Little Bits of Baby (19 page)

When Robin had to leave the table briefly Jake caught himself picking at the label of their second bottle and thinking, What a waste. What a sad, sad waste.

Robin came back, bringing with him a faint whiff of soap.

‘I've suddenly noticed!' Jake exclaimed.

‘What?'

‘Your beard and hair. You must think me terribly rude for not saying anything. I honestly hadn't noticed.'

‘Better, isn't it?'

‘Much. You look like you again. The beard made you look like a cross prophet.'

The waiter took away their collection of little dishes and asked if they would like anything else. Robin successfully persuaded Jake to order a mango (‘They slice them up so prettily,' he said, ‘Look. Like two golden hedgehogs.') then said that no, he would have just a small, black coffee.

‘You always did that to me,' Jake said.

‘Did what?' Robin asked, clean-shaven innocence itself.

‘Egg me on into ordering a pudding then have nothing yourself – make me feel like a greedy child.'

‘Well, quick,' he was all concern now. ‘Call him back and tell him you don't want it after all. He won't mind.'

‘But I do want it,' Jake protested. ‘Besides, you know I'd never have the courage to cancel it. Here it is anyway,' he added.

‘There. You see?' said Robin as the golden hedgehogs were set down between them. ‘Isn't it perfect?' He smiled at the waiter who nervously returned the gesture and left them alone again. Robin waited until Jake had taken his first mouthful of mango, which was quite delicious, of course, then grinned. ‘Just wanted to see I still could,' he confessed and blew lightly on his coffee.

‘I saw you got on very well with Faber Washington at Perdita's christening,' said Jake to show he was not quite unmanned.

‘You noticed. He's enchanting. Have you known him long?'

‘I don't know him at all, in fact. He's much more my sis's friend – you know they were at the Slade together?'

‘Yes. I think Candida told me first.'

‘And of course Candida knows him slightly from when she sat for him when Jasper was little. You saw the painting?'

‘Oh yes. Wonderful. If you're meant to be buying some work by young artists for your company collection you should get some of his.'

‘He wasn't cheap several years ago. God knows what his stuff costs now.'

‘Quite. Just the sort of thing your colleagues would appreciate, I imagine.'

‘Mmm,' said Jake and pushed aside the wreckage of the mango. ‘Where did he go to school?'

‘Why do you ask?'

‘Just wondered. He sounds so educated.'

‘For a black person or for a painter?'

‘Neither.' Jake refused to be baited. ‘For some reason I thought he was American. The surname, I suppose.'

‘He went to Barrowcester.'

‘Really?'

‘It's quite a sad story. You know what those do-gooding cathedral cities are like. Faber's little town in Africa happened to be in Barrowcester's adopted overseas diocese. A group of Barrowers thought it would be rather noble of them to club together and “educate” an African. They got the bishop of Faber's diocese to seek out a candidate from a suitably poor and amenable background and were sent young Faber. He came from a big family and his parents were thrilled to get rid of him and give him a future in one fell swoop. He was brought up in Barrowcester, spending holidays with anyone who'd have him (far beyond the adoption committee's means to fly him home all the time, of course) and by the time they'd finished with him he'd lost contact with his family and felt about as African as Elgar.'

‘Has he never gone back?'

‘I don't think so.'

‘And what about the girl?'

‘Iras?'

‘I suppose he adopted her to return the favour, as it were.'

‘Yes, only he was rescuing her from state care rather than uprooting her from her family. You know she's a prodigy?'

‘Really?'

‘That was as much a reason for her not being adopted as her blindness.'

Jake felt his concentration sag. He watched the rapid movements of Robin's mouth and felt very far away. He sat mutely through Robin's recitation of how sinister Iras Washington was talking perfect English at three, reading braille at six and using a braille-converted typewriter at seven. He heard without listening how she had now mastered braille-adapted word processing and had nearly finished her first novel. The waiter brought back Jake's credit card and at last Robin ran dry. Jake watched him smiling to himself and playing with the pastel-printed papers that had wrapped their
amaretti
. Robin took one in his beautiful fingers, formed it into a kind of parachute then lit one of its corners in the candle flame and rested the burning paper in the ashtray. The small fire flared, died down then, just as the paper turned black, sent the parachute flying over their heads on a small mushroom cloud. Robin watched it enchanted, then let his eyes drop back to Jake's.

