Nice Work (If You Can Get It)

by Celia Imrie

  She turned to see why, and, as she did so, everyone started applauding. Marina Martel, with an entourage of bulky minders wearing earpieces, had entered the marquee and was escorted to a roped-off corner, where luxury sofas and tables laden with treats awaited her.

  At that moment Sally saw Stanislav standing at the bar, chatting to a young boy in a very fancy white-sequined tuxedo.

  At last someone she knew!

  She went over.

  ‘Sally!’ he exclaimed. ‘How lovely to see you.’ He bent to whisper in her ear. ‘Which one is your friend Jackie? I must apologise to her for missing her screening this afternoon.’

  Sally gritted her teeth and said, ‘She’s with the man in dark glasses.’

  ‘Rather affected of him,’ said Stanislav. ‘The lighting in this place is pretty mellow. How can he see where he’s going? Too much posing for his own good.’

  He laughed, showing off his wonderful row of perfect teeth. The young man in the sequined jacket edged out to sit with a gang of people on a nearby bench.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Sally. ‘I didn’t mean to interrupt.’

  ‘I don’t know him,’ Stanislav replied. ‘We both happened to be trying to get vodka from the barman at the same time. The official waiters have only champagne.’

  ‘How do you know Jackie?’ asked Sally.

  ‘Oh, she said you’d suggested she ring me, as you thought I might like to invest.’

  How embarrassing! Sally wondered where Jackie had found his number and felt more than a little edgy at the possibility of Jackie going through her things when she wasn’t around. Stanislav put his hand in the small of Sally’s back and guided her through the crowded party towards Jackie and Ted.

  As Ted saw them approaching, Sally was relieved to see him slink away, leaving Jackie alone.

  ‘Hello, my old china! Isn’t Ted funny, he just cracks me up!’ Jackie laughed and swapped her empty glass for a full one from a passing waiter’s tray. ‘I cannot imagine why Sian left him. I’d think he was a keeper.’

  While Sally groped around for a way of explaining that Sian had not left him, but he had run off with her daughter, Stanislav stepped forward, presenting his hand to shake.

  ‘Stanislav Serafim. Miss Westwood, I am so sorry I missed your screening. Sally tells me it went very well.’

  ‘Tickety-boo, I think. I have a meeting with some people from Brits in Film about funding the day after tomorrow. Excellent feedback from all concerned so far, and it does look as though we might get a slot on British TV. Mind you, they’d be doolally not to show it.’ Jackie knocked back the whole glass of champagne. ‘Thirsty work, this film-promotion business. It’s hot in here, don’t you think? Oh, and Sally, don’t wait for me getting back to BSM, will you? I’m going to stay in Cannes tonight with that chap I met on the train.’

  Sally squinted at her watch. The last train back to Bellevue-Sur-Mer would leave in about forty minutes. She’d have to leave pretty smartish. If she were to get a taxi on her own it would cost a fortune.

  A young man in spectacles edged in on the circle, and handed Jackie a card. He jabbered away, a practised patter: he was in promotion, impressed by Jackie’s track record, could they swap ideas . . . Jackie directed all her concentration on the young man and Stanislav used the moment to steer Sally away.

  ‘I will drive you to your front door,’ he whispered.

  ‘You can read minds too,’ said Sally. ‘Talk about an all-rounder!’

  Just when Sally was starting to relax, she was interrupted: ‘Sal! I had no idea you’d be here!’ It was Diana Sparks. ‘I am simply exhausted, aren’t you? What a movie!’

  They discussed the film for a while, occasionally glancing towards the roped-off corner where Marina Martel sat with her entourage.

  ‘That footballer’s wife was a right one,’ said Diana. Destiny – Stanislav’s friend! Sally kicked Diana’s foot and flashed her a look. Diana immediately picked up the hint and turned the subject. ‘She can really tell a joke, can’t she?’

  ‘Oh sorry, have you two met?’ Sally felt all tingly being able to introduce such a dish to her old pal.

  ‘How is Cathy?’ asked Sally. ‘Cathy is Diana’s daughter, Stanislav.’

  ‘Bored out of her mind, I fear.’ Diana took a glass from a passing waiter. ‘She wanted to come to the South of France but doesn’t quite realise that all this socialising is work just as much as being in the studio or on location.’

