He found her in Annabel’s, unaccompanied, two nights later. On this evening, the cocktail dress and heels were a dark green. As he kissed her cheek, the image of the wild rose returned. He had arrived back at his flat at 7 o’clock, having finished his work in chambers, and relaxed with a glass or two of whisky before making himself a light supper. At 10.30 he called Deborah to tell her he was going to bed and wish her good night, and at 11 o’clock, he made his way to Berkeley Square. It was Friday, and the club was packed with smart-set young people, the in-crowd, celebrating the start of the weekend. They had to cling to a corner of the bar just to make enough space to talk, and even then, it was hard for them to hear each other above the animated hubbub.
‘I like to be taken to the Clermont Club,’ she said. ‘But as someone once said, I have always depended on the kindness of strangers. Who was that?’
‘Blanche’, he replied, ‘in Streetcar – Tennessee Williams. But you’re no Blanche DuBois, and hopefully they are friends now, rather than strangers.’
‘Some of them are,’ she said, stubbing out her cigarette and squeezing the butt out of the holder into the ashtray. ‘But you never really know. Some of them just like to have me with them as an accessory, to show me off, as if they own me.’
‘Even Jack Bristow?’
‘Especially Jack Bristow.’
‘Oh, come on, Greta, I’m sure –’
‘You don’t know the Clermont yet, Conrad. What do you think it’s all about? Do you think John Aspinall makes men members of the Clermont because he likes them, because they’re all friends? It’s not true – whatever he may tell you. He makes them members because they’re rich and powerful men, who can afford to lose a lot of money but can’t afford to be seen as losers. Believe me, they don’t care about me. They care about having a good-looking woman by their side when they gamble, because they think it makes them look even richer and more powerful than they are.’
She lit another cigarette.
‘It’s all about image. In any case, I know my place. I’m not welcome in the Clermont for who I am; I’m tolerated because of who I’m with. I don’t fit in.’
‘Of course you do. You’re—
‘I’m a foreigner, Conrad. You said it yourself. The British love to look down on anyone who’s different, and those aristocratic types who run the Clermont are the worst of all. Do you think men like Jimmy Goldsmith and Kerry Packer would be allowed in if they weren’t made of money and didn’t mind losing it? Not a chance.’
He signalled to the barman for more drinks. She smiled.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I didn’t mean to get started on all that. Let’s talk about something else. Let’s talk about you. Who is Conrad Rainer – other than a barrister from a family that wishes it wasn’t German?’
He laughed.
‘That’s a good question. I’m not sure I’ve ever thought much about it. Once you get started at the Bar and the work starts to flow in, you don’t have time to breathe, much less think about questions like who you are.’
‘Well, let’s start with what you like to do in those rare moments when you’re not working. You know about Tennessee Williams, so I assume you like the theatre?’
‘Yes. But I can’t remember when I last went.’
‘Books?’
‘Yes, but mostly stuff that’s easy to read these days, a thriller when I’m on holiday – which I almost never am.’
‘Music?’
‘Yes, classical music, and some jazz, if it’s well done.’
‘Concerts?’
‘Not these days; on the radio. I went to the Proms a few times, years ago, but not any more.’
‘Eating well?’
‘Ah, yes. That’s one of the few cultural pursuits we do make time for as lawyers.’
‘So you do go to restaurants? Well that’s something. What sort of cuisine do you like? French?’
‘Yes, but also Italian – and Portuguese, which is very underrated.’
‘I agree,’ she said. ‘So, what have we established so far? I think we have established that you like good things but never make time for them: am I right?’
They laughed together.
‘Spot on.’
‘Doesn’t your wife make sure you find some time to relax?’
‘My wife? I didn’t say I was married.’
She almost choked, inhaling from her cigarette.
‘Oh, Conrad, please. The day I can’t tell whether a man is married is the day I go back to Leipzig.’
They laughed together again.
‘Do you have children?’
‘No… she can’t, you know…’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘It’s all right. So… my wife. What can I say –?’
She put out the cigarette.
