Wishful Thinking

by Jemma Harvey

  (‘He comes from the same village as my mother,’ Lin explained later. ‘His mum knows my aunt. Once I learned that, I knew I could deal with him.’)

  Jerry’s lower jaw was thrust so far forward it seemed only loosely connected to the upper. ‘Get him,’ he said, ‘or you’re fired.’

  ‘Erm . . . sorry, sir.’

  Jerry started yelling for other minions, giving orders right and left – Re-cork the champagne! – Stuff the toad back in its hole! – Get rid of the remaining guests! In the middle Helen Aucham walked in, adopted a protective stance close to Todd, and threatened to issue a writ, or whatever it is lawyers issue under these circumstances. To give her her due, before very long she was also offering to represent MacMurdo in a suit for unfair dismissal. ‘I’d better take her home,’ Todd said. ‘I’m damned if I want to star in a court case over a split lip, but I’ll need to talk her out of it quietly. Will you be all right? I’m going to call you tomorrow, and we’ll get together, preferably over dinner, and then you’ll tell me everything. Okay?’

  I nodded.

  He turned to Cal. ‘Would you look after her?’

  ‘’Course. Sorry about that—’ he indicated the lip ‘– I think it was meant for me.’

  Todd grinned crookedly. ‘My pleasure.’

  In the living room, half the party hadn’t quite realised what had happened to the other half. Embarrassed waiters stood around, not too sure about hurling the leftover guests into the street: it wasn’t a task which had previously come their way. Rumours of the scrum in the bedroom were spreading, wildly distorted (or so everyone assumed), and there was a wailing and a gnashing of teeth among those who had missed the fun. The one person who remained completely oblivious to disaster was Alistair Garnett. In the aftermath of the speeches he was talking to John Walsh of the Independent – they’d been at Oxford together – and he continued in lofty ignorance until the moment when Jerry lighted on him as an adequate target for his rage. ‘He demanded I fire you,’ Alistair told Georgie the next morning. ‘And Cookie – and Lin – and Cal McGregor. In fact, he demanded I fire practically the entire staff of Ransome, as far as I could tell. I don’t know what you did – the poor chap was babbling, virtually incoherent. I swear he was actually frothing at the mouth. Writers.’

  ‘Are you going to fire us?’ Georgie inquired.

  ‘Lord, no. He’s the one who wanted the bloody party. I always said it was a mistake.’ Alistair looked gratified at his own foresight. ‘Of course, he can’t tear up the contract – too late now – but he’ll go elsewhere next time. Doesn’t matter, though. We’ve got him at his peak. His sales have nowhere to go but down.’

  As the evening disintegrated, Cal had put Lin and me into a taxi, obviously intending to see Georgie home personally. On an impulse I gripped her lapel and said for her private ear: ‘Sort yourself out this time. Tell him why you needed a millionaire. Tell him about your credit-card debts. Tell him there’s no such thing as the future. Tell him—’

  ‘All right.’ She detached herself, and we drove away.

  Cal found another cab.

  ‘Are you taking me home?’ Georgie asked.

  ‘I’d better, hadn’t I? Before you get into any more trouble. Where did that money come from?’

  ‘Under the bath,’ Georgie said, and proceeded to explain.

  ‘He should have hidden it in the washing machine,’ Cal commented. ‘Then he could have laundered it.’

  ‘Jokes really aren’t your forte, are they? I can’t believe I had a serious affair with a man who has no sense of humour.’

  ‘I’ve got a big dick, though.’

  ‘Sometimes,’ Georgie said darkly, ‘you are a big—’

  ‘All right,’ Cal said, ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’ve been a dick. I’ve always asked too much from you, and I’m married to another woman, and you could do so much better – but I do love you. Anyone else would cry if some guy thumped her, but you just worry about your blusher. You’re the best, d’you know that?’ He stroked her swollen cheek with one finger.

  Presently, they kissed.

  ‘Are we back together?’ Georgie asked.

  ‘Suppose so. It’s up to you.’

  ‘No, it’s up to you. You were the one who finished it.’

  ‘You wanted to see other men. You have every right, but—’

  ‘Look—’ she gave a deep sigh ‘– there are some things I ought to tell you. Important things.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘The problem is, our relationship has never been about – well, business stuff. It’s just been about sex and love and things. The nice things. We don’t have to share the everyday nitty-gritty of life. I didn’t feel it was fair to burden you . . .’

