‘I’m sorry, Miss Byng, but I don’t think you do see. Unless funds are immediately forthcoming, I’m afraid the bank will have to freeze the account.’
I was suddenly annoyed beyond bearing by the hypocritical tones of regret he put into his voice. I was certain that the fall of the House of Byng was brightening his dreary life immeasurably. Why should he have all the fun, lecturing and threatening and making himself out to be a model of deportment when he probably fiddled his business expenses, bullied his children and neglected his poor old mother, if he had one? ‘Why don’t you give yourself a well-deserved rest from these onerous duties?’ I said in my sweetest voice. ‘Go and – make love to your mother’s cook.’
I could not quite bring myself to use an obscenity so it lost something in translation but I put the receiver down with a sense of triumph. It was a cheap victory but nothing better was likely to come my way.
The arrival of the post brought more unhappiness. I saw at once, among the bills and circulars, a letter addressed to me, in Dodge’s handwriting.
I never would have believed it of you. My confidence in my own judgement is severely undermined. You grassed on your friends to save your own skin. You are a traitor and that is the kindest thing I can say. You are expelled from the society – and my heart – for ever, with effect from this moment. D.
There was a postscript: ‘Yell says she saw you let that pig put his arm round you. I hope there was nothing worse.’
The ink grew faint at the end as though the pen was spluttering with indignation. I had felt too many things too violently in the last forty-eight hours for this latest blow to my happiness to have much immediate effect. Dodge’s pale, angular face, fierce with polemic, loomed up in the forefront of my brain from time to time and there was an intensification of the gnawing sensation in my stomach that had been there since I heard of Pa’s arrest, but I was incapable of anything like serious reflection.
Dirk followed me up to my room and stretched himself out on the bed next to Mark Antony, his head pillowed on my pyjamas, while I sat at my desk and wrote several stanzas of verse. I knew the poetry was bad but I didn’t care. Anything was better than thinking about life.
Maria-Alba brought lunch up to my room. I rushed to take the tray from her so she could recover her breath, for the last flight of stairs was steep.
‘I call and call but you not answer so I think Harriet like to be alone. Perhaps it is better. Ophelia is in cattivissimo umore, eccome!’ She flapped her fingers and blew out her cheeks, to denote tempestuous rage.
‘I can’t say I blame her.’
‘Certo.’ Maria-Alba settled her huge frame on my bed. Mark Antony removed himself to the windowsill but despite the circulation in his paws being cut off, Dirk merely smacked his lips and continued to snore. ‘It is not a thing a woman enjoys to be know – to be abandon by a man. And a woman like Ophelia – mio Dio!’
‘I’d better resign myself to being extremely unpopular for several years.’ I felt my chin wobble.
‘Su, su, Harriet!’ Maria-Alba stroked my arm with her large yellow fingers. ‘It will come better. We are all in troubles but they will go away.’
‘It isn’t only Bron and Ophelia. The bank’s going to stop our money. And I’m very worried about Portia. Supposing that beastly, bloody Stan didn’t make it up? I mean, what does a man have to do to be nicknamed The Gravefiller? And Dodge thinks I informed on him to the police. He doesn’t want … to see me … any more.’
I burst into tears and sobbed on Maria-Alba’s comforting bosom, as so many times in the past. ‘Che stupido!’ she hugged my head. ‘You are too good for him. He is lucky you speak him in the street, besides you allow him to kiss you. He is a bad boy, e disordinato.’ Maria-Alba had not forgotten that Dodge’s shoes had left a deposit of Deptford river mud on the drawing-room carpet and that he had stubbed out his cigarette among the sugared almonds in the silver bonbonnière.
‘He isn’t bad,’ I sobbed. ‘He really cares about people and wants to help them. I do love him.’ And just at that moment I did. There is nothing like being handed notice to quit to fan the flames of passion, even if you were only lukewarm before. Never had Dodge’s virtues been so desirable and his faults so negligible.
‘Cocca mia, you are tired. Eat your good lunch that Maria-Alba brings despite the poor legs, and you feel better.’
