Staging Death (9 page)

‘But—’

‘But nothing. Look, Vee, you’re quick enough to grab your bonus when one comes your way. And you’re good at the job and I should be sorry to let you go. But it’s not you running this
shooting match, my wench, and you’d do well to remember it. Do I make myself clear?’

He did. Unfortunately all too clear. And it was equally clear that now was not the moment to ask him for an advance on my bonus. My bonuses.

Claire put a call through. Greg’s eyebrow went up meaningfully.

Claire’s desk was labouring under a huge bunch of flowers. ‘Look what Greg gave me!’ she declared. ‘To celebrate selling Little Cuffley. He says I oil the company’s wheels. Isn’t that sweet of him?’

‘It is indeed,’ I agreed.

Flowers for Claire indeed. What sort of bonus was that? I was so angry with him I would have liked to grab my cycle from its stand and slam it roughly against the shiny paintwork of his precious Merc. That might have damaged the cycle, of course, and after its narrow squeak earlier it deserved better than that.

OK, I was in town, and might as well buy a few essentials while I was here.

And what was I proposing to do for money?

Whatever the state of my finances, I had to have cleanser and moisturiser, and since there was a promotion of my favourite brand at the Co-op Pharmacy I might as well take advantage of it. They were pushing anti-ageing products. Could I afford not to try some? The assistant gently but firmly insisted on upgrading my usual moisturiser for one for more mature skin, as she
delicately described it. She allowed me to buy my usual cleanser and finally slipped into my bag a fistful of sample sizes of everything she thought might help me.

Anti-ageing products might eventually do wonders for my skin, but today they pushed my morale towards zero. Glancing in the window as I slipped out, I saw a round-shouldered old woman.

And it was me.

Come on, I’d had Alexander Technique lessons for enough years – surely I could put what I’d been taught into practice? I must let my neck go, let my head float freely…

‘You look as if you’ve lost half a crown and found a rusty button,’ a Black Country voice declared.

‘For God’s sake, Greg—’ I began crossly. But it wasn’t Greg. It was Toby.

‘You’re not the only one who studies accents,’ he said mildly. ‘All those CDs on the passenger seat of that vehicle you insist on driving, darling,’ he added, as if needing work and driving an advertising hoarding were somehow culpable. Then he whipped off his Ray-Bans and stared hard at me. ‘You really are upset about something, aren’t you? Come and have a coffee and tell me all about it.’

It was impossible not to go with him, since he’d tucked his hand under my arm.

Did it feel like a favourite nephew helping his aunt across the road? A lover? It would be so very easy to turn him gently to me and kiss him.

Better think elderly aunts, although we were the same age.

With nice new eateries all round us we were spoilt for choice. To my amazement he propelled us into one packed with loud students, a mixture of French and American. I suppose his theory was that no one would expect to see a star in such an ordinary place.

‘Green tea? I suppose I really ought to try it,’ he said, grimacing.

‘Try one flavoured with mint or jasmine,’ I suggested. ‘There’s less underlying taste of compost heap. I’m glad you bumped into me,’ I continued, lying though my teeth but determined not to be led in any way astray. ‘I’ve been meaning to ask you if Allyn is well.’

‘If she’s anorexic, you mean.’ He looked me straight in the eye. ‘And no, she’s not. The sodding media had a go at her for looking fat. Hell, she’s never been more than a size ten since I’ve known her. Well, US size ten.’

And I worried myself silly when I went above a UK size ten.

‘But she decided that she’d take them on,’ he went on proudly. ‘She’s got a personal nutritionist and a personal trainer.’

That would hardly have been my interpretation of taking them on, but I said nothing.

‘Have you seen our so-called games room?’

‘Not since the refurb.’

‘Nothing recreational about it now, believe me. Weights all over the place. Cross-trainer, rowing machine, treadmill, exercise bike – you name it, we’ve got it. I told her: we’ve got a lake for rowing on, we’ve got a brand new swimming pool, a professional-quality tennis court, and all around us we’ve got the most beautiful countryside, which is absolutely ideal for cycling. And all she does is stay indoors sweating away on her own until she deems herself thin enough to meet the press. God Almighty, why do you women do it?’

‘She seemed pretty depressed, too,’ I ventured.

He eyed me. ‘Takes one to recognise one, Vee.’

‘Touché. But we were talking about Allyn. She must – trainers and such apart – be pretty lonely. Away from her family and all,’ I added, in an approximation of her very light Virginian accent.

‘Who in these socially and geographically mobile times has family? Oh, I know you do, and from what I remember of Greg I wish you joy of him.’