  ‘You should have brought her tonight.’

  ‘She doesn’t like parties, I’m afraid. Not that I do, but, as you know, Sal, I must. Hey, what are you up to tomorrow?’

  Sally felt excited. Her last outing with Diana had been such a laugh.

  ‘Nothing at all. I am at your command.’

  ‘Phew!’ Diana touched Sally’s forearm. ‘So you wouldn’t mind taking Cathy out somewhere. She hates the freneticism of Cannes, but she loves your “Blissful”-Sur-Mer. I really don’t like leaving her on her own, day after day. I’d be much happier if she was with someone I cared about.’

  Before Sally could respond, the same spectacled man who had approached Jackie now arrived and offered Diana his card.

  ‘Oh, no. I’m sorry,’ Diana handed his card back, ‘I already have a PR company looking after me.’

  As he moved away, she rolled her eyes at Sally. ‘Being in places like this is also like being a sitting duck.’

  ‘So let us find somewhere a bit more discreet.’ Stanislav escorted the two women to the edge of the beach and they stood at the water’s edge gazing out to sea at all the twinkling lights of moored motor-yachts.

  ‘Is your boat out there?’ asked Sally.

  ‘You have a boat?’ exclaimed Diana. ‘How marvellous.’

  ‘Temporarily out of action. Something wrong with the fuel pump. Jean-Philippe had to go all the way to Marseille today for parts.’

  A woman in a tail coat and top hat tapped Diana on the arm.

  ‘Honey pie!’

  Diana whooped. ‘Helen! How fabulous!’

  They moved off, deep in animated conversation.

  Stanislav and Sally remained on the sand, standing in silence, enjoying the ambience. A waiter arrived at their side with canapés.

  Sally turned and watched Marina Martel in her private space, surrounded by her cast and producers.

  ‘It must be funny to be one of the most famous faces in the world, don’t you think? I wonder if she can ever do anything normal like going to the shops or taking a walk without a bodyguard present.’ Sally sighed, trying to imagine such a life. She looked at Stanislav.

  ‘How did your meeting go? Didn’t you say you had a meeting with Marina Martel?’

  ‘It wasn’t very interesting,’ said the Russian, suppressing a yawn. ‘Just money talk. I feel like Cinderella,’ he added. ‘I really ought to be thinking of leaving soon. I have a very early start tomorrow.’

  It was a strange reaction. Sally realised that Stanislav had not been invited into the magic square with friends of the actress. Perhaps she had cancelled. Something had certainly not gone his way.

  Stanislav was certainly mysterious.

  ‘I’m happy to go now, if you like.’ Sally had had enough of today and was worried about Marianne, waiting for her at home in Bellevue-Sur-Mer. ‘Let’s go.’

  They moved back into the crowded space and pushed through the partygoers, heading for the exit.

  ‘Are you off, Sal?’ Diana was still with the woman in the tail suit. She mimed a phone and mouthed: ‘I’ll call you.’

  A group of men shouting too loudly obstructed their getaway. Stanislav took Sally’s arm.

  ‘I’d better say goodbye to Jackie,’ she said.

  Jackie was standing alone, grinning. As they got near, she lunged in their direction and flung herself at Stanislav, wrapping her arms round his neck.

  ‘Bob’s your uncle,’ she cried. ‘And Fanny’s your aunt.’

  She was clearly very drunk.

&nbs
p; A split second later, Ted was at their side. He too looked the worse for wear.

  ‘What are you doing to my woman?’ he leered.

  ‘Nothing,’ Stanislav smiled, still trying to pry Jackie’s arms from around his neck. ‘She appears to be attached.’

  ‘You’ve got your hands all over her.’

  ‘Perhaps, sir, if you took off your sun-specs, you could see better.’ Stanislav was still wrestling with Jackie. ‘It is rather too dark in here for those glasses, surely.’

  ‘You’re full of it.’ Ted lurched towards Stanislav and growled, ‘Don’t you come the raw prawn with me.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I don’t understand you,’ said Stanislav. ‘Could you speak English?’

  ‘For God’s sake, Ted.’ Sally didn’t like the way things were moving. ‘Stanislav, stop provoking him.’

