The Intimates (10 page)

“Francoise… ”

“Oh Vincent there's nothing you need to hide from her. Elise and I were talking earlier. She was wondering if you'd planned for tonight to be a rather special occasion for the two of you. It's reasonable of her to wonder, isn't it?”

“What's this?” Graham asks, moving over.

“I'm just saying,” Francoise repeats, “that Elise would be within her rights to wonder if Vincent has some sort of proposal to make to her this evening.”

I can barely make out Elise's expression in the dark, but it seems one of barely concealed fury.

“That's between Vincent and Elise I think Francoise,” Graham says. Another firework streaks into the sky, and as it highlights Francoise's face she seems almost drunk on something; so focused that she can barely look straight at Elise.

“Is it really true that Vincent's father is coming tonight?” James asks. “Tell us that isn't the case Francoise.”

“It's just a joke,” Georgina says, pouring herself champagne and looking inquisitively at Francoise, who in turn looks up at the dying embers of the firework. “It
is
just a joke, isn't it Francoise?”

“Tonight is an opportunity to bring people together, those for whom a reunion is long overdue. This night is bigger than I am, so none of you must hold me to account for its actions.”

“What you are trying to say then, is that you have invited Vincent's father and that he is on his way. Is that right?” Graham asks.

“Francoise, you wouldn't do that to me. It would destroy our evening,” I say.

“It wouldn't be so bad, would it?” Elise asks, and James and Graham shoot her a look. Barbara is dancing on the edge of the fountain with Franz, looking for her lost high heel.

“Francoise,” James hisses. “If he comes here tonight Barbara will kill him. No arguments, no uncomfortable silences. Barbara will simply kill him.”

Francoise smiles wanly, and continues to dance to music that seems only audible to her.

“Did you hear what he said Francoise?” Graham asks. “Or are you still pretending to be decadent?”

“No-one is going to get killed,” Francoise says. “All of us are such
good friends
. All of us are so
Intimate
.” She says the word as if it is now a curse, and then she starts to dance towards the fountain, leaving the rest of us to desperately read each other's expressions.

“I hope she is going to warn Barbara,” James says. “I am not looking forward to at least one of us being reduced to rubble by that man.”

Graham puts his hand on my shoulder. “If he comes, we keep him at arm's length. He is just one man, and his opinions are just that. We all seem to think that because he's quite successful his views are somehow gospel. They're not. He's an unhappy fellow, who uses other people as punch bags on a regular basis. But this is a party, and we won't let him, or her,” he says, looking over at Francoise, “ruin it.”

“Why does Barbara hate your father so much?” Elise asks me.

“Soon after they fell out, on that ridiculous childhood holiday,” Graham says, “Sean appeared on a primetime television chat show. The show featured another actor who had just starred in a film with Barbara, her last major film as it happened. Barbara's name was mentioned by the host and Sean just took her… to pieces. He was truculent even at the start of the interview, when he talked about how difficult it must be for her to act behind a plastic mask. At first the audience were tittering along. But when he called her a ‘wilting plastic flower' the audience stopped laughing. ‘But you and Barbara go back a long way,' the host said. ‘Surely you are just teasing her.' ‘No I'm not,' Sean replied. ‘Every day the film industry corrodes a little more because of talentless, vapid people like her who fill our screens with artless performances.' That's right, isn't it?” he says, looking over at me. I nod.

“‘At the very least,' he continues, his gruff voice mimicking my father's, ‘there should be a union to stop women like her ever appearing on celluloid. At the most I would propose specimens like her are lined up against a wall and shot, to prevent them ever touting their withered wares on the world stage again.'”

Elise exhales in shock. “I am surprised you don't know the story,” James says. “You must watch television rather sparingly.”

“It was a few years ago,” I offer. “Few people even know who Barbara was.”

“Still, it was a vicious and cruel thing to say, and I think it would be best if Barbara was not informed he might be coming tonight.”

As if on cue, a wail goes up from the fountain, and Barbara throws her cocktail glass towards Francoise.

