‘WAKE UP, JOHN.’
The shadows of leaves came into focus. He was staring at the ceiling. Morning sun filtered through swaying branches at the bedroom window. He tried to lift his head, but the pounding forced it back to the pillow.
‘You banged your head last night,’ said Ixora, pressing a cool flannel to his brow. ‘You must have slipped on the stairs.’
‘No, there was somebody waiting there—’
‘I heard you fall. I came down moments later.’ She smoothed the gilt counterpane around his body. ‘There was no one else.’
‘Then he must have managed to get out.’
‘The front door was still locked on the inside, John. Only you and I were in the house. Just lie back and rest. I’ve called the office to say you’ll be in late this morning.’
‘Did you speak to Howard?’
‘Yes.’
‘How was he?’
‘You’ll find out soon enough,’ replied Ixora.
‘I was relying on you, John.’ Howard swept around the office like a caged animal mapping the limits of its confinement. ‘How could you let me down like this? We had Morrison this close to signing the whole show over to us, and now this. How could you lose your sense of discretion over something as delicate as this?’
‘What’s happened?’
‘David Glen has been calling to speak to you. Does the name ring a bell? David Glen and the million-dollar screenplay, the same David Glen who’s represented by the Morrison Agency? It turns out that he and Scott Tyron – who Glen wants for the lead in his movie – meet up in LA yesterday, and are lunching in Spago or one of those other restaurants where the diners are more interested in power-fucking each other than tasting the food, and Glen mentions that Diana Morrison wants us to handle his deal, to which Tyron says, “Forget it, David, you can’t trust those bastards at Dickson-Clarke.” And Glen asks, “Why not, Scott?” and Scott replies – and listen carefully, John, ’cause this is the punchline – “They’re unprofessional. They fucked up my publicity on Playing With Fire by turning me into a Tom Cruise clone, but worse than that, one of them ended up fucking my co-star.”’ Howard thrust his hand menacingly. ‘You want to tell me about this?’ Before John had a chance to answer, his intercom buzzed.
‘Hold all calls, Jane.’
‘It’s not a call. It’s your son. He’s here in reception.’
John’s finger jumped on to the talkback switch. ‘Don’t let him leave. I’ll be right there.’
Howard turned in anger. ‘Where do you think you’re going?’ he shouted. ‘There’s no time left to sort this out.’
‘Nor this,’ said John, grabbing his jacket from the back of the chair and leaving the room. He supposed it was inevitable that Howard would eventually find out about their affair. He had been warned of the consequences of becoming involved with his clients; Howard had made it plain that such actions constituted grounds for dismissal. But for now, he forced himself to put the problem out of his mind and concentrate on his son.
Josh was standing awkwardly in the steel-and-plexiglass reception area, his hands folded together before him. He looked more adult than John had ever seen him. He’d gained a little weight, and his shoulders seemed squarer, his expression cool and serious. He kept his eyes downcast as they greeted each other. John wanted to hug him, but decided that it would be best to keep his distance until he could gauge the boy’s feelings.
‘Come on, let’s get out of here.’ He opened the main door and ushered the boy through, tousling his hair. As his son had initiated the meeting, he forced himself to remain silent, allowing Josh to open the conversation. For the next ten minutes they walked to the Embankment in silence. It had just stopped raining, and the street air was still pleasantly fresh.
‘How are you, Dad?’ asked the boy finally as they waited to cross the road.
‘All right. How is your mother?’
‘Driving me crazy.’
‘Well, I hope you’re looking after her.’
‘I try to, but she keeps telling me not to grow up like you. And to stay away from you. She thinks I’m at school today.’
‘It was very brave of you to come and see me.’
‘I wanted to.’ Josh turned to him, his brow furrowed. ‘Mum says you’re living with her.’
‘That’s true.’
‘So you’re not coming back.’
‘I don’t think your mother would want me back,’ he said, sidestepping the question. They wiped off one of the benches overlooking the river and sat, the sun appearing as a pale halo above the clouds.
‘She’s very angry with you. It’s all she ever talks about. She spends most of her time at the stupid neighbour’s. And her cooking’s got really lousy. Do you want to come back?’
‘To be honest, Josh, I don’t know. I’ve been with your mother a long time, from before I was really a man. In a way, I never had to grow up. I never learned what life was really like. I hid away from everything. Now things are different. It’s changing all the time. I like that.’
To their right, a train trundled across Hungerford Bridge. A knot of figures were huddled together on the walkway. They were pulling on a set of ropes which hung from the railing.
‘Mum says that you’re only thinking of yourself.’
‘Well, to an extent that’s true, because I want to understand more about my life. But I have to think of you and your mother as well. I have to do what’s right for all of us. What’s happened to our family is my fault, but the problem between your mother and me isn’t a new thing. It’s been there for a long time now, only neither of us did anything about it. What I did brought it to the surface.’