  ‘That’s right, bossy-boots. You tell him.’

  ‘Ted, do shut up.’

  ‘You can belt up too, mother of the dried-up twig that is Marianne.’

  Sally slapped Ted, and his sunglasses fell to the floor. As Stanislav stepped forward, he trod on them, smashing them to smithereens.

  ‘Hey, you drongo, that’s my sunnies . . . ’

  Ted pushed Stanislav, who staggered backwards and, still attached to Jackie, lost his balance, then lay sprawled on the floor with Jackie writhing on top of him.

  As Stanislav crawled to his feet, Ted raised a fist. He flailed out, missing Stanislav and hitting only the air. But Stanislav’s defensive punch landed hard on Ted’s chin as he fell. Pulling herself up using Sally’s legs, Jackie staggered to her feet.

  Instantly, bodyguards sprang forward, detaining both men, while Jackie swayed, took a step to the side and was violently sick.

  After a night sleeping on the restaurant floor Theresa felt oddly content. The sense of camaraderie was lovely.

  Carol rose early and went up the hill to get them all coffees and croissants, and they sat together at one of the tables to eat.

  William was excited because he had asked Sian to help finance the purchase of the building and she had phoned him very late to tell him she was happy to buy into the business.

  As Theresa prepared to nip back home to have a wash and say hello to her daughter, she found a note that had been slipped under the restaurant door.

  It was in English, addressed ‘To the owners’.

  She opened it and read it aloud to the others.

  ‘You have twenty-four hours to hand it over.’

  ‘Hand what over?’ asked William.

  ‘We’re not the owner, are we?’ said Theresa. ‘That, for the moment, is still Costanzo.’

  Carol was already on the phone.

  Costanzo arrived within minutes, looking pale and tousled. He read the note.

  ‘I know nothing,’ he said. ‘It’s ridiculous. Who left this? Did you see?’

  Years of working in a law office had taught Theresa to recognise all the tics that betrayed a liar – the swallowing, the licking of lips, the pauses, the extra phrases put in to give time. Costanzo was lying.

  ‘What do they want you to hand over?’ asked Theresa.

  ‘And whatever it is, please do so immediately,’ added William. ‘We really don’t need problems like these at this stage. We open for business in a few days.’

  ‘There is nothing here for them,’ said Costanzo. ‘I checked myself, over and over and over.’

  ‘Checked for what?’ Theresa was right. The boy knew more than he was letting on.

  ‘Is it something you left here?’ asked Carol.

  The boy ran his fingers through his hair, then shrugged. ‘I do not know.’

  ‘You know something, though.’ Theresa proffered a chair for the boy to sit. ‘Perhaps we could help you.’

  ‘I went through everything myself before I put the place on the market. They take me for a simpleton, but I am not green.’

  ‘Who?’ asked William. ‘Who are “they”?’

  ‘Idiots.’ Costanzo splayed his hands out in a gesture of incomprehension. ‘If anything was here, why do they imagine I did not take it for myself?’

  ‘But you must know, Costanzo.’ Carol leaned forward, and spoke in a soothing voice, as though trying to entice a wild animal out of hiding. ‘Who are they?’

  ‘People in my family.’ Costanzo blurted it out as though relieved to have someone to share it with. ‘People who think my grandmother should have left this place to them.’

  ‘They could still buy it,’ suggested Benjamin.

  William shot him a filthy look.

  ‘They don’t want it,’ said Costanzo. ‘It’s too much responsibility and expense.’

  ‘This is ridiculous!’ Theresa threw her arms up. ‘They want it or they don’t want it? Or they should just go home and leave us alone.’

  ‘They don’t want the building. They want the thing that my grandmother left behind.’

  ‘So tell us exactly what that is, Costanzo. What do they want? If we have it, we can hand it over and put an end to this silly siege.’

  ‘What have they done to you?’ Costanzo wrapped his arms around himself. ‘Tell me what stage they have reached.’

  ‘First it was just coming in, searching the place,’ said Theresa. ‘They dropped cigarette ends, a lighter, left cupboards open.’

  Theresa went to fetch the lighter from a drawer beneath the welcome desk.

  Costanzo nodded. ‘I see. Nothing more?’

