A Bouquet of Barbed Wire (21 page)

‘How should I know?’ Manson said, curtly. Since Cassie’s return the atmosphere of uncertainty and sexual frustration in the office had been so tense as to be almost unbearable. There was nowhere they could be alone; she refused to consider hotels, and anyway after so much complaining to Cassie about endless eating out he had to rush home on the dot to home-cooked dinners. He saw young men waiting for Sarah as he went; he recognised them from the early days. She talked briefly and sadly about him wanting to end it, or being obliged to, it was all the same thing to her, and how she would make it easy for him. This drove him nearly mad. Sometimes he thought that was the effect she intended, sometimes that she acted innocently. It hardly mattered, the effect was the same. ‘Is it really good?’ he said to Rupert, touching the tattered wodge of manuscript.

Rupert sat down, put his feet, very elegantly shod, on the desk and lit a cigar. ‘It is. Perhaps genius was too strong a word, perhaps I was a fraction over-exuberant there, but he
can
write
, thank God, and apart from that it’s commercial.
Extremely
commercial. I can just
see
the movie. When I close my eyes I am dazzled by dollars. We must be
madly
careful with this contract.’

‘Well, that’s your department—with the usual cautions.’ Pointless to interfere with Rupert if it could be avoided. Manson thought sadly, I know why I hired Rupert, because he is a wide boy, perhaps the original, the protoype, and I am as narrow as they come. ‘What’s it about?’ he asked.

‘Prison. Now don’t groan: there aren’t
that
many of them around and this one’s red hot. Besides he can
write;
it isn’t your usual sob story.’

Manson said affectionately, ‘You’re really impressed, aren’t you?’ Though Rupert never recommended anything insincerely, this degree of enthusiasm was rare.

Rupert smiled. ‘That was the impression I intended to give. No, really Peter, this time I’m serious. And he’s halfway into the next, which is really something.’

Manson flicked the pages, tea-stained and dog-eared. ‘Okay, I’ll read it. Been around a bit, though, hasn’t it?’

Rupert rose, shedding ash on the carpet with splendid nonchalance. ‘The world is full of fools, alas, and some of them come to rest in publishing. Just as well for us, of course, or else where should we be? Well, I’ll leave you with it. Make a start now and I guarantee you’ll miss your train.’

In the outer office Manson heard him saying to Sarah in the same light but resonant tones that he must have used on the stage, ‘Cheer up, my chicken, it’s not the end of the world, or is it? You tell me.’ And Sarah’s laugh, and the cool way she said, ‘Well, rumour has it, it just might be, this time.’ And Rupert’s laugh as he banged the door. Rupert, he thought, made everything into theatre when he was around, but he alone had a script: the rest had to improvise as best they could. I have surrounded myself with charm, he
thought; with easy, fluent people like Rupert, and Cassie, Sarah and Prue. They warm me and enchant me, but I envy them too because I cannot be like them, because of the difference between us. No wonder I wanted to stay at Cambridge, what a lovely cocoon, what a chance in a million to hide from the world. And now I’m getting old, and bitter: it really won’t do.

He opened the manuscript and knew at once that Rupert was right. Not that he had had any serious doubts; Rupert was always right. It was good. It was simple and stylish and real, with something about it to set it apart from the others. He read without noticing time; he was fully absorbed. When Sarah came in with his tea he looked up with a start. She said, ‘Can I ask you a favour?’

‘Yes, of course.’ He wondered in which capacity, as lover or boss. Already, in the office, it was becoming confusing.

‘Could I leave early tonight—about five?’ She had great blue marks like bruises under her eyes as though she had not slept.

‘Yes, I should think so.’

She hesitated. ‘It’s only shopping. I mean I could pretend it’s the dentist or something but it
is
only shopping.’

‘That’s all right. Would you like to go now?’ There was a curious pain arising from the conversation as if it was about something else.

She shook her head. ‘No. Five will do. It’s late night closing.’

‘All right.’

She turned away. He said, suddenly moved by an odd sort of desperation arising from nothing he could pinpoint, nothing more tangible than the general atmosphere, ‘Look, I’m sorry this week’s been so bloody but things will get better, I promise; I’ll organise something.’ He had no idea what but he had to say something, anything, to take that look of resigned disillusionment off her face. She looked like a disappointed
child. (No, we cannot go to the Zoo.—But you
promised.)
He had let her down.