‘I don’t know. What can you say? I think, if you could say anything about her to me, you would have said it already, and I conclude from this that your wife does not support you in the things you enjoy. Am I right?’
He bowed his head. She did not rush him.
‘Deborah is very different from me. She’s very religious.’
‘In what way, religious?’
‘She’s a Baptist. She takes the Bible literally, she believes in heaven and hell, and she doesn’t hold with drinking, smoking, gambling, or anything else most people do to have a good time.’
‘So I would guess you’ve never brought her to Annabel’s?’
‘You would guess correctly.’
‘She’s not just religious, then: she’s a puritan?’
‘I suppose you could say that. Yes.’
‘But, of course. Look, I know lots of religious people. Some of them are against certain pleasures of the flesh, some are against others, but very few are against all pleasures. For example, the Catholics I know are usually against sex unless it’s for making babies, but I know one or two Catholic bishops who could drink us both under the table before lunch and wouldn’t think twice about it. The Protestants would be horrified by that, but they can be quite happy to jump into bed with each other if they get the chance. How does your wife – Deborah, is it? – how does she feel about sex?’
‘Greta –’
‘Oh, I’m sorry. I’ve crossed the line, haven’t I? It’s the one question you never ask anyone in England. Typical foreigner, you see. I told you, I don’t fit in. Never mind. Let’s talk about something else –’
‘No,’ he said. He paused for a few moments. ‘No, since you’ve asked, let’s talk about sex. Since you ask, she’s not very keen on it. We have an appointment every Sunday, after lunch. Once in a while, I can make an appointment at some other time if I show good cause, and it doesn’t get in the way of Bible study, or the church committee, or the youth group, or… whatever else may be going on. Once, in the missionary position, and she prefers to keep her nightdress on.’
He suddenly banged his fist down on the bar and bowed his head.
She finished her drink and looked at him carefully.
‘How old are you, Conrad?’
He looked up. ‘I’m 53. Why?’
She nodded.
‘Come with me, please,’ she said.
She led him quickly to a discreet door behind the bar marked ‘Staff only’, rummaged through her handbag for a key, and opened it. The door led to a narrow corridor. She took Conrad’s hand and they began walking. A young man, wearing a chef’s white hat and apron and carrying an empty metal tray, was coming the other way.
‘Evening, Greta. All right?’
‘Hello, Bobby. I’m fine. You?’
‘Can’t complain.’
She pushed open a door to her left, pulled him inside and bolted the door.
He looked around, startled.
‘What is this?’
‘Quite obviously,’ she replied, ‘it’s a toilet. Don’t worry, it’s a ladies. It’s for the staff.’
‘But what if someone wants to come in?’
‘They’ll just have to wait, won’t they?’
‘But how can you…?’
‘I told you on Wednesday. I’m a friend of Annabel’s.’
‘But…’
‘Shut up, Conrad,’ she said. ‘Stand against the door.’
He obeyed. She expertly undid his flies, and he felt his trousers slip down around his ankles. His underwear followed. He felt suddenly faint, but he noticed that without any conscious input from him, his penis had risen naturally to meet her hand. She held it firmly and kissed its tip.
‘What are you doing?’ he breathed hoarsely.
‘I’m doing what Deborah should have done, long before you reached the age of 53,’ she replied.
Afterwards, she lit a cigarette.
‘Do you mind if I have one of those?’ he asked.
‘Yes, I’m sorry.’ She gave him a cigarette, and lit it for him. ‘I didn’t know you smoked. I haven’t seen you with a cigarette.’
‘I haven’t smoked since university,’ he replied. ‘But I’m thinking of starting again.’
She smiled. ‘Good for you.’
As they smoked silently, he ran his hand gently up inside her dress, feeling the top of her stocking.
‘I’d be happy to…’ he began.
But she put her hand over his and held it still.
‘Yes, you will be happy to do that for me,’ she said, ‘but not now. We’ll have plenty of time later. Now, I want you to take me to the Clermont Club. As my friend.’