SIX

Michael sat on a tubular-steel chair in one of the waiting-rooms. There was nothing to read except the morning edition of the Gladiator lying on the contemporary table. It hadn’t taken him long to glance through it. In the distance he could hear the clatter of typewriters. He grew more and more impatient.

He wondered what Christopher would say when he woke to find himself alone in his pig-sty. It should be just about now that he would be going into the studio to find it deserted. Silly Christopher! The silliest of the whole bunch. Yet quite the most honest, except for Lily.

Lily had proved a bitter disappointment. Such a mouse. It had been like going to bed with a corpse. Every ounce of vitality must have been squeezed out of her long ago by Ronnie. When he had taken her downstairs and put her in a taxi, he had known that there would never be another assignation.

‘Will you come with me please, sir.’

Michael followed the messenger along the corridor into an office where he was handed over to a girl wearing glasses.

‘Your name, please?’ she asked.

‘Michael Henry for the seventh time.’

She beckoned him to follow her. They went into the adjoining room where there was a thick carpet on the floor and two secretaries busy at their typewriters. She pressed down the switch on the intercommunication set on the desk and said: ‘Mr Henry’s here, sir.’

‘Send him in,’ said Stuart Andrews.

She pointed to the door facing him. He crossed the room and pushed it open. As he closed it behind him he heard her call out: ‘You should have knocked first, Mr Henry!’

He found himself in a long room. At the far end he saw Andrews behind a large steel desk.

‘I can give you three minutes,’ said Andrews. ‘You’re a friend of Patrick’s, I believe.’

‘Not exactly a friend.’

‘Never mind that. Did you know he asked me to fix you a job?’

‘Yes. It was most considerate of him.’

‘Don’t worry, son. He had his reasons.’ He picked up a sheet of paper on which Michael had written his particulars, while he had been waiting. ‘Henry, Michael. Born ’35 . . . Never mind the school . . . Joined R.A.F. ’55 . . . Pilot . . . Grounded for dangerous flying ’57. Dangerous flying, eh?’

‘I flew under a bridge.’

‘Why?’

‘I felt like it.’

‘So they chucked you out.’

‘I’ve written that down too.’

‘I can read, son. As long as you can fly that’s all that matters to me. Nothing against high spirits. But don’t do it again if you want to stay working for me. Now get down to Blackbushe right away. Report at our office and ask for Fenwick. I’ve spoken to him on the blower. He doesn’t like the sound of you, but he’ll take you on if you can fly. He’ll try you out today.’

‘Fenwick? Isn’t he the chap who . . . ?’

‘I know, son. Any questions? Right. Away you go.’

Michael said: ‘What about the pay?’

‘Quite right to mention it. The kind of question I like to hear. Fenwick will give you the dope. If you work you won’t go short of money.’

‘Thanks very much. I didn’t know one could fall into a job as easily as this.’

Andrews smiled for the first time. ‘You don’t know a thing, son.’

Patrick put down his cup of coffee, stood up and brushed the crumbs off his trousers. ‘Have you had enough to eat? Is there anything else you’d like? A delicious peach? A few grapes?’

‘No thank you, Patrick,’ said Nicholas. ‘I couldn’t bear to see that waiter again. He embarrasses me.’

‘Do you mean Freddie? He’s rather sweet.’

‘I loathe him.’

‘But why? How extraordinary you are. He’s such a charming young man. I particularly like the smell of the stuff he puts on his hair.’

‘I dread to think what it is.’

‘I do believe you’re becoming a snob, my dear. You’re not just a little bit afraid of the working classes, are you?’

‘Of course not.’

‘Don’t be, my dear. They’re such fun. So unrepressed.’

‘Talking about work,’ said Nicholas. ‘You will remember to speak to Ronnie about me, won’t you?’

‘Of course I will. If he doesn’t mend his ways we’ll pop you into the editorial chair and have him running round making the tea. I can’t imagine what got into him to refuse to see you yesterday.’

‘He knew you were away.’

‘That’s nothing to do with it. He agreed that you should work for Eleven. If there’s no work, he must make some for you. That was no excuse for such bad manners.’

‘You won’t say a word to him about Michael, will you?’ said Nicholas. ‘He would only blame me for letting them come here.’

‘Not so much as a whisper, little one. Can I give you a lift anywhere?’

‘Which way are you going?’

‘I’ve got to call in at the bank first and see if they’ll let me have any money.’

‘I’ll come with you,’ said Nicholas. ‘You can drop me off afterwards. There are one or two things that I’ve got to buy. Shall we meet for lunch?’

‘I’m afraid not. Apart from seeing Ronnie I’ve got one or two other not quite so exciting things to do.’

‘Then I shall have to lunch alone,’ said Nicholas.

‘Ring up your chum Michael. Just think what fun it’ll be having lunch with him when he doesn’t know that you’ve told me what a naughty boy he’s been. You might even try to frighten him a little.’

‘I don’t want to.’

‘Then you’re denying yourself one of the major pleasures of life. There was a philosopher, I can’t remember his name, who said that knowledge is power. He was quite right. You ought to try it some time.’

When the car stopped outside the bank, Patrick got out. Nicholas remained seated in the corner.

‘Aren’t you coming in?’ asked Patrick.

‘I’ll wait here.’

‘You’d better come. I might need help. I always feel so frightened in banks.’

As they went inside he took Nicholas’s arm, but when they reached the desk Nicholas disengaged himself and wandered away to look at the pictures hanging on the walls. The portly governors of the bank looked at him with serious economic eyes.

Patrick put away his note case and came over to him.

‘What’s the matter? Don’t you like it here?’ he asked.

‘I was admiring these pillars of society.’

‘Aren’t they grim? They look so rich. If you don’t like them, my dear, I’d better go somewhere else. I’m sure you’ve got a smart little bank tucked away somewhere which would suit me.’

‘I haven’t got a bank.’