She said coolly, ‘It’s all right. I quite understand,’ hitting back with a touch of adult dignity.

‘I can’t help it,’ he said, somewhat indignantly, defending himself.

‘I said I understand.’ She walked to the door.

‘Sarah.’

She stopped, still with her back to him.

‘Sarah, will you please turn round and look at me.’

She turned obediently like a puppet, blank-faced. He tried pleading with her.

‘Darling, it’s bound to be like this for a little while, till I get something sorted out.’

‘Yes, of course.’ She was unmoved.

‘You’re not making allowances,’ he said, suddenly furious.

She looked at him with cold, stubborn patience. ‘Yes, I am. What do you want me to do? Cry? Make a scene?’

‘What’s the
matter
with you?’

‘Nothing. I knew it would be like this. I said so.’

It was impossible to get through to her. He lowered his head to the manuscript and heard the door close. But this time the writer, good as he was, could not hold him. He kept looking at his watch and reading the same paragraph again. He forgot about his tea and when he came to drink it, it was cold. At five precisely he found himself, much against his will, at the window, in time to see Sarah climb into a red Jaguar, which he had seen before, and be enthusiastically greeted by an elegant young man whom he also recognised.

S
ARAH HAD
not meant to behave badly. In fact she was surprised and shocked to find herself doing so, but she seemed to have no control over her behaviour. It was so uncalculated and instinctive that she did not even know what it was meant to achieve. She was ridiculously glad to see Geoff; Simon had gone away for a month’s hitch-hiking in Europe, and Geoff she now saw as her last link with the old way of life which had worked so well until Manson disrupted it. Though in fact she blamed herself entirely for this, since she had brought it about by breaking her own rule. If you did not care, no one could hurt you.

‘You look tired, love. Been burning the midnight oil?’

She said no and then yes and he laughed and drew his own conclusions. He was taking her back to his flat for drinks and a snack before the theatre, and to make love, if they had time. After the theatre there would be more drinks and dinner, then back to his flat for the night. She liked the nights at Geoff’s flat because it was beautiful and reminded her of how she wanted to live. But now she found herself wanting to ask his advice, to say, ‘Geoff, what shall I do?’ and tell him the whole story, such as it was. He had probably guessed there was someone new on the scene; that would not matter. But making an appeal to him would. It would be dangerous, breaking the rules. It was not what she was there for, to be pathetic or uncertain, in need of comfort and guidance. That
was not why he kept her in his life. At least, so she assumed; she had never given him the chance to prove otherwise.

They had a good evening. Fortunately she was able to switch off her office mood and sparkle for him. The play was amusing and they laughed a lot. Over dinner she drank more wine than usual and said, ‘Don’t we have a good arrangement? It’s so uncomplicated. I do like it.’ And looking down at her plate she reflected that her life was really just a series of meals and beds with different people.

He looked at her over his glass and said, ‘Yes, I couldn’t agree more. That’s why I shall miss you.’

‘Miss me?’ She was suddenly cold, in the warm restaurant, full of food and wine; she shivered.

‘Yes. Oh, only for a while. The old man is sending me to Frankfurt for six weeks. He seems to think I should get a look at how they run things at that end. Absorb a bit of German efficiency before he kicks the bucket and I take over.’

She said, ‘Oh,’ very small.

He was smiling at her. ‘Will you miss me?’

She looked at him fondly, thinking how brash he was, how handsome and vulgar and arrogant, so uncomplicated, so fond of living. She thought he was the only person she knew who really enjoyed himself all the time, whose whole life was dedicated to the pursuit of enjoyment. She admired that. It was as if he was a particularly devout member of a minority religion. ‘Yes, I shall miss you. Very much.’

He grinned at her. ‘Good. But cheer up, sweetie, it’s only six weeks.’

‘When do you go?’ With Simon away she would be entirely alone.

‘In about ten days. We can still whoop it up for a bit. If your other commitments allow.’ He smiled, and she thought, He likes me like this, I mustn’t disappoint him.

She said, ‘Oh, I expect I can fit you in.’

