As I stood and listened and munched a cheese-straw, I could see that, while it had been subtly done, the apartheid regime extended from car park to main arena. At my end of the dance floor, the decor, at first sight so glitzy, did not quite match that on the other, and whereas those where I stood queued at a long bar for beers and spirits, those fortunate enough to be on the far side had glasses of champagne brought to their tables.
It was sitting at one of those tables that I saw Jill; my first sighting of her in weeks. She looked stunning in a royal blue silk frock with yellow edging. Her hair was different too. I wasn’t sure in what way - just better.
I pondered my approach carefully over a couple of smoked salmon canapé. An all-out full frontal assault wasn’t going to work. Jill was at a round table with a number of others, men and women, all equally well turned-out and including Felicity, who had been poured into something slinky in aquamarine with a fur Peter-pan collar. I feared that if I were to parachute into their midst, announcing my undying love for Jill, I was likely to be jettisoned fairly rapidly. I had to be smooth, sophisticated, not the drunken lout that Jill’s boss and others might expect.
A further glance around the VIP end of the hall revealed a number of politicians, judges, a few well known faces from TV and, arm around his lady wife, none other than Aloysius Kenyon Quirk. It wasn’t a surprise. I’d seen his car in the car park and, after all, this was a charity event. Why wouldn’t a well-known philanthropist grace such an occasion with his presence? What did come as a surprise was to see, strolling in the background and gravitating towards Jill’s table, someone else I recognised. Someone in black jacket and tartan trews, the crimson bow-tie around the collar of his crisply-starched white shirt a perfect match for his florid face: Rupert Smith. When he reached Jill’s table he said something. It must have been humorous, because the entire table laughed and amidst the hilarity he took a seat beside Felicity.
That’s when I noticed: there were nine people at Jill’s table; four men, five women. If they were all couples like I suspected Felicity and Rupert to be, then once up on the dance floor it would leave Jill alone and I could move in for the kill.
After a set, concluding with Little Brown Jug, I caught the bandleader, American Army Air Force uniform, slicked-back hair, round wire spectacles, as he stood at the bar ordering a drink. I asked if he did requests. He didn’t. The band worked to a set playlist, and the members liked to keep it that way. I asked if he’d play one out-of-turn, and his expression suggested he could be persuaded.
‘Thanks,’ I said, ‘I’d buy you a drink, but they’re free.’
‘No problem,’ he drawled, in an accent that could have been authentic. He rubbed thumb and forefinger together. ‘Twenty should cover it.’
‘Come on. You’re going to play it anyway.’
‘It’s still going to cost you twenty.’
I shoved the cash into the breast pocket of his shiny silver jacket from where spilled a black silk handkerchief.
‘Name it,’ he said.
‘Whatever song you keep up your sleeve to fill the dance floor.’
Every band or DJ had one. A tune kept in reserve in case things became a little slow; a floor-filler. At that moment, the dance floor was sparsely populated. What I wanted was the ballroom equivalent of a Shanghai nightclub on Chinese New Year.
‘That would be Moonlight Serenade,’ the bandleader said. ‘We sign off with that number - so if you don’t mind waiting ...’
I did. I stuffed another note into his top pocket; a tenner this time, I wasn’t made of money. ‘Think of something else. Soon.’
A tap on my shoulder. Kaye.
‘What have you done with my husband?’ she asked.
‘Follow the smoke.’
‘I’ve not had a chance to speak to Jill, yet,’ Kaye said, removing the silver Zanetti pin from my lapel. ‘She’s been sitting at one of the top tables all evening. I don’t like to just walk up to her. She seems to be surrounded by a lot of important people. I waved over to her once and she waved back, but my semaphore isn’t what it should be. What’s your plan?’
By this time the band leader had finished his drink, left with my money and leapt onto his musical island to introduce the next number, one I didn’t know.
‘Wait and see,’ I said, taking Kaye by the hand. ‘But first, let’s dance.’
Kaye recoiled. ‘Thanks, but I’ve suffered your footwork before. As a ballroom dancer, you’d make a good grape-treader.’
