'I think you can confidently assume the husband of this woman is in for a surprise.'
'It's never going to happen, Tony. Just think of all the schadenfreude we're going to miss out on,' Rollo lamented, 'just because Mischa's so spotlessly clean. It's enough to make you weep.'
Larry and June's son, Colin, who looked about fourteen and as serious as his father, had been following this. Now he asked, 'What if it was something worse? Like Mischa had murdered someone or something? Or he was a serial killer?'
Tony's laugh was the loudest.
'Good one, Colin.Well, I wouldn't be above using that. Whoopee! Think of the sales.'
'But what if he'd killed a really, really bad guy? And if he was found out now his career would be trashed and he'd be put in prison?'
June and Larry smiled with parental pride.
'Now there is a curly one, Colin.' Rollo was keenly engaged. 'Do we turn a blind eye or do we airily trash Mischa's career?'
'Like, say, the guy he killed had been a terrorist.'There was no stopping Colin now.'Or he was a Gestapo torturer, an Ubersturmbahnfuhrer.'
'Then I think I'd happily reveal the murder, and rely on the expertise of Mischa's crack legal team to get him off,' Tony said.
'Now, hang on.' Rollo's elbows were on the table, chin on his hands.'Aren't we being too easy on Tony,Colin? The murderee doesn't have to be the full monty of depravity.As long as he's a bit of a stinker, that's all we need.'
He looked at Tony.'What do you reckon? Is it curtains for Mischa?'
'Sure it is.This is his life story, you can't expect me to sugarcoat it. If he killed someone, whether that guy was a Nazi or the neighbour from hell, the truth will out.'
Dottie smacked him on the arm.'You pitiless man.'
'I'm afraid so, Dottie. In that scenario, he goes right down the gurgler.'
'And the book soars into the bestseller lists.' June clapped her hands.'Larry,honey,eat your heart out.'
'Of course, there's no reason why Mischa's artistic reputation should suffer,' Barbara observed dryly. 'One might confidently assume it could only be enhanced by the scandal.'
Rollo digested this.'So,everybody's interests are served. Mercenary as well as artistic.You've got carte blanche then, haven't you, Tony?' He added, 'Thank you, darling,' as the soup bowls were cleared away by Violetta, a self-possessed sixteen-year-old from the village, one of Maria Paola's daughters.
Tony protested that his interests were at least as artistic as Mischa's and way less mercenary.
Colin's brow was still furrowed. 'But what if he'd got away with killing an ordinary person, a nice guy even, or a woman, and he would be tried for murder in America in a state that has the death penalty?'
This, they had to agree, was something of a different ball game. Tony prevaricated. Larry pointed out long-windedly that in the United States the vast majority of death-row inmates were, regrettably, poor and black. The sad truth was that it wasn't your guilt or innocence that determined your fate, it was the colour of your face and the price of your lawyer.
'Mischa's a rich and famous white dude, Colin,' Tony summed up.'He'd be laughing.'
'All the way to the bank,and so would you,Tony.'June laughed herself, and stroked her son's crewcut hair. He looked morose, taken aback by his parents' cynical assessment of the unfairness of things.
'What good timing,darling.'Rollo beamed.'Now we're the full complement. I do like to be symmetrical. It's my only weakness.'
Greer ducked through the door in a cold swirl of umbrella and rain, just as the lamb was being carried to the sideboard to be carved by Guy. After the flurry of greetings, kisses and introductions Rollo seated her between him and Larry, who promptly appropriated her. She was in the wine game, wasn't she? He had just read a provocative article on women winemakers. He sought her views. Did she agree with its argument that they brought a feminine sensibility to bear on the finished product, or was this a sexist premise?
Rollo took advantage of this to signal to Tony. 'Come and help me choose some more music.'
The B. & O. hi-fi, streamlined and top of the line, stood on a sideboard around the corner. The wall above it was stacked with shelves of CDs. Rollo went for a boxed set.
'These nice '30s jazz ladies came last week. Let's have them, shall we? Guy got them off the internet. He's very good at the internet, I can't do it at all.'
He inserted the disc without a pause.'Now,Tony, what about the little people on the sidelines?' The question was muffled by Ethel Waters singing 'Shake That Thing'.
'Excuse me?'