‘Well, try to fit me in a bit better than lately ‘cos my days
are numbered, as it were. Who’s the new man by the way?’

She was startled but in a sense relieved. She thought quickly. ‘Oh, very middle-aged and square. An aberration really.’

‘The father image.’ He was laughing.

She said, ‘Something like that.’

* * *

In bed that night, after they had made love and were having a final drink and he his post-coital cigarette, he said, ‘Do you want to borrow the car?’

She was startled. ‘What?’

‘The car. While I’m away. It’s a bit pointless garaging it and if I leave it at home I know what will happen. My dear brother will take it on a joy-ride and like as not smash it up. He’s itching to get his hands on it.’

She was awed. She knew what the car meant to him and she loved the feud with his brother because it reminded her of hers with Barbara: it seemed to make a bond. ‘God, Geoff, do you mean it?’

‘Sure I mean it. You’re the best woman driver I know.’

‘Now don’t spoil it.’ She liked the way he teased her. As she recalled, this was not something Manson did.

‘Well, I’d like you to have it. You would use it, wouldn’t you?’

‘Would I?!’

‘Well, I don’t want it standing around. Bad for its innards. And I’d like to think of you dashing around in it. You make a good pair.’

‘Geoff, you are sweet.’ She snuggled against him, feeling immensely comforted. It was such a little thing to do and yet it was enormous. She felt he had helped her as much as if she had told him her troubles—only without risk.

‘Well, I like you, that’s all.’

She was very moved. Suddenly this seemed more important than all the love and declarations of love in the world, that people should like one another and say so. ‘I like you too.’

‘Well, that’s fine. So you’ll have it; I’ll give you the keys before I go. Only don’t let
him
drive it, that’s all. Okay?’

‘M
UMMY
, I’
M
back.’

‘Darling! Where are you—at the airport? Shall I come and fetch you?’

‘No, back in the flat. We just got in. How’s Granny?’

‘Oh, much much better, darling. I told you I’d let you know if there was any need for you to interrupt your holiday, and thank God there wasn’t. She’s got a nurse now: I came back about ten days ago.’

‘You must have had an awful time.’

‘Well, it was tiring. Anyway, all over now. What about your holiday? We enjoyed your postcards.’

‘Oh, it was great. Fantastic. I’m practically black. If I could have the baby now, no one’d believe it was mine.’

‘In other words it was hot.’ Cassie smiled at the pleasure in Prue’s voice.

‘You could say that, yes. How was Devon? Did you manage to get out at all?’

‘Not much really. But the boys enjoyed themselves. They were on the beach every day and the weather was quite good. Not up to the South of France though.’

‘Can I talk to them?’

‘They’re not here, darling. They went off to Sweden yesterday—don’t you remember?—to stay with that family. You know, the Swedish twins at school.’

‘Oh yes. Aren’t they lucky? That never happened to me when I was at school. So you’re all alone again. Aren’t you
and Daddy going to get away at
all?
You really ought to, you know.’

‘It’s all right, darling, we
are
going. No need to sound so anxious.’ Somehow Cassie sensed an implicit criticism of Manson in Prue’s enquiry. ‘Later this month. We’re going to take the car on the train to Scotland and drive round looking at mountains and lochs.’

‘Lovely.’

‘Yes, it will be nice.’ Cassie knew it sounded tame to Prue. ‘Have you spoken to Daddy yet?’

‘No, not yet.’

‘Well, give him a ring, darling. I’m sure he’d like to know you’re back.’

‘I thought I might call in instead and give him a surprise.’

* * *

Prue walked up unannounced, telling the girl in reception that she wanted to surprise her father. She had dressed carefully for the occasion in a white linen maternity dress the length he approved of, and wore plenty of scent but very little make-up, letting the colour of her skin speak for itself, and her dark, sun-streaked hair hang loose. It was actually not quite sunny enough for this image and in the street she developed goose-flesh; she was glad to reach the warm office.

A girl with golden hair scraped back and an air of charm and efficiency which Prue instantly disliked opened the door to her and said, ‘Can I help you?’ For a split second Prue fancied there was something like recognition in her eyes, although they had never met, but it was so immediately damped down that she thought she must have imagined it.

‘I’m looking for my father,’ she said. So this was the new secretary. A far cry from Monica.