Mrs Midnight and Other Stories (12 page)

I shared his bewilderment. Cudworth was renowned for his tact and discretion: his behaviour just then, let alone the previous night, had been very uncharacteristic. In a more sober mood he told me that Sir Roger would be coming down to see the performance that night and would also be staying at the Davenant.

It was a fine day, so I spent it looking at the sights of Brighton. I visited the Pavilion and the Art Gallery; I stared at the rotting remnants of the West Pier. In the afternoon I wandered the Lanes, looking at the antique shops. It was while I was doing so that I caught sight of Sir Roger Carlton. He was staring intently into a shop window and leaning, rather affectedly I thought, on a silver topped ebony cane, his pale grey double breasted Savile Row suit doing its best to disguise his flabby figure. I thought of greeting him until I realised that the window through which he was peering was not that of an antique shop. The goods on sale were sex aids, rubber accessories, leather thongs, saucy lingerie of various kinds, pornographic magazines and books.

Behind him, and half obscured from my view, was a woman in a fur coat, a black hat and a veil, of the kind once considered the height of chic. It was rather warm weather, I thought, for fur coats. She was looking over his shoulder and into the sex shop window though he appeared to be oblivious of her presence. I watched while Sir Roger stared fixedly at the goods on sale for a full thirty seconds before deciding to walk into the shop. His whole manner was that of a man nervous about what he was doing, but driven to act. The woman did not accompany him; she turned and walked off up the lane away from me so that I could not see her face. I turned back towards the sea again.

That night at the theatre I was waiting to go on in the darkness of the wings when Sophie came up to me and took my hand. She said: ‘Why have you been avoiding me, Al?’

‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘Everything seems to be at sixes and sevens.’ It was a lame excuse, but she seemed to accept it.

‘Yes. God, did you know Old Stinky Carlton is in front tonight?’ I nodded. ‘He came round before the show and nearly walked into my dressing room when I had practically nothing on. I managed to shut the door on him in time. Filthy old letch. I’m sure he meant to catch me out in my knickers. Good grief, did you see that?’

‘What?’

She pointed across the bright highway of the stage where Talbot and Adela were acting to their audience and into the dark wings opposite us. At first I saw nothing, then I thought I caught a glimpse of white. Something was flitting backwards and forwards, rhythmically, gracefully. What I could see suggested a female figure, tall and elegant, but all I could actually make out was an occasional flourish of fabric, like a dress of white chiffon or silk.

‘Who the hell, is it?’ I asked.

‘Haven’t an earthly, but if that’s Rebecca, I’m a kangaroo,’ said Sophie.

There was no time to investigate. My cue had come and I made my entrance.

After the show that night there was a party in the theatre bar, held by the local Theatregoers Club, so that its members could ‘meet the cast’. It was intolerably dull, as these things always are, but one was fed, even if it was only the standard fare for such occasions: sandwiches, sausage rolls and cold quiche. I had wanted to spend some time with Sophie, but whenever I caught sight of her she was being talked to by Sir Roger. She seemed to be fascinated by him, or was she frightened? I kept telling myself that I had no interest in her: it was far too early for me to start another relationship. When Sir Roger got up and began to make a witty little speech to the Theatregoers Club, I decided to leave discreetly. I wandered down to the sea front. Some distance away from me on the promenade I thought I caught sight of Pussy Cudworth talking to a short, bald man in uniform.

I had returned to the Davenant. It was after midnight and I was asleep in bed when I was awoken by a knock on my door.

‘Al? Al? Can I come in? It’s me! Sophie! Can I come in?’

‘Yes, Sure.’ I switched on the bedside light. Sophie had on a pale blue silk dressing gown over her night-dress. The belt was tied tightly round her narrow waist and revealed the frail angularity of her body.

‘What’s the matter?’

‘What do you think? Sir Rog, of course. He wouldn’t let me alone all evening. Why didn’t you come and rescue me, you bastard? Then in the middle of it all you just buggered off, and I was alone with him. He stuck to me like a leech, then he walked me back to the hotel, and kept trying to buy me drinks in the bar. Then he tells me he’s staying here tonight and he’s got the biggest suite in the hotel, and would I like to see it? No thank you! But he just wouldn’t take no. I can’t believe it! The filthy old letch. I try and be nice to him and say goodnight politely, but he followed me up to my room and suddenly he was pinning me up against the door of my own room. That foul lavatory breath of his was all over me. God it was horrible! I actually felt his erection pressing against me. It’s a fucking nightmare!’

