by Celia Imrie
It was Diana. ‘Have you seen my daughter?’ she asked. ‘She didn’t come home last night.’
‘Have you tried her mobile?’
‘Goes straight to answering machine.’
‘Have you tried phoning the restaurant?’ asked Sally.
‘Too early.’
‘How about trying William?’
‘Do you have a number? Have I met him?’
‘He’s the maître d’, remember.’
‘Oh, the fastidious little queen in the purple velvet jacket.’
‘That’s the one.’
‘I think I’ll have to agree to let them take my picture for the paper. But what the hell.’
‘I’ll just get his number.’ Sally walked over to her desk to fetch her address book. ‘How’s Cannes going?’
‘That Russian of yours put money into my new film,’ said Diana. ‘The producers are over the moon.’
Sally sat down.
‘Really?’
‘It was quite a substantial sum. Not enough to make the film or anything, but a serious enough investment. He told the producers he was doing it because you were my friend. So thanks, darling. And please do say thanks to him from me. Have you seen him lately?’
‘As a matter of fact . . . ’ Sally settled, plumping a cushion to lie against, to tell her the tale of last night’s proposal on the boat.
‘Oh darling,’ sighed Diana. ‘How romantic. And I was there only a few yards away at one of those ghastly parties in tents on the Croisette. You should have told me, Sal, and I would have brought my binoculars. Are you going to accept?’
‘Last night I was all for it,’ said Sally, curling up on the sofa. ‘This morning not so much.’
‘Oh no, why?’
‘I don’t know.’ Sally stretched out and yawned. ‘It was almost too romantic.’
‘He is pretty gorgeous, Sal.’
‘But why me?’
Diana made a growling noise. ‘That was always your problem, darling: never could see that you were great. The answer to “why you” is that you are fabulous and he should be so lucky.’
‘You think I should say yes?’
‘I think you should leap at the chance. If it all goes wrong you can always divorce him.’ Diana laughed. ‘And take him to the cleaners.’
‘Diana, you are awful. I just don’t know. He could have supermodels or anybody.’
‘Have you ever met a supermodel?’
‘I’m so old and I’m nobody. Just an Englishwoman living alone in a tiny house in Bellevue-Sur-Mer.’
‘Perhaps that’s exactly why he wants you.’ Diana paused. ‘Don’t take this the wrong way, Sal darling, because you know really I’m in much the same boat. I may still be working. But as for men – well, we’re both over the age when men really look at you. For someone to fall head over heels . . . well . . . I don’t expect it’ll happen to me again in my lifetime. We’ll never be young again.’
Sally wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. Everything that Diana said was true.
When the phone call was over she went upstairs and took a bath. Today she was going to say yes to becoming Mrs Stanislav Serafim. Sally Serafim. Sounded kind of silly really, but . . .
She was lost in thought, sitting at her dressing table putting final touches to her make-up, when the front door slammed.
She went to the landing and looked down to see Jackie come in.
‘Jackie?’
‘Oh sorry, Sally, I hope I didn’t wake you.’
‘No, I’ve been up ages. I thought you had gone to Cannes this morning. You were up very early.’
Jackie went straight through to the kitchen, ran herself a glass of water and noisily glugged it down.
‘That’s tonight,’ she said. ‘Evening-dress thing. The big party. I may not make it.’
‘Are you all right, Jackie?’ Sally thought she looked very nervous and agitated.
‘I’m fine,’ she replied, with the accent heavily on the ‘I’m’. ‘I should qualify that. I’m fine, apart from almost being killed in a stick-up last night and being threatened by gangsters this morning.’
‘Stick-up? What do you mean? Where?’
Sally padded down the stairs.
‘At your friends’ restaurant. It was one of the most ghastly evenings of my life.’
‘What on earth happened?’
‘Oh, I ended up sitting at a table with a lot of men who wanted to do a robbery or something. Anyhow, I got myself out sharpish. I learned quite a lot about commando-style tactics and how to extricate yourself from dangerous situations while filming Skirts.’
‘Is everyone OK?’
