Something Stupid

by Victoria Corby

  Typically enough James immediately seized on what to me seemed the item of least importance. He was incandes­cent about Stefano’s approaching me, and even though I’d been sensible enough to leave out Stefano’s warning not to deceive him again it didn’t stop James from going on blowing the protective male trumpet at full blast and instructing me not to speak to Stefano again. In the end I snapped that I’d had enough male posturing for one day, and like it or not he had involved me from the moment he’d pressurised me into going to Hurstwood House for the weekend, so he could just shut up about it. Surprisingly enough he did. Then instead of concentrating on Stefano’s threats of revenge, James started worrying about the possible damage to the china collection if Cressida hadn’t packed it properly. I gritted my teeth, refrained from saying that the silly girl deserved all that was coming to her if she had broken anything, and told him there were some things of more immediate importance, such as the false story from the journalist who was doing such a good job of fuelling Stefano’s rage. We needed to get that repu­diated immediately.

  James put his hands behind his head and looked at me with studied nonchalance. ‘What’s the point? The damage’s been done. The whole of Cressy’s crowd gossip like mad. One of them said something which was passed on to the next in an improved and more dramatic version like Chinese whispers until it reached a stringer for the paper. We’d never manage to unravel it. Stefano’ll find out soon enough from someone else that I wasn’t there.’

  He didn’t take the threats of revenge against him seriously either. ‘Bluster,’ he said, shrugging.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ I replied, recalling Stefano’s expression as he told me that effectively he was above the law and could do what he liked. James, who should have been much more wary of Stefano than me, seemed to look on him as a comic opera character, full of noise and bravado. But I couldn’t help remembering just how ruthless a lot of those operatic tenors were. I had to settle for getting James to agree not to go into any dark alleys with Stefano and to be very careful if he was offered anything stunning at a rock bottom price, since it would certainly soon be followed by the fine art squad who would finger his collar for the receipt of stolen property.

  That did get his attention. James takes his business and reputation seriously. He stared into space, twirling his glass abstractedly. ‘Bloody hell,’ he finally said gloomily, ‘I suppose the only thing to do is to get hold of Cressy and make her tell Stefano that firstly I haven’t anything to do with her leaving him—’

  ‘Do you think he’ll believe that? Espe­cially as she’ll be doing it at your prompting.’

  He raised his brows. ‘It’s the truth,’ he said loftily, ‘and it’s worth trying. She could always tell him why she really left him. I expect he’d like to know. Secondly, she can inform him I didn’t commission her to pinch his bloody collection.’

  I supposed it might work. ‘But you said you didn’t know where she was,’ I pointed out, doubt raising its ugly head again.

  ‘I don’t,’ he said flatly, and caught my sceptical expres­sion. ‘In that I really don’t know whether she’s in London or Aberystwyth, not in that I don’t know if she’s in the bath or going downstairs in the lift. But we could try some of her friends, I still know them. Though,’ he grinned at me wickedly, ‘I don’t expect Serena’ll feel much like helping us.’

  ‘She’s Cressida’s friend?’ I gasped.

  ‘Not exactly, but they’ve known each other forever, their mothers were at school together or something.’ He drummed his fingers in a rare clear space on the desktop. ‘Abby? Perhaps. Didn’t Cressy say she was travelling in Europe, though? Georgina? Don’t know her number,’ he muttered. ‘Fiona? Don’t have a clue where she is now.’ His head jerked upwards, eyes alight. ‘I know! Arabella!’

  ‘Self-improvement Arabella? You could be on to something. They did spend a lot of time talking.’

  ‘Arabella did, Cressy just listened,’ James said dryly. ‘But that sort of improve your own psyche lark is just Cressy’s cup of tea. Let’s see if Arabella knows anything about her whereabouts.’