‘You're terribly happy, aren't you, Robin?'

For the first time that day, Robin answered him without irony.

‘Utterly,' he said, and his smile was sweet-natured, and wine-saddened.

‘This is Faber Washington, isn't it?'

Robin lent across the table, urgency in his face, his hands fingering the air for right words.

‘Jake, it's never … I mean, this has never, well. I think I might be losing my mind.'

‘But that's wonderful,' said Jake.

‘No, it's absurd. Calf-love's grotesque at this age. I know I've only just met him but he's so very … Oh, I don't know, just so … I can't stop thinking about it. It's a kind of madness. I'm not a well man.'

‘You'll get over it,' Jake told him, standing. He had to get out. ‘God! Robin, what's the time?'

‘Coming up to three. Why?'

‘I'm late. I must rush. Look, you'll be around for some time, won't you? You're not going back to Whelm straight away?'

Robin stood too.

‘I'm not sure I'm going back at all.'

‘Really?'

‘Well, I can't very well. Not now. I think it's better for me to stay and face things here. For a while.'

‘Robin, I must go.' Jake held out a hand.

‘Lovely lunch. Thank you.' Robin clasped his hand and, before he realised it, Jake found he was being pecked on the cheek.

He drifted back to the office through the Covent Garden crowds like a drunk, which, on reflection, he was. Slightly.

‘It hurts,' he thought. ‘This really hurts.'

He lurched up the fire stairs in an effort to sober up. Joy looked up from her desk.

‘Bad boy,' she said. ‘You told me two-thirty.'

‘Sorry, Joy.'

‘The men from Genisan are here early.'

‘Toothbrushes. I thought that was tomorrow.'

‘I've put them in the boardroom with a jug of coffee and a smile.'

‘Where's Saskia? I thought she was seeing them first.'

‘She's still tied up at Cicero and Morse. I already paged her. She'll get over as soon as she can.'

‘Joy. Keep them amused. I've got to make a call. I'll be two sees.'

‘OK. And while I remember, Candida just rang. She says she's got to work late and as it's your nanny's day off, could you pick up Jasper from kindergarten. She says there's no rush. They'll hang on to him until you come.'

‘Perfect,' he muttered. ‘Thanks a lot, Joy.'

‘Bad boy,' Joy sighed, slipping back into the boardroom.

He shut himself in his office, checked his watch, then dialled a number from memory. He kept a hand over the mouthpiece in case the wrong person answered. They didn't.

‘Hello?'

‘Peter. Hi. It's Jake.'

‘Jake! What a lovely surprise!' Peter's tone was oddly hearty. ‘What can I do you for?'

‘Well, I was wondering if you'd like a game of squash tonight. An extra one. I need a bit of punishing.'

‘Oh, Jake, I'd love to but I promised Andrea I'd cook tonight.'

‘Ah.'

‘Any other time would be fine, but …'

‘That's OK, Peter. Actually, I won't keep you. I'm in a bit of a rush.'

‘Fine. Speak to you soon, Jake.'

Like son, like father, Jake thought. He walked to the window and glared down at some pigeons that were bedding down sordidly on the ledge below. On his way to the door he stopped to pick up his dictating machine. Pressing a red button, he held it close to his mouth. ‘Memo to Accounts re: Art Fund,' he confided. ‘Request authorisation to release moneys for purchase of work by Faber Washington, that's F-A-B-E-R and Washington as in White House. You'd better look out his agent for me, Joy – I suppose he has one – and get some figures together, as I'm not sure what he's worth now. Ring round a few galleries too. We'll want to buy quite a lot, four or five.'

Twenty-One

Andrea was in the sitting-room teaching Jasper Browne how to play Hangman. Brevity was taking up all his small lap. He was not an especially bright boy so Andrea had let him hang her several times in succession. Normally he made up for his dimness with confidence which, in its turn, could be a problem when his jollity quashed the responses of brighter, more timid children. In the last few days however, both she and Peter had noticed him change. Twice today she had come across him sitting on his own in a corner, watching and trying to pass unseen. As a rule, if there was any delay in his being collected at the end of the afternoon, he ranted and sulked but today he accepted the prolonged absence of nanny or either parent with dull, almost unfeeling equanimity.