‘Thank you. The trouble is, Allyn’s surrounded by people who are employees, not neighbours or
friends. Imagine having a girlie conversation with Miss Fairford, for example.’

His grin was vulpine. ‘It’d be like having a natter with a filing cabinet.’

‘It’s a pity about her name, too. People must want to call her Jane Fairfax. You know, as in Jane Austen. The unhappy spinster filling in time while her errant lover flirts with the awful Emma.’

‘Of course!’ He slapped his knee in glee and threw back his head in a roar of laughter. Thank goodness the students were still yelling at each other or into their mobiles. ‘I wonder if she plays the pianoforte and has friends in Ireland.’

Before I knew it we had collapsed into giggles, which were altogether too intimate.

‘She’s absolutely the paragon that Emma Woodhouse would have loathed. And so horribly willing,’ he continued, as I tried to stop laughing. ‘You want her to say, “Hang on, this is my time off,” but she never so much as raises an eyebrow. And it’s not as if she’s old enough to have had them Botoxed.’

‘Do you pay her enough to kowtow to you all the time?’ I asked, trying to be serious.

‘A great deal but probably not enough. Not enough to work on Friday evenings, which is when I gather she showed you the latest instalment of Allyn’s plans. I’m sorry you had a
wasted journey, Vee. I gather something urgent cropped up,’ he added, almost daring me to ask what.

‘No problem. Ted reckoned dropping into Aldred House might have saved me from some bother. He said he thought someone was tailing me. God knows why.’

He took what I had meant as a flip remark very seriously. ‘Why he thought so or why someone should tail you?’

‘The latter. I suppose if I’m carrying keys to two or three luscious properties I might be worth robbing.’ Again I tried for lightness.

He wasn’t having it. ‘And might get beaten up until you reveal the burglar alarms’ codes? Come on, Vee, you should be watching your back in a job like yours. Ted’s a good bloke – if he’s worried, you should take notice of what he says.’

‘Like you do?’

‘Well, we’re having some handsome gates installed to augment our already pretty serious security. And his advice to you is…?’ he prompted.

‘Ditch the advert-mobile and get some anonymous wheels.’

‘And when will you?’

‘When Greg pays my bonus.’

‘For God’s sake – do it now, woman! Ask him
for an advance or something.’ He frowned. ‘Was it Greg who upset you?’

‘Angered me, more like. I had a nice idea, which he then diluted and passed off as his own,’ I explained. ‘At least I get all the bonus from the Andy Rivers sale. Unless Andy changes his mind.’ God forbid.

‘You know how Andy gets these impulses, Vee. Do you remember those crazy parties he used to throw? Of course you do – you helped him throw one or two, didn’t you? And now he’s greying and respectable and worrying about one of his grandchildren,’ he added, with something of a sigh. ‘He’ll buy, all right, even if he flits off somewhere else once the grandchild’s better.’

The waitress brought our tea. Did Toby have regrets about not having his own children? If I asked, he’d turn the question back on me and my childlessness, and I wasn’t prepared to go down that road. So should I drag the conversation back to Allyn? Or wait? With Toby it was often best to sow a seed, as it were, and let him respond in his own time.

‘So why are you depressed?’ he asked, making me choke on my tea. I hadn’t meant to plant
that
seed.

‘I’m not depressed, just fed up. And there is a difference,’ I insisted, having experienced both.

‘Greg apart, why are you fed up? Nothing to
do with your dear ex, Dale Teacher, landing that huge TV role?’

I nearly took a bite out of the cup. ‘He hasn’t, has he? Not that Dickens serial?’

He nodded.

He might as well have punched me in the stomach, as Dale used to do. ‘Oh, shit.’ I lapsed into Elizabethan curses again. ‘Don’t get me wrong, Toby, I may not wish him ill, not anymore, but I certainly don’t wish him well. And definitely not that well.’

He nodded sympathetically. ‘Life’s not fair, is it? He gambles away all your money, blacks your eyes so you can’t work – didn’t he even break your arm once? – beats you up so that you lose your baby, and after a few years he’s suddenly a blue-eyed boy who gets every part going.’

‘Apart from those you get.’ I stuck my tongue out at him, mockingly. Because I simply could not bear to speak of Dale and all his doings, I made a huge effort to change the subject. ‘Tell me, how are you getting on with Chris Wild? Have you made any plans yet?’

He squeezed my hand a second, to show he understood. ‘I’m meeting Chris this afternoon, as it happens. I’ve got one or two ideas I want to float, and he says he has too.’ He dropped his voice. ‘He needs the money, doesn’t he?’

