Angela intervened.
'It's just that we have to be sure . . . I'm sure you understand, Hugo darling ... we have to be sure that you're not going to . . . to
'But why on earth should I?'
'Oh come on, man!' Morahan snorted. 'You know what we're saying.'
'You're saying that Guy, who is thirty-five years old, rich, famous and experienced in the ways of the world, is a poor trusting innocent to be protected and I, half his age, am a corrupting devil who might hurt him? Blackmail him, I suppose is what you mean.'
'I'm sure Michael never meant that . . .'
'I shall go to the kitchen and crush a garlic'
Angela followed him in.
'It's his job, Hugo. You must understand.'
It might have been the garlic and the onions that he was chopping, it might have been anger, it might have been nothing more than performance - because it seemed dramatically the right thing to do under the circumstances - but for whatever reason, tears were in Adrian's eyes. He wiped them away. 'I'm sorry, Angela.'
'Darling, don't be ridiculous. Everything's going to be fine. Michael just wanted to . . . find me a cigarette would you? . . . he just wanted to be sure.'
They heard Guy coming up the stairs.
'Yoo-hoo, honey-bear! Daddy's home.'
Adrian winced at the language. Angela squeezed his arm.
'You love him, don't you, darling?' she whispered.
Adrian nodded. He might as well have this awful woman on his side.
'Everything's going to be fine,' she said, kissing him on the cheek.
Adrian displayed just the right kind of affection towards Guy over dinner. Not whorish, but adoring; not clinging or possessive, but happy and trusting. Michael and Angela went away full of praise for his cooking, his wit and his discretion.
Guy was very touched. He nuzzled up to Adrian on the sofa.
'You're my very special puppy and I don't deserve you. You're magical and wonderful and you're never to leave.'
'Never?'
'Never.'
'What about when I'm fat and hairy?'
'Don't be a silly baby. Come bye-byes with Guy-Guy.'
On the evening before his last day of filming, Guy asked Adrian to take an envelope to a house in Battersea and bring back the reply. Zak, the man to whom he was to deliver the envelope, would be expecting him, but he was a famous Dutch pop-star, shy of publicity, so Adrian shouldn't be surprised if he behaved oddly.
Adrian couldn't think of any Dutch pop-stars who needed to be shy of publicity in South London, but Guy's manner and lack of soupy terms of endearment suggested that this was a serious business, so he said nothing and next morning went happily on his way.
Zak was friendly enough.
'Boyfriend of Tony? Hi, good to meet you. You got something for me?'
Adrian handed him the envelope.
'Guy ... I mean Tony . . . said there'd be a reply.'
'A reply? Sure, I've got a reply. You wait here one moment.'
The envelope containing the reply was sealed and Adrian walked back over Chelsea Bridge, debating with himself whether or not to steam it open and read it when he got back to the house. He decided against it. Guy trusted him and it would be exhilarating to be so honest for a change. Instead he pulled out his copy of
He reached the King's Road and turned left. There was some kind of a scuffle going on outside the King's Tavern. A group of glue-sniffers was fighting with spray cans. One of them sprayed red paint over Adrian as he tried to hurry past.
'Oh, look what you've done!' he cried.
'Oh, look what you've done!' they shouted back, mimicking his accent. 'Fuck off, arsehole.'
They were not in a mood to be spoken to, so Adrian moved smartly away. But they decided to abandon their game and give chase.
Oh shit, Adrian thought to himself, as he ran into Bywater Street. Why did I say anything at all? You idiot, Adrian! You're going to get twenty types of crap beaten out of you now. He could hear them catching up with him. But then ... joy of joys! He heard the wee-waa, wee-waa of a police car drawing up.