  Unfortunately there weren’t any Featherington-Meades listed in the telephone directory and a call to Viola and Richard Featherington-Meade’s home in Northumberland only produced a Spanish au-pair who hadn’t got very far with learning English and nowhere with looking up num­bers in the book. We’d have to get it from Arabella’s boyfriend at his bank in the City, but that was going to have to wait until the morning. Banks worked jolly short hours, I thought with disapproval, not like us in PR. Slightly against James’s judgement I decided I’d ring Stefano later and for what it was worth assure him James had no more idea than he did where his errant wife was - though perhaps not in quite those terms. I hoped he’d believe me. Somehow, without mentioning it, we both assumed I wouldn’t be telling Stefano that we had a possible lead. There was enough female solidarity in me to support her decision to leave him and keep her secrets if necessary - unless, of course, it became a choice between her and James. Then I’d let her sink. Stefano would certainly throw her a lifebelt.

  James stretched, yawning slightly. ‘That’s about it. I’m starving, I didn’t have time to do more than snatch a sandwich for lunch. Fancy coming back to my place? I’ll show you,’ he leered exaggeratedly, ‘the contents of my freezer. Or even better, the outside of a takeaway pizza.’

  It sounded like a nice idea. I was surprised to realise how much I enjoyed his company these days. I might even get a chance to break down his reserve and find out what he really thought about Cressida’s leaving Stefano. He wouldn’t be human if he didn’t feel at least a smidgen of satisfaction, but the question was, was he planning to charge in and sweep her off her feet for himself? I wasn’t being nosy - well, I was - but feeling quite justified concern for James’s well-being and needed information to quell, or fuel, my fears. Then I realised with a pang of dismay that I was supposed to be looking at the contents of Daniel’s freezer this evening, or rather inspecting his fridge to see if I could salvage something that wasn’t growing hairs or actively moving. I was already late, though why I ever feel guilty about that I don’t know since Daniel always is. But, of course, true artists aren’t expected to have a sense of time.

  ‘So you’re still carrying on with the etiolated boyfriend?’ James asked with a malicious smile.

  ‘He’s not etiolated,’ I protested.

  James’s grin widened. ‘Dear Laura, he looks as if he doesn’t cast a reflection in the mirror.’

  I got up angrily, making several piles of paper wobble ominously. ‘You haven’t changed much from when I was fifteen, have you? Always ready with a cheap unfunny crack.’

  ‘I thought it was very funny,’ protested James inno­cently. ‘And speaking of when you were fifteen - do you still fancy me as much as you did then?’ he asked with a straight face.

  ‘I didn’t!’ I said with what dignity I could muster. ‘That was just Aunt Jane romanticising.’

  ‘Liar,’ he said. ‘I have it on good authority - your sister. We had a very interesting chat. According to her you were being disappointingly reticent about the weekend at Cressy’s, which she said must mean something. She then went on to tell me exactly what she thought it was too,’ he added gleefully.

  ‘Did she?’ I muttered, making a vow to do something unpleasant to her as soon as I got the opportunity. In fact I might take the day off work tomorrow and drive down to Oxford to do just that. ‘My taste has improved a lot since then.’

  James leaned back in his chair and put his feet up on the desk, regarding me under half-closed lids. ‘That’s the most insulting thing you’ve ever said to me,’ he mur­mured. ‘At least I come out in the day time.’

  I was a bit slow on the uptake because it was at least twenty seconds before I threw something at him. He just laughed.

  CHAPTER 10

  Arabella sounded curiously reluctant to meet for lunch when I rang her the next morning. Since, so far as I’m aware
, I don’t smell that bad and I hadn’t done anything dreadful like make rude remarks about the self-awareness course (that had been James, which was why I’d been elected to speak to her), I was fairly sure it meant Arabella had something to hide. Detective Laura was determined to find out and gently but firmly insisted, saying she was about to go off to France and really must speak to her before she went. Grudgingly she agreed to meet me at a wine bar near her office at one o’clock, saying she’d have to make it brief because she was very tied up. I got there at a quarter to, just in case she came in early and then left saying she’d waited and I hadn’t turned up.

  She was already seated when I pushed my way through the door and looked thoroughly put out when I plumped down on the chair opposite her. I ordered myself a white wine and soda but refused anything to eat; it’s not easy to interrogate a reluctant witness with your mouth full. We skirted around the main subject for a few minutes while she eyed me uneasily. Despite the famous self-­assertiveness course she still didn’t ask me why I wanted to talk to her.

