Model Guy (46 page)

 
"A big, big story.
We're going to a party in Mayfair. Tonight. Meet me, where, where? Umm. Meet me
in the bar of the Metropolitan Hotel in Park Lane at eight thirty and I'll tell
you everything, better still you'll see everything for yourself."

 
"Nora, what do you
- ? Hello? Hello?"

 
I drop the phone on the
floor and slump back in the bath.

To my surprise she's already there when I arrive at eight twenty
five. She smiles broadly, throws her arms around me and kisses me on the lips, pushing
her tongue into my mouth, playing with my hair. I respond mechanically - not quite
with it, not quite sure why I'm here but sure I don't want to kiss her.

 
"What will you have
to drink?" she says, eyes dancing with delight.

 
"I'll have a glass
of white wine."

 
"Excuse me,"
she bellows across at the barman who makes a great of looking shocked at such over
excitable behaviour in this temple of cool. Her elbow catches her own glass but
I manage to rescue it just in time. "Hallo? Yes, white wine, over here. Make
it a big one."

 
She is wearing a simple
black close fitting dress with a fur collar. And a lot of diamonds.

 
"Do you like it?
Got it from the fashion department. Mustn't get it dirty - or ripped or anything."
She giggles, maniacally. She's scaring me now. "These rocks are paste of course,
but they're so glam, aren't they? They're mine. I bought 'em in New York."

 
"Nora, what is going
on?"

 
"You look very nice."
I'm wearing a black dress shirt and a black Armani jacket courtesy of 2cool and
some faded, stitched up blue jeans - 'model's own', as they say.

 
"Thanks, now what
on earth is going on?"

 
"This party...ooh,
here's your drink." She more or less throws it at me and then clinks her own
against it so hard that I end up licking wine off my fingers. "This party should
answer a lot of questions."

 
"I wish you'd answer
some questions."

 
"For goodness sake,
I don't know anything. All I know is what happens at this party will tell us a lot
about 2cool and why all these people who have coughed up aren't that bothered about
trying to find out what happened to their money."

 
"So what is going
to happen at this thing?"

 
"I don't know,"
she says, opening her eyes wide. "But we'll see. Just have patience. Here,
look at this." She holds up her handbag.

 
"What about it?"

 
She looks around and then
points to what looks like a large sequin on one side of it.

 
"Hidden camera."

 
"What?"

 
"The picture desk
sorted it out for me. You just squeeze the catch here. Hang on, I'm doing it the
wrong way round, yep, that's it, you just squeeze the catch here and it takes picture."

 
"Why? A picture of
what?"

 
"What goes on at
this party."

 
"And you still won't
tell me -?"

 
"I told you, we'll
have to wait and see."

 
"Nora, you're really
beginning to -"

 
"Here he is,"
she says, looking over my shoulder and waving.

 
I look round. A guy in
a baseball cap and sunglasses is walking straight towards us. Not surprisingly most
other people in the bar have spotted him too and are looking discretely but intensely
to see who it is. Robbie Williams? Will Young? Oh, no, they almost certainly won't
know him but I do: "Piers!"

 
"Shhh," he and
Nora say in stereo from either side of me.

 
"What are you doing
here?"

 
"Hello, matey,"
he says, looking around, coming up close to me and shaking my hand while clutching
my elbow is if he's trying to stuff my arm into the black bomber jacket he's wearing.

 
"What do you want
to drink?" whispers Nora.

 
"Oh, a real drink.
Thank God," he whispers back.

 
Fortunately the barman
is being a bit more attentive this time, obviously wanting to check out the 'celeb'.

 
"G&T" he
hisses at Nora. "A large one. Lots of ice."

 
She relays this to the
barman who has in fact already heard and is looking at Piers closely.

 
"Good disguise,"
I tell Piers, as more people turn to look at him.

 
"Cheers," he
says, winking behind his sunglasses, oblivious, as usual to my sarcasm.

 
"Tell Piers what's
happened today," says Nora. "To you, I mean."

 
I leave out the Peter
and Scott episode but explain about Slapton's visit and the computers. He's pleased
and tells me that he knew it would all work out OK. Then I give him an edited version
my conversation with my dad.

 
"Your dad,"
laughs Piers as he takes his drink from the barman.

 
"What about him?"
I say, staring intensely.

 
He looks surprised.

 
"Well, it's just
unfortunate that...you know...he's mixed up in this."

 
"Unfortunate?"
I say, moving slightly closer to Piers. He takes a step back.

 
"Just saying. I'm
sure he won't, you know get into any trouble."

 
"He'd better fucking
not."

 
"Stop it boys,"
says Nora. "Aren't you glad to see each other again?"

 
She really is bonkers,
this woman.

 
"I'm so glad to be
out of that bloody warehouse place. Full of rats, I'm sure," says Piers.

 
"It must be,"
says Nora.

 
"I'm looking forward
to this party, as well," sniggers Piers.

 
I'm not.

 
We leave about ten and
walk up Park Lane a bit before turning down a side street.

 
"It's Wareham Street
which is just...about...here. Here we are," she says leading us into a little
thoroughfare of flat fronted Mayfair houses, near Frederica's where we had our launch,
a life time ago. I look round for Piers and see him flattened against a wall looking
furtively around him before making this next move.

 
"Oh, try and keep
up, you tit," I tell him.