  Cal was looking bewildered. ‘Burden me.’

  ‘I’m broke. I owe so much money on my credit cards they’re threatening to bankrupt me. I could lose the house. I thought if I married a millionaire it would solve my problems, but I couldn’t even bring myself to sleep with one. I only wanted you.’ She sat staring in front of her in the darkness, her gaze fixed on the back of the cabby’s neck. Fortunately, Cal had closed the intervening window early in the conversation. ‘I’ve made such a mess of it – such a mess of everything. I never stopped loving you, though God knows I tried. Even if being with you is complicated and – and stressful and sometimes painful, I can’t bear being without you. It doesn’t matter if we haven’t any future, as long as we always keep the present . . .’

  Cal wiped away a tear, further smudging her makeup. ‘You’re broke? That’s all? Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘I was ashamed. I thought you’d say I was hopelessly extravagant . . .’

  ‘You’re hopelessly extravagant.’

  ‘Only when we split up, I was so unhappy I didn’t even want to buy clothes any more.’

  In the dark, she saw the ghost of his mischievous smile flicker across his face. ‘My God, you do love me after all . . .’

  ‘He was wonderful,’ Georgie said the following morning. ‘He was utterly wonderful. That’s what love is: you meet some ordinary guy who isn’t rich or famous and makes very bad jokes, and suddenly you know he’s wonderful. He’s going to arrange a bank loan to cover my debts – in his name – and help me pay them off. This friend of his who’s opening a restaurant has offered him a commission to do some pictures for it. It’s lots of money, and he says he’ll give it to me. There’s a trust fund for Jamie and Christy has a good income so they’re not short at home. And he’s going to tell her he’s seeing someone, so he doesn’t have to make up lies for her, and then it’ll be easier for us. And he says when we’re very old he’ll still be coming round to make love to me, dosed up to the eyebrows with Viagra.’

  ‘How romantic,’ sighed Lin, with such obvious sincerity I concluded she’d missed the last bit.

  We were meant to be checking the newspapers for coverage of the party (or even the book), but so far we hadn’t found a single line. The diarists burbled on about other matters; the columnists were strangely mute. Two days later, Jocasta Tate came out with a lengthy piece on the glamorous life of the It girl, but there wasn’t a word about Jerry Beauman. Georgie, buoyed up by the renewal of her relationship with Cal, had decided the party must have been a success after all, and was inclined to view the lack of publicity in a positive spirit. ‘Anyhow,’ she pointed out, ‘what could they have said? That Jerry had a stash of money which he’d obviously acquired illegally and which had mysteriously disappeared along with most of the guests? They’re not going to print that, are they? They were the guests who were busy disappearing.’

  ‘Not all of them.’

  ‘Yes, but the ones who actually saw what happened were involved in it. The more I think about it, the more I feel no one’s going to run the risk of going public. Otherwise they’ll all end up with egg on their faces – not to mention dirt on their hands.’

  ‘Could you sound out some of your contacts?’

  ‘I’ll try.�
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  In fact, Georgie’s hypothesis was proved right. There had been no secret confabulations, no formal conspiracy of silence. The journalists present at the final mêlée had gone away with a hot story and hot money in their pockets – and each had waited for one of the others to rush into print. The herd instinct is very strong in the press, and with nobody ready to stampede the herd made no move. A state of omertà kept the whole incident off the record. Those guests who had avoided the scrimmage knew what had happened, but hearsay wasn’t good enough for publication on such a sensitive issue, and anyway, too many of their friends and colleagues were compromised. The story passed into journalistic myth and was revived with the brandy at the tag end of drunken dinner parties, and whispered in intimate circles, as proof of a mystic truth – the biggest scandals never see the light of day. The investigative team deduced where the money had come from and printed a few hints, but dared not venture further. Only the Independent gave the matter a mention, concluding: ‘There was a minor fracas in one of the bedrooms – a falling out between the host and some of his guests – which resulted in a disgruntled Beauman calling off the party early and sending revellers home without any toad-in-the-hole, a sad come-down from Beauman’s former standards of hospitality. Prison has clearly had a detrimental effect on him. A rumour that he had terminated his contract with Ransome Harber has not been confirmed.’

