Keeping his face expressionless Sir Colin rose to his feet. “I suggest we all meet in the hall in ten minutes,” he said, and Nicholas and I, both anxious to smooth over the awkwardness, took care to respond with enthusiasm.
As we moved towards the door Gavin tried to follow us, but Sir Colin called him back.
“I can see why Gavin normally does no escort work,” murmured Nicholas to me as we emerged into the hall on our own. “He’s hopeless at it. Carta, no more remarks, please, about how Gavin would make a rotten eunuch—yes, I know you were only trying to defuse the tension, but Colin didn’t like it. If he and Gavin have another spat, stay relentlessly neutral.”
I hastily promised I would before adding: “Of course Gavin was right about all that port rubbish.”
“Of course he was, but as you yourself said, it’s Colin’s house and he’s entitled to make the rules.”
We trudged on up the grand staircase to retrieve our coats for the drive.
X
Contrary to all my expectations the weekend then started to be enjoyable. The Mercedes romped off the road onto cart-tracks and off the cart-tracks into territory where there was no track of any kind. Up and down the valleys we plunged, in and out of the fields, around the spinneys, past clusters of megalithic stones and along flat-topped hills where amazing views stretched on all sides of us. Sir Colin, enraptured with his new toy, was as gleeful as a child on a roller coaster. Even Gavin, who started the trip slumped in the front seat, soon became animated, while Nicholas and I, side by side in the back, found ourselves reacting with a genuine enthusiasm. At four o’clock we all returned to the Hall in good spirits.
When tea was served Gavin behaved immaculately, passing around the plates of triangular sandwiches and the two varieties of cake. Betraying nothing of their relationship by so much as a flicker of an eyelash, Sir Colin largely ignored him in order to reminisce with Nicholas about the 1960s. I could see Sir Colin becoming less intimidating as they shared their middle-aged memories.
At the end of the meal he reminded us that we were now allowed time in our rooms before the next bout of socialising. “Drinks at seven,” were his parting words. “We’ll dine at quarter to eight.”
“So far so good,” muttered Nicholas to me as we once more toiled up the grand staircase. “I’ll come to see you at six-forty-five, if I may, to have a quick review of our dinner-party strategy.”
“Fine,” I agreed before we went our separate ways.
After I had had a bath I put on my robe and lounged for a while on the bed with a book which I never managed to open; my mind was too busy roaming around the past again as I tried to avoid thinking of Gavin, but at last I clambered off the bed and wedged myself into my smartest, newest, little black dress. I had just finished reapplying my make-up when I heard the knock on the door.
I glanced at my watch. Nicholas was five minutes early, but that was good. The more time we had to discuss strategy the better.
“Come in!” I called without a second thought.
The door opened.
“Hiya, Gorgeous,” said Gavin.
XI
I kept outwardly calm even though I felt as if the floor were disintegrating beneath my feet. “Oh, it’s you,” I said offhandedly, at once trying to treat him as a younger brother with tiresome habits. “I thought you were Nicholas. He’ll be here any moment for a conference.”
“Nice work if you can get it!” he teased. “How about you and I having a conference later?”
Struggling to get a grip on myself I moved sideways in order to put the armchair between us. “I don’t think you and I have anything to confer about,” I said but my voice was stiff with dread and I knew he was still in control. In despair I silently screamed to myself: younger brother, younger brother, YOUNGER BROTHER! But nothing, not even Lewis’s advice, switched off that erotic charge which was powering its way through my guts.
I struggled on. “Listen, sonny—” That sounded more confident. Maybe the trick was to talk to him as if he was fourteen “—if you think I’m panting to go to bed with you—” I broke off. It was because the corners of his mouth had curved fractionally, suggesting humour, heat and havoc, and as the erotic charge powered through my guts again I panicked. “Gavin—”
“Okay, Golden Girl, no need to get stressed out—I’m not going to rip your sexy dress off just yet! I’ll come back later when the old fart’s snoring loud enough to bust a window. Oh, and don’t get stressed out about AIDS either! I’ve got some wonderful condoms specially for the occasion, feather-light, ultra-top-quality—”
The scene fell apart and I was saved.