‘How do you live? Or am I being stupid again? We’ll put that right for you in no time. Where would you like to open an account? The Bank of England? Coutts? That would be rather smart. Ronnie would be very jealous.’

When they reached the door he stopped and took out his note case. ‘Meanwhile you must have something to live on. We can’t have you going around like a vagrant. How much would you like?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘How difficult you are. If I don’t lend you enough you’ll accuse me of being mean.’

Nicholas took him by the arm and hurried him down the steps into the car.

‘I wish you wouldn’t do that in public,’ he said. ‘It makes me feel uncomfortable.’

‘You are funny. It’s much more sensible to borrow money openly. It’s only when you’re furtive that it’s slightly squalid.’

‘Could I borrow ten pounds?’

‘That won’t be nearly enough. I want you to have a good morning and enjoy yourself thoroughly. Go and buy yourself a lovely lot of new clothes. It’ll make up for having to lunch all on your own. You must have heaps of parcels to keep you company.’

He handed Nicholas a pile of notes.

‘While you’re enjoying yourself you might keep your eye out for a suitcase. That travelling kind with hangers fixed inside them are always useful. But I should keep off pigskin. I have a feeling it’s slightly vulgar these days.’

‘I don’t need one.’

‘You never know. It’s always wise to be prepared to travel. It eliminates those tiresome last-minute rushes.’

Nicholas got out of the car at the corner of Bond Street.

‘I’ll see you later this afternoon at the flat. Have a good time, Patrick,’ he said.

‘I’m sure I will, little one.’

*

Patrick watched Nicholas walk away and told the chauffeur to take him to the Gladiator.

What a sudden capitulation it had been! In all his vast experience he had never met anyone who had put up such a stubborn defence, only to drop it so suddenly. It was difficult to believe that only yesterday he had gone to Paris quite expecting to find Nicholas flown on his return, or his resistance so impregnable that he would have been forced to abandon an unprofitable siege. For Nicholas had given every indication that he was going to be tiresome and stupid. Perhaps stupid wasn’t the right word. On the whole, Nicholas was more intelligent than he had first suspected. He was extremely naif like all young men from the provinces. He had a faint touch of idealism about him. It was sad to see it dis­appear so quickly.

The gods had been on Patrick’s side. It had been a magnificent stroke of fortune that it had been raining in Paris the day before. But he had to admit to himself that it wasn’t only the weather that had brought him back to England. He hadn’t been altogether happy about the prospect of losing Nicholas so quickly. As one grew older one attached more importance to one’s successes. It took longer to get over one’s failures.

He was going to have no more nonsense from Nicky, who was going to keep him entertained for the next year or eighteen months. Nicholas had a great future in front of him even if he didn’t know it. He was going to a very good school. It was fascinating to speculate how he would turn out. Would he be a second Stuart? Would be grow indolent and fat like Ronnie?

It was strange to think that Ronnie had once looked like Nicholas. Young and slim. No. Never slim. There had always been that middle-aged spread lurking in the foreground. What was he now? A chimpanzee. Rather a vicious chimpanzee at times. There had been no occasion for him to insult Nicholas. The trouble was that he was jealous. But he ought to take the trouble to conceal it. His treatment of Nicholas had been positively barbaric.

As the car went down Fleet Street Patrick thought about Stuart. Dear Stuart. He was different. That was on account of his background. Stuart came of peasant stock. Peasants in their stolid way never forgot to be grateful. The contrast between Ronnie and Stuart amused Patrick. The one brilliant, indolent, unhappy and unsuccessful: the other philistine, energetic, happy, ruling from his palace of lies millions of apathetic minds.

Patrick ignored the commissionaire on the door and walked past him into the lift. As it ascended he thought again of Nicholas. He hoped he was buying the right kind of clothes. He really ought to have gone with him. He might turn up in some ghastly off-the-peg bookmaker’s pin stripe. It would be so embarrassing to explain to him just why it wouldn’t do.

He made his way along the corridor, to the outer office. Without waiting for the secretary to announce him he crossed the room and walked into Stuart’s office.

‘Good morning, Stuart.’

‘Hullo, Alcibiades. Sit down. What can I do for you? I can give you five minutes. Have a cigar.’

‘Really, Stuart, I wish you’d collect your wits more quickly and remember who I am. It’s so tiresome having to hear the same performance every time I come to the lie factory.’

He sat down in the steel chair and adjusted the creases in his trousers.

‘How’s the rag prospering?’

Stuart finished lighting his cigar.

‘Couldn’t be better. Circulation still going up. Here. Take a look at last week’s figures.’

‘What an appalling reflection on the female intelligence,’ said Patrick.

‘Every housemaid and whore in the land reads the Gladiator,’ said Stuart.

‘I’ve got just the man for you, Stuart,’ said Patrick. ‘Do you remember Ronnie Gras?’

‘Gras? One of our fashion designers, isn’t he? Bit of a pansy. Friend of all that foreign crowd. Wait a minute. That’s right. Offered him a job once. Turned it down. Took him a bloody long time to make up his mind.’

‘Do you still want him?’

‘What’s the idea? I’ll buy it.’

‘If you want him you can have him. At a price of course. But you’ll have to handle him gently.’

‘Of course I want him. Designed the Gras look, didn’t he? He’d be a hell of a draw on the woman’s page. Yes, sir. They’d be mad for him.’

‘I suggest you telephone him some time today. But not before midday. Naturally you’ll have to make your offer most attractive.’

‘What do you get out of this?’

‘Nothing, Stuart. But you might remember that if by any chance Nicholas Milestone should come round for that job you so kindly offered him, you’re no longer interested. I believe he was meant to be here last Monday. Just tell him he’s left it too late.’

‘You old sod. You don’t want me to bitch up the other kid while you’re about it? He’s been in this morning. I fixed the job for him.’