  Eventually I thought I’d better put her out of her misery. ‘Do you know where Cressida is?’ I asked.

  She flinched and went bright red. ‘Cressida? Why should I?’ she mumbled, digging intently in her lentil and rocket salad with her fork. ‘I mean she’s at home of course.’ Her hand shook and lentils showered off her fork back on to the plate. ‘I haven’t heard from her for ages, so how would I know?’ A ham acting school couldn’t have given a better demonstration of how to express guilt.

  ‘I just thought you might,’ I said. ‘You two seemed so close the other weekend.’ Her fork clanged noisily as it hit the floor.

  ‘Stefano’s been to see me,’ I said once she’d picked it up. ‘He’s convinced she’s gone off with James, which I know isn’t true, but unless I can get her to tell Stefano that James has nothing to do with this, I’m really worried that Stefano might do something to him.’

  Arabella didn’t look as if she found this a serious considera­tion. I tried telling her about Stefano’s threats but she was quite unmoved about potential danger to her fellow man, James’s mockery of her course must have got her more on the raw than we realised, and continued to insist, unconvincingly, that she didn’t have a clue where Cressida could be. She hadn’t heard a word about Cressida’s leaving Stefano, but if she had left him Arabella thought that Cressida needed all the support she could get while she tried to take control of her own life and learn to live with the wreckage of a marriage that was in ruins entirely because of the insupportable behaviour of her husband. The last thing she needed was to be bullied back to someone she didn’t love any longer.

  I broke in on this breathless twaddle with some irrita­tion. ‘I haven’t said a word about forcing Cressida back to Stefano. Frankly I’m tired of the pair of them and really don’t care if they never see each other again. But if she wants control of her own destiny she’d better learn how to do it without trampling all over others. And the first thing she must do is sort out this mess for which she’s responsible.’

  ‘You can’t blame Cressida for Stefano’s jealous fantasies,’ bleated Arabella.

  ‘Oh, can’t I?’ I retorted grimly. ‘If she’d had the sense to stop throwing her arms around James at every oppor­tunity, Stefano wouldn’t have got the fantasies in the first place.’ I knew this wasn't strictly true but there’s no point in spoiling a good remark for pedantic reasons.

  ‘Well, I’ve already told him I don’t have a clue about it,’ said Arabella triumphantly, realising a fraction too late she’d just given the lie to what she’d said before.

  I leaned forward and fixed her with a basilisk glare. ‘Just get this, Arabella, I’m not letting you or Cressida push me around. Either you tell me what you know about Cressida, or the moment I leave here I’m off to the nearest phone box to ring Stefano. I’ll tell him that whatever you said to him before about being completely ignorant of Cressida’s whereabouts isn’t true. Then you can have a nice little chat with him.’ I smiled slightly, and I hoped nastily. ‘He really does know how to bully people, and from what he’s told me he makes a bad enemy. I wouldn’t envy you if you got on his wrong side.’

  I could almost see this notion taking root in Arabella’s brain. Her eyes grew wide and her expression slightly sick. She looked as if she was see-sawing between the desire to stay devotedly at the barricades, risking all in her loyalty to her friend, and a cowardly wish to dump the whole problem in my lap and get the hell out of there. Luckily cowardice won the day. ‘You promise you won’t tell Stefano?’ she asked to salve her conscience.

  ‘Of course I won’t,’ I assured her. ‘All we want is for Cressida to tell him that she isn’t having an affair or anything else with James.’

  ‘OK,’ said Arabella miserably. She pushed her unappe­tising lentils around her plate and blurted out, ‘She’s in Folkestone.’

  ‘Folkestone?’ I echoed in blank astonishment. ‘What’s she doing in Folkestone?’ I mean, if you really want to go to the seaside in the depths of winter, almost anywhere along the South Coast is more glamorous and lively than Folkestone.

  Lifesigns, the company that ran the self-awareness courses, had their headquarters in Folkestone and Arabella had been to a couple of follow-on seminars down there. Her rather equine face lit up. ‘They were really enriching. I got so much from them. You wouldn’t believe it. I was so empowered.’ I firmly nudged her away from describing her own spiritual experiences and got her back to the point.