‘Are you going to give her a divorce?’
‘I suppose so, if that’s what she really wants.’ But now, of course, there was a pregnancy to consider. He decided not to mention it to Josh until he and Helen could decide on a course of action.
There was a shout on the bridge, and the knot of figures craned over the railing. Somebody fired a flashgun.
‘Do you love this woman enough to leave me and Mum?’
Christ, thought John, what a question. Only a child could ask something like that. At Josh’s age, emotions were still quantifiable, as if one could be weighed off against the other.
‘I do love her, yes, but I don’t want to lose you.’
‘It’s very complicated, isn’t it?’
‘It’s part of being an adult.’
‘Bummer.’ Josh consulted his sneakers.
‘You can do something to help, you know.’
‘What?’
‘Let me see you more often, to talk like this.’
‘I would have before, but, you know . . .’
‘I know.’
‘Hey, look. They’re taking something out of the river.’ Up on the bridge, they were hoisting a pair of dripping brown bundles over the railing. ‘Neat,’ said Josh excitedly. ‘Maybe it’s dead bodies, like a suicide pact or something. Can we go and watch?’
‘No. Let’s get something to eat,’ said John, hauling his son to his feet. ‘You’ve got a very morbid imagination.’
‘So would you, hanging around the house right now,’ replied Josh, clambering on to the seat for a better view and wrinkling his nose with pleasure.
They walked up into Henrietta Street, heading for Joe Allen’s. John knew that the restaurant would be warm and busy, conducive to easy conversation.
‘If you want, I could probably get Mum to meet you,’ said Josh, drizzling ketchup over his grilled chicken. ‘If you want.’ They were sitting in a far corner of the restaurant, surrounded by too many plates of french fries. ‘Then if you get back together, I take a hefty commission.’
John narrowed his eyes as he watched the boy. ‘You’re a smart kid,’ he lisped in his movie-star voice. ‘And you know what happens to smart kids.’
‘They get dropped in the river at night,’ they said in unison, repeating the line from a horror video they had once rented when Helen was out.
‘What do you say you and I go fishing one weekend?’
‘Fishing is for dweebs. Bowling’s cooler.’
‘Fine by me.’
‘So, do you want me to or not?’
‘Do I want you to or not what?’
‘You know.’ He winked. ‘Fix up a meeting. Be nice for you to get back with Mum in time for Christmas.’
‘You’re really pushing this, aren’t you? We’ll see. Keep eating.’ He shovelled the rest of the chips on to Josh’s plate.
Slowly, they found a way to talk of the things Josh had always preferred to discuss with his father. John could see that they had tentatively arrived at a new level of understanding. For the first time ever, he felt that he had held an adult conversation with his son. Finally he pushed back his chair and patted his stomach. ‘I’m stuffed. You want some more fries?’
‘Are you kidding? And leave no room for dessert?’ He reached across and wiped a spot of ketchup from John’s chin. ‘Mum said that if I saw you, you’d try to buy me off with stuff to win back my affections, so I’m going for the biggest ice cream on the menu. I could have a brandy poured on it.’
‘You could try and die in the attempt. She said that, did she?’
‘Yeah, but it’s okay, you don’t have to buy me off. I still love you.’ He concentrated on wiping his plate clean, to avoid the embarrassment of catching John’s eye.
‘And I love you, Josh. I’m very proud of you, you know.’
‘That’s great, Dad.’ He scrunched up his eyes and grinned. ‘You want to take me shopping?’
‘Where the fuck have you been?’ shouted Howard. He was standing in the centre of the corridor with sheaves of documents sprouting from his fists. Everyone else was in hiding.
‘I was with my son,’ said John quietly. ‘We had some things to sort out.’
‘Great! We’re in the process of losing the most important account we’ve ever had, and you’re off spending quality time with your goddamned family. I thought you understood what this job entailed. Now that you’re back, perhaps we can pick up where we left off. Get in my office!’ He slammed the door behind John and strode to the window, clenching and unclenching his hands. ‘Let me get this right. You’re having an affair with Ixora De Corizo.’
‘It’s more than that, Howard. I’ve left my wife for her. We’re living together.’
Howard fell back heavily into his chair, the colour draining from his jowls. ‘You’re kidding me, right?’
‘Would it be better if I was?’
‘What did I tell you when you joined? Huh? Don’t shit where you eat. What’s the first thing you go and do?’
John watched Howard, disturbed by his reaction. His anger seemed to far exceed the crime. Surely any ill feeling could be patched up with a phone call to Glen.
‘Why did you do it? And why with her?’
‘What do you mean?’ asked John, puzzled.
Howard was shaking his head in mock amazement. ‘Well, how do you think she got the job?’ he asked, leaning across the desk. ‘A model with no previous acting experience?’
