Hockney.'
'Please?'
'It's a joke,' explained the Blue Shirt.
'Ah.'
The Tweed was examining an exhibit.
'This figure here must be the Queen of the Night, surely.'
'She is a character altogether of the most extraordinary, I believe,' said the Frenchwoman. 'Her music - my God, how but that it is divine. I am myself singer and to play the Queen is the dearest dream of my bosom.'
'It's certainly one hell of a part,' said the Oxford Cotton. 'Pretty difficult I'd have thought. What's that incredibly high note she has to reach? It's a top C, isn't it?'
The Frenchwoman's answer to this question startled not just the Blue Button-down Shirt and his companion, but the whole room. For she stared at the Blue Shirt, her eyes round with fright, opened her mouth wide and let go a piercing soprano note of a purity and passion that she was never to repeat in the whole of her subsequent, and distinguished, operatic career.
'Good lord,' said the Tweed, 'is it really that high? As I remember it'
'Donald!' said the Button-down Shirt. 'Look!'
The Tweed Jacket turned and saw the cause of the scream and the cause of other, less technically proficient, screams that were starting up everywhere.
In the middle of the room stood a man in a Fame T-shirt, twitching and leaping like a puppet.
It was not the crudity of such a dance in such a place that had set everyone off, it was the sight and sound of the blood that creamed and frothed from his throat. The man seemed, as he hopped and stamped about, to be trying to stem the flow by squeezing at his neck with both hands, but the very pressure of the blood as it pumped outwards made such a task impossible.
Time stands still at such moments.
Those who retold the scene afterwards to friends, to psychiatrists, to priests, to the press, all spoke of the noise. To some it was a rattling gargle, to others a bubbling croak: the old man in the tweed jacket and his young companion agreed that they could never hear again the sound of a cappuccino machine without being forced to think of that awful death wheeze.
All remembered the staggering quantity of the blood, the force of it pushing through the man's fingers. All remembered the chorus of bass voices upraised in panic as helping hands braved the red shower and leapt forward to ease the jerking figure to the floor. All recalled how nothing could staunch the ferocious jetting of the fountain that gushed from the mans neck and quenched the words Tm Going to Live For Ever' on his T-shirt with a dark stain. All remarked on how long it seemed to take him to die.
But only one of them remembered seeing an enormously fat man with a small head and lank hair leave the room, letting a knife leap from his hand like a live fish as he went.
Only one man saw that, and he kept it to himself. He grabbed his companions hand and led him from the room.
'Come, Adrian. I think we should be otherwhere.'
One
I
Adrian checked the orchid at his buttonhole, inspected the spats at his feet, gave the lavender gloves a twitch, smoothed down his waistcoat, tucked the ebony Malacca-cane under his arm, swallowed twice and pushed wide the changing-room door.
'Ah, my dears,' he cried. 'Congratulations! Congratulations to you all! A triumph, an absolute triumph!'
'Well, what the fuck's he wearing now?' they snorted from the steamy end of the room.
'You're an arse and an idiot, Healey.'
Burkiss threw a flannel onto the shiny top hat. Adrian reached up and took it between forefinger and thumb.
'If there is the slightest possibility, Burkiss, that this flannel has absorbed any of the juices that leak from within you, that it has mopped up a single droplet of your revolting pubescent greases, that it has tickled and frotted even one of the hideously mired corners of your disgusting body then I shall have a spasm. I'm sorry but I shall.'
In spite of himself, Cartwright smiled. He moved further along the bench and turned his back, but he smiled.
'Now, girls,' continued Healey, 'you're very high-spirited and that's as it should be but I won't have you getting out of hand. I just looked in to applaud a simply marvellous show and to tell you that you are certainly the loveliest chorus in town and that I intend to stand you all dinner at the Embassy one by one over the course of what I know will be a long and successful run.'
'I mean, what kind of coat is that?'
'It is called an astrakhan and I am sure you agree that it is absolutely the ratherest thing. You will observe it fits my sumptuous frame as snugly as if it were made for me . . . just as you do, you delicious Hopkinson.'
'Oh shut up.'
'Your whole body goes quite pink when you are flattered, like a small pig, it is utterly, utterly fetching.'
Adrian saw Cartwright turn away and face his locker, a locker to which Adrian had the key. The boy seemed now to be concentrating on pulling on his socks. Adrian took half a second to take a mental snapshot of the