‘It was kind of you to take the trouble. One should do one’s best for these misfits.’

‘Stuff it.’

Patrick sighed and stood up. Stuart got up from his desk and conducted him to the door.

‘That’s much better,’ said Patrick. ‘I much prefer you when you forget your gladiatorial manners.’

‘We understand one another, sweetheart. I never forget my friends.’

‘How charming.’

‘Care to come down to my new place on the river one week-end? Bring whom you like. Do what you like.’

‘I never go near the river,’ said Patrick. ‘Besides, I don’t think I shall be staying in England very much longer.’

It was just as well to have Michael well out of the way, thought Patrick as he came out of the Gladiator building. He had a very bad effect on Nicholas besides a nasty habit of looking beyond one’s actions and putting his fingers on one’s motives. It had been a brilliant idea to tempt him back to his beastly aeroplanes. They should mop up his surplus energy. As long as he stayed with Christopher he was a menace. Christopher with his sentimental stupidity was incapable of realizing how dangerous he could be. Christopher must be made to disgorge him.

While he was being driven to Ronnie’s house, he wondered what sort of approach would prove the most amusing. He certainly wasn’t going to say to Ronnie outright: ‘I’m terribly sorry to have to tell you that Lily’s been to bed with Michael.’ It would be more subtle than that. He would begin with the smallest prick of the pin. There was no hurry to turn the knife in the wound.

Patrick felt particularly in the mood to torment Ronnie. He was most grateful to Nicholas for handing him such an efficient instrument of torture. On the steps of Ronnie’s house he felt dizzy with excitement.

Through the downstairs windows he noticed a bowl of roses standing on a table in the drawing-room. Roses at this time of year! It was monstrous the rate at which Ronnie lived.

He pressed the bell. Lily opened the door.

‘Good morning, my dear. Is Ronnie up yet?’ asked Patrick.

‘Oh no, Patrick. But he’s finished breakfast. Would you like to go up?’

Patrick glanced round the hall. It had been altered since his last visit to the house. ‘What’s happened to our naked friend under the chandelier?’ he asked.

‘Ronnie had it taken away yesterday. He’s found something he likes better,’ said Lily. ‘I believe it’s by Rodin. I expect he’ll want to tell you all about it himself.’

A Rodin indeed, thought Patrick as he climbed the stairs. Ronnie’s extravagance was becoming maniacal. He couldn’t afford to run the house let alone fill it up with expensive chunks of statuary. So that’s what had happened to the cheque he had given him for the first number of Eleven. He’d be asking for more within a week. Eleven looked like being an expensive hobby. He could hear Ronnie say: ‘But you see, Patrick, as editor of Eleven I’ve got a position to keep up. You wouldn’t want me to live like Christopher, would you?’

Patrick reached the landing, paused and tip-toed along the passage. The door of Ronnie’s room was ajar.

Ronnie was lying on his back in the four poster with the eiderdown drawn up under his chin.

Patrick was about to knock on the door, when Ronnie slowly stretched out his hand to the bowl of peaches on the bedside table. Patrick could see his fingers squeezing the fruit to find one that was perfectly ripe. When he had chosen one that met with his approval, he held it in front of his eyes revolving it slowly. He placed it against his nose, sniffed it, and dropped it whole into his mouth. From where he was standing Patrick could see Ronnie’s blown-out cheeks.

Ronnie started to masticate slowly. The juice dribbled out of the corners of his mouth. Without moving he blew the stone across the room. It hit the wall and fell to the floor. He closed his eyes and let out a satisfied sigh. His eyes closed. For a moment Patrick thought he was about to fall asleep. But his hand moved out again towards the bowl.

Patrick stood still. Enraptured, he watched the performance being repeated. This time the stone hit one of the posters of the bed and fell on to the eiderdown.

Patrick waited until Ronnie had dropped the third peach into his mouth. Before Ronnie had had time to swallow it, Patrick walked quickly into the room.

‘Good morning, my dear. Forgive me for disturbing your beauty sleep,’ he said.

Ronnie opened his mouth. Patrick saw the pale pink skin of the peach between his teeth. Ronnie turned away, put his hand over his mouth and spat the peach out under the eiderdown. It rolled along the sheet and fell to the floor.

‘You should have eaten it,’ said Patrick. ‘Now you’ve wasted it.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Ronnie. He put out his hand to take another one. Remembering that Patrick was watching him, he withdrew it and placed it beneath the bedclothes.

‘They’re Neapolitan,’ he said. ‘Too variable to be really good.’

‘What a pity!’ said Patrick. ‘I was sure they were your favourites.’

Ronnie looked at Patrick. ‘What are you doing here anyway? I was just about to get up. If you’ll wait downstairs I’ll join you in about half an hour.’

‘I shan’t keep you a minute.’

‘It’s too early to talk,’ said Ronnie.

‘Not quite twelve. I’m sorry to disturb you so early. I happened to be passing and I suddenly remembered there was something I had to say to you.’

Ronnie felt nervous. He knew that Patrick never paid calls without a purpose. He was looking far too happy. That was a bad sign. As if that wasn’t enough he had recognized the ominous mockery in his voice. Patrick was building up for something particularly unpleasant.

Ronnie tried to be charming. He had learnt from experience that flattery sometimes succeeded with Patrick.

‘Thank you so much for the flowers you sent yesterday,’ he said. ‘They are superb. Do have a look at them when you go down and tell me if you approve of Lily’s arrangement. You’ve got such a wonderful knack yourself.’

‘Flowers, Ronnie?’

‘The roses. I’m afraid I didn’t altogether understand the message you sent with them.’

‘Nor do I. I certainly never sent you any roses. Are you sure they were for you?’

‘Whom else would they be for?’

‘They might have been delivered to the wrong house.’ He paused. ‘They might even have been for Lily.’

‘Nonsense,’ said Ronnie. He was so surprised by Patrick’s suggestion that his hand shot out from under the bedclothes and closed round another peach.