  Alistair admitted later that Jerry had tried to block distribution of the book at the last minute with a view to selling it elsewhere – he wasn’t the sort to worry about breach of contract, and told Alistair that after Georgie’s behaviour we were in no position to sue. But thanks to the persistence of the official photographer, Alistair was able to change his mind without having to shell out for legal fees. The book was selling well, though the omertà seemed to have spread to the reviewers: even the one who’d spoken to me never actually gave it a write-up. A sort of collective media embarrassment settled over Jerry, blotting him out of the public eye. Even his girlfriend was reputed to have dumped him.

  ‘Oscar Wilde got it right,’ Georgie remarked the following week, as we looked in vain through the book pages. ‘The only thing worse than being talked about . . . There’s got to be a moral here.’

  ‘Don’t get found out,’ I said. ‘The wages of spin is professional death.’

  ‘Particularly if you hide them under the bath,’ Georgie added.

  ‘I’ve just realised,’ I said, my editorial instincts clicking in, ‘that’s all wrong. It should be “the wages are death”. Am I misquoting, or does the bad grammar come from the Bible?’

  ‘The moral should be for us,’ Lin said thoughtfully. ‘After all, everything was our fault.’

  ‘Phew!’ said Georgie. ‘Everything? That gives me a real sense of achievement.’

  With all the excitement, I’d forgotten to tell Lin about Andy’s telephone call. Now that the press had cooled off a bit, she started plugging her landline in again, and eventually he got through. ‘I don’t want to push you,’ he said. ‘I know you’ve been through hell. Sean’s a selfish, thick-headed—’

  ‘He just didn’t think,’ Lin said, annoyed to find herself automatically apologising for the men in her life. ‘He’s desperately sorry now.’

  ‘He’d better be. He’s a lousy father and you’re a wonderful mum, and he landed you right in it. But that isn’t what I wanted to say. When the case comes to court it could all blow up again. I’ll do what I can – I’ve got influence with some of the papers – but it would be easier if I was there. I hoped . . . you would let me help, support you . . .’

  ‘Let you?’ Lin said. ‘Of course . . . I mean . . . that would be . . .’

  ‘The thing is,’ Andy persisted, ‘we’ve been friends a long time, but I’ve never really been able to . . . When we first met I gave you a bed for the night, and I’ve bought you dinner fairly often, and you’ve talked to me – confided in me – but it’s always been . . . Look, I’ve never been able to do anything. Sometimes, I feel a bit like Buttons in Cinderella. I never get to punch the villain or escort you to the ball in a pumpkin. I want it to be different now. I don’t just want to be your friend and confidant: I want to help. You’re going to need someone to lean on in the next few months. I’ll be your – your rock . . . Lin? Are you still there?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You’ve gone very quiet. I’m not trying to take over your life or anything – just get you through a bad patch. Tell me it’s okay. I know how independent you are at heart.’

  Lin, who wasn’t in the least independent, murmured: ‘Yes, of course,’ and ‘It’s okay – it’s more than okay.’

  ‘Good. You should have the best legal help. I’ll fix you up with a friend of mine.’

  ‘Aren’t posh lawyers very expensive?’

  ‘Don’t worry about that. The important thing is to have someone who knows every trick of the trade. This Ivor sounds like a smooth operator. People like that know how to work the system. Sorry – I’m being tactless.’

  ‘No. No, you’re right. He was – smooth.’ Her expression went awry. ‘He fooled me easily enough.’

  ‘Don’t say that. You’re very trusting – optimistic – you always believe the best about people. I don’t want you to change. I don’t want you to be hard and bitter and disillusioned. Somehow, you’re going to come through this with your faith in humanity intact.’

  ‘I’ll try,’ Lin said. ‘People like you – do a lot to restore it.’

  Emboldened, Andy went on: ‘Actually, that wasn’t quite everything. I was wondering . . . what you’re doing for Christmas? Perhaps you’d like to come up here? With the kids, of course. The castle’s a bit bleak, but we’ve had central heating installed and most of the plumbing works now. It usually snows, but I expect the boys’ll like that.’