 
"Number 25 - this
is it," says Nora. She stands still for a moment and then looks round at me.
She takes a deep breath. "You ready?" Now I'm feeling really nervous.
She checks her hair and then her handbag camera. "What time is it?"

 
"Ten past ten."

 
"OK, I've got to
be out by midnight to file, I'll read it over to the copy takers from my mobile.
That's the very latest time I can do it. Don't let me forget, for God's sake. Things
should have got going already with a bit of luck."

 
I grab her arm.

 
"You're really going
to write about this?"

 
"Derr! Why do you
think we're here?"

 
"I don't want you
writing about it."

 
She laughs irritably.

 
"What's it got to
do with you? How can you stop me? I can write about anything I want."

 
"What's the problem?"
says Piers from behind us.

 
"My dad. Even if
he's not here tonight, he's involved, isn't he?" But he did say he was doing
something tonight, though didn't he? This was obviously it.

 
"Oh, for God's sake,"
says Nora. "I won't mention him, if you don't want me to. There are plenty
of other important people, after all."

 
"But it'll get back
to him. Other journalists will be looking for every name connected with it. People
will talk, won't they?"

 
"Piers, get the door.
You'd better stand by that security camera; you're the one they'll be expecting."

 
"Nora."

 
"Just fucking go
home then. Go on."

 
"No." I think
about it for a moment. "I'm coming with you to see if my Dad's here. And if
he is I'm going to get him out of here and I'm going to make sure you make absolutely
no mention of him."

 
"I said I wouldn't."

 
"But you're a liar,
Nora, I don't trust you."

 
She looks at me for a
moment. Hurt? I bloody hope she is. I begin to wonder if I'm here with her as moral
support. Perhaps she needs me to come with her, to look after her, since she can't
trust Piers who is now looking around furtively in a way that would attract the
attention of anyone if there was anyone around in this darkened little side street.

 
"I told you, I won't
mention him. Now look I invited you because we've been a team so far." A team?
Is that how she sees it? Sensing that I need convincing on this one she adds: "We've
worked very well together on this but if really you don't want to see it through
then, fair enough, just...go...home...and I'll speak to you later."

 
"I'm coming in,"
I tell her; it's meant more as a threat than an offer.

 
She thinks about it for
a moment and then says: "Piers get the buzzer." Piers squeezes between
us and hits the intercom. A harsh white light comes on from above us.

 
"Hello?" squawks
a women's voice from the entry phone.

 
"It's Piers. I'm
here for the badger meeting."

 
"Piers? Piers Gough-Pugh?
You naughty boy, come in."

 
The door opens.

 
"Oh," says the
woman, looking at the three of us.

 
"I brought a couple
of friends," says Piers, kissing her on both cheeks.

 
"Well, I'm not sure..."
She takes a look at me. "Oooh, I dunno."

 
She moves aside and lets
us in. She's wearing a tight black dress. It's only as we walk past her and go inside
that I see it's made of rubber. And backless. Very, very backless.

 
"Get yourselves a
drink and come on in," she say peering around outside carefully before shutting
the door. "Well, Piers, this is a turn up for the books, we didn't expect to
you here again. I think there are rather a lot of people who are just a teensy weensy
bit cross with you," she says, pulling down his shades with a long, slim, bejewelled
finger. "I think they might want to spank you."

 
Nora laughs.

 
"I think they'll
want to do something worse than that."

 
"Even better,"
says the woman looking me over again. "Get changed upstairs if you want to."

 
We move down the hall
way. The living room, and the rest of the house, as far as I can see, is decorated
very much like the Huntsmans' - antiques, classic upright sofas, huge lamps, marble
topped tables, silver photograph frames, landscape paintings alongside some abstract
pieces on dark, heavily patterned wallpaper. There are big book cases full of leather
bound volumes which look as though they've been bought wholesale by an interior
decorator and never read.

 
But despite the classic
furnishings there is something odd about this place, I can smell it before I even
see it. Bodies, sweat. I can sense a certain electricity. As I peer further into
the living room wondering whether I'll see anyone I know, I notice a coffee table
like the one my Dad used to have except that underneath it is man in a leather basque.
A real man.

 
We walk through, looking
into a couple of other rooms further towards the back of the house. In one I notice
a naked bottom. In fact it's a large woman on her knees giving a man, half hidden
by the shadowy light, a blow job. Wide eyed and trying not to laugh Nora, turns
round the look at me. It would be funny except that I know that my Dad is connected
with this in some way. The idea that I might confront him in a moment doing something
like this couple (no, wait a minute, there's three of them, now that I look carefully)
is too horrible.

 
Piers has started to talk
to some people in a quiet corner, by the stairs, his cap pulled down over his ears
but when he sees us move off he follows.

 
"Wait, while I get
rid of my coat and put on my disguise."

 
"Disguise?"
I ask. "Aren’t you disguised enough?"

 
"No, that woman at
the front door wasn't kidding. There are a quite a few people who'd like my balls
for marbles."

 
"Well, why are you
staying here, then?"

 
He shrugs his shoulders
and looks at me as if it were obvious.

 
"Because it's fun.
Best free peep show in London." The risk, probably appeals, I guess. Part of
me hopes that one of these irate investors recognises him and decides to vent his
spleen.

 
"Piers, go and put
your disguise on and then come back quickly. Coats are in there, I think,"
says Nora, nervously, pointing to a door beside us. He is back within a few seconds.

 
"That's better,"
he says.

 
"Piers?" I say.
"What are you doing? What's that for?"

 
"What's what for?"