‘I’m sure that’s the answer,’ said Patrick. ‘They must have been for Lily.’

‘Nonsense,’ repeated Ronnie. ‘Nobody would send her flowers.’

‘You are growing old, my dear. Just a weeny bit careless too.’

Ronnie sat up in bed.

‘What ludicrous pyjamas!’ exclaimed Patrick. ‘You look like a wicked old convict.’

‘They’re Sulka’s. . . . Who do you think would send flowers to Lily?’

‘How should I know? I don’t know who her boy friends are. I merely suggested that they might not have been for you.’

‘You look as if you know who sent them,’ said Ronnie.

Patrick turned and glanced at himself in the mirror. ‘I look rather well this morning as a matter of fact. Now lie down like a good boy. Have another peach and listen to what I’ve come to tell you.’

Ronnie lay back in bed.

‘I want to talk to you about Eleven, my dear,’ said Patrick. He paused to savour the gleam of anxiety that sprang into Ronnie’s eye. ‘I think we’re both being rather stupid, my dear. After giving it some thought I’ve come to the conclusion that I’ve treated you rather badly.’

Ronnie smiled.

He’s like a child, thought Patrick. Scold him and his face puckers up as if he’s about to cry; be kind to him and he gurgles with pleasure.

‘The trouble is that we’ve overloaded Eleven,’ continued Patrick. ‘Someone’s got to go. The question is who?’

Ronnie kept quiet. Had Patrick called to tell him that Lily couldn’t work for Eleven?

‘No suggestions?’ said Patrick. ‘I’ll have to make them in that case. But if you heard what the younger generation said about you I don’t think you’d take so long to make up your mind.’

‘What are they saying?’

‘I hesitate to repeat it. It makes my ears burn.’

‘I don’t believe it.’

‘That’s just another proof that you’re growing old, my dear. The younger generation never respects the older. It uses it. Would you call it respectful to refer to you as an old chimpanzee?’

‘I’m not a chimpanzee. Who calls me a chimpanzee?’ said Ronnie.

‘You’re not to be angry or say anything to him about it. He’d never forgive me,’ said Patrick. ‘I’m afraid it’s Nicholas’s invention.’

‘It’s outrageous. I suppose Michael has a label for me too?’

‘They both call you a chimpanzee as far as I know. Michael’s done something far worse. I wasn’t going to tell you, but I think it would be best if you heard the worst. I’m afraid there’s a connection between Michael and the roses.’

‘Why should he send me roses?’

‘He didn’t, my dear. He sent them to Lily.’

‘Patrick, you’ve come here with the deliberate intention of upsetting me,’ said Ronnie.

‘You’ve got to listen to me, my dear. It’s far better that you should hear these things from an old friend. I’m afraid, Ronnie, I notice a great many things that you miss. At your dinner party it was obvious to me that Michael was paying more attention to Lily than normal manners required. I didn’t like the way he was out of the drawing-room for so long.’

‘He wasn’t accustomed to such rich food. I expect he drank too much. None of them can drink like gentlemen these days.’

‘You may be right, my dear. Still, Nicholas tells me that he spent quite a time in the pantry with Lily.’

So many possibilities flooded into Ronnie’s mind that he was unable to speak. He blinked, opened his mouth, and waited for Patrick to continue.

‘I can see that I’ve said quite enough already. I thought I ought to warn you. Our generation must stick together. . . . This brings me back to what I was originally going to say to you. I don’t think that either Nicholas or Michael are suitable for Eleven.’

‘Patrick, do you think that young man’s trying to cuckold me?’ interrupted Ronnie.

‘What a charming word! It reminds me of spring. That, my dear, is a question that only Lily can answer. Of course you may decide to say nothing. For your information I happen to know that Michael’s got a job today. I don’t think we shall be seeing very much of him in the future. . . . Which reminds me. I’m thinking of going away myself for a little while. Nicholas badly needs a holiday.’

‘What about Eleven?’

‘I leave it entirely to you. I think it would be much better that way. I’ll stay right in the background as I intended to do originally. It was a mistake to mix business and pleasure.’

‘I don’t believe you’re interested in it any longer.’

‘I’m always interested in you, my dear. That’s why I’ve trekked half way across London this morning. I know you’d do the same for me. There’s nothing more maddening than to be laughed at by the young. Except, I suppose, to be cuckolded by them.’

He walked towards the door and turned. Ronnie was lost in thought. The loose flesh on his forehead was puckered into ridges. His hand moved towards the bowl of fruit. His fingers closed round the last peach. He dug his nails into it, and with a moan of fury hurled it across the room. It splashed against the window.

‘Lily! Lily!’ he shouted.

Patrick slipped quietly out of the room. He passed Lily running up the stairs. How right he had been not to tell Ronnie everything. Lily would deny it. It would take Ronnie a long time to get over his doubts.

It had been a brilliant piece of improvisation to make use of the roses. It had fitted in perfectly after the remark about the chimpanzee. That had been an insult to his vanity which would hurt him far more than the discovery of Lily’s lapse. Everything was working out precisely as he had planned. Ronnie had been put in his place for insulting Nicholas; Michael was out of the way in case he should influence Nicholas. Nicholas should now prove manageable. He was isolated. He couldn’t escape to the Gladiator. There was no job for him on Eleven. He might go back to Rochester. That was extremely unlikely. He had tasted a new life. He seemed to like it.

Patrick told the chauffeur to take him to the Fulham Road. As he started to climb the steps of Christopher’s house, the front door opened.

‘Hullo, Patrick,’ said Christopher. ‘I was looking out of the window and saw your monstrous car coming down the street. I came down to let you in so all my neighbours will know what rich friends I’ve got. You haven’t got Michael hidden in the back somewhere, have you?’

‘I’m afraid not.’