It wasn’t my job to reveal how much effort
it cost Chris to look presentable. I asked lightly, ‘Don’t we all, darling?’

He looked at me, concern oozing from every pore. ‘Does that mean you’re as hard up as he is?’

‘Mine’s a cash-flow problem, that’s all. I told you,’ I declared. To deflect him, I added, ‘Actually, I do think Chris is hard up. When he was made bankrupt, he swore he’d pay back all he owed. I don’t know if he’s succeeded. But if he hasn’t, it’s not through lack of effort. Hell, darling, a voice-over or two would be the making of him.’

He frowned exaggeratedly, but looked up swiftly with that wicked smile. ‘What was it you advertised, Vee? Incontinence pads? Denture fixative?’

My frown was genuine. ‘You know damned well what it was. Everyone knows damned well what it was. But at the moment I’d jump at the chance to do it again,’ I said defiantly. I added, my voice more wistful than I liked, ‘And I’d kill for the chance of a proper part.’ Lest he start being kind, I said mock-winsomely, ‘I suppose you don’t know any Hollywood casting agents do you, darling? Or a director who wants to do the definitive
Antony and Cleo
?’

He pushed aside his cup of tea, barely tasted. ‘I promise you that if I do you’ll be the first to hear. Now, let’s take a constitutional along the
river, and you can tell Uncle Toby how he can help.’

I stayed put, shaking my head. ‘I told you, it’s cash flow. When Greg gets round to paying me the bonuses he owes me all will be well.’

‘How much outlay have you had to make on Aldred House?’ he asked shrewdly.

I would not shudder. ‘You’ll get the bill when everything’s finished to your satisfaction.’ I couldn’t resist adding, ‘Mind you, the guy who’s trying to sell you the silk carpets pays me a handsome commission. Make sure you choose the silvery-gold one.’

‘Make sure you stand close enough to nudge me.’

Despite my efforts, I found myself strolling with him towards the monster building site that was currently the Royal Shakespeare Theatre. But our conversation was innocuous enough, largely about the twins. For all his caustic words about them, it was clear he was involved in their lives as much as Allyn would let him be.

‘Mind you, I got into horrible hot water over the tree business,’ he said. ‘I tried to tell her that, if they do happen to fall, kids that age bounce, by which I meant they tend not to break limbs. But she took it as an attack on her for letting them get obese.’

‘And was it?’

‘I might have observed that real, live exercise was good for them and that they might get teased, even bullied, about their weight when they start school. But I really, truly just wanted them to have the sort of fun I was having at their age. Anyway, there’s now talk of a tree house and climbing frame, with regulation thick playground rubber underneath. And tennis coaching.’ He counted the activities off on his fingers. ‘And soccer training. And rugby – because they’ll most likely go to a fee-paying school, even if it makes my dear old dad spin in his grave. And of course there’s piano, guitar, voice and deportment. And no rampaging round monster tree roots. Poor little swine.’

‘Sounds like Greg’s kids’ lifestyle,’ I said sadly. I came slowly to a halt, looking at my watch and slapping my forehead, as if I had a mound of work to do. Well, I did have all those seeds to plant.

‘Greg?’

‘He may not pay promptly, but he’s a hell of a slave-driver,’ I said, with some truth, even if it wasn’t applicable at the moment. We retraced our footsteps.

After a surprisingly contented hour in the garden I was just at my muddiest when the phone rang.
But if it was Caddie I didn’t dare miss the call. Shedding gloves and shoes as I ran in, I seized the handset just as the answerphone cut in.

‘Vena, darling.’ No, not Caddie, but Christopher Wild. Not worth getting footprints all over the kitchen floor for. ‘I simply must thank you for putting my way this work with the delectable Toby. You’re an absolute angel and should be worshipped accordingly.’

‘Are you sure you worship angels, Chris? Aren’t they busy worshipping too, rather better than we do?’

‘I didn’t know you were a God-botherer, darling. Anyway, you have earned yourself a slap-up dinner. At least, you’ll have one as soon as Toby pays me. Meanwhile, I can certainly rise to a pie and chips in the Harvest Moon. Are you free this evening?’

‘For you, Chris, I will clear my diary.’ And with luck even clean my fingernails, under which the greater part of my vegetable patch appeared to have taken up residence.

‘A
son et lumière
!’ I repeated. ‘Heavens!’

Chris preened. ‘I thought it might be an appropriate way to launch the sculpture park, darling, when he opens it to the public.’ He topped up my glass with what we both knew was really cava but drank with as much
ceremony as if it was a
grand cru
champagne.

‘Sculpture park? I thought he just meant to stick a few of his late father’s statues out there.’