‘Don’t talk about it, please!’

‘I manage to get into my bedroom and lock the door, but I know he’s still out there. He knocks once or twice and calls my name. Even when that stops I think I can still hear his breathing. Breathing his shit breath all over my door—’

‘Don’t!’

‘All right I won’t. I won’t even mention it. But I just couldn’t get to sleep, I was so wound up about it all. I was so bloody
scared
. I can’t be alone with him on the prowl, so I had to come to you. Don’t you see? I’m not, you know—I don’t want you to—’

‘Of course I won’t.’

‘Oh. Right.’

‘I understand.’

‘Oh, good. Do you mind if I come on your bed, though. You don’t have to sleep in a chair or anything medieval like that. I trust you.’

‘Thank you.’

‘No. Thank
you
.’

She flopped onto the bed. We lay in silence, not touching, but close. I felt the pressure of her body on the bed.

‘Don’t you think they’re behaving very weirdly?’

‘Who?’

‘The Oldies. Talbot and Adela, Rog and Pussy.’

‘So you call them the Oldies too! I thought that was my private name for them.’

‘Oh, yes. They’re the Oldies all right. Don’t you think they’re like really
weird
? Like they’re teenagers again, or something.’

‘I don’t know what’s going on,’ I said. ‘Shall we try and get some sleep?’

It would be difficult, I thought, with someone a few inches away from me for whom I suddenly felt a maddening desire. I turned over and tried to think of other things.

‘What’s that?’ said Sophie.

‘What?’

‘That noise! There’s someone else in the room!’ I felt her arms clutching me in the dark.

‘I can’t hear anything.’

‘Listen!’ By this time she had got into bed with me and was holding me tightly. We held our breath.

I did hear faint noises, though they seemed to me more like vibrations than sounds. Someone or something appeared to be moving in the room, rapidly, perhaps even running or skipping. Once I thought I heard a floorboard squeak. Sophie clasped me even more tightly, then the noises stopped and the tension eased.

I turned on the bedside light and searched the room, but found nothing. ‘It must have been someone outside the door,’ I said. I returned to bed and turned out the night. Sophie put her arms around me again.

Moments later we were feverishly removing whatever we had on. I felt hot soft skin and the angles of her strange, charmingly awkward body. I tried to take things slowly but she would not let me. Now she was straddling me, giggling and throwing her head back in mock abandon. Then the door opened and the main light was turned on. Sophie screamed.

I looked up and saw that three people had somehow squeezed into the room: Talbot, Adela and Sir Roger.

‘Allo, allo, allo!’ said Talbot, in actor’s cockney. ‘What’s going on ’ere then?’

‘Naughty, naughty!’ said Sir Roger, taking in every detail with his mean little eyes.

Adela snorted and convulsed herself with hysterical laughter.

‘Steady on, old girl,’ said Talbot.

‘What the fucking hell are you playing at?’ said Sophie, climbing off me and frantically putting on her blue silk dressing gown.

‘Just our little joke,’ said Sir Roger.

‘Bit of a lark, eh?’ said Talbot. ‘No harm intended. Bit of a laugh.’

‘Bastards! Bastards!’ screamed Sophie. I was too stunned to speak. I was staring at their idiotic childish grins, their greedy, lascivious eyes. Sir Roger was still fully dressed, but Talbot and Adela were in matching pyjamas and dressing gowns. The two looked oddly similar, like elderly identical twins.

‘You know, Sophie dear,’ said Adela, in between spasms of laughter, ‘I knew you were a bit flat-chested, but I didn’t realise it was quite as bad as that. You ought to do something about it.’

‘Put Pussy Cudworth onto her!’ said Talbot. ‘He likes boys.’

‘Put Pussy onto her!’ gasped Adela before she collapsed once more into hysterics. By this time I had recovered enough to order all three of them from the room.

‘All right all right!’ said Talbot. ‘Just a bit of fun. Serve you right if you can’t take a joke.’

‘Get out!’

They went, followed shortly by Sophie. I lay awake for the rest of the night wondering how I could live through the following day, let alone the following weeks.