  ‘A dead animal head,’ said William.

  ‘A head dripping blood all over the lovely clean floor,’ added Carol.

  ‘Oh.’ Costanzo shook his head and swallowed. ‘Then they are getting desperate.’

  Theresa presented the lighter to the boy.

  ‘I will return this to its owner.’ He took the lighter from Theresa. ‘Are you sure you do not have what they want?’

  ‘Have what?’ Theresa almost bellowed the reply. ‘If we had even a notion of what they were looking for, and we had it here, I am sure we would hand it over instantly so that we could get on with our lives in serenity.’

  ‘If you know, tell us what they want?’ asked William. ‘You obviously know. But no one has told us.’

  Costanzo looked round at the four faces waiting for his reply.

  He licked his lips, shrugged and said, ‘A medallion.’

  William marched around laughing hysterically.

  ‘The old girl loses a locket and your Sicilian family come over here making our lives hell?’

  ‘Sardinian,’ said Costanzo. ‘I agree with you. And you can be sure that I searched high and low before I sold. While I was a kid my Uncle Vito was running the place. I was sure they’d already cleared out everything of value. But apparently not the medallion. I suppose they thought you might have come across it when you were moving the cookers or clearing the cellar.’

  ‘So a barking old bag mislays a trinket . . . ’

  Theresa stepped in front of William, blocking him from Costanzo.

  ‘Tell us what is so important about this medallion?’ she asked. ‘Is it made from solid pink diamonds? Why are they making such a fuss?’

  ‘I don’t know anything about it.’ Costanzo again shrugged his shoulders. ‘They only found out about it recently in some old letter or diary of hers, and threatened me for it. It was given her by one of her lovers.’

  ‘Some sentimental reasons? And they cause all this trouble. Really?’

  ‘No. Not that,’ said Costanzo. ‘It is worth some money.’

  ‘But is there even any proof that she still had it when she died? Perhaps it was among her things she left behind in the retirement home. Have you tried asking there?’

  ‘They seem convinced it remained here when she left the place. She planned to come back for it. And that is why I decided to sell up. I searched too and did not find it. They plagued me. I just wanted to get them off my back.’

  ‘Thanks a bunch,’ said Benjamin. ‘So now we have them on ours.’

  C
ostanzo looked as though he was about to burst into tears. ‘Please tell me? Did you find a medallion?’ He regarded each of them. ‘It was a birthday present. I beg you to tell me the truth. Do you have it?’

  Theresa realised this quest for the medallion was one of those things, like suspicion and jealousy, which could never be satisfied by anything but the presentation of the thing itself. They could go on denying finding it, because they had not found it. But no one would ever believe them. The only satisfactory answer was to present these people with a medallion. Only then might they go away.

  ‘I may have it,’ she said.

  Everyone spun round and stared at her.

  ‘It’s in a bank in town.’

  William, Benjamin and Carol gawped at her, mouths ajar.

  ‘Sorry, Costanzo,’ she said. ‘You’ll have to come back on Monday.’

  When he had gone everyone turned to Theresa.

  ‘Why didn’t you say you had it to us?’ demanded William.

  ‘I was lying,’ said Theresa. ‘Wasn’t it obvious? I knew that while we said we didn’t have it, he would never go.’

  ‘There is still no medallion and no bank?’ William’s eyes were popping. ‘And what the hell are we going to do when they come back for it?’

  Theresa sank down on to the nearest chair.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said.

  ‘Maybe we just go to an antique shop, fork out for a medallion and present it to them?’ suggested Benjamin.

  ‘And when they say it isn’t exactly the medallion they were after?’ said William, still the sceptic. ‘In fact, not in the slightest bit like the medallion they’re after?’

  ‘We play dumb,’ said Theresa. ‘We tell them we found it in the cellar and we truthfully thought it was what they were looking for.’

  ‘So now, where do we find an antique medallion, enhanced with air de gangster?’ asked Benjamin.

  Carol stepped forward. ‘That’ll be my job. I’ll go to the Monday antique market in Nice and pick up something suitably worn, with swirly engraving, preferably of the old girl’s initials.’

  ‘Which are?’

  ‘FM,’ Theresa sighed.

  ‘Then I get “Happy Birthday” inscribed . . . ’