‘She was chosen by the director,’ said John. ‘Wasn’t she?’
‘Well, that’s one way of putting it. Let’s just say she gave the greatest performance of her career before she reached the cameras.’
‘You’re telling me she slept with Farley Dell to get the part?’
‘I don’t know whether they got any sleep in. Wake up, John, for God’s sake.’
John rose to his feet, blood suffusing in his face. ‘How do you know this is true?’
For a moment Howard seemed about to speak, then he waved the thought away. ‘Look, let’s just forget this conversation happened. You should still have stayed away from her.’
There was no doubt in his mind that Howard was lying – but why? John could feel a chill sweat starting to trickle down his back. He searched the air for some rational lead to the conversation. ‘Wait, you’re telling me to stay away from the clients and yet you’re the one—’
‘Hey, I’m the boss.’ Howard stabbed a finger at his chest. ‘Everyone knows about me. It’s different. And I’m a fucking sight more discreet than you’ve just been.’
‘I didn’t tell Tyron.’
‘Then maybe she did.’
‘No.’ He moved towards the door. ‘Ixora wouldn’t have any reason for doing so.’
‘Wouldn’t she? Maybe she knows something you don’t. Listen, John, when you came here I warned you that you’d be dealing with a different race of people. The men and women who populate this industry aren’t like normal folk. They kiss you and then they kill you. There are guys out there who will pay to have you cut if you cross them. There are women with angels’ faces who behave like Typhoid Mary. You have to treat them carefully and handle them from a distance, as if they were viruses. Everyone’s out for themselves. Don’t trust anyone, especially not the one you’re sleeping with. You remember me saying that?’
‘No,’ said John. ‘I really don’t.’
He clipped three sets of red lights on his way to Chelsea before reason brought his anger under control. By the time John parked in Sloane Crescent the sun had vanished behind lowering cloud, and it was starting to rain.
He found her in her usual position, seated in the embroidered bedroom, watching his arrival from the window. There was not a single light on in the house. He switched on the dressing-table lamp as she rose to greet him. After their embrace, he placed his hands on her shoulders and seated her on the edge of the bed.
‘I understand less about you each day, Ixora,’ he said quietly, recounting his conversation with Howard. She did not try to interrupt him, but waited until he had finished before she spoke.
‘John, do you remember the first time we had dinner together, and I pointed out how different you were from most of the people I’d met in this industry? You’re doing it again.’
‘Doing what?’
‘Being naïve. Think it through. You know there’s no love lost between Scott Tyron and me. Why did he ask me to re-dub my lines three times?’
‘I suppose he wasn’t happy with your performance.’
‘My performance is the director’s problem, not his. Right from the start he wanted me out of the film, because he felt I was deflecting attention away from him. The press coverage I received during the production was phenomenal, thanks entirely to you. Scott complained to Dell, who ignored him and kept me in the film. The only way Scott could get his own back was by replacing my voice during the post-production. And who does he want to use as a vocal replacement?’
‘I saw the audition tape go through. I can’t remember her name.’
‘She’s a woman called Lindsey Hall. She’s David Glen’s girlfriend, John. Don’t you get it? Scott’s going to be playing the lead in Glen’s movie. Howard wants the new film and its writer signed up through the Morrison Agency – my agency. Diana Morrison is naturally anxious to put me up for a role. Scott doesn’t want me getting any more publicity on Playing With Fire. In his opinion I’ve had too much already, because of my connection with you. He doesn’t even want me to audition for the new picture. He’d rather see Glen’s girlfriend signed. So the only way the account will go to Howard is if I’m not in the deal.’
‘How do you know all this?’
‘Because I heard today that Howard asked Diana Morrison to drop my audition so that he would get the account. Diana apparently said no, because you’re doing such a fine job with my publicity, and she sees my career building. My guess is that Howard had already found out about us, and it didn’t fit in with his plans. His only option is to break the bond between you and me.’
‘You think he made up that story so that I would finish with you, and he could get the account?’
She sat back against the bedpost, tired. ‘You tell me, John. That’s what it looks like.’
John was shocked. He knew that business always came first with Howard, but never expected him to lie to his own staff, his own friends . . .
‘How close did you come to believing him?’
‘After all that’s happened lately, very close indeed,’ he admitted. ‘I can’t work with someone who’ll say anything to get what he wants. How can I ever trust him?’
‘People like Howard will betray anyone for money. He has betrayed you, John. You must do something about it. In my country . . .’
‘Which country is that?’
‘. . . a situation like this would have to be confronted. I’m so very tired. I have to sleep.’ She lowered her head to the counterpane and closed her eyes. With his hand resting on her cool bare shoulder, John numbly watched the final glimmer of light refract through the rusted trees of their garden wilderness.