The Line of Beauty

Catherine and Jasper came out last, and Wani squashed in with them excitedly in the third row. Toby closed the doors like a guard and off they went, with a soft superior roar, perched and crammed, for what Nick pictured as a little outing in hell-not the starry Chez Claude or the turret-crowned countryside, but the atmosphere they carried with them. Toby put his arm round Nick's shoulder and they went into the silent house-both of them lightly excited and self-conscious.

Toby made them sandwiches for lunch, in a deliberately enthusiastic way, heaping in cold chicken and lettuce and olives and tomato rings which the first bite would send squirting and dropping from the edges. It was a bit of a mess, a mishmash, lots of dressing was sploshed in-it was almost as though he was saying to Nick, who had once had a job in a sandwich shop, 'I'm not a poof, I haven't got style, I can't help it.' They took them down to the poolside and sat under an umbrella to eat them, with the dressing and tomatoes squirting out and the lettuce dropping into their laps.

'Mm, lovely and quiet, isn't it,' said Toby after a bit.

'I know,' said Nick, and grinned. They were both wearing dark glasses, and had to search for each other's gaze.

'Fancy a beer?' said Toby.

'Why not,' said Nick. Toby went into the pool-house, and came back with a couple of Stellas from the fridge. It seemed to signal a desire to talk, but he didn't know how to start. Nick said, 'So when are Maurice and Sally going?' though he knew the answer.

'Funny you should say that,' said Toby. 'I was just thinking the same thing.'

'I can cope with her, somehow.'

Toby looked at him almost reproachfully: 'You're being a hero with her. Of course, she's a great opera queen, isn't she.'

Nick tried to work out, through their two pairs of sunglasses, if this was a joke-but it seemed to have been said in equal innocence of queens and opera.

'He's a total philistine,' he said.

'Oh, he's a bastard,' said Toby, who, unlike his father, hardly ever swore.

Nick did it for him. 'He's a cunt.'

'No, he really is.'

'I mean, why are they here actually?'

'Oh, business, of course… ' Toby looked uneasy at hearing himself criticize his father: 'You know, I think Dad thought we were going to be one big happy family; but then there was… the Sophie thing, but-anyway, he's carrying on as if nothing had gone wrong.'

'Business as usual,' said Nick, reluctant to get into the Sophie thing all over again. 'I suppose Tipper's very powerful, isn't he?'

'Obviously he's one of the biggest.'

'What is it, exactly?'

'Nick, really…! You've heard of TipperCo, for Heaven's sake, it's a huge conglomerate.'

'No, of course…'

'It was a huge asset-stripping story in the 70s, he was very unpopular but he made millions.'

'Right…'

'Yeah, you were probably doing Chaucer that week.'

Nick got as always a tiny amorous frisson from being teased by Toby; he coloured and giggled acceptingly. Of course, Toby knew about all this stuff, but you forgot that he did. It was as wonderful in its way that he'd written articles in newspapers as that his father should have something to do with immigration policy, or who went to prison. 'I had a look at a few of his faxes, but they were in some foreign language.'

'Oh, I wonder what that was.'

'You know, numbers and things.'

'Ha! Yeah, I had a look too, actually. There's a lot of property stuff going on now, which I guess is what Dad's interested in.'

'Sam Zeman says Gerald's doing awfully well.'

'Yah, he's plotting something.'

'I suppose he's a plotter…?'

'Oh, yes. Well, you know how bored he gets.'

'That's true, actually…'

'I mean, he's bored to death down here.'

'He always says how much he loves it.'

'He loves the idea of it. You know…' This was an interesting idea itself, and came somehow formulated, like the sage things Toby used to say at Oxford, as if he'd got it off a family friend.

'He's probably missing London,' said Nick, just wondering if Toby had an inkling of what he meant.

'I think he misses work,' said Toby.

Nick gave a hesitant laugh, but said nothing else. He stood up, and pulled off his T-shirt.

'Good idea,' said Toby, and did the same, and stood stretching needlessly. There was a little rise, for Nick, in the sexual charge of the afternoon. Toby was still beautiful, even though he was letting himself go. His beauty was held in an eerie balance with its own neglect. He tucked his chin in, the corners of his mouth twitched down as he looked down his body. It was a shame, but it was also oddly comforting, even lightly arousing, how he grew plumper, while Wani, whose smooth sleekness had been part of his charm, seemed to Nick to grow leaner and ever more aquiline. Toby sat back down, looked at Nick, and took a couple of quick swigs from his bottle, shy about what he wanted to say. 'Yeah, you're in pretty good shape these days, Nick,' he said. 'I was noticing.'

Nick pushed his chest out, flattened his stomach. 'Yeah,' he said, and had a quick proud suck on his own bottle.

'You're not seeing anyone at the moment, are you?'

He was touched by these little steps into intimacy, the sense that talking frankly to a friend was a kind of experiment for Toby, a puzzling luxury. It was an echo of the Oxford days, when Nick had invented occasions, engineered conversations, and led Toby into solemn and slightly bewildered talk about his feelings and his family. It was a pity now to have to say, as carelessly as he could, 'No, not really.' He sighed. 'You're right, actually, why haven't I got someone! It's a scandal!' And then, incautiously, 'How about you, by the way? Have you got your sights set on someone new?'

'No,' said Toby, 'not yet.' He smiled grimly at Nick, and said, 'That bloody business with Sophie, you know…' He shook his head slowly, invoking the shock of it. 'I mean, what went wrong there, Nick? We were going to get married, and everything.'

'I know… ' said Nick, 'I know…'-scenting a chance to tell the truth, which was sometimes a questionable pleasure.

'I mean, to go off with one of my own best mates.'

'I think eventually,' said Nick, conscious of having said this to Toby four or five times already, 'you'll come to see it as a fortunate escape.'

'Bloody Jamie,' said Toby.

'Of course she was a fool,' said Nick, with brotherly rectitude and secret tenderness. 'But just imagine, having all your summer holidays with Maurice and Sally.'

'Of course he blames me for not hanging on to her, Maurice does. He thought it was a good match.'

'It was a good match, darling, for her: far too fucking good.'

'Mm, thanks, Nick.' Toby pulled on his beer and stared across the water. Nick's language seemed to set off a train of thought. He said, 'I suppose it wasn't all that great, you know, the sexual side of things.' He looked bitter and guilty too to be saying this.

'Oh…'

'You know, she called it 'doings.''

'That's not very promising, I agree.'

'She was a bit… babyish. I don't think she liked it very much, actually.' Nick couldn't help saying, 'Surely…?'

Toby sighed. 'She used to say I hurt her, and… I don't know.'