It took some persuasion before she would allow me to lead her onto the dance floor. Our foray was strictly on the understanding that I would restrict manoeuvres to shuffling around in circles and try my best not to become involved in any major collisions with those who actually knew what they were doing and who glided past in an irritatingly impressive fashion.
As the final strains died away, I manoeuvred Kaye towards the far side of the dance floor, not fifteen metres from where Jill sat at her table chatting to Felicity and Rupert. On the last note, Kaye and I separated to applaud the band.
‘Now what?’ she asked.
‘Are you in the mood?’ the band leader hailed his audience.
‘Now this,’ I said to Kaye.
The band leader about-turned to face his musicians. ‘Boys, are you in the mood?’ There followed a lot of cheers and wagging of brass instruments. Already some people were leaving their tables, getting a head start on others slower on the uptake. ‘Yessir, looks like we’re all in the mood!’ With a wave of his baton, the orchestra launched straight into an extremely lively rendition of ‘In the Mood’. The dance floor was filling fast and the man with my money in his top pocket was doing his best to earn it. ‘Come on, now. Let’s have everybody up for this one.’ His shout of encouragement sent a second wave of would-be dancers flooding forward to the sound of the music. At the VIP end, the First Minister and his wife, Al Quirk and Chrissie, Rupert and Felicity all rose to their feet. Soon a stampede of top-tablers was heading towards the centre of the room. At Jill’s table only she remained.
For one of my plans, it had succeeded beyond all expectations. I sincerely hoped I could keep up the momentum. Swimming against the tide of dancers, I made my way to Jill’s table, making sure to stay on her blind side until I arrived and sat down in the seat next to her. Gently, I placed a hand on her shoulder and slowly she turned to face me, a smile already on her lips. It fell away the instant she saw me.
‘Robbie! what are you doing here?’ her eyes darted around the room as though seeking assistance. ‘How did you get in? Kaye—’
‘Kaye had nothing to do with it,’ I said. ‘Well not a lot. Look Jill, I need to speak to you and—’
‘This is not the time or the place... I really—’
‘When will it be the time or the place?’ I asked. ‘You brushed me off like a piece of dirt weeks ago and ever since you’ve been ignoring me.’
‘I’ve been busy.’ Jill extended an arm. ‘You see this?’ she said, as though I’d somehow overlooked the mass celebration going on around about me. ‘This didn’t organise itself. And I had to do it over and above my actual job.’
‘So you’re saying you’ve been too busy to take one of my calls, answer an email, reply to a text?’
She looked me in the eyes for what seemed like a very long time. ‘I’m sorry, Robbie. It’s over. You’ve got a key to my house, take your stuff, take whatever you want. I think it’s better if we make a clean break.’
I was used to unfairness. You didn’t spend as long as I did in court and not witness miscarriages of justice, and, yet, even Sheriff Brechin let the defence put forward its case before convicting. I refrained from banging the table with my fist; that wasn’t going to help. ‘Jill, I know I should have told you about Suzie and me that night, but it was nothing. We got drunk together, we crashed in my hotel room and that was it. Nothing happened. I wouldn’t lie to you about that.’
Jill didn’t reply, just turned her face away.
&nbs
p; The orchestra was still blasting out In the Mood, saxophones swinging from side to side in unison, a solo trumpet squawking a jazz rift over the top. Felicity and Rupert left the dance floor. He kissed her hand, excused himself and melted into the crowds. Felicity came over, sat down beside us and gave me a strangely welcoming smile as if saying to herself, ah good, the cabaret has arrived.
When I tried to put an arm around Jill’s shoulder, she stood up. No sooner had she done so than a tall, well-dressed gentleman arrived. A gold Zanetti badge was pinned to the lapel of a suit that was precision-fitted to his tall angular frame, the creases in the trouser legs as sharp as his features. From his position behind her, he placed a hand on Jill’s shoulders and kissed the nape of her neck. ‘I am back,’ he said, in a foreign accent and with a broad smile that Jill tried, but failed, to match. The man looked at her then down to where I sat. The puzzled expression on his handsome features slowly dissolved into one of realisation. He stepped forward and put out a hand to me. Automatically, I reached up and we shook. ‘Robbie?’ he said. ‘Pleased to meet you. I have to say that I didn’t expect to see you here tonight.’ If he was at all put out by my presence he didn’t show it.