“Has Francoise lost all semblance of tact in the last few minutes?” Graham asks. Through the half-light I see Barbara throwing her arms up, clasping them to her face and then flying into Franz's arms for comfort; a ridiculously emotive gesture.

Francoise steps back from them, takes a sip of wine, and then makes her way over to us.

“Bearing her response in mind, do you think it might be a good idea to call Sean and ask him to postpone his visit?” James asks her.

“Barbara's had too much to drink, that's all,” Francoise says, picking at her dress.

“Francoise, what the hell is going on?” James says, his voice rising. “I can't think why on earth you would do this to our little group, to Vincent at the very least. Call ahead, get him to cancel. What is in this for you?”

“There's nothing in this for me.”

“Are you after material for your second book or something?
The Demise of The Intimates
?”

“He probably won't come anyway,” Francoise whispers. “There really is no need for everyone to get so het up.”

“You're up to something Francoise,” I start, as Elise takes my arm. “You're playing some sort of game with us, and I'm pretty surprised by it.”

The same bemused smile stays on her lips, and then she looks back at me as if suddenly concerned. “Vincent, allow me to speak with you for a moment. People, please excuse us.”

She draws me quickly towards the house. I hear Elise, James and Graham confer in mystified tones as Francoise leads me towards the French windows and into the kitchen.

“I'm not leaving Elise for long,” I say, as she brushes aside a butler, who's slicing peppermint leaves on the kitchen table.

“We'll take over for a minute Oscar, thank you,” she says, scooping ice from a silver vat and frittering it into large cocktail glasses. “Close the door on the way out.”

She looks quickly at me. She seems a little unhinged now, drunk perhaps – and yet somehow more determined than ever. “If you are angry with me Vincent, it is because you don't understand me. Of course I don't want to cause conflict between anyone. Tonight is an opportunity to build bridges between people who are treating one another in a way they should not.”

“That does not apply to Barbara and my father. Their disagreement goes far beyond that.”

“I'm afraid that my intentions behind this evening apply to them too.” She pours vodka into each glass, the slightly blue liquid running between her long fingers as she transfers it quickly. “It applies to you and your father, and it applies to the two of them. Vincent, Barbara and your father go back a very long way. I feel that tonight your father is ready to apologise to her, to make amends. You see, she does not hate him merely because of this silly little holiday and this barbed little chat show appearance. There's something you must know, Vincent, and perhaps tonight is not the best time to tell you this, but I must have you on my side if this is going to work.” She sets down the scoop and leans against the counter, considering me carefully before she speaks.

“It's your father, Vincent, that got Barbara pregnant with Georgina and her brother many years ago, and who in so doing ruined Barbara's career.”

I shake my head; wondering if I have heard correctly.

“You deserve to know the truth. If neither of them have the gall to tell you then someone should, though it is ultimately your decision what you do with the information. Barbara and your father had a brief affair when she acted in his first play, and she fell pregnant soon after with twins.

“Many years later, on this infamous holiday, Barbara confronted him and told him that Georgina had a right to know who her father was, that you had a right to know she was your half-sister. Your father was ashamed that he had cheated on your mother during their courtship, and insisted he would never do anything to besmirch her reputation – though of course he was not to know that she would soon pass away. He threatened to ruin Barbara's career if she ever breathed a word of their liaison to anyone. Around the time of the chat show he briefly had reason to believe that she might do that, and so he destroyed her publicly as a little warning as to what he was capable of. Since then, of course, Barbara has kept her counsel. Though the rest of the world knew that her time had passed, Barbara always held onto the belief that a resurgence of fame was imminent. She kept her secret safe, so that your father could do her reputation no more harm.”

“Georgina – is my half-sister? But how do you know this?”

“You know I am a devoted follower of your father Vincent, and if it is not too presumptuous of me I like to think that over the years we have become friends. At times he has seen me as a confidante, even if sometimes I have had to read a little between the lines of what he says.”

“You mean that you don't even know if this is true?”

“It is true Vincent,” she says, dismissively. “And tonight I have asked your father to come because I feel he is now ready to make amends with Barbara.”