I was obliged to try though I was not in the least hungry and after a while, whether it was the rich risotto, unctuous with beef marrow, or the figs baked in marsala-flavoured custard or the utter kindness of Maria-Alba, petting and coaxing me as though I were a child, I certainly started to feel braver and stronger.
‘We’re going to have to make some economies.’ I wiped my greasy chin with the napkin. ‘No new clothes or taxis for anyone until Pa’s out of prison.’
‘Va bene. La cucina italiana is the peasant cooking, simple and cheap and good. We have pasta and polenta and gnocchi. I go see to the larder. And,’ she paused as though struck by inspiration, ‘we say go to Mrs Dyer. I tell her in the morning.’ Maria-Alba and Mrs Dyer, our daily, had never got on. Mrs Dyer was openly xenophobic when my parents were not in earshot, muttering about wogs, eyties, japs and darkies, usually with the prefix ‘dirty’. Maria-Alba clapped her hands together in a manner well satisfied and smiled for the first time for days.
‘What do you think?’ Bron stood with his hips thrust forward and his chin sunk on his chest so that his eyes looked brooding and sultry as they met ours. Well, everyone’s but mine. I was still less popular than Napoleon on the retreat from Moscow. Bron was wearing a long black coat with an elegant fur lining.
‘Amazing!’ Ophelia was moved to unusual enthusiasm. ‘It looks like mink.’
‘It is mink.’
‘No! How much?’
‘Just fifty pounds on account. Bloke I met in the pub is selling them cheap. Warehouse closing down. I’m paying in monthly instalments.’
I wondered where Bron had got even so much as fifty pounds. The telephone call with Mr Potter was much on my mind but I was reluctant to give them the opportunity to snub me, so I said nothing.
‘Do they have them in women’s sizes?’ Ophelia’s eyes were sharp. ‘Can you get me one?’
‘Got fifty smackers?’
‘No, but I could borrow from Peregrine.’
‘Consider it done.’
The curtailment of family spending seemed to have got off to a very poor start.
The doorbell began to ring persistently, which made Dirk howl and, for some reason, attack Bron’s coat.
‘Get your dog off me!’ he yelled. ‘He’s got his teeth into the lining.’
‘I go tell them va’ farsi fottere!’ Maria-Alba picked up the ladle.
‘You get on with supper,’ I said. ‘I’ll go.’
I was overtaken by Dirk, who hurled himself at the front door with a scream of rage. ‘No comment,’ I shouted when I could get near the letter box. ‘Please go away.’
‘For God’s sake, let me in!’ cried Portia’s voice.
I undid the chain and the lock and drew back the bolts. Portia fell into my arms. Dirk displayed wonderful intelligence by allowing Portia to enter before baring his teeth at the reporters who were trying to follow her in, and growling ferociously, until I managed to shut them out.
‘Who are those bloody people? Has the world gone mad?’ Portia sank down on the Cleopatra day bed, her head drooping as though exhausted. Then, as Dirk gave her a hearty, reassuring lick, ‘What’s this dog doing here?’
She looked up. Even in the scattered light from the chandelier I could see that Portia was a mess. She was wearing a black leather blouson, much too big for her, and enormous, baggy jeans. Her face was extremely dirty.
‘Where have you been? I’ve been so worried!’ I was so relieved, I probably sounded cross.
‘Don’t scold me. I’ve had the most awful time. I’m as weak as ditchwater.’
I sat down and put my arms around her.
‘I’m so thankful to see you. I’d made up my mind to ring the police.’
‘Ow! That hurts.’ She winced and pulled away. I saw that what I had assumed to be dirt on her cheeks and lips was bruising.
‘Portia! Who did this to you?’
‘That bastard Dimitri, of course. We went to his house. You never saw anything like it – an absolute scream – a circular bed, nylon furry cushions and a television that popped up and down when you pressed a button, a cocktail bar – and I thought it was going to be fun.’ Portia was talking fast, as though she was nervous. ‘But when I laughed at the erotic murals on the ceiling – they were really awful – Dimitri got huffy. We had a bit of a row. Then I said I didn’t want to go to bed with a bad-tempered dwarf – I may not have mentioned that he’s stocky, with short legs. And other similarities to Toulouse-Lautrec, as I discovered later. The most enormous prick you ever saw.’ Portia laughed but her expression was anguished. I realised she was trying to recapture her usual breezy, cynical manner but also that it was a huge effort.