‘There were guns being waved around,’ said Jackie, ‘So I scarpered. I was wondering what made you decide not to come last night. Did you know something was going to blow off?’
‘No.’ Sally was shaken by this news. ‘In fact I went on a boat trip to Cannes with Stanislav to see the fireworks.’
Jackie took a step back.
‘You’re not serious?’
‘He’s a lovely man.’
Jackie’s face took on an expression of horror so grotesque that it looked as though Godzilla was advancing to eat her.
‘The Russian?’ she said. ‘No. No. No. No.’
Sally bridled. What had happened? What had Stanislav done to upset Jackie? Had he bankrolled Diana’s film and eschewed hers, perhaps? She knew that Jackie was an expert in the art of exaggeration. And, anyhow, what contact had Jackie ever had with the man, apart from a few moments at Marina Martel’s after-party and the subsequent night in the police station?
‘I suppose you’re excited about the Brits in Film party tonight?’
‘As I said before: I may not make it.’
‘Did you say you were threatened by gangsters, too? Was that at the restaurant?’
Jackie looked as though she was about to say something, then suddenly swerved into another subject.
‘Due to events of the morning . . . ’ she spoke slowly and deliberately, as though thinking each word very carefully before saying it aloud. ‘ . . . before the party I may have to leave the country.’
‘But you’ve been looking forward to the party. It was a deal-clincher, wasn’t it?’
Jackie ignored her and sniffed.
‘Did Stanislav decide not to put money into your film project?’
Jackie made a loud noise like ‘HAH!’
‘I presume that means he didn’t?’
‘No, Sally, it means yes, he did. Stanislav put money into my movie, yesterday afternoon. And that is what worries me today. It’s dirty money.’ She stopped, took a deep breath and said, ‘Sorry. Forget I said that.’
Sally decided to take the bull by the horns.
‘I’m going out with Stanislav today, as a matter of fact.’ Sally put on the kettle. ‘We’re going to watch the football game with Destiny and Mickey. Should I thank him for you?’
‘No. No. You must not say that you have seen me at all. Promise me.’
Sally now wondered if Jackie hadn’t taken a knock to the head. She was behaving so strangely.
‘Destiny and Mickey MacDonald! Yes, yes. They are exactly the types I would imagine are into that kind of thing.’
Sally was perplexed. ‘What kind of thing?’
Behind her, Jackie sniffed again.
Sally turned, thinking Jackie was crying. But she wasn’t.
She sniffed once more.
‘Do you need a handkerchief?’
‘No, Sally.’ Jackie put her face to the kitchen counter and made an even longer sniffing sound.
‘Are you feeling all right, Jackie?’ asked Sally, wondering if perhaps she had lost her marbles.
‘I’m miming, aren’t I? Miming.’
‘Miming what?’
‘Drugs!’
‘Drugs?’
‘Drugs.’
Sally cocked her head. ‘And why exactly are you miming drugs, Jackie?’
‘Stanislav,’ was all she said.
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br /> Sally was mystified. From whence had this drama come?
‘Stanislav and I went to Cannes last night, Jackie,’ she said. ‘On his boat. It was a lovely evening. He is a very wonderful man.’
Again Jackie sniffed the surface of the countertop.
‘Stanislav is not a junkie, Jackie, if that’s what you’re saying. He is a very sweet and generous man.’
Jackie tapped her nose and said, ‘Kogdá rák na goré svístnet.’
‘I’m sorry, Jackie,’ said Sally, now exasperated and seriously worrying over the woman’s sanity. ‘What are you on about?’
‘It’s Russian. I had it as a line in a play once. Kogdá rák na goré svístnet.’
‘Really?’ Sally decided that the best thing would be to appease her. ‘And what does that mean exactly?’
‘It means, Sally, “When the crawfish whistles on the mountain”.’
Sally waited for her to finish what appeared to be an unfinished sentence.
Jackie threw her arms in the air, as though utterly exasperated with Sally. ‘Pigs might fly, sweetie. Pigs might fly. And it’s very much more serious than that.’