‘Robbie, this is Hercule,’ Jill said. ‘Hercule is—’
‘From Bern?’
‘CEO of Zanetti Biotechnics.’
The man from Bern released his grip on my hand and put an arm around Jill. ‘I’m sorry it didn’t work out for you two.’ He didn’t look it. Instead he gave me a movie-star smile. ‘Jill is a great girl. I’ve had my eye on her for quite some time.’
Jill lowered her head, stared down at the table, at the silverware and sparkling crystal glasses. It was then that I knew that it really didn’t matter if Jill believed me about my night with Suzie. She didn’t care. For my ex-fiancée it had been a convenient discovery; one she had used to her own advantage. And who could blame her? This guy might be older than me by a good five, six, possibly even ten years, but he had me beaten all ends up when it came to looks and money. Talk about suave and sophisticated? If James Bond had joined our table no-one would have given him a second glance. Why stick with some beat-up, legal aid lawyer from a small town in Scotland when you could have the chief exec of a multi-national company and never know in which capital city you’d wake up next?
Gutted though I was at Jill’s disloyalty, I could just about understand it. Possibly even forgive. What I couldn’t forgive was that she’d been prepared to let me think that our break-up was all down to me; happy for me to live out my days thinking of what might have been and blaming myself.
‘How long...’ I started, but already, as the orchestra wound down, preparing for the big finale, Hercule was steering Jill away.
A mouth close to my ear. Felicity. ‘There have been rumours for months,’ she said in hushed tones.
My one time wife-to-be and the new man in her life now had their backs to me. She was leaving. Is this really what Jill wanted? A high-flying glitzy life-style? Yes. It probably was. Still, it was my last chance. ‘Jill...’
She turned to face me. Hercule took a step forward, shielding Jill from my stare. He looked genuinely apologetic. He was probably a really nice guy. We could have been friends - but for the small matter of him stealing my girl.
‘Do him, Robbie,’ Felicity whispered, hand to her mouth, no doubt recalling other pugilistic performances of mine at which she’d been present. But this wasn’t me in a restaurant being noised up by some clown who’d taken the hump at my cross-examination technique.
‘After all, you know what they say...’Hercule served up a smug shrug. I could sense what was coming. Instinctively my fists clenched. ‘All’s fair in love and war.’
This wasn’t the Zanetti Hogmanay party. I wasn’t wild and fuelled up with free whisky. My senses were not so dulled by alcohol that I didn’t know what I was doing. I hadn’t had a drink all day.
That’s why this was going to feel so good. A parting gift. Something we could all remember. Something that would help keep me warm on those future long, cold and lonely nights.
The punch started from somewhere around the wrinkly knees of my ancient tuxedo. It accelerated exponentially with every passing millisecond, every centimetre travelled, homing in on its intended target, the chiselled jaw-line of Hercule from Bern. The blow never landed. Something slammed into me. Something big. Not as big as a mountain, but big enough to propel me sideways, both feet off the ground, up and onto the table, breaking glass and clattering cutlery, until sliding and slithering and clutching hopelessly onto the table cloth, I fell off the other side and onto the floor. I lay there for a second, unable to breathe, the fight completely knocked out of me. The orchestra blasted out the final few bars of In the Mood. Large, solid men stood over me, and, as the dancers applauded, hands at the end of whited-sleeved jackets reached down, picked me up and carried me away.
Chapter 53
The bouncers didn’t call the police. It was kind of them, after all, legally-speaking, my actions had constituted an attempted assault. What wasn’t so kind of them was the way they ejected me. Legally-speaking, their actions had constituted kicking the crap out of me.
I rested for a while, mostly on my face, before eventually picking myself up and trudging down the red carpet, rubbing my aching ribs and trying to find ways of breathing that didn’t hurt. At least they’d done me the courtesy of chucking me out of the main entrance.