‘Oh dear. I wonder where he can be. I haven’t seen him all morning. There was just a chance that he might be with you.’

They were still standing in the doorway. Christopher peered anxiously down the street.

‘May I come up?’ asked Patrick.

‘My manners always disappear when I’m unhappy,’ said Christopher. ‘It’s terribly untidy upstairs although I know you don’t mind the way I live even though you live so differently yourself. You’re not like Ronnie. He thinks that artists should live in palaces and be pensioned off by the state at ten thousand a year.’

As they went upstairs Patrick said: ‘How’s the portrait progressing?’

‘We’ve completed the sittings. But I don’t want you to see it until it’s finished. You’re so critical. If you were unkind about it now, I might abandon it for ever.’

‘How sensitive you are, Christopher!’

They went into the studio. Patrick noticed that the canvas had been taken off the easel and placed facing the wall.

‘Shall I make you some tea? Or would you like some lemonade?’ said Christopher.

Patrick shook his head.

Christopher moistened his fingers in his mouth, dipped them into a tin of lemonade powder perched on the arm of the chair, and started to lick them.

‘Sure you won’t change your mind? It’s terribly good,’ he said.

‘Quite certain. May I sit down?’

Christopher spread a newspaper over the dilapidated armchair. ‘There. I don’t think your suit will get dirty now. Michael’s always complaining about the dirt. Oh dear, I wish you’d brought me news of him.’

‘Didn’t he say where he was going?’

‘I haven’t seen him since late last night,’ said Christopher. ‘He comes and goes at all kinds of odd hours. But it was strange for him to get up and disappear so early this morning without saying anything.’

‘You’ve been very kind to him,’ said Patrick.

‘I’ve done what I could,’ said Christopher. ‘He’s so terribly neurotic although he doesn’t know it himself. I don’t know whether I ought to tell you, Patrick, but I think he’s slightly mad.’

‘I know.’

‘You didn’t know,’ said Christopher. ‘Nobody knew except me.’

‘My dear Christopher, don’t upset yourself. It was obvious to anyone the first time they met Michael that he was odd to say the least of it.’

‘I’ll tell you something you don’t know,’ said Christopher. ‘He carries a gun about with him the whole time. A real one. He’s got bullets for it too.’

‘I’m not surprised. He’s utterly psychopathic. I can’t see what you hope to do about it.’

‘I don’t know. I thought just being near him and trying to help him might be of some use to him.’

Patrick looked at Christopher and smiled: ‘All I can say, my dear, is you’ve failed lamentably. I can’t help agreeing with Ronnie at times. You should be forcefully prevented from good works.’

‘Oh dear. What have I done now? I know. I can feel it. You’ve come here to torment me.’

‘Do sit down. You look like something in the zoo pacing up and down.’

Christopher collapsed on the divan and sat rubbing his large hands together. Patrick looked at him with disgust. Did Christopher ever grasp what went on round him? Did he ever know what he was doing? He was sitting like a naughty boy waiting to be punished. He looked as if he were longing to be hurt. It was nauseating the way he allowed himself to be mocked and bullied. Why did he never try to protect himself? It was irritating enough to have to admit that he had an enormous talent. But that it should reside in someone so weak-willed and intellectually stupid was too much to bear.

Christopher was unable to sit still. He crossed and uncrossed his long legs. His foot caught against a cup lying on the floor. It was already cracked and fell to pieces. He knelt down and started to collect the fragments in his paint-stained hands. He looked at Patrick with the melancholy eyes of a dog.

‘I’m ever so sorry. How careless of me,’ he said. ‘You’ve made me terribly nervous. There’s something forbidding about you this morning. It’s almost as if you have the evil eye.’

He got up off his knees, looking round for somewhere to put the broken pieces. The waste paper basket was filled already and overflowing. He dropped them in the grate.

‘I’m afraid it’s terribly dirty in here,’ he said.

‘For goodness’ sake stop being afraid for one minute,’ said Patrick.

He looked round the studio with visible distaste at the debris in the grate, the pieces of china, the torn-up letters which had blown on to the edge of the mat, and two crushed roses lying behind the fire bars. Roses. The same coloured roses as he’d seen at Ronnie’s house. His shot in the dark had been absolutely right. They had come from Michael.

‘I see you’ve been cultivating roses,’ he said.

Christopher smiled weakly. ‘So Nicholas told you, did he? I can’t help it even if you do think it was a terrible waste of money on my part. I couldn’t stop myself.’

‘Of course you couldn’t. You always do things without thinking, my dear.’

‘It wasn’t so wrong as you may think. To begin with the woman I bought them from was terribly pleased. She needed the money more than I did. When Mikey suggested taking them to the hospital I knew it had all been pre-ordained. It was a wonderful idea. It’s awful to think that there are children who have never seen a rose.’

With difficulty Patrick prevented himself from laughing. ‘I forgot you were so fond of children, my dear,’ he said.

‘You knew how much I always wanted to have children, Patrick. That’s one of the reasons I got married, even though I knew at the time I’d be a very bad father. I was frightened of failing as an artist and I thought there’d be sufficient compensation in becoming a father.’

‘You failed in that. But you succeeded as an artist.’

‘That’s why I shall never marry again. There’s no need. It isn’t vital any longer to have children. I’ve grown far too selfish.’

‘I’m sure you haven’t. Not everybody would have bought roses like that. Au fond you’re generous. That’s why anybody can make a fool of you.’

He looked down at the dust which had settled on his shoes during the few minutes he had been in the studio.

‘I’m afraid people do make a fool of me,’ said Christopher. ‘I don’t mind. If it gives them pleasure I’m pleased to be of use to them.’

‘Presumably you’ll be delighted to hear that Michael gave your roses to Lily. He never went near a hospital,’ said Patrick.

