It took us some time to find Jon, but we eventually tracked him down to the front reception room, where he was looking happy and relaxed as he chatted with a largish group, which included Ben Battersby. We walked over to the group and I tapped Jon’s shoulder.
He turned, still smiling at whatever anecdote had just been recounted.
‘Hi,’ he said and then added, addressing David, ‘All well?’
David nodded.
‘Good.’ Jon gestured towards the group. ‘Do you know everyone?’
‘We’re actually just heading off,’ I said.
‘Both of you?’ asked Jon. ‘So you don’t need seeing to your door?’
David leaned forward. ‘Don’t worry, Jon, I’ll see her safely home.’
‘Oh, for goodness sake,’ I smiled. ‘It’s not even eleven and I’m thirty-two years old. But yes, I have David as my escort. So, you can stay and enjoy yourself.’
He nodded and kissed my cheek. ‘I’ll see you soon. David,’ he raised his glass to him, ‘I’m pleased everything is OK.’
Whilst David smiled and made some typically positive comments about the evening, I looked up at Jon and had a sudden and unexpected urge to ask him to quit the party, come for coffee, tell me all about his new relationship and reassure me that everything was going to be fine. I wasn’t certain what had happened this evening but I felt a distance opening up between us, which I was desperate to narrow.
‘Jon,’ I began impulsively, as soon as David had finished speaking.
‘Sorry, yes?’ He had already half-turned away from us to return to the group discussion and he now looked over his shoulder at me enquiringly.
‘Well, I just wondered…’ I glanced at David, who was now scanning the crowd, I assumed in search of Eleanor. ‘I just wondered if… I mean, I know you probably want…’
Jon raised his left eyebrow, looking puzzled and, I thought, mildly impatient. I felt the gulf between us widen. I was making things worse. I shook my head and smiled. ‘I’m rambling. I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s the matter with me this evening.’
‘Well, I wouldn’t rush to the doctor,’ he said. ‘You seem pretty much the same as ever to me.’
It sounded like a joke. But it didn’t feel like one.
‘Ah, you know me so well,’ I said, hardening a little. ‘Anyway, you enjoy the rest of your evening.’
He didn’t speak. Instead, he simply smiled and then nodded a farewell; clearly keen, I thought, not to prompt any further stumbling monologues. I turned to David and put a hand on his arm. ‘Let’s go,’ I said, and we began our search for Eleanor.
We made our way back to the rear of the house and spent two or three minutes looking for her, before deciding she must be elsewhere. Following fruitless forays into the den, the study, the utility room and a return to the front reception room, I was beginning to favour a text-and-run approach to the situation.
‘She could be anywhere, David,’ I said wearily. We were now standing in the main hallway and I pointed upstairs. ‘She might be in the bathroom, or giving someone a tour.’
He nodded. ‘I know, but I really don’t like to leave without telling her I’m going. You don’t have to stay, though.’ He took out his phone. ‘I’ll call you a cab.’
‘Put that away,’ I said, placing my hand over his phone. ‘Of course, I’ll stay. Unless there’s some reason you’d prefer me not to, that is.’
He looked at the ceiling and blinked rapidly. ‘It’s just that… I’ve been thinking…’ he began uncertainly, before gathering pace, ‘and I believe I need to tell Eleanor, immediately, that I do not want anything beyond a professional relationship with her.’ He looked at me. ‘I need to be clear with her. And it cannot wait.’
I stared at him. ‘You mean you’re going to dump her?’
‘I’m not really comfortable with that expression,’ he said. ‘But, yes, I am going to let her go.’ He paused and swallowed. ‘Whether she wants me to let her go or not.’
I bit my lip. ‘But does it have to be right now? Do you think that’s wise? I’m not great at this kind of thing but instinct is telling me—’
‘Hello, you two!’ I turned to see Louise Battersby, waving at us, as she heading down the hallway towards us. ‘There’s a queue a mile long for the loo back there, so I’m going to make a sneaky run upstairs. Don’t tell on me, will you?’
‘Louise,’ said David, ‘I don’t suppose you know where Eleanor is, do you?’
She paused mid-flight and considered the matter. ‘Well, she said earlier that she had to check on the caterers downstairs. Try down there,’ she said, recommencing her climb.
I turned to David with the intention of continuing our conversation regarding the wisdom of dumping Eleanor, a possibly very influential client, at a crowded party – her crowded party. But he was already halfway down the stairs to the lower ground floor. I hurried after him.
‘David, for goodness sake—’
He looked up at me and put a finger to his lips. He had reached the bottom of the stairs and was standing outside the half-open door to the basement, which was actually guest accommodation, comprising living room, bedroom, shower room and kitchen. The caterers were using the latter as their base, in order to keep the main kitchen free from clutter.
David beckoned to me with his left hand, whilst keeping his right index finger firmly pressed against his lips. I crept down the final few stairs and stood next to him, crouching slightly so that his chin touched the top of my head, our ears turned towards the gap in the doorway.
‘I tell people I’m thirty-six and they just can’t believe it.’ We could hear Eleanor quite clearly, despite the fact that she was using her breathy, rather than her more usual Kalashnikov, tone. ‘They all say, “Oh, surely you’re not, Eleanor.”’