‘Portia! You didn’t really say that! I mean, you didn’t call him a dwarf?’ I had always admired her blasé attitude to sex and her flippant attitude towards the male ego. ‘What did he say?’
‘He smacked me across the mouth and broke my tooth. Look!’ Portia lifted her swollen top lip to show me her front tooth, broken in half. ‘I tried not to cry but I do so hate the dentist!’
Portia closed her eyes and hugged herself, shaking her head as though to rid herself of the memory. Her fingernails were grubby as usual, which made her small white hands look childlike. I took one of them in mine. ‘Poor darling, what an ordeal! The brute! Hitting a girl! He ought to be locked up.’
She smiled and shrugged. ‘That isn’t the worst of it. But don’t let’s go into detail. Only I’m conditioned now, like Pavlov’s dogs. I shan’t be able to see a pair of sunglasses ever again without wanting to throw up. Dimitri wore them all the time, even in bed. I’ve no idea what colour his eyes are.’
‘In bed! You slept with him? Why didn’t you come home straightaway?’
‘He had a gun, that’s why.’
‘A gun!’ Cold waves of fear ran up and down my legs. ‘Oh, Portia!’
‘For God’s sake, Hat, keep your voice down! I don’t want the entire neighbourhood to know. He put the gun against my head –’ Portia gave me a look that was shamefaced – ‘I know I always say I’m not frightened of anything but I was really scared then. So I let him do what he wanted.’
‘Only a fool wouldn’t have been scared! I’d have screamed!’
‘I expect you would have. You always were a terrible coward.’ Portia tried to regain her old spirit, but added, ‘I may have let out a small scream myself. The bodyguards – they took it in turns to sit outside the door – had guns too.’
‘Portia! You might have been killed!’ I tried to put my arm round her again but she gave a gasp of pain. ‘Darling, what a risk to take! I can’t bear to think about it!’
‘All right, all right! I know I was a fool to go off with him. You needn’t pretend to be so worldly-wise.’ Portia sounded offended. ‘Who was it who had to ask what fellatio meant?’
‘That was ages ago – anyway, never mind. So he raped you!’ I had forgotten all my prejudices against violence. I felt murderous. I could easily have killed Dimitri with my bare hands if he had presented his throat. I tried to stifle my anger for Portia’s sake. ‘Stan was right. He is a gangster. We must tell Inspector Foy at once.’
‘Inspector who?’
‘Foy. He’s – Oh, never mind for the moment. But what happened then? And how did you manage to get away?’
‘I had to go along with whatever he wanted or he hit me. It was – No, I’m not going to think about it. Only if I ever see another furry cushion I can’t answer for the consequences. Luckily he was out a lot so I was left for hours with nothing to do but read this dreadful book about a girl who goes to Hollywood and gets hooked on drink and drugs. She dies in the end, and a good thing too. Anyway, this morning Dimitri said he was going to be away all day. He said he’d bring me a fur coat and jewellery, but I must be nice to him when he got back because he was tired of threatening. I knew I had to escape, then or never. So I seduced Chico, one of the bodyguards. I’d seen the way he looked at me when he brought in sandwiches and things. I expect he’d indulged in quite a few fantasies sitting outside the door, listening to Dimitri yodelling like an alpine goatherd every time he had an orgasm. I told Chico I was so sore he’d have to take all his clothes off so as not to rub against the bruises. Ugh, God …’ Portia clutched her head and shuddered. ‘The smell of sweat and garlic and the blubber, possibly worse than Dimitri’s blackheads and dandruff – except he came at once, thank God. Then, afterwards, he sort of drifted off for a bit, you know how men do. Well, when he was lying there, all passion spent, I grabbed his jeans and jacket and ran. Of course he came after me but he couldn’t move nearly as fast. I ran, stark naked, across fields full of cows and woods full of brambles and stinging nettles until I got to a road. I put on Chico’s clothes, and the first lorry I put up my thumb to stopped. He was coming into London and dropped me in Camberwell. I bussed the rest of the way. I told the lorry driver I was a lesbian, just in case, and he was quite interested. Actually it isn’t at all a bad idea. Thanks to Dimitri, I’ll probably be frigid for the rest of my life.’