'I can understand your being keen to tip Mischa in the poo, but what about the innocent bystanders? You know the ones, they're all over the t-shirts in Covent Garden. "Don't blame me, I'm only an innocent bystander".' Rollo chuckled into Tony's ear.
Tony claimed he still didn't get it.
'The poor unfortunates caught up in Mischa's slipstream. Will you take the same merciless attitude towards them?'
'Are you referring to yourself, Rollo?'
Rollo looked shocked. 'Oh, you can say anything you like about me. Or Guy. Within reason, and as long as it's sycophantic, I don't mind at all. And you don't even have to be sycophantic about Guy. Dear me, no, I'm referring to Mischa's nearest and dearest.'
'That's only Greer, isn't it? As far as we know. Gigi, I mean.' Tony gave an involuntary glance over his shoulder. Greer was not in his line of sight.
'Yes, I know who you mean. Gigi and Greer are two facets of the same complex woman.'
'I'm afraid in a biography, pragmatism's the order of the day.You can't afford to be sentimental. Gigi, well, her story's arguably as important as his.'
'Why? Because Mischa's lean pickings?'
'Because she's a central spoke in his wheel.'
'She's the pivot of his wheel,Tony.'
'Right.'Tony veered away from the older man's gaze, in which there was a discomfiting cast. 'You'd prefer I took a chivalrous attitude to my female talent.'
'Oh, very much so. I'm a sucker for the chivalry, from way back. Call me old-fashioned, but if we're talking cads, Tony, I'll take the gentlemanly bugger every time.'
The tone was flippant but the eyes fixed on Tony were speculative and assessing. Rollo put an effective end to the exchange by leading the way back to the table, where the chat was in full flight. Biography was making a comeback. It had already edged out women winemakers, and threatened to overpower Barbara's rearguard action of Muriel Spark versus Iris Murdoch.
Apart from any more dubious qualities, the biography would be lovely to look at, wouldn't it, Dorothy Swannage said to Tony as he returned to his seat.
Sure, there'd be pages of pics and hardly any words,Tony declared, with a humorous nod in Greer's direction. He wanted every work mentioned in the text to be illustrated.
'Gigi knows,' he said emphatically, 'that I've done nothing else for months on end except hunt down pictures and get the go-aheads from museums and galleries. Not to mention the private owners. They change hands over the years: works you really want go missing, trails go cold. It's been a long investigative haul, I can tell you.'
Larry got the gist of this and turned to Greer.'I trust he already secured the artist's permission to use the works.That can be a legal and logistical minefield for the unwary.'
'Oh, I think Mischa just consented to anything Tony asked him.Didn't he,Tony?'
She glanced his way.The vigilant blue eyes were already on her, as she had known they would be.There was nothing wrong with Tony's hearing. He seemed well able to follow two conversations at once. Three, if you counted Ella Fitzgerald. His head was swaying along with Dottie's in time with the music.
'Good point, Larry.Yeah, I'm happy to say we cut a deal way back. Mischa gave me the green light to use whatever I could get.' Now he was also contributing to his end of the table's popularity poll of jazz songs and singers.
'He can't renege on the deal if he takes exception to anything you write,Tony?' Larry winked at Greer to signal t
hat this was a joke.
'No way. It's safely signed in visible ink.'
'I'm a bit on the surprised side,' Rollo joined in, 'that London and New York didn't pull rank and insist on a right of veto.' He turned to Greer ostentatiously and raised his voice. 'As an insurance policy against Tony, darling. So they could take exception to anything and everything he writes.'
She shook her head. 'Oh, there's no insurance policy against Tony.Tony is an act of God.'
They appreciated that, and so, she saw, did he. His eyes rested on her for a moment, before he looked to the heavens laughingly. She thought, I'm at the mercy of this young man, and Rollo thinks he is ruthless.
'The d'lovely Marty,' Guy remarked, with a sigh that suggested reminiscence.
Rollo pursed his lips.'And la Isabella figura.'
Greer explained for everyone's benefit,'Mischa's dealers.'
'Mischa's terribly top-drawer dealers,' Tony amplified. 'Martin d'Avery in London and Isabella Jay in New York. There was some power play along those lines, Rollo. In the end, I'm glad to say, and under pressure from the publisher and from Mischa himself, they caved in. I guess they envisioned they'd get a better book if they gave me a free hand.'
