“I’ll pass on the message.”
“Make sure you do,” he said intensely. “Make sure she knows what I feel.”
Jude found the exchange, to say the least, intriguing.
? Blood at the Bookies ?
Nineteen
Andy