‘They say that because she’s not,’ whispered David. ‘She’s forty-one. I saw her driving licence.’
I placed my hand across my mouth to stifle a snigger.
‘They say that because I look after myself, you see,’ Eleanor continued. ‘This body doesn’t come easy or cheap, you know.’ I raised my eyebrows but resisted the obvious joke out of respect for David’s current relationship with the woman.
There followed a slight pause, during which someone cleared their throat. ‘Ah, yes, I am seeing that, Mees Black,’ said a male, heavily-accented voice.
‘I know you are…’ Eleanor’s voice dropped but remained audible. ‘I’ve seen you seeing. You’ve been seeing all evening, haven’t you, Damian?’
‘Damario, Mees Black. My name is Damario.’ Damario laughed nervously.
‘What’s in a name?’ breathed Eleanor.
More nervous male laughter.
‘Anyway, Damian…’
‘Damario.’
‘Damianario—’
‘Eet ees Damario.’ He began to enunciate slowly. ‘Da…mar…i…’
‘Oh who cares what your bloody name is!’ Eleanor snapped, before quickly following up the explosion with the most unconvincing attempt at a girlish giggle I had ever heard. ‘Of course, I care,’ she said hurriedly. ‘That was just my little joke, Daman… Damar…’
‘Da-mar-i-o.’
‘Yes, yes, that’s right,’ she said quickly. ‘Now, as I was saying, I know you’ve been looking. So…’ At this point there was a longish pause. ‘…how about I show you some more?’
I looked at David, my eyes widening. He maintained a blank expression but returned his finger to his lips.
‘Eet ees OK, Mees Black.’ I detected unmistakeable panic in the voice. ‘I seen enough. You are very kindly and attracteev, but I seen enough. Please to you, stop now.’
And, at that point, without warning, David pushed the door wide open. Exposing our presence, and revealing to us an exposed Ms Black.
She was standing with her back to us, her dress unzipped to the waist and pulled from her shoulders. And she was braless; that, absolutely enormous, undergarment lying at her feet on the floor, like a discarded parachute.
I stood up from my crouching position and raised a hand. ‘Hello, there,’ I said.
She looked over her shoulder towards us, whilst placing her arms across her chest. Her eyes bulged, as her lids opened to their full extent. Her mouth hung ajar.
‘We thought you might need assistance,’ said David calmly.
‘I has not touched her! She ees touching me and I ees not liking eet!’ The terrified young caterer wedged between Eleanor Black and the wall began to gabble frantically. ‘I try to explain to her but she ees not stopping. I say to stop but she ees not!’ He appeared close to tears.
‘I was actually talking to you, Damario,’ said David. ‘We thought you might need help.’
The young man slid sideways along the wall to emerge from behind Eleanor. His shoulders sagged and he hung his head in relief. ‘Thank you, thank you,’ he said.
David walked over to him, extracting a business card from his wallet en route. He handed it to Damario. ‘My name is David Moore. This is my card. If you experience any problems,’ he looked at Eleanor, ‘any problems at all, as a result of what happened here this evening, just give me a call and I will act as a witness for you.’ He turned back to the young man. ‘Do you understand what I am saying?’
Damario nodded. ‘Thank you, Meester Moore. I am grateful.’
‘It’s not a problem,’ said David. ‘Now, why don’t you get back upstairs? You need have no further contact with Ms Black this evening. And do remember to call me if you experience any difficulty.’
Damario attempted a smile and then, without any acknowledgement of either Eleanor or myself, hastened from the room.
Eleanor slid her arms back into her dress, zipped it up and, still braless, turned to face us, her enormous bosoms settling at somewhere around waist level. Her eyes had shrunk to regular size and I was grudgingly impressed to note that she seemed to have regained some degree of composure. She silently eyed first David and then myself. I felt genuinely relieved that the row of knives, residing on a magnetic wall plate in the kitchen area, was well out of her reach.
‘We just came to say goodbye, Eleanor,’ said David. His voice remained calm but there was now a look about him which recalled to mind Sophie’s assertion earlier in the evening that he was “all man”. ‘I’m sorry this evening has proved so unpleasant in places. I would be very disappointed if that resulted in any negative impact upon Sophie’s reputation or, indeed, upon your own. And I would ask you to bear the latter particularly in mind should you in any way attempt to impugn the reputation of my colleague.’ He turned to me. ‘Shall we go, Alice?’
I nodded, struck dumb by his air of authority, then led the way out of the basement and upstairs to the front door.
‘Do you have a jacket?’ David asked, pointing at the clothes rails as we reached the top of the stairs.
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘here it is.’ I removed the jacket from its hanger. David took it from me and held it up for me to slip on.
He then wordlessly opened the front door, exiting after me and pulling the door closed behind us. Only when we had walked down the stone steps, crossed the drive and reached the pavement, did he release a huge sigh and permit himself a weary grin.
‘Well, Alice,’ he said, suddenly regaining the Clark Kent demeanour with which I was so familiar, ‘I think that’s me off the hook, isn’t it?’