Pressure from Mischa? Greer thought this was highly unlikely.Had Tony meant to say that? She took a covert look at him. As she had imagined, he was leaning back, the epitome of relaxed sociability. She thought, but everything he says is deliberate.
'A better book, as in less constrained,' Larry was agreeing sagely.
'It was Mischa who made Martin, you know that, don't you, Tony?' Rollo waggled his empty glass at Guy. 'Marty wasn't at all top drawer before. He was an underdog, very bottom drawer. Streetwise, though, with sharp instincts and a good eye. He snaffled Mischa, back in the early '80s, and showed him in Pimlico before the Cork Street boys and girls could get their claws on him, and he eventually topped the charts in the chest of drawers stakes.That's when Marty got to be a top dog and changed into a d'Avery. He wasn't a d apostrophe at all before, he was just plain Avery. Not many people know that.'
'Tony knows that, you silly old fart, and you're drinking too much.' Guy slid a bottle down the table towards him with a show of reluctance. 'You can tell when he's had too many, he states the obvious, mixes his metaphors and never gets to the point.'
Everyone looked amused except Dorothy Swannage,who swatted Guy with her napkin.'Oh,stop it,you dreadful man.'
'Don't worry, Dottie. He's only trying to ruffle my feathers, and it annoys him when he can't. But it's all water off this ducky's back.' Rollo did indeed look supremely unruffled. He sliced into an artichoke heart with obvious relish. 'Yes, Mischa's always had a soft spot for underdogs.Well, you only have to look at Tony. He can confirm that, can't you, Tony?' He gave Greer a stealthy pat as they all laughed.
'Mischa's stayed with the d'lovely Marty ever since,' Rollo went on, 'forsaking all others.' He put on a playful look. 'Mischa's a paragon of brand loyalty, you have to admire him for that.'
'It's laziness. He can't be bothered, unlike you,' said Guy. 'He changes dealers like other people change their knickers,' he continued airily to the others.'He's a sucker for the flavour of the month – always thinks they're going to be more elitist and sexy. When he gets stung for even more ridiculous conditions and loony commissions than the previous lot, the old Pavlovian response comes into play and he starts putting out his surreptitious little feelers again.'
Dorothy's protective antennae quivered. To defuse the personal, had Tony had to do anything in particular to capture this biography, she wondered. She was interrupted by Rollo.What Mischa had done to deserve it was more to the point.
Tony was self-deprecating in his appointed role as one of Mischa's underdogs. He hoped he was going the way of Martin d'Avery, but he confessed that he had started his working life as a hack in an advertising agency.
'I suppose you can draw on the same skills in a bio,' Rollo mused.'It's like flogging burgers,isn't it,Larry? Only you have to flaunt the naughty carbs and bad cholesterol instead of the good bits.'
Before Larry could compose a response his wife chimed in,'Whatever happened to the idea of a scholarly telling of a life, as opposed to the cynical sensationalism that passes for it these days? No frills, no unsubstantiated revelations, just the plain old facts speaking for themselves?'
She added with a boisterous laugh, 'When Larry goes down that unfashionable route he invariably gets written off as irrelevant, don't you, honey?'
Her husband looked annoyed. Dottie Swannage cut in, 'But we don't know what species of biography Antony is writing yet, do we? It might be ever so scholarly and squeaky clean. Do set our minds at rest.' She gave Greer a motherly smile.
'I'm not sure I know that myself,yet,'Tony said.
This provoked a rumble of disbelief around the table.
'I mean, until I've finished my work here I can't tell exactly where it's heading. Researching a biography's a bit like trawling with a net on the seabed.You sweep up shoals of useless little fish you have to throw back, but once in a while you catch a big guy, and that throws a whole new light on everything.'
He's talking to me, Greer thought, although he directed this with perfect impartiality at everyone.There's an undercurrent of something here. It couldn't be apology, surely.
'Do you mean big as in dolphin or big as in shark?' June asked.
Guy rode over her.'He means big as in killer whale.' He contrived an expiatory moment with Rollo. 'You have to admit Aggie's lamb leaves your tripe for dead.'
