Model Guy (26 page)

 
"Yeah, we'll see."

 
"Knowledge is power
and people like to feel powerful," she says looking up at me with wide eyes.
"They love reading something in the papers the next day and knowing that they
contributed to it, that they're part of the story."

 
"Mmm, I suppose so."

 
She looks around us and
then says: "Did you know that the cocktail party was invented in 1924 by Alec
Waugh, brother of Evelyn?"

 
"No. Was it?"

 
"One of the great
inventions."

 
"Up there with the
steam engine and television."

 
"Far more useful,
though. Thought you could work it into the conversation somewhere. Break the ice
a bit."

 
She takes another large
mouthful of Champagne. I've hardly touched my glass.

 
"Do you always drink
this much?"

 
"Only when I'm nervous,"
she explains.

 
"Now, you're making
me nervous."

 
"Don't be! Big boy
like you, look at the talent around here. You're bound to score."

 
"Ha, ha! I'm not
single, you know that," I say pointedly.

 
"I know, that's what
makes you extra attractive - to these Sloaney girls I mean. Anyway, let's split
up and get snooping."

 
"Yes, Velma. Scooby
Doo, you know -"

 
"Yeah, I get it.
Now, let's mingle."

I push my way gently through the crowds. There are some faces
I half recognise: politicians, business people, a bloke who pops up on the teatime
news to talk about whether interest rates will go up or down. There is even a TV
presenter who does Newsnight sometimes, discussing something with a serious looking
young guy but also looking around to see who else he should be talking to.

 
Near the stairs I pass
an immaculately dressed man who is talking through pursed lips to a rather harassed
looking woman.

 
"Now darling remember
what we're going to say?" he hisses. "That's right: 'Thanks but I think
I've had enough.' Yes? 'Thanks, but I think I've had enough'. Got it?"

 
"'Thanks but I think
I've had enough', 'Thanks but I think I've had enough'," says the woman, concentrating
hard. "'Thanks but I think I've had enough.'" She takes a deep breath.
"Yes, don't worry darling."

 
At that moment a waiter
bearing a tray passes them and she grabs two glasses of champagne from him like
her life depends on it and knocks them back, one after another in one go. The man
rolls his eyes.

 
Other people are double
kissing each other and making unfunny jokes or talking money in loud, braying, voices.
Most of the women look like they've been very carefully put together from kits -
every piece painstakingly assembled and polished up before being sent out. I try
and work out who is my Mum's age. I'm just thinking this when I bump into my Dad.
Unlike everyone else he is not in black tie. Instead he's wearing a black Nehru
jacket and Mari, or what the hell her name was, is on his arm.

 
"Charlie," he
says, looking very surprised, almost shocked. "What are you doing here? You
don't know James, do you?"

 
"No, I'm with a friend.
How do you know him?"

 
"Well, why shouldn't
I? I mean, some of his companies are clients of ours." He smiles suddenly and
pats my shoulder. "Hey, looking good. You remember Mari, don't you?"

 
"Yes, nice to meet
you again," I say, trying to eradicate thoughts of my Mum who is probably at
home, at her home, that is, watching The Bill.

 
"So, where is Lauren?"
He waves at someone and double kisses a gorgeous blonde woman, asking her 'how you
doing?' as she moves past us.

 
"Catch you later,"
she purrs, squeezing his arm, so obviously an ex-fuck. Mari looks on benignly -
or ignorantly.

 
"So, yeah, where's
Lauren?" says my Dad coming back to me.

 
"She's at home."
At least I hope she is, not out with PBC again. Suddenly I feel a bit lonely without
her by my side. You never have to worry about not having someone to talk to a party
with Lauren. People sort of gravitate towards her and she's always got something
to say.

 
"Everything alright
between you two?"

 
"Not too good. I'm
just here with a work friend though."

 
"From 2cool?"
he says, sounding slightly concerned.

 
"Not exactly. Just
someone who's helping me."

 
"That journalist?"
How did he know?

 
"Well, yeah."

 
He looks anxious again,
nervous even.

 
"Charlie, just be
careful. She's a journalist OK? She's got loyalty to no one but herself. This thing
is pretty big by all accounts - there's been a lot of money invested in it. People
really wanted it to work, for it to make investing in the consumer side of the net
sexy and fun again. Have you had a chance to look at the accounts, yet?"

 
"What accounts? It's
just chaos. Bills, final demands - I can't even find the bank statements."
I decide not to worry him about the police visit now. Anyway, I'm not sure that
there is anything about that visit to worry about - they seemed quite happy with
it all.

 
"Fucking hell".
He thinks for a moment. "Well, I think you should just resign. Hand in your
notice tomorrow. Get the fuck out of there."

 
"Mmm," I tell
him thoughtfully.

 
"Charlie, did you
hear what I said?"

 
Suddenly I'm transported
back to being a teenager with the old man having a go at me - again.

 
"Yeah, I did, Dad,
but the thing is...the thing is, it's like when I was a kid, well 15, 16 or something.
What were you doing then?"

 
He looks, mystified, irritated.

 
"How do mean?"

 
"You were working
all hours with the other two in a tiny attic in Brewer Street across the landing
from a girl who charged £20 a go. Remember? We had no money. You had to go to grandpa
for a loan. No, I know you did, I heard you on the phone to him. And remember what
Mum said, remember what your ex-boss told you? Everyone said you'd fail but you
stuck at it, even when it seemed hopeless."

 
"But this is different,"
says my Dad, frowning sadly. "Charlie, you've got to get out of this. Look,
get yourself a solicitor and charge it to the company, you're quite entitled to
under the law."

 
"I don't think we
can afford it."