The effect of his words was fascinating. Christopher’s expression took a few seconds to alter. He had been grinning in his imbecile way, displaying his discoloured teeth, as Patrick had begun to speak. When he had finished he was still smiling. Then slowly the colour began to go out of his cheeks. His mouth stayed open. It started to open and close like the gills of a fish out of water.

Patrick looked at his eyes. They had begun to moisten in the corners.

‘Oh! That was very wicked of him,’ Christopher said very quietly. He looked sadly at Patrick. ‘Why did he tell you? If one’s done something wrong it’s better to keep it to oneself and let one’s own conscience punish one.’

‘I happened to find out by chance,’ said Patrick.

‘I wish you’d never told me. Now I shall never be able to talk to him without feeling embarrassed. I could never bring myself to reproach him. It would only make him even more bitter. He’d accuse me of spying on him and trying to organize his life.’

‘I shouldn’t worry, my dear. I have a feeling that he won’t be coming back.’

Christopher, who had got up from the divan, sat down again quickly.

‘He’s gone back to his aeroplanes,’ said Patrick. ‘Nicholas told me he’s got himself a job with a private airline.’

‘He never said a word to me about it,’ said Christopher. ‘That was most unkind of him. Most unkind. The idea is absolute madness.’

‘You said yourself he’s mad.’

‘That’s why he should have told me. I’d have done everything to dissuade him. His future doesn’t lie in the past. His future is the future.’

‘How madly acute!’

‘It’s all very well for you to laugh. You never look beyond people. You’re not interested in discovering what motivates them.’

‘You’re so wrong. Though I must say that what one finds is usually too depressing for words.’

‘I suppose you know what’s made Michael do this?’

‘Of course. First of all he doesn’t like charity. He wants to stand on his own. The poor boy hasn’t the faintest idea of how to set about it. He resents the fact that we’re established in our various ways. So he hates us. It’s a kind of jealousy. I’m afraid he hates you too, my dear.’

‘Why didn’t he tell me so?’ said Christopher.

‘He did. I don’t see how he could have said more plainly what he thought of us all. He singled Ronnie out in particular. He more or less defecated on his doorstep. It’s placed us all in a very tricky position. Ronnie’s not going to like you at all for harbouring such a viper and failing to keep it under proper control.’

‘What did he do?’ asked Christopher.

‘He popped Lily into bed. I can’t say how much your roses contributed to his success.’

Christopher did not reply. He walked to the window and looked down into the street.

‘I’m afraid he’s had a good laugh at our expense,’ said Patrick. ‘In many ways he wasn’t quite such a fool as you seem to think, Christopher. He’s succeeded in leaving quite a mess behind. Ronnie’s very cross with you. He’s going to be just as angry with me when he discovers exactly what happened. Which means he’s not going to hear of Nicholas working for Eleven. I’m beginning to wonder what’s going to happen to that little venture.’

Without turning round Christopher said: ‘Please go away, Patrick.’

‘Of course. I’m sorry to have brought you such depressing news, my dear.’ He paused, hoping that Christopher would turn and face him. Christopher did not move. ‘I can’t tell you how sorry I am about it all,’ he went on. ‘But it’s always best to face the truth. I know how much you value truth, my dear. Are you going to let me out?’

Christopher shook his head. He kept his face close to the window, determined that Patrick should not see the tears in his eyes.

Ronnie closed his eyes and leant back against the pillows exhausted. What he had always dreaded had finally occurred. The only consolation was that no greater calamity could now befall him. He felt rather hungry.

He could hear Lily crying. He opened his eyes and said: ‘Why did you have to deceive me? You know you’re free to come and go as you please.’

Lily wiped her eyes. ‘I know. I thought you’d be miserable if I’d told you.’

‘Are you in love with the boy?’

‘Oh no, Ronnie. I’ve told you what happened. He just made me feel young.’

‘The inference is plain. I don’t,’ said Ronnie bitterly.

‘Please don’t say that. It isn’t of any importance to me any longer. I only wanted to prove something to myself. I shall never see him again.’

‘You don’t want to leave me?’

‘Oh, no, Ronnie.’

‘Then you’d better go down and see about lunch. I don’t know whether I shall be able to eat much. You’ve probably ruined my digestion. You’d better concoct some particularly light and appetizing dishes.’

Alone in the bedroom Ronnie’s anger faded. It was only when one was suspicious that one could feel angry. Lily had made no attempt to lie to him. He was civilized and no civilized man tormented himself over the inexplicable psychology of women. What really mattered was that Lily still loved him. He had to admit that it was true that he had paid insufficient attention to her. He had begun to take her for granted. He had grown careless in his middle age. Along had come this insolent young man and thrown himself at her. She hadn’t stood a chance.

He put on his dressing gown and went into the bathroom.

After all, he told himself, as he lay in the hot bath, we attach a ridiculous importance to infidelity. It wasn’t the act of infidelity that made a man miserable when his wife or mistress was unfaithful to him. It was the fear of being deserted. Of being left alone. Lily had no wish to leave him. He hadn’t got to face the appalling prospect of being left alone.

As he made his way down the stairs to lunch, he had made up his mind to forget the incident as quickly as possible. He went into the morning room where Lily was waiting for him. He put his arms round her and kissed her gently on the forehead. ‘You’re looking very beautiful this morning, my dear,’ he said.

He picked up the papers, and settled himself on the sofa in front of the blazing log fire.

He had just finished reading The Times’ fourth leader when the telephone started to ring.

Lily picked up the receiver.

‘Mr Andrews of the Gladiator wants to talk to you, Ronnie,’ she said.

She brought the telephone across the room, and put it on the arm of the sofa.

‘Mr Gras? Andrews here. Gladiator. I’ll come straight to the point. If you’re not engaged at the moment, I can use you.’

‘Use me?’

‘I won’t waste time over the details now. I want you to change your mind and take over our woman’s page. We’ll pay you well. Ten thousand a year and expenses. I’ll have a contract sent round to you. Look it over right away, and let me have your comments if any.’