XII
Emotional revulsion suddenly met my mindless desire head on. I could almost hear the crash echoing through my skull. Without hesitation I stopped cowering behind the chair, walked right up to him and slapped his face. “You bloody rent boy!” I yelled at him. “How many more times do I have to tell you to get real? How dare you treat me as if I were a slag with no self-respect! And how dare you speak with such contempt of that repulsive client of yours who’s so starved of love that he has to pay scum like you to create the lousiest possible imitation of it! You may think of sex as being no more important than a cup of tea, but people get hurt by what you do, they get torn up and broken—and no, don’t try to deny it, I saw what you did to Moira, she visited me, she was vilely humiliated and unhappy—and I saw what you did to Richard too! You really messed him up, he was on the rack, he was almost crying with the pain of it all. You, a friend of Richard Slaney’s? Don’t make me laugh! A real friend wouldn’t have trashed him like that, and the truth is you abused him just as you abused Moira—but you’re bloody well not going to abuse me! In fact you can be very sure I’m never going to bed with a PROSTITUTE either now or at any other time!”
I stopped speaking. Silence fell. Gavin was no longer looking at me, no longer even rubbing his face where I had hit him. I noticed how his perfect cheekbones seemed more prominent when his skin was pale with shock, but at that moment his looks meant nothing to me. I was too busy watching his vulnerability surface, and the instant I at last stopped worrying about my own vulnerability and focused on his with my eyes wide open, I realised with horror that he was reeling with the pain I had inflicted. I saw then that his destructive behaviour called forth destructive behaviour in others; he was constantly offering himself up for punishment, constantly trashing himself as ruthlessly as he trashed his victims.
I thought: you stupid, stupid little boy, can’t you see you’re right out there on the edge?
And in a flash—in a crackling shift of consciousness which seemed to churn the very centre of my brain—I was up there on the high wire with my damaged younger brother, and my whole being was focused on snatching him back from the abyss.
XIII
“Wait.”
That was my voice. It wasn’t loud and it wasn’t panicky. One has to keep cool up on the high wire; one has to keep calm.
“Wait,” I said again, and another silent moment slipped by while we both remained motionless. I knew I had to reach out to steady him, but the wire was so unstable that I was reluctant to make any physical movement. I had to concentrate on staying balanced while I used words to restore his confidence, but I knew that with the right words I could stop him falling.
I said: “Sorry. I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that, but I just hate what you do for a living. If only you’d be the Gavin who showed himself at the Healing Centre! I liked that Gavin so much, and when we held hands . . .” I hesitated but managed to say: “We were real friends then, no play-acting. Everything was so real.”
I saw him swallow before he tried to speak. Then he said in a voice barely louder than a whisper: “I didn’t mean to hurt Richard.”
“I know you didn’t, Gavin.” As the wire ceased to swing, I made my voice as gentle as I possibly could. “I know how much he meant to you.”
Impulsively he said: “I’m getting out of leisure-working soo
n. My manager has plans. I’m going into films.”
“What kind of films?”
He said nothing.
“Gavin, ditch her. Listen, I spent a lot of my life crucifying myself with the need to make big money, but now I realise I’d have been far happier earning less and enjoying a lifestyle which reflected the kind of person I really am.”
“It’s not just the money. I love her,” he said, finally looking at me. His eyes were a grave, clear blue. “I was nothing before I met Elizabeth, but she had faith in me, she believed I had talent. I owe her everything.”
“But if she loves you,” I said, speaking gently again, “how can she encourage you to live like this?”
He backed off, reaching for the door handle. It was as if he had finally been able to move from the high wire to the platform at the far end; for the time being, at least, he was safe.
As I stepped onto the platform to join him, relief made my focus slip, and I started to think again about myself. The mention of the name Elizabeth deflected me into the past.
“Gavin,” I said as the mood altered between us, “have you ever heard of a man called Kim Betz?”
He paused. “What was that last name again?”
“Betz. B-E-T-Z.”
