’
‘Is it really relevant? You wouldn’t understand even if I told you.’
‘Like hell I wouldn’t! It’s not that Sigma fund, is it?’ Patrick started.
‘How do you know about that?’
‘I’m not completely stupid,’ she said scathingly. ‘I know what you’re up to. I know all about the fucking Sigma fund and your fucking bonuses. Jesus Christ! How could you do it?’
‘I really don’t see what the problem is.’
‘Yes you fucking do. Don’t pretend you don’t. It’s obvious. Annie and Stephen can’t possibly afford to pay that kind of mortgage. They’ll struggle for a bit and then they’ll come to you in about a year’s time and ask for their money back. And how much will you give them? Or rather, how much will you cream off in fees? Ten thousand? Twenty thousand?’
‘There won’t be any question of that,’ said Patrick huffily. ‘Annie and Stephen can well afford a small mortgage like that. And the fund should do extremely well over the long term.’
‘Patrick, they haven’t got any fucking income.’ Caroline’s eyes blazed at Patrick. ‘What good is the long term?’ Patrick looked at her for a second.
‘Calm down,’ he said irritatingly, and walked into the bedroom, out onto the balcony.
Caroline stared after him in rage for a minute or two. Then she roused herself to action. She dried herself briskly and slapped on body moisturizer, thinking furiously. Patrick really had sunk to new depths. He’d always been an unprincipled salesman – that had been something that had attracted her to him in the first place. He and his friends, in their flashy suits, with their oversmooth voices and eager darting eyes, had tickled her fancy, had made her laugh. And at the beginning, Patrick had treated her a bit like a favoured client – deferential murmurs, respectful remarks, but all the time that tacit undercurrent: we both know what we’re here for, don’t we? Except that she wasn’t there to buy financial services.
She gazed at herself in the mirror, remembering herself, the busty promo girl with the blond hair and the big smile. No wonder Patrick had fallen for her. In fact, he’d been incredibly cool about the whole thing, considering how desperate he was to have her – although she’d only found that out later. Half the time it had been her worrying that he’d gone off her. Incredible, really.
And what a bastard he’d turned out to be.
‘You bastard,’ she said to the mirror. She smiled. Despite her protestations, the thought of Patrick once again as an unprincipled salesman faintly excited her.
She conjured up an image of Patrick fifteen years ago: determined, pugnacious, cocky. Young and virile; forthright and thrusting. They’d met when they were both working at a personal finance show in London. She’d been on some other firm’s stand, handing out leaflets for a champagne draw. On the fourth day, she rigged the draw so Patrick won the champagne, and they spent the afternoon getting steadily drunk. Then he’d pulled her behind the stand and kissed her. She could still remember the shock waves that had gone through her drunken mind. Was she really kissing this short, ugly person? And becoming excited by it? He’d pulled up her company promotional T-shirt, groaned at the sight of her breasts, pushed aside the lace of her bra and fastened his lips to her nipple. She’d almost cried out in ecstasy. Then he’d pulled himself away.
‘Gotta go,’ he’d said. ‘Clients out there. Gotta get them.’ And she’d stared after him with swollen, tingling lips that ached to be kissed by him again.
Caroline stared at her lips in the mirror. They were still full, still kissable. Her breasts were still firm; her skin still soft and smooth. And Patrick was still a bastard. They might both be fifteen years older now, but really they were no different from the way they’d been then. This realization cheered her. But at the same time, she was angry with Patrick. Little as she thought of Stephen, he was still a friend, and Annie more so. Caroline was in fact, she realized, very fond of Annie. And Nicola. The idea of them falling into financial trouble, worrying over the bills, quarrelling about money, upset her. An image came into her mind, of Stephen hunched over the kitchen table, sobbing, of Annie comforting him, of Nicola appearing at the door, wide eyed and worried.
Patrick came in from the balcony and caught her eye in the mirror. He looked guarded and suspicious.
‘You’re a real bastard,’ said Caroline. ‘A re
al heel.’ Patrick opened his mouth to speak and then closed it again. ‘And poor old Annie and Stephen have no idea. They trust you completely, did you know that? They deserve to be put right.’ Patrick’s frown deepened, and he strode towards the bathroom. But Caroline got up and stood in his way. ‘They need a good friend to tell them what you’re really like,’ she said.
‘You’re not going to say anything,’ said Patrick. ‘You know which side your bread is buttered. You lose me clients, I lose money, we both end up poor.’
‘Hardly poor,’ scoffed Caroline.
‘If no-one wants to buy financial services from me, then yes, poor,’ retorted Patrick. ‘It doesn’t take much to ruin a reputation. Remember what happened to Graham Witherspoon? Excuse me.’
Caroline stared after him angrily. Half of her wanted to warn Stephen and Annie to cancel the deal, for their own sakes. But Patrick was right. One disillusioned customer – however good a friend – was enough to spread the word and lose customers. In fact, being a friend made it worse. Graham Witherspoon had been a colleague of Patrick’s. He’d been a top salesman until once he’d drunkenly told a dinner party full of friends and clients that his products were rip-offs. After that he’d barely sold a thing, and soon after that he’d been fired. Should she risk that happening to Patrick?
Frowning slightly, she walked into her wardrobe. She hadn’t yet given a thought to what she was going to wear. Absently, she pulled out cream satin knickers and bra, a buttercup linen shift dress, matching suede pumps from Italy. She put them all down on the bed and took out her jewellery box. Gold knot earrings and her diamond solitaire ring. She wasn’t going to have that cow Cressida out-jewelling her. To be on the safe side, she added a diamond bracelet. She sprayed herself all over with scent and then dressed, admiring her brown shoulders against the yellow; pointing her foot and rotating it prettily.
She looked in the mirror. Simple but chic. Too simple? She imagined the impression she would make against the cream leather sofa in the living-room, holding a champagne glass, laughing at a joke. Her eyes landed on the gold earrings. Too dull. She ripped them out and searched for her diamond studs. They sparkled in her ears, and she smiled at her reflection. One could never have too many diamonds. Was that a famous saying? Or had she made it up?
The Tennis Party Page 11