‘I’ll have to think it over.’

‘Sure, sure. Sleep on it for twenty-four hours. I’ll ring you tomorrow morning.’

Ronnie replaced the receiver.

‘A glass of sherry, dear,’ he called.

When Lily had placed the glass in his hand, he noticed that it was shaking.

Ten thousand a year and expenses. Patrick would have to start looking for someone else to edit Eleven.

Patrick was exhausted when he arrived at his flat. But it was a pleasant kind of exhaustion.

He had experienced such an enjoyable morning that he decided to break his rule of no spirits before the evening. He mixed himself a martini, and lay down on the sofa under the window.

There was no longer any point in staying in England. Eleven would never materialize now. The most sensible thing to do was to go away as soon as possible. Nicholas certainly deserved a holiday. Where could they go? North Africa? No. Rather too dangerous. In spite of all the money they were spending on pacifying the place, the French seemed to be having no success at all. There was a new hotel in Bermuda that people were talking about. One was likely to meet too many of one’s old friends there. It would be just as well to keep Nicholas away from them. Was a gentle cruise the answer? That meant meeting the most dreadful people. Cruises were no longer possible. They’d been taken up by business men from the Midlands with their wives. What was the name of his friend who had an island in the Aegean? That was no good. The Greeks didn’t love the English at the moment. Why couldn’t people stop bickering and live in peace?

Patrick decided to leave the problem of where to go to Nicholas. He might have a brilliant idea. Young men usually had some place in their dreams where they longed to go. If Nicholas proved unoriginal they could always go to Paris first, and decide there where to go.

He finished his drink, put his feet up on the sofa, lay back and closed his eyes.

He was asleep when Nicholas came into the flat. He awoke to hear him moving about in the hall before coming into the sitting-room.

‘Hullo, my dear. Did you have a lovely time shopping?’

‘Yes. How did you get on?’

‘Splendidly. But you must tell me first exactly what you’ve been doing. Did you buy everything you wanted?’

‘I seem to have spent an awful lot of money.’

‘Quite right. It’s such fun, isn’t it? Did you have a delicious lunch?’

‘I tried the Ritz.’

‘Oysters and champagne?’

‘How did you guess?’

‘Intuition.’

‘Did you talk to Ronnie?’

‘For a few minutes. I spent most of the morning with Christopher. You know how long it takes to get away from him.’

‘Is it all right about Eleven? I mean, you’ve fixed it all up with Ronnie.’

‘Everything’s been decided, my dear. . . . What have you done with all those exciting parcels?’

‘I’ve left them in the hall.’

‘Did you find a suitcase?’

‘I’m afraid not. All the possible ones turned out to be pigskin. . . . Tell me more about Ronnie. What did he decide I could do?’

Patrick patted the sofa. ‘Come and sit by me. I’m afraid you’re not going to like me very much. You mustn’t blame me. I did everything I could for you, but Ronnie refused to listen to me. I’m afraid he’s terribly conservative. The fact is, my dear, he was most uncomplimentary about you; almost rude when I mentioned your name.’

‘You told him about Michael and Lily!’ exclaimed Nicholas. ‘You promised you’d never say a word.’

‘I swear I didn’t. He found out for himself. I’m afraid that naughty girl was smitten with remorse and told him everything.’

‘What am I going to do?’ said Nicholas.

‘Do? I don’t see why you have to do anything except look delicious. That doesn’t require very much effort, does it?’

‘This is terrible. I can’t spend all my time doing nothing,’ said Nicholas.

‘Let’s forget about it for the moment, my dear. I’m sure something will turn up. Besides, I’ve a nasty feeling that we’ve been through all this before. Worrying ages you, my dear. You mustn’t forget that. You almost talk as if it’s my fault that Ronnie doesn’t like you. I think his behaviour’s childish in the extreme, but there it is. I’m afraid you must blame your friend Michael if Ronnie isn’t exactly anxious to have you on Eleven. Not that I think it matters nearly as much as you seem to think. It’s not as if you’ve been wasting your time since you came to London. I mean, you’re much more of a man of the world now than you were a week ago. You have enjoyed the last few days, haven’t you? You haven’t been bored, and that’s what really matters.’

‘I’ve had a marvellous time,’ said Nicholas. ‘The only thing that worries me is that I seem to have lost control of myself. Please don’t think I’m blaming you, Patrick. You’ve been so kind to me.’

‘I’m glad about that. It was rather naughty of me to throw you at my friends so quickly. I can see now it must have been a ghastly ordeal. Let’s forget all about it and pretend you’ve just arrived at the station looking anxious and rather lost.’

‘I don’t want to put the clock back,’ said Nicholas, ‘although the last week has been the most exciting in my life.’

He was speaking the truth. The last week had made his former life seem dull and dreary. He was appalled by the poverty of his existence in Rochester. Now he could buy what he liked; eat where he chose. He wondered how he had been able to tolerate provincial life for so long.

Patrick said: ‘We must have lots more fun together. What do you think we should do now? Where would you like to go?’

‘Couldn’t we stay here for a little while. I’m rather tired.’

‘I meant where would you like to go for a holiday, my dear,’ said Patrick. ‘If you’re tired it’s high time you left this boring little island.’

Nicholas knew that he must do what Patrick wanted. On no account must he resist. He remembered what had happened when he had refused to go with him to Paris.

‘I’d like to go wherever you want to go,’ he said.

‘Rather unoriginal, my dear. Never mind. In that case I suggest we go to Paris for a few days. Meanwhile, if you think of some charming corner of the world which I’ve never seen, perhaps you’ll let me know. You ought to have a really long holiday. Would you like to go to the South Seas?’

Nicholas stared at the floor, looked up at Patrick and said: ‘It’s funny to think within the last two weeks I’ve lost two jobs I never started. First of all the Gladiator and then Eleven. Now I’m not going to work at all. I’m going to France on a holiday with you. Usually one doesn’t have a holiday until one’s done some work.’