“No, who’s he?”
“He was my husband. He was a City lawyer who got drawn into a vile way of life which included membership of an occult society, and he was introduced to the society by this woman Elizabeth Mayfield whom I mentioned to you the other day . . . Has your Elizabeth ever operated as a psychic healer or had connections with the occult?” But even as I spoke I knew it was useless to question him. If he loved her he would lie for her. I would learn nothing here.
Gavin said firmly: “That kind of rubbish just isn’t her scene.”
“So this private club you recruit for—”
“God knows what that’s about, but if Elizabeth’s involved you can bet it’s got nothing to do with religion.”
There was a knock on the door as Nicholas arrived for our conference.
XIV
“Boss, I’m sorry, it was a mistake, I let him in because—”
“Glad to see you’re still in one piece. Or are you?”
I sank down on the bed with a groan.
As soon as Nicholas had arrived Gavin had excused himself and vanished, leaving me to try to explain the situation as best I could. I omitted all mention of the high wire; I wanted to keep that for my next talk with Lewis, but I told Nicholas what had been said and I added that I knew I had been wrong to lose my temper.
To my relief Nicholas was supportive. “The trick is to know when to handle Gavin with kid gloves and when to chuck the gloves in the bin,” he said. “It was actually vital to disabuse him of his sexathon fantasy. Okay, maybe you were too outspoken, maybe Robin would have had palpitations, but you put everything right when you apologised. I think you handled the scene rather well.”
I was enormously relieved. “But I shouldn’t have called him a prostitute instead of a leisure-worker, should I?”
“By now he’s probably edited it from his memory to protect himself. He’ll do that so long as he can’t admit out loud what he is—and the day he does admit it out loud, of course, will be the day he takes a major step forward towards healing.”
“And talking of healing—”
“Yes, let’s focus on our performance at this dinner party.”
Once more we sank down on the window seat as the conversation changed gears.
XV
“I’m certainly not keen on Colin’s proposal that we should do a performing-seal act before his hand-picked jury,” said Nicholas dryly after we had spent a few minutes adapting our standard presentation, “but we can cheer ourselves up with the fact that no matter what the doctor and the priest think of the ministry of healing, they’re bound to give us a fair hearing out of deference to our host. There’s no way we can be heading for one of those blood-on-the-carpet debates the media love to stage.”
I heard myself say: “I wonder.”
Nicholas did a double take. “You’re sceptical?”
“Well, having now spent some time in Colin’s company I have a clearer idea of his tycoon type. He’s what I call a boardroom barracuda and I don’t trust him an inch.”
“For heaven’s sake! What do you think he’s going to do?”
“Take a big bite. He could well be the kind of man who’d get a charge out of playing power-games with a priest in front of an audience—he’d enjoy playing devil’s advocate to see if you go flaky.”
“Are you sure you’re not being too influenced by your memories of blood and thunder at Curtis, Towers?”
“Of course I’m being influenced by them! That’s why I can recognise Colin as a boardroom barracuda!”
“Okay,” said Nicholas, still doubtful but willing now to plan for the possibility I had outlined. “Okay. But if you’re right and Colin turns bloodthirsty, for heaven’s sake don’t ride to my rescue! You might commit the cardinal sin of wiping the floor with him in debate, and then we’d have to cope with his wounded ego, his anti-women prejudices and God knows what else.”
I laughed and promised to curb my forensic skills.
When we went downstairs a maid waiting in the hall directed us to yet another reception room, this one adjacent to a huge conservatory full of ancient palms and lush vegetation. The glass doors that separated the two areas were closed, but the lighting ensured that the conservatory’s interior appeared not only beautiful but exotic.
“I feel like Eve in the Garden of Eden!” I whispered to Nicholas.
“In that case watch out for the serpent.”
Sir Colin came to meet us. Gavin had yet to appear, but there was someone else present and belatedly I remembered Sir Colin mentioning a guest who was “not a local man.” The stranger, who looked like a Whitehall mandarin, was formally kitted out in a well-tailored black suit. I was certain I had never met him, but when he looked startled to see Nicholas I assumed they knew each other.