‘Hello, Portia.’ Bron came into the hall. ‘Where have you been? What do you think of my coat?’
‘She’s been kidnapped by a homicidal sex maniac!’ I was so upset by Portia’s recital that I had forgotten about being an outcast.
Bron gave me a glacial look. ‘I call that a joke in poor taste.’
‘No, really, she has been! We must ring the police and a doctor.’
‘Oh, no you don’t!’ Portia snatched back her hand, which I had been holding. ‘If you think I’m going to go on talking about it to a lot of prurient busybodies, you must be crazy. All I want to do is lie in a hot bath for a very long time and then go to my own chaste, sweet bed and forget it ever happened. I’ve never been so tired in my life.’
‘But, Portia! You must see a doctor! Supposing you’ve got a horrible disease? Or you’re pregnant?’
‘What a comfort you are, Harriet.’ Portia, in her turn, began to look coldly at me.
‘You must, at any rate, report it to the police. If he isn’t stopped, Dimitri will find some other unsuspecting girl.’
‘That’s her lookout. If I’d known you were going to be so community-spirited I wouldn’t have told you. I thought as my sister you’d be concerned for me. It seems I was mistaken.’
‘Don’t be angry.’ I tried to take her arm but she shook me off, her mouth turned down mulishly. ‘All right, whatever you say. I still think we ought but – well, never mind. Dear, dear Portia, I’m so glad have you back. Come on, I’ll run the bath for you and bring you up some supper.’
‘Promise no officious telephoning?’
‘Promise.’
Portia was mollified sufficiently to let me accompany her upstairs. When I saw her without clothes on, I was tempted to break my word, there and then. She was covered in blackening bruises and red weals. Despite her attempts to be insouciant, I was sure she must be suffering the aftereffects of extreme fear so I decided to say nothing about Pa for the moment. Fortunately, she seemed to have forgotten about the cameras outside the front door. While she bathed, I sat on the laundry basket and we talked and made silly jokes as we always did. But there was an atmosphere of strain.
Dirk was a useful distraction, trying to get into the bath with Portia, then attempting to eat the sponge. Portia was not particularly fond of animals but she admitted that he had a wayward charm all his own. She ate very little of the supper I brought her, saying she was too tired to be hungry. I left her tucked up in bed, her hair stretched across the pillow, her damaged face very calm. I thought she seemed remarkably composed in the circumstances.
But du
ring the night I was woken by Dirk, whining and scraping with his paw at my pillow. Before I could tell him to be quiet I heard a blood-chilling scream from Portia’s room, which was directly below mine. I raced downstairs, my heart puttering with fright. She was sitting up in bed, shrieking, her eyes and mouth wide open.
‘What’s the matter with her?’ Cordelia, her face white from sleep, came in with Mark Antony in her arms.
‘Will whoever’s making that infernal racket kindly shut up?’ called Bron’s voice from across the landing.
‘She’s having a bad dream.’ I went over to Portia and spoke soothingly. ‘It’s all right. You’re at home. You’re quite safe. I’m here, darling.’
Portia closed her eyes and then opened them again. ‘Hat? Oh, thank God! I was dreaming – horrible – horrible!’ A tear slid from one eye. She closed her eyes again and took hold of my hand. ‘Stay.’
I could have wept myself at this admission of need from my most dauntless, spirited sister. I sent Cordelia back to bed. Pulling up a chair, I sat beside Portia and made her lie down. After a while Dirk settled on my feet and I was grateful for the warmth from his body for slowly the house became very cold. Portia slept again but badly, turning her head from side to side and grinding her teeth, her eyes always a little open as though she could not trust the world enough to relax her vigilance even in sleep. More than once she sat up and cried out. When she heard my voice, she lay down again, muttering things I could not decipher.
Clouds among the Stars Page 12