‘Life so often turns out the opposite to what we expect, my dear. I think it makes it rather intriguing.’

Nicholas said: ‘Did you see Michael today?’

‘I don’t see the connection. What an odd way your mind runs! As a matter of fact I didn’t. Christopher hadn’t seen him either. He seems to have disappeared.’

‘I must see Michael,’ said Nicholas.

‘You’d better telephone him.’

‘I’ll wait until tomorrow.’

‘You won’t have time to go chasing after him tomorrow. I feel we’re going to have rather a busy day packing, buying tickets, and finding you a smart new case.’

Nicholas had to see Michael. He had accepted Patrick’s terms. He had made a decision and sold himself. Now that he had taken the step, he wanted someone to tell him that he had done the right thing.

‘If I won’t have time tomorrow I must find him tonight,’ he said.

‘I don’t see why it matters all that much, my dear.’

‘I want to say goodbye to him, Patrick. He’s my oldest friend. I simply must see him.’

‘Must? I’ve a feeling it’s going to be rather difficult,’ said Patrick. He stretched out his arms and yawned. ‘Do you know, my dear, I’m far more exhausted than I’d imagined. What I need is a hot bath. When I’ve filled the bath with foam, come and talk to me. I feel like a dryad when it’s up to my ears.’

When Patrick came out of the bathroom feeling relaxed and refreshed, Nicholas was no longer in the flat.

Patrick walked into the hall. The parcels lay still unopened on the floor. Nicholas’s coat was not hanging among the other coats. Could he have slipped out to buy an evening paper or some cigarettes? It would have been much simpler to order them by telephone. It was the kind of funny thing Nicholas might do. He had not yet learnt the way to live, although he was coming along fast.

Patrick dressed slowly, paying particular attention to his appearance. He returned to the sitting-room and poured himself a drink. He looked at his watch and frowned. Surely it didn’t take Nicholas an hour to do whatever he was doing? It was most careless of him not to have left a message where he was going. It was slightly irritating too the way he had declined his invitation to come and talk to him in the bath.

As the minutes passed, Patrick’s impatience changed to anger. It was outrageous behaviour. Certainly not a very happy start to a holiday. Nicholas had seemed keen enough about that. What on earth could have possessed him? Michael. That was the answer. Nicholas had rushed off to find Michael. He had even used the word must.

Patrick knew that he should have put an end to that nonsense for good. He had been right in supposing that Michael had a most unhealthy influence over Nicholas. Michael was too cynical, too rude. He made no effort to conceal his feelings. It wouldn’t surprise him in the least if Michael had already told Nicholas what a dangerous position he was in.

It was now six o’clock. Did Nicholas expect him to wait for him indefinitely?

With an exclamation of anger Patrick went into the bedroom and put on his coat.

When he came out of the lift, he crossed the foyer to the hall porter’s desk. ‘If anyone calls for me while I’m out, you’re to ask them to wait down here,’ he said. ‘You’re to allow no one to go up to my flat. Absolutely no one. Do you understand?’

‘Perfectly, sir.’

As Patrick was being driven to the Rialto he grew more and more angry with Nicholas. It was surprising Nicholas hadn’t borrowed the car while he was about it. Whatever he was doing, it was extremely ill-mannered to leave one alone so suddenly. Did he really imagine that one could telephone one’s friends and say that one had been deserted and couldn’t bear to be left alone? Nicholas was taking far too much for granted.

Nicholas searched desperately for a taxi. It seemed to him essential that he should find Michael as quickly as possible. Only a few minutes ago he had been willing to do whatever Patrick wanted. If Patrick had said they were leaving for Timbuktu he would have gone with him without protest. Suddenly the situation had changed. Before he knew what he was doing, he had run out of the flat. Had he resented the casual way in which Patrick had accepted his submission?

Patrick had fanned the dying embers of Nicholas’s independence into a final splutter of flames. Instinctive fear had sent him flying out into the street, while the last chance of escape remained.

When he reached Christopher’s studio he saw that there was no light shining in the upstairs room. He asked the driver to wait, walked slowly up the steps, and pressed the bell. He heard it ring inside the house. But there was no sound of footsteps descending the stairs. The studio was deserted.

Nicholas’s mood began to change. Both Christopher and Michael were out. They might not come back for several hours. He would accomplish nothing sitting on the doorstep waiting for them to return. He had already been away from Patrick far too long. He must think about getting back to him as quickly as possible. He would have to think of a good excuse to explain his sudden disappearance. He could say that he had gone out to buy a paper or some cigarettes. Once again he had acted without thinking. The consequences as usual would be unpleasant.

As he drove back in the taxi, he knew that his excuse was too weak to use. He had been away too long. It might be wiser to try to explain the truth.

He paid off the taxi and ran into the foyer.

‘Whom do you want?’ called the porter.

‘I’m just going up.’

‘So I see. Whom do you want?’

‘I’m staying here.’

‘I don’t know anything about that. The gentleman left instructions that if anyone called they were to wait for him down here.’

‘How long will he be?’

‘How should I know?’ said the porter.

Nicholas sat down on a chair and waited. Occasionally the porter sauntered past him to the door, inspected the night, threw a glance in his direction, and returned whistling to his desk to study the next day’s racing.

Nicholas waited for two hours. It was finally the look of unconcealed contempt on the porter’s face that drove him out. In any case Patrick might not return until the early hours of the morning. There was nothing for Nicholas to do except see about finding himself an hotel for the night. It would be wiser to be out of the way when Patrick returned. He would probably be tired and that would be the worst time to attempt an explanation.

As Nicholas walked out into the street he cursed himself for having behaved so idiotically. He should have thought about the consequences of running out on Patrick without so much as a word of explanation.

The running away had been easy. Getting himself back again might prove difficult.