I was wrong.
“My dear Colin!” the stranger exclaimed as he swivelled to face his host. “You didn’t tell me you’d be entertaining a clergyman!” but Sir Colin only said with his most deadpan expression: “I thought it would be an interesting surprise for you.” And that was when I realised this boardroom barracuda was busy outplaying not just Nicholas and me but all his guests in a game I had insufficient information to understand.
Meanwhile Nicholas was saying to the stranger: “I’ve got a feeling we’ve met before although I can’t recall where it was.”
“No,” said the man smoothly as I heard footsteps behind me in the corridor, “we’ve never met, but allow me to introduce myself. My name’s Asherton.”
The footsteps instantly halted, and spinning round I saw Gavin, shocked to the core, in the doorway.
CHAPTER SIX
Gavin
Emotional dis-ease lies behind many illnesses. The breakdown of relationships in marriages, families and other human groups strains the well-being of those involved. Drug addiction and alcoholism, the abuse of the human body and mind, and the prevalence of crime, violence and racism are signs of a deep-rooted sickness in our local and national life.
A Time to Heal
A REPORT FOR THE HOUSE OF BISHOPS
ON THE HEALING MINISTRY
It’s nightmare time at Hellfire Hall. Asherton’s popped up without warning, like the genie in a Christmas panto who erupts onstage as soon as Aladdin rubs his magic lamp. But this genie’s no cute pantomime demon. He’s all smarmed down and brushed up in a Savile Row suit and looking respectable enough to cringe at the word “vice.” I’m so shattered that I stand in the doorway like a statue someone’s tried to deliver to the wrong address.
“We met at the opera, didn’t we?” says Asherton with a curve of his pin-thin lips. “Good evening, Mr. Blake.”
“Good evening, sir.” I finally get my feet working again and move forward to accept
the routine glass of champagne from Old Toffee-Nose, the butler. What I really want is a double brandy with a pint of lager on the side. Or a double lager with a pint of brandy on the side. Anything but another round of that plug-awful Froggy-Pop.
Meanwhile as I think these frenzied thoughts about booze, my self-preservation instinct kicks in and I realise I’ve got to remind myself who knows what because if I make one slip now I’ll be heading for the Pain-Palace in no time flat. Let me think, let me think, let me think . . .
Right, here we go. One: nobody’s aware that Asherton and I are long-standing acquaintances. Two: Asherton doesn’t know I’ve met either Nicholas or Carta prior to this weekend. Three: Colin thinks I met both Nicholas and Carta for the first time at Richard’s funeral, and he thinks I first heard about the Appeal there, but although he learned about the Appeal through me he’s not going to tell either Asherton or anyone else that I’ve done a full-blooded fundraising number in the bedroom. And four: Nicholas and Carta won’t breathe a word to Asherton about any of my fundraising activities because the subject’s confidential, and they also won’t breathe a word about any other confidential conversation I’ve had with them, particularly the one involving my braindead admission that Elizabeth’s interested in recruiting Colin for a “club” run by a friend of hers who’s a suit. So . . . if everyone acts in character and keeps quiet about the facts which could sink me, I might just survive this nightmare intact.
Meanwhile, as I’m trying not to shit bricks, the life-saving cavalry arrives in the form of the other guests, the innocent ones: Mr. and Mrs. Local Doctor and Mr. and Mrs. Local Parson—all middle-aged, middle-class, middle-brow, middle-everything, the dead norm of magnificent British decency which still flourishes outside that crude Thames-side cesspit which calls itself London and kids itself it speaks for England. But before I can heave a sigh of relief I notice Asherton boggling at the sight of another clerical collar, and suddenly I wonder what Colin’s playing at. Just how far has Asherton got with reeling in this big fish? I told Nicholas that Colin knew nothing about GOLD yet, but it looks as if I was wrong. The obvious explanation for Asherton’s presence here is that he’s already played the GOLD card and won a favourable response, but supposing the big fish now turns out to be Jaws, ready to chomp up everything in sight?
The Heartbreaker Page 32