V

I did not feel much like putting in an appearance at breakfast the next morning, but I did. I sat myself in the most obscure corner of the dining room, which was deserted. The waitresses stared at me: did they know? I felt no happier when the dining room began to fill up. I thought my fellow guests were taking covert looks at me too. Admittedly the other members of the cast seemed no more curious than the complete strangers.

Neither Sir Roger (who was probably breakfasting in his suite) nor Cudworth came down to breakfast, but Talbot and Adela eventually did. They were bickering as they entered the dining room and when they saw me they contrived to seat themselves as far away as possible.

I pretended to read a book, but I glanced at them occasionally, and I noticed that they were occasionally stealing furtive looks at me. Whenever they saw that I had noticed this they would turn away and begin to talk to each other urgently. I sensed a tension between them.

Twice Talbot tried to rise from the table but was held back by Adela’s sinewy brown arm. At the third attempt he succeeded in breaking free and I saw that he was threading his way past the other tables towards me. I turned back to my book. Then he was standing over me.

‘I say, young Allan, do you golf?’

I was so confused that I thought some obscure sexual innuendo was intended. I looked blank.

‘Do you play golf?’

‘As a matter of fact I do. A bit.’

‘Fact is, I booked a round at the Brighton and Hove this morning with an old chum. Well, sort of chum, but he’s backed out. If you haven’t got a set of clubs you can hire one at the pro shop, or borrow mine. Pick you up at ten outside the hotel. What say you?’

I wanted to refuse him, but he put his hand on my shoulder. There was pleading in his look. At that moment a guest at the hotel approached Talbot for an autograph. I’m afraid that ultimately it was the desire to look good in the eyes of this obscure fan that made me say: ‘Okay, Talbot, I’d be delighted. Ten o’clock, then.’

It was a bright August day, if windy. While I waited in the Davenant’s foyer for Talbot to pick me up I saw Sir Roger checking out of the hotel and ordering a car to take him back to London. That was a relief. When he saw me Sir Roger stared back, smiling slightly. I had the feeling that he was exulting in a kind of victory. If he had failed with Sophie, he had at least ruined my chances with her.

It was a relief to see Talbot draw up outside the hotel, the top of his cherry-coloured Jaguar down, in honour of the weather. We said little as we headed north on the Devil’s Dyke Road towards the Sussex Downs. Talbot wore a loud tweed check cap and a paisley patterned silk scarf at his throat. With his pencil moustache (slightly dyed, I thought) and his still rakishly handsome features, he looked the epitome of the ‘cad’ from a bygone era. He drove with almost reckless speed. I had no idea what was going through his head, and he was not letting on.

I hired some clubs from the pro shop and we decided to do nine holes before, as Talbot put it, ‘having a spot of lunch at the old clubhouse’. I had once been a fairly proficient golfer, but it had been a long time since I could afford to play regularly. Nevertheless, as we teed off, I felt the old skills coming back; Talbot on the other hand, a far more practised player, seemed out of sorts. We were evenly matched.

The course is high on the Downs, and the views are extensive. I was surprised not to see many other players about. As we began our round I did notice a couple on the distant horizon, but they appeared to be walkers rather than golfers.

Having halved the first hole, we were at the second, a five hundred yard par five, played uphill into the prevailing wind. The flag was visible at the top of the ridge and the two walkers were standing a little apart from it by a belt of trees, silhouetted against the horizon. I was preparing my tee shot when Talbot spoke.

‘Look here, about last night. Sorry about that really. Hope you don’t mind. Just a bit of a laugh. It was Roger’s idea, as a matter of fact. I don’t quite know what got into us. We had had quite a bit to drink, I suppose. Not Adela, of course, she’s T-T. But we sort of got carried away. Anyway, no hard feelings, eh?’

‘I doubt if I shall have hard feelings for a very long time after what happened last night.’

‘What? Eh? Oh, I see! Hard feelings! Yes! Ha ha! Very droll!’

I had not intended this remark to make him even more unsettled, but it had that effect. My tee shot was a good one. The ball landed in the fairway just in front of a bunker. Talbot hooked his badly into the rough.

‘Hey, did you see that?’ Talbot said, turning to me. ‘That pair of rubberneckers on the ridge. One of them waved at me just as I was driving. Put me right off my shot. Hi! You!’ But the couple had gone. ‘Mind if I have that one again?’