‘So what have I got left?' she asked. ‘Oh no! Only one go and then you can fill in my left leg and I'm dead! Help!' He laughed but not properly; only to placate her. ‘Let's see; F-blank-T-blank. Shall I make a guess?'

‘All right,' he said, quietly.

‘Umm. OK.' she enthused. ‘Fate!'

‘Wrong,' said Jasper.

‘Oh, dear. Well, fill in the other leg then. That's right. Kill me off. You've won again. Now, what was your word?'

Breathing heavily with concentration, he filled in the remaining two letters.

‘Oh. Jasper, dear, you don't spell photo that way.'

‘I do,' he said.

‘Well, it's wrong, I'm afraid. The proper way to spell it is with PH at the beginning instead of the F. It's not a real word, really. It's short for photograph, but that's a bit harder to spell.'

‘Oh.'

‘Shall we call it a draw and do something else?'

‘All right.'

He sat there staring at the pieces of paper they had covered with letters and executed pin-persons. She glanced at her watch.

‘Well, look at the time!' she said. ‘Mummy
is
late. You must be hungry. Shall we go to Peter's and my kitchen and see what we can find?'

‘All right.'

‘Would you like a piggyback?'

‘No, thanks.'

He set Brevity gently on the sofa beside him then trailed Andrea to the kitchen and sat on a stool while she made him a sandwich.

‘Can I have a banana in it?' he asked.

‘What, banana as well as cheese?'

‘I like it.'

‘OK,' she said, eager to get through on any level.

‘Thank you,' he said as she set it before him. There was a rattling of keys in the lock and Robin let himself in at the back door.

‘Hello,' he said, rushing across the room. ‘Can't stop. Got to have a bath. Love you lots.' And he thundered up the stairs, chased by the adoring Brevity. Jasper had suddenly perked up.

‘That's your son,' he said.

‘That's right,' said Andrea.

‘He's a holy man,' he went on.

‘Sort of,' she said. ‘He's very special to me.'

‘We've got lots of photos of him at home. Lots and lots.'

‘Have you?'

‘Yes. Mummy was looking at them all the other day. She had them all over her bedroom floor. She keeps them in a shoebox.'

‘You eat your sandwich,' she said, dying to know more and wishing she were not so scrupulous. ‘Mummy'll be here soon.' Once he had his mouth full she went on. ‘She's got lots of photos of Robin because they were best friends when they were little. Your mummy used to come and stay here. You know the tree house at the bottom of the garden?' Jasper nodded, munching. ‘Well, she used to climb up and sit there for hours and hours. She and Robin would take a bag of apples and a pocketful of sultanas each and then climb up there and pretend it was where they lived.'

Now, I mustn't cry, she thought. I've got Robin home again and Peter loves me again. I'm a very happy person.

‘It kept them happy for ages,' she added out loud.

The doorbell rang. Andrea jumped up.

‘That's probably Mummy now. You stay there and finish your glass of milk and I'll go and see.' She hurried into the hall. Robin's bath was filling loudly upstairs. She heard him cross the landing and shut the bathroom door. To have the now celebrated, elegant Candida Thackeray waiting until well into the cocktail hour to pick up her child from school made Andrea suddenly aware of her unfashionable, motherly dress and harassed hair. She stopped to check herself in the mirror then thought, ‘Mud on her knees. Sultanas in her pocket. What the hell?' and opened the front door. ‘Jake! How lovely!'

‘Didn't Candida tell you I was coming?'

‘No. She didn't tell me anything. Jasper said it was nanny's day off so naturally I assumed that Candida would … Come in, come in. Robin's just come home but he's already in the bath, I'm afraid. Rushing out somewhere, I think. Come to the kitchen. I've just given Jasper a cheese sandwich. Cheese and banana, actually – is that all right?'

‘Sweet of you. That's his favourite. We've got an extra nanny, you see, to cover Perdita's feeds on Sam's days off and so on but it turns out she can't drive and the agency hadn't anyone else to spare. Stupid of us to be so dependent on them, really. I am sorry Candida didn't ring. You must be wanting to get on with things …'