‘There’s this film called Blow Up; looks like it might be your cup of tea,’ he said. ‘Bloke called David Hemmings – I met him in Brighton last year when he made a film about a pop band here. Do you fancy seeing it?’
She smiled and sucked on the straw in her bottle of pop.
‘Here endeth the discussion about John’s future.’
‘Well, what about you?’ he said, a little heat in his voice.
‘You know about me. India for six months, then acting.’ She leaned into him. ‘Come to India with me. We’d have a groovy time.’
Hathaway kissed her forehead.
‘Except that I’m not a footloose student, I’m a working man. I can’t just chuck in my job and head east.’
‘Sure you can; you just have to want to.’
She reached into her voluminous handbag and pulled out an A4 book. She laid it beside her and continued to root.
‘What’s that?’ he said.
‘My diary, volume three.’
‘Must be a serious diary.’
‘Oh it is. Have you heard of Anais Nin?’
‘Is it an Indian takeaway?’
‘Ha ha. She’s my inspiration. Ah, here we are.’ She brought out a parcel wrapped in brown paper with a red ribbon around it.
‘A little gift for you.’
Hathaway was touched. He’d never, ever had a gift from a girl.
‘John Donne,’ he read on the cover of the first book.
‘Most beautiful love poetry in the world – but don’t get any soppy ideas. Just wanted to bring a bit of beauty to your cynical soul.’
‘Soppiness discouraged. Got it.’
He looked at the other book.
‘What is it?’ Hathaway asked.
The cover was red plastic and the book a bit bigger than the prayer books they used to have at school.
‘It’s the words of Mao Tse-tung,’ Elaine said. ‘Give you something to think about.’
She looked at him earnestly, which made him want to shag her even more than usual. A girl with a passionate mouth trying to look serious always did that to him.
Hathaway looked at the book.
‘That chink who keeps sending death squads to kill James Bond and finance nutters like Blofeld?’ Hathaway said. ‘He’s a Commie, isn’t he?’
‘Communism is more complex than that. At Sussex there are Trotskyists and Leninist-Stalinists. Mao is the world’s most rigorous Leninist-Stalinist, so now a lot of people are calling themselves Maoists.’
Hathaway flicked through the pages. Elaine grinned at him.
‘Where’d you get it?’ Hathaway said.
‘They’re free to anyone who wants one.’ She grinned again. ‘Ninety million in print round the world.’
‘But you’re always telling me I’m a filthy capitalist.’
‘You can change.’
Hathaway thought about the business he was in.
‘I wonder,’ he said.
When they walked back to the car park, a police car was parked beside his Austin Healey. Sergeant Finch was lolling against the bonnet, face turned up to the sun. He stepped forward when he saw Hathaway approach.
‘Sorry to disturb your day, John, but the chief constable would like a word.’
Elaine looked from him to Hathaway, wide-eyed.
‘Am I being arrested?’
‘Arrested?’ Elaine said. ‘Why?’
‘No, no,’ Sergeant Finch said, attempting a smile. ‘He’d appreciate a word. If you’re too busy, I’m sure he’ll understand.’
Hathaway nodded.
‘OK.’
Elaine had come out of shock.
‘OK? It’s not bloody OK. This is police harassment.’
‘Elaine.’
‘Why on earth would they want to talk to you?’
‘Elaine.’
‘Let me phone my dad’s lawyer-’
‘The chief constable is a family friend.’
Elaine stepped back.
‘Your family is friends with a pig? Oh man.’
‘Johnny. Sorry to spoil your day. Please send my apologies to your girlfriend. A lovely girl by all accounts. But I wanted a little chat with you. Do sit down.’
‘Chief Constable,’ Hathaway said, taking the proffered seat.
‘Please, Johnny, call me Philip. There’s no formality here. I’ve broken bread at your house. Well, your dad’s house.’
Hathaway nodded then waited.
‘Have you heard the news? The Brighton police are officially no more. It’s now the Southern Police Force.’
‘Is that why you wanted to see me?’
‘No. Actually, it’s about your dad. I wanted a quiet word.’
‘Shouldn’t you be talking to him?’
‘Well, as you know, he’s not the easiest man to talk to when he’s got a bee in his bonnet.’
Hathaway frowned.
‘Has he got a bee in his bonnet?’
‘Exactly what I wanted to ask you. See, I thought we had a gentleman’s agreement around town. I thought that meeting on the Palace Pier made that clear. I allow you a certain leeway and you respect the law in other areas.’
‘I thought that’s what we were doing.’
‘Did you?’ Simpson clasped his hands. ‘Your dad seems determined to hog all the action. I hear he’s just taken control of the baggage handlers at the airport to help facilitate his smuggling activities.’
‘Chief Constable-’
‘Philip-’
‘I really don’t know why you’re talking to me about this. I’m in the music business. I manage and promote a few bands, book them into venues.’
‘And the ancillary stuff.’
‘I never got to university. Ancillary?’
‘The little extras. We know your legit business – and it ain’t all that legit – the pop industry is like the bloody Wild West. Be that as it may, we know that’s just a front for your drug dealing, your protection rackets.’
Hathaway thought for a moment.
‘What point are you trying to make, Philip?’
Hathaway was trying to sound calm but he knew he was out of his depth.
‘The deal was that brothels, abortions and protection were mine.’
Hathaway flushed.
‘I don’t touch brothels.’
Philip Simpson adjusted his desk pad.