“Well judging by her performance out by the fountain, I don't think Barbara
is
ready to make amends. Even if what you say is true, tonight still does not seem a good night for anything that delicate to come out into the open.”

“Tonight is the perfect night for this Vincent, don't you see? Tonight is about facing our pasts, taking on our future with veracity. Tonight is about confronting our truths Vincent.”

“Well why don't we start to confront your truths a little more then Francoise? How about it? The real reason you are trying to mend all of my father's relationships, yes? Because I think it all comes down to a very simple desire to have a role in his life. It's nothing to do with wanting what's best for us; it's a way for you to handle this obsession you have for him, which you have had since long before we met. Am I right?”

“You're just being childish now Vincent.”

“No, I'm not. I don't even know if I can handle this information tonight, but Georgina most certainly cannot. She and her mother are very close to ending their temperamental relationship once and for all, and I won't be the one to tell her this news this evening. You should wait until this can be dealt with sensitively Francoise, and judging by the way you are teasing Elise I would say that is beyond your capacity right now.”

“I was just having a little fun with Elise,” she says, as she pours bright green liquid into the cocktail glasses, scattering over them the shredded leaves and then stirring each with a long mixer.

“That is it Francoise. I have looked to you for guidance for much of my life, but tonight you are treating people like toys, and their pasts like scenery that you can reshuffle at will. And you cannot do that. I don't know what has happened to you, but tonight you have lost something, something that always prevented you from being this person.”

“If you are angry towards me because I teased Elise then I am sorry.” She sips a cocktail, and blinks slowly in pleasure. “Wonderful,” she says. “I was a little mean to her, but I will make it up to her now Vincent. Now take a cocktail.”

Francoise draws me outside into the still night, her guests looking expectantly up at her. She hands a slightly bewildered Elise one of the potent-looking cocktails. “I don't think that I've shown you the jewellery left to me with this house, have I Elise? I think I'm a little old to pull some of it off, but some of the pieces might suit a woman with your style. Would you be interested in having a look at them?”

Elise looks up, relieved and perhaps excited, and excuses me with a wave as the two of them sweep into the house.

As they walk away Georgina and Graham look over, but I am still too angry with Francoise to meet their eye. Perhaps I am slightly frightened too, frightened of how I will feel when I look up and see Georgina in a new light. Already I am aware that what Francoise has said rings true. I realise that it makes sense; it explains how the bond between Georgina and I always surpassed the mere proximity of youth. I understand now the protective, slightly aloof manner with which we have long dealt with one another. Perhaps somehow we both knew all along. It would explain the way that, for some unknown reason, we were always unable to see one another in a romantic light – however politically helpful it sometimes might have been to do so.

I don't look up, but can sense already that Georgina is lingering by Graham's side, curiously looking over at me. Without even meeting her eye I feel then as if another shard of my fragmented, secretive inner life now fits with the world. I wonder if Georgina already knows, and if she does not then whether she is easily reading my body language right now. I wonder if with every second that she looks over she is learning what I have just been told, and that thought starts to unnerve me.

From the fountains I can just about make out a light in the poolroom, and as I move nearer I see a shadow sweep across the interior. It is vague and dispersed, but distinct enough to grasp my attention. As the others turn into one another, as if consoling, I move over towards it. I can see the neon blue of the water in the pool, the submerged lamps throwing the movement from the ripples onto the wall. As I step to the window I see Franz, his head bowed, amongst the cheap furniture that Francoise has installed as a poolside lounge.

As I step inside, a blast of music fills the air. At first it sounds indulgent, but as my ears adjust I realise there is something addictive about it. A worn, hungry voice clamours over the building guitars. Chattering drums rise from the background, eager to step to the fore. Franz is stooped over a record player, adjusting the sound. I hand him a half-empty bottle of wine from a nearby table. He turns to face me, smiling to see that he is not alone. Yet even as he greets me something is retained in his eyes, as though he is still in thrall of the music. His eyes focus on the record player; he takes a gulp of wine before holding my elbow as the music starts to peak.