Larry said reprovingly, 'Tony's right. I've always felt the research and the writing discover your pathway for you.Where a biographer places him or herself in relation to the material is critical.I think of myself as a sculptor,chipping away at a block of marble. I chip and whittle away at the surrounding obfuscation until the free-standing subject emerges. It's a gradual process, and only imperceptibly do I realise who it is I'm dealing with.The cut of his or her jib, if you will.'
His wife rolled her eyes. Rollo wasn't having any of it either.'I'm sorry, you two,' he nudged Greer again under the cover of the table, 'but all this waffle about trawlers and whittling away just won't do. We're not that easily fobbed off.We need to be reassured that Tony's bio is going to be scandalous and defamatory, and if not, why not?'
'Rollo, if you know something I don't about Mischa, particularly if it's even remotely scandalous, I'm trusting that you'll share it with me and Gigi.' Tony's eyes fluttered at them.'That's right,isn't it,Greer?'
'You, me and the rest of the world, you mean,' she said.
Violetta carried in strawberries and a cake, Rollo's treat, made in her mother's restaurant from chestnut flour and studded with a pattern of pinenuts and dried fruit.
Rollo took advantage of its reception and ceremonious cutting to confide,'I don't know, darling. He mightn't have anything incriminating after all. We might have got off unscathed.What do you think?'
'She looked good, long winter skirt and she'd done her hair differently. A bit more around the face. There was a touch more restraint after she arrived. Before she came they were wetting themselves to hear if I'd got anything on Mischa.' Tony had his feet propped on the table he was using as a desk, his face close to the dictaphone.
'And Rollo almost lost sphincter control in his anxiety to find out if I'd got anything on her.They tried to camouflage their seething curiosity under the guise of discussing whether there should be any limits to biographical indiscretion. I was tempted to hand over Elsa Montag, which I guess they haven't heard about because no one said anything, but on balance I thought she was better kept in reserve.
'Also, in spite of their mad rush to let me know they have no loyalties where the biography is concerned, I get a distinct whiff of too much protestation. Rollo and Guy might well consider something like the Elsa thing as like a family secret. OK, maybe, to be written down, but not gossipped about with a bunch of strangers.'
He unscrewed the cap off a litre bottle of miner
al water and took a long swig.
'They all drink like there's no tomorrow. Bottles uncorked to breathe, and lined up, and Guy fetching more from the cellar. Great wines, of course, and food. Rollo's treasures everywhere, like being in an Aladdin's cave. And everything bathed in candlelight, an amber glow, like in a Merchant Ivory movie.They partied on till half one having a high old time, and the couple only left then because their kid had been asleep at the table for the last two hours. Dottie Swannage was legless.'
I'll walk you to your house in case you get lost, Guy had said to Tony, but Rollo had overheard and overruled. Not now he wouldn't, he would take Dottie upstairs, where the blue room was freshly made up. He added, sotto voce in Guy's ear, that the dear girl was pickled, she'd only just got over her third hip replacement, remember, and a broken leg on top of it she did not need. Getting Dottie upstairs had been a complicated and time-consuming manoeuvre that kept Guy constructively occupied for quite some time.
Tony emptied the rest of the water into a glass, spilling some. He wiped it off the table carefully with his handkerchief.
'They're incredibly close, in each other's pockets, in this incestuous little commune, you'd think they'd know every last thing about each other. But I'm not at all sure they do.'
11
Greer probed with the tip of her tongue, cautiously exploring the back of her upper jaw. She had her eyes tightly shut. It was as she had feared. She felt only exposed gum where the left rear molar should have been. The bad memory returned, of the tooth coming loose during dinner in the village and finally falling out in her mouth. She'd had to remove it surreptitiously with her napkin so the others would not see.
She let her tongue slide slowly, tentatively, to the side of the empty socket. Nothing there, either. Increasingly full of dread, hardly daring to breathe, she moved her tongue further round, inching along the gum-line towards the front.Sure enough,there were no teeth left.Not one.They had all gone, even the two front teeth, leaving a gaping hole.
Now she recovered in its horror the entire grotesque memory of the night before. As she'd been chewing, every single tooth in her upper jaw had slowly and gradually loosened, one after the other, and crumbled away in her mouth, until finally she had the whole lot scrunched in her napkin on her lap.
The Biographer Page 15