He sloped back downstairs. Frances’ Guardian was neatly folded on the hall chest. No time to read it at school. Organised read in the evening. It had to be the Guardian.
Charles slumped on to the Harrods sofa and started reading an article on recycling waste paper. It failed to hold his attention. He checked the television times and switched on Play School. The picture was muzzy. He started fiddling with the UHF contrast knob. The phone rang.
‘Hello.’
‘Charles.’
‘Jacqui. Where on earth did you get this number?’
‘You gave it me ages ago. Said you were contactable there in the last resort.’
‘Yes. I suppose it is my last resort. What’s up?’
‘It’s about Marius.’
‘Yes?’
‘I tried to contact him again. Went to the house in Bayswater. It was a stupid thing to do, I suppose. Should’ve left him alone. Should be able to take a bloody hint. I don’t know.’
‘What happened?’
‘He wasn’t there. But this morning I had a letter.’
‘From Marius?’
‘Yes. It wasn’t signed, but it must be. It’s horrid. Charles, I’m shit-scared.’
‘Shall I come round?’
‘Can you?’
‘Yes.’ A pause. ‘Why did you ring me, Jacqui?’
‘Couldn’t think of anyone else.’
After he had put the phone down, Charles switched off Play School. He took an old envelope from the table and wrote on it in red felt pen, ‘THANKS. GOODBYE. SEE YOU.’ Then he left the house and set out for Highgate tube station.
III
Charles looked at the sheet of paper. It was pale blue with a dark bevelled edge and, on it, scrawled in black biro capitals, was an uncompromising message. Basically, it told Jacqui to get lost when she wasn’t wanted. And basically was the way it was done. The language was disgusting and the note anonymous. ‘Charming. Are you sure it’s from him?’
‘No one else had any reason.’
‘And is the language in character?’
‘Yes, he never was very delicate. Particularly when he was angry. Could be quite frightening.’
‘Paper familiar?’
‘Yes. He had it on his desk at Orme Gardens. Some headed, some plain like this.’
‘Hmm. Well, there’s only one way to treat shit of this sort.’ Charles screwed the note up into a dark glass ashtray and set it on fire with the table lighter. When the flame had gone, he blew the black ash carefully into the waste-paper basket. ‘When did it come?’
‘It was on the mat when I got up. About eleven. A bit after.’
‘Come by post?’
‘No. Plain envelope. On the table.’
Charles leant over and picked it up. Blue, matching the paper. Told him nothing. ‘And I suppose you didn’t…’
‘See anyone? No.’
‘It’s a fairly nasty way of breaking something off, isn’t it?’
‘Yes.’ She looked near to tears. ‘And I thought it was going so well.’
‘Perhaps he’s just a nasty man.’
‘He could be, I know. But with me he was always kind. When we were in France, he-’
‘When was this?’
‘We went in August, came back in October. Marius’s got a villa down the South. Sainte-Maxime. It’s a lovely place. Private beach.’
‘Very nice.’
‘Anyway, he took me there to recuperate.’
‘What from?’
‘I’d had an abortion.’
‘His baby?’
‘Yes. He fixed it up, but it didn’t quite go right. I was ill. So he took me out to Sainte-Maxime.
‘And he was there all the time?’
‘Yes. He’d been ill too-had a minor heart-attack. He was meant to be resting, though, of course, being Marius, he was in touch with the office every day.’
‘It was just the two of you out there?’
‘Mostly. Some friends of his dropped in, theatre people. And Nigel for a bit.’
‘Nigel?’
‘His son.’
‘Oh yes.’ Charles remembered someone once mentioning that Steen had a son. ‘I didn’t think they got on.’
‘That was ages ago. They made it up, more or less. Nigel works in the business.’
‘And while you were out in France, it was all OK? Between you and Marius?’
‘Yes. We had a marvellous time. He was very silly and childish. And kind.’
‘And now he sends you notes like that. You can’t think of any reason for the change in his attitude?’
Jacqui hesitated. ‘No. Would you like some lunch?’
While she cooked, Charles went down to the off-licence and bought a bottle of wine. It was obvious from Jacqui’s manner that she did have an idea why Steen had changed. And that she was going to tell him. It was only a matter of waiting.
The lunch was unremarkable. Jacqui was a frozen food cook. He remembered it from Worthing. Endless beef-burgers and cod steaks with bright peas and diced vegetables. But the wine made it passable. They talked back to Worthing, hedging round the subject of Steen. Eventually, as Charles drained the bottle evenly into their two glasses, he asked, ‘What do you want me to do, Jacqui?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You’ve brought me round here for a reason.’
‘I was frightened.’
‘Yes, but there’s something else.’
‘Yes.’ She looked very vulnerable. Again he felt the sense of debt that had started when he failed her in bed. The contract was unfulfilled. If he could not serve her in one way, he would serve her in another. It’s strange, he thought, is this what chivalry’s come to?
‘I do want you to do something for me, Charles. It’s sort of awkward. You see, I think I know… I think I might know why Marius is behaving like this. He might think… you see…’ Charles bided his time. Jacqui looked at him directly and said, ‘You’ve heard of all this Sally Nash business?’
‘Yes. Is Marius involved in that?’
‘Not really. Not with the prostitutes. It’s just… well, she, Sally Nash, used to be at some parties that we went to.’
‘Just ordinary parties?’
‘Well…’ Jacqui smiled sheepishly. ‘No, not ordinary parties really. Things happened.’