A silver Mercedes SUV, driven by a white-jacket, pulled out of Zone A and came to a halt at the end of the red carpet where a single female in an aquamarine evening dress was waiting. The driver alighted, went around to the passenger door and opened it. Felicity was about to step inside until she heard me call her name. I jogged as best I could the few metres to where she was standing, balanced on a pair of high heels that were not so much a fashion statement as a circus act.
‘Leaving so soon?’ I asked.
She looked from the torn sleeve of my dinner-suit to my battered face. ‘It seems we’ve both been ditched. Me rather less publicly than you.’
‘What happened to Rupert?’
‘Disappeared. Again. The man can’t keep still for five minutes. I’ve had it with him. He’s had all the chances he’s going to get from me.’
I couldn’t help but notice the little gold Zanetti insignia still pinned to the shoulder of Felicity’s dress. I reached out and touched it. ‘Then I don’t suppose...’
She slapped my hand away. ‘No.’ Her snarl quickly turned into a purr. She inclined her head towards the open car door. ‘Why don’t we go somewhere and commiserate with one another over loves lost?’
I laughed as though I thought she was joking, which I sincerely hoped she was. She moved closer, stroked my bruised cheekbone. ‘That’s quite a bump you’ve got there.’ She lowered her hand to my groin. ‘What about here?’
I stepped back, putting my squidgy parts out of reach. ‘If you give me your pin, I could go back in again and find Rupert for you.’
‘You wouldn’t get within five yards of the place.’
‘Felicity, I have to get back in there.’
‘Sorry,’ she said. She nodded to the driver who took his place behind the wheel as she slipped into the front passenger seat.
I poked my head in through the open door. ‘Any chance of a lift back to parking zone F, then?’
Felicity smiled, reached out and cupped my chin with her bony hand and squeezed my cheeks with her fingers and thumbs. ‘Absolutely none.’
The door slammed, the engine revved and ten seconds later the SUV was just a set of tail lights at the end of a long driveway.
Setting off at a brisk stagger in the general direction of my own car, I came to an ornamental fountain that served as a roundabout diverting cars to the various parking locations. An oasis in a concrete desert. I went over and sat on its parapet. With cupped hands I scooped water and splashed it over my head and face. It was cold and refreshing and exactly what I needed. I felt my head begin to clea
r.
So that was that. Operation reconciliation had been an unmitigated disaster. Jill had made her choice and I hadn’t even had the satisfaction of ramming my fist into H from B’s moisturised face. There was no way back for me now. In hindsight, maybe it hadn’t been such a great idea to infiltrate Zanetti’s grand event and to think that in all the razzmatazz I could successfully revive the embers of our relationship. I scooped another handful of cold water across the top of my head. No maybe about it, the whole plan had been ill-conceived. I should have bided my time, should have made better and more discreet enquiries, found out where Jill was working, whether it was London, Bern or wherever. I should have gone there, waited and caught her alone, when Hercule the hunk was not in the vicinity.
Who was I kidding? Really, what difference would it have made? One more splash of water and I was going home. Kaye and Alan could phone a taxi. A shower and straight to bed was my schedule for the rest of that Saturday evening. I had to prepare for tomorrow afternoon and my dad’s for inquisition/lunch. According to Kaye he already knew about me and Jill. It was probably why he’d built himself a barbecue: to give his son a proper roasting in the comfort of his own back garden. Now at least I could explain the break-up was down to my fiancée’s infidelity rather than my own. He need never know of my alleged indiscretions with Suzie. Those intimate photographs of me and the author were just so much ink and paper. There had been no point trying to silence me by blackmail. Jill had pre-empted any such strike. Al Quirk’s plan to acquit his son using the temptress, Suzie Lake, had failed. Clyve Cree had been forced to withdraw his statement and it was back to business as usual. Honest Al’s dishonest plan had been a lot of work and a lot of expense for nothing. All it had achieved was to open a small window of freedom for Dominic while the young man awaited the inevitable jail sentence that would follow his trial.
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