  Something about Arabella’s undiscriminating enthusiasm for her course had got through to Cressida, or maybe it was akin to subliminal advertising. She heard Arabella going on about it so much over the weekend that she must have begun to imagine she herself actually thought some of what was being told to her. With the zeal of the born-again convert Arabella had sensed that interest and continued to bombard Cressida with telephone calls trying to persuade her to go to Lifesigns’ next seminar. Cressida had initially demurred, afraid of Stefano’s no doubt scornful reaction. So much for taking control of her life. Last week Arabella had rung again and caught Cressida just after she’d returned from taking Stefano to at the airport and, contrary to his fond imagin­ings, in no way feeling that their row had been made up. Disappointingly Arabella didn’t know the full details, except that Stefano was quite unreasonable and made Demands That He Shouldn’t. Cressida had declared tear­fully to her that Stefano was impossible and would never change, probably a fair character assessment, and that if she wasn’t to be ground into the dust like a chattel of the last century she had to leave, because he was forcing her into an Intolerable Position.

  Cunningly Arabella had slipped in a suggestion that if Cressida were to gain some inner knowledge and insight on how to manage her own life she might be able to stand up to Stefano in the future. Cressida had been tempted but still havered.

  On Friday Arabella struck pay dirt. She’d rung with the exciting news that there was a seminar starting the next day and though they were always fully booked she had managed to persuade Sam, the founder and head guru of Lifesigns, to squeeze in Cressida as a special favour. Cressida fell for it hook, line and sinker and within half an hour she had arranged a mythical visit to her sister and was heading off up to London with her bags and Stefano’s china collection. Presumably she had decided in the meantime she couldn’t be bothered about learning to stand up to him. After nicking his precious collection it was going to take much more than a course to enable her to do that. She had a wild night out with Arabella and a couple of other friends, paying for a really good dinner for all of them at, interestingly enough, La Cucina, and slightly hung over had staggered off the next morning to do the seminar. At £500 for a weekend I wasn’t surprised Sam had been able to squeeze in an extra person.

  Cressida had been really bowled over by it, reported Arabella. She felt enriched, empowered, a new woman. She expressed this by going shopping with Arabella and buying a lot of clothes that Stefano would hate. But it s
eems being empowered and enriched isn’t enough and that if you’re really interested in personal self­-advancement there are inevitable follow up sessions. At a price, of course. Sam had suggested that as a successful graduate of his seminar Cressida might be interested in helping out at a couple more he was running in Folkestone that week. She had shot off down there, full of enthusiasm, like a bullet from a gun.

  ‘Is she staying with this Sam?’ I asked, seeing more problems ahead. Much to my relief Arabella said that he and his wife had a rigid policy never to allow their graduates to stay with them and had arranged very prefer­ential rates with a local hotel for those who wanted it. ‘So what’s the name of the hotel?’ I demanded, half expecting Arabella, who was visibly beginning to regret spilling the beans, to claim defiantly that she wouldn’t tell me.

  Rather sulkily she muttered it then added with a flash of spirit, ‘But don’t ask me for the telephone number, because I don’t know it.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter, I can get it from Directory Enquiries.’

  ‘It won’t do you any good,’ she said triumphantly. ‘She’s not taking any calls. In fact the staff have been told not even to admit that she’s staying there.’ She lowered her voice importantly. ‘It might be Stefano.’

  If he got wind that his straying wife was anywhere near Folkestone he was unlikely to be content with making an exploratory telephone call. He’d have the heavy mob down there turning over every stone until they found her. I shrugged, ‘I’ll send her a letter. Not even Cressida could believe Stefano would write to her.’

  I got the distinct feeling Arabella felt I wasn’t taking all this seriously enough. I received an old-fashioned look and a heavy sigh. More annoyingly she claimed not to know when Cressida was planning to return to London though she did go so far as to admit that presumably she was going to sometime since half of Arabella’s bedroom floor was occupied by suitcases Cressida hadn’t deemed necessary to take to Folkestone. Still I felt that Detective Laura hadn’t actually done too bad a job. We now knew where Cressida was and James could drive down to Folkestone later that afternoon to talk to her.