Sally emptied boiling kettle water into the teapot.
‘And when did this revelation hit you?’
Jackie mimed zipping up her lips, then opened them again to say: ‘My lips are sealed.’
Sally poured the tea. She decided not to share the news about the proposal with her right now. But she was curious as to what had instigated this madness.
‘When did you last see Stanislav, Jackie?’
Jackie made another show of not opening her mouth.
Luckily for Sally the phone rang. It was Tom.
‘Hi Ma!’ he yelled down the line. ‘We swung it.’
Sally had forgotten what, if anything, was due ‘to swing’.
‘How lovely,’ she said.
‘Yep,’ said Tom. ‘We managed to get the editor of the magazine to let us do a little piece on Bellevue-Sur-Mer and we’re going to include your pals’ restaurant, La Mosaïque. They’re all for new places, you see. Means they look groovy and in the swim.’
Sally wondered if those weren’t rather old-fashioned phrases for a man of Tom’s age to use.
‘At least that’s what the boss says,’ he added. ‘She’s coming down with me. We’ve booked rooms at the Astra.’
‘But Tom . . . ’
‘Don’t be daft. The magazine’s paying. They really wanted us to stay in Nice, but we decided it would be more fun to live down with the locals.’
Before Sally could reply, the doorbell rang. Sally looked at her watch. Dead on the proposed pick-up time.
Jackie gave a hoarse whisper. ‘That’s not him, is it?’
Down the phone line, Tom said, ‘I heard the bell, Ma, don’t worry. Sorry about changing plans. See you later.’
Fearing a confrontation between Jackie and Stanislav, Sally grabbed her bag and made her way to the door. But when she turned she saw Jackie crawling along the floor, hastily making her way to the stairs.
Before opening up Sally waved. ‘Have a great day, Jackie.’
Jackie was now nowhere to be seen.
‘Enjoy your party at Cannes.’
‘Beware!’ Jackie emerged cautiously from behind the newel post. ‘Don’t accept anything from him, Sally. Keep your distance. What must be done will be done. You must protect yourself.’
Sally said: ‘I’m only going to the football, Jackie.’
‘I am not a timorous mouse,’ Jackie hissed from between the banisters. ‘I will always stand up for justice and what is right.’ As Sally put her hand on the door handle, Jackie ducked back behind the wall and said earnestly: ‘Be safe, Sally.’
‘There will be two thousand people there, Jackie. I’ll be quite safe, I’m sure.’
Jackie scampered up the stairs, whispering, ‘But beware of Russians bearing pink beach bags!’
Sally opened the door and walked straight to the waiting car, where Stanislav sat, along with Destiny.
28
After the ordeal of the night before, the three children were still sleeping, huddled with their mother in Theresa’s bed, while Theresa lay awake in the spare room.
Imogen had left a note explaining that because the three girls had been scared, they were all going in together, and that Theresa was welcome to sleep in her own guest bed, rather than on the floor.
It was a relief to get a good night’s sleep after the evening’s labours.
They were all so tired when they finished carrying out Zoe’s mad plan, the restaurant gang had debated whether they should cancel or at least postpone tonight’s opening. Theresa led the argument that to delay would be handing a great victory to the bullies.
In the cold light of day, as she lay thinking, she wondered if it was the right decision.
For all Zoe’s protestations, Theresa had a sneaking feeling that Costanzo’s Uncle Vito and his men would make a reappearance before the banks opened again on Monday.
Her mobile phone rang.
It was Carol.
‘Another cosy night on the futon, darling?’ she asked.
‘No. They let me have your old room.’ Theresa laughed. ‘How about you?’
‘I’m getting quite fond of camping. However, this mosaic seems less comfy since we hacked at it.’
‘But you slept well?’
‘Apart from almost jumping out of my skin this morning when I was just lying there minding my own business, and in comes Cathy. She stood on the threshold and shouted, “I’m sorry for ruining everyone’s night. But does that mean I have to be ignored?” Really, darling, the girl is cracked. “Play your games,” she said, “’twas ever thus”, which I gather is some olde English thing, and went back into the kitchen “to forage for breakfast”.’