  ‘Girls like snow too,’ Lin said. Her eyes were misting over. ‘We were going to get together with Sean and Vee, but she’s still barely speaking to me, so . . .’

  ‘Great!’ Andy seemed almost unnerved by his own enthusiasm. ‘Great. You don’t need to do a thing. I’ll fix up the flights – meet you at the airport . . . What date d’you want to come? How about Tuesday the 23rd? Better still, Monday. Tuesday’s bound to be booked out. Or the weekend . . .’

  In the office the next day, Lin wasn’t as happy as I would have expected. A vague apprehension still hovered over her.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ I said. ‘You can’t think he’s acting out of pity now.’

  ‘No, but . . . I’m afraid.’

  ‘Afraid of what?’

  ‘I’m not sure. I’ve known him so long. Afraid of – hoping. I’ve been hopeful so many times, and it’s always gone wrong for me. Afraid of being happy, of thinking we could – things could – really work out for me . . .’

  ‘That’s because it’s real,’ Georgie said. ‘All that love-at-first-sight stuff, that’s just fantasy and fairydust. When you really know someone, then it’s scary, because it has to go all the way. You can rush into love with a stranger, but not with a friend, because then it’s too deep – too dangerous – and you’ll never get out.’

  ‘I didn’t say anything about love,’ Lin said. ‘I just like him, care for him – too much to—’

  ‘Too much to get it wrong?’ Georgie finished for her.

  ‘I don’t know . . .’

  ‘Have a great Christmas,’ I said.

  Later, Georgie took me on one side. ‘We ought to do something about this. Lin’s got a jinx. It’s got to come right for her this time. Andy’s not some flash-in-the-pan, flash-in-the-pants, this-is-it-forever-until-next-month deal. He’s the guy who’s loved her faithfully for over a decade. The Captain Dobbin type. That’s the kind of security she needs.’

  ‘Faithfully?’ I queried, remembering Andy’s numerous engagements.

  ‘You know what I mean. He’s been faithful underneath.’

  ‘“I have been faithful to thee, Cynara, in my fashion”,’ I quoted.

/>   ‘Exactly. Well, no, not exactly. I expect he’s always loved her but without knowing it, or without letting himself know it, and now we need to make damn sure he knows it.’

  ‘We do?’

  ‘You’ve got his number, haven’t you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Give it me.’

  I complied, but reluctantly. ‘I don’t think we should interfere. Despite evidence to the contrary, Andy’s no fool. He’ll sort her out . . .’

  Georgie was already dialling. ‘Hello? Andy Pearmain? It’s Georgie Cavari – Yes, Lin told me. I think that’s terrific. She’s had such a rotten time, she needs lots of pampering and tlc – I’m sure you will. I hope you don’t mind my phoning – it’s just that we’ve been so worried about her, and we wanted to be sure – That’s just it. She’s been let down so often. She’s very fragile right now – No, not that fragile. What she really needs is a strong man who’ll adore her and look after her and shield her from – from – ’

  The wind off the loch? I hazarded.

  ‘– shield her from the wind off the – from the storms of life. You’ve been such a great friend to her – Yes, I know. You must be very bruised from what happened with Cat – Oh. Oh, good.’ Not bruised, she mouthed. Merely punctured. ‘Of course Lin’s been damaged too, but - No, I don’t think it’s gone deep. I really don’t. They were only together a little while, remember – I think it was more infatuation than love – It doesn’t take any time to get over that – I want you to know – Don’t be afraid to say what you – Yes, that’s it. Honesty is the key – Great – Oh, and – Andy? Why don’t you shave off the beard? Give yourself a new look? – No, of course I’m not trying to revamp your image, it’s just – Most girls don’t like beards. Trust me on this – They were probably lying. You’d look years younger – No, I don’t mean you look old, but – Okay.’Bye.’

  I stared at her in horrified fascination. ‘Georgie! Did you really have to go on about his beard? It’s not that important, is it?’

  ‘Of course it is. Once he gets rid of the beard Lin will be all set to see him in a new light. Probably a halo, knowing her. They’ve known each other for years and nothing’s happened. There has to be a reason for that. Anyway, no women like beards. It’s one of those gender secrets that men never twig. When did you ever see a Mills & Boon with a beard on the cover?’