 
"I'll pay for it.
I know a great guy. I'll give you his number."

 
"Thanks, Dad."

 
He is about to say something
else when a big bloke with a Number One haircut and another young, blonde girl on
his arm appears and says: "Jared, mate, how are you?"

 
"Grey. Good, thanks.
How are you? How's the movie business? This is my son Charlie."

 
We shake hands and then,
relieved, I say, "Excuse me" and slip away to find Nora.

I end up talking to someone called Annette who, works in management
consultancy, specialising in the person finance sector, read politics at Durham
although she doesn't use her degree now – obviously -, lives in Fulham where her
flat has doubled in value over the past five years, likes to go skiing but was in
Bali earlier this year where she just spent the whole time lying on the beach and
relaxing.

 
Yep, it's one of those
conversations so when another girl joins us I excuse myself and continue my quest
for Nora.

I pass a woman with huge blue/grey hair and a ball dress with
massive puffed sleeves talking on her mobile.

 
"He wants Gonk. No,
Gonk. The thing with the bug eyes and the blue hair above the bed...What's the matter?
He said what to you? Well, I don't know where he picked up that kind of language.
Look, so I'm sorry but just give him his Gonk. OK, let me have a word. Hello, darling
it's mummy. Maria will get it for you if you say sorry...no, I know, but you mustn't
call her that...have you got it? Jolly good. Listen I can't say hallo to Gonk now
because I'm a bit busy but...Oh hallo Gonk...how are you?"

Some people are dancing by now. A middle aged couple are going
for it with great seriousness. She looks like she is trying to stamp on armies of
ants and he seems to be having a series of minor heart attacks in slow motion.

Finally I find Nora talking to a middle aged woman and a young
guy.

 
"Hi Charlie,"
she says. "Lady Philips, Alex, this is my friend Charlie." Alex is a hearty
looking rugger bugger City type in his early twenties and Lady Philips looks like
she sits on lot of committees or something.

 
I say hallo to them both
and I realise that the woman thinks 'friend' means 'boyfriend'. So does Alex, perhaps
he thought he was in with a chance but then again he looks like he'd be more at
home with someone in an Alice band. I'm just thinking I might slip away and ring
Lauren, not to check she's in, really, but just to say hallo, having a crap time,
when Lady Philips and Alex bugger off and Nora asks me: "Well?"

 
"Well, what?"

 
"Well, have you found
out anything?"

 
"No, not really,
have you?"

 
"No, nothing much.
Except that apparently Piers and Lady H might have, you know, at one point."

 
"What? Piers?"

 
"And Lady H."

 
"She's old enough
to be his mother. Actually, I did learn something - apparently Sir James might have
invested in 2cool."

 
"Well, that's interesting."

 
"But I can't even
begin to imagine how we're going to find out where Piers is."

 
"No, unless Lady
H knows something."

 
"Oh, come on, even
if they were having it off - and I find that very hard to believe - she's hardly
likely to know where he is now, is she?"

 
"How do you know?
Look, she's just over there. Let's go and talk to her."

 
Before I can object, Nora
has steered me over to our hostess.

 
"Lady Huntsman, we
were just saying what a lovely party this is," beams Nora. I nod dumbly, fear
having removed my ability to speak. The woman Lady Huntsman is talking to, smiles
at us both, again, no doubt, assuming we're an item.

 
"Thank you,"
says Lady Huntsman graciously. "I was a bit nervous because they're new caterers
but everything seems perfectly satisfactory."

 
"New caterers? Oh,
such an anxiety," says the woman she has been talking to, shaking her head
knowingly.

 
"I was just telling
Charlie that you do so much for badgers don't you?" says Nora to our hostess.
"I mean protecting them."

 
"Well, I play a small
part, bit of fund raising, flagging up the issue."

 
"Charlie's been wanting
to get into badger conservation for a long time, haven't you Charlie?"

 
What?

 
"Oh, we're always
looking for fresh blood for our badger meetings," says Lady Huntsman.

 
"There you go,"
says Nora. "I told you they'd be interested."

 
"Yes," I say
robotically.

 
"Who do you do for
work?" asks Lady Huntsman. I tell her I work for a website called 2cool2btrue.com.
"Oh, the one that all the young people are always going on about. I'm sure
that's the one my daughter Anastasia is logged on to all the time. And I think James
has got something to do with it too. Oh, well, if you had any time outside work
to devote to our little group that would be absolutely super."

 
"I'd love to,"
I say. Oh, what the hell!

 
There is an embarrassing
silence and then Nora says: "We don't have them in America."

 
"No, you have muskrats
instead," says Lady H authoritatively.

 
"Oh, look, let's
have another drink," says Nora. She reaches across me to the waiter who has
approached us and this time it happens: she manages to bring with her half a dozen
glasses along with the one she's picked up. Every single one of them falls onto
me, it seems.

 
"Oh, Charlie, what
happened?" she says.

 
I'm about to tell her
exactly what the bloody hell happened, Lady H or no Lady H, when our hostess says:
"Oh, dear. So easily done. Come upstairs and we'll get you changed. Don't worry.
Why don't you have one of James' shirts? He must be about the same size as you."

 
I don't want one of James'
bloody shirts, I really just want to go home and see Lauren. By this time the party
is actually beginning to thin out.

 
"Listen, Lady Huntsman,
it's very kind of you but I think perhaps I'd better be going, anyway."

 
"Nonsense, it's only,
what is it?" She tries to focus on her watch. "Well, it's early anyway."

 
Fortunately we're quite
near the stairs so my embarrassment at being lead, dripping wet, by the arm like
a seven year old who has disgraced himself on a school trip is intense but short
lived.