Theresa wound back the events of the evening and realised that perhaps Cathy had misunderstood what had happened last night. She had gone down to the cellar after the gluten-free, low-salt, fat-free shaming and stayed there. After that she had witnessed Theresa’s own brief arrival in the cellar with a man who wanted her keys. But from where Cathy was hiding it was quite possible she believed that Theresa was simply ignoring her.
‘After the drama was over she spent all night in the cellar?’
‘So it seems.’
‘Oh lord. Has she phoned her mother? Poor woman must be worried sick. I would be if she was my daughter.’
‘She’s chattering away to her as I speak. I gather we are bullies who scared her when she was only trying to help.’
‘Let me talk to her.’
Theresa could hear Carol’s footsteps as she marched through into the kitchen. After signing off with her mother, Cathy came on the line.
‘How are you feeling, Cathy? You know you didn’t have to spend all night in the cellar.’
‘Oh, I do know,’ said the girl breathily. ‘I was fast asleep. Don’t mind me. No one ever does.’
Theresa wondered if she was being sarcastic but realised it was probably a pattern of speech she couldn’t get out of.
‘Do you realise what happened last night?’ Theresa asked.
‘Not really,’ said Cathy. ‘A lot of fuss about nothing, I should think. Usually is. I really thought I was helping. Am I fired?’
‘No,’ said Theresa. ‘Unless you want to go. I’ll bet your mother was worried about you.’
‘I told her I didn’t phone because I couldn’t get a signal down there, which is true. She does know about how hard scene-painters and backstage staff work just before opening night, so she appreciated that I needed to stay over. I didn’t tell her what I did. Please can you not tell her.’
Theresa realised how hard it must be to be the nondescript child of a mother famed for her talent and her beauty. She also decided that if Cathy was in the dark about the events with Vito and his men, perhaps it was easier to leave her there. The girl seemed so earnest and well intended. Theresa actually felt very sorry for her.
&nb
sp; And when Cathy wasn’t swapping ingredients, her help in the kitchen really had been indispensable.
‘All right, Cathy. I’d suggest you go back to your hotel and get washed and I’ll see you later. About four-ish. Now could I speak to Carol again?’
Carol came back on, and Theresa asked her over for a bite of breakfast and a debrief before tonight’s big event.
Part Six
SOCCA
Ingredients
500ml water
250g chickpea/gram flour
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 teaspoon salt
salt and pepper for seasoning
Method
Put the water into a bowl, and whisk in the flour, olive oil and salt, till smooth. Lightly grease a cast-iron skillet or pizza pan and pour in the mixture, to pancake thickness. Cook on a steady high heat, pricking any bubbles that might rise. When slightly golden, remove from heat, cut into strips and serve with salt and pepper.
29
Sally was very impressed by the sight of the vast stadium, and the thrilling hum of the crowd. She sat at an elegantly decorated table in the fancy private VIP-only restaurant. There was much excitement all around her. Clearly, all the men who sat at the other tables were very well known in the world of football, even if they were unknown to her. Destiny was in her element, passing from one table to another, saying hello to other footballers’ wives and older men, whom Sally imagined were managers.
Stanislav put his hand on hers and squeezed it.
‘Fun, isn’t it? The anticipation in the air.’
‘Certainly quite different from anything I’ve ever witnessed before,’ said Sally. ‘It’s hard to imagine playing in front of such a huge crowd. Actors don’t know they’re born. They could only ever dream of an audience this size.’
‘Talking of actors, did you see your friend Jackie this morning?’
‘Why do you ask, Stanislav?’
‘Because yesterday I put some money into her little film, and wondered if she might have sent me a message through you.’
Sally thought back on the mad diatribe she had witnessed from Jackie earlier and decided against admitting that she had seen her.
Mickey entered the restaurant and hurried over to the table.
‘Shouldn’t you be in the dressing room, or whatever they call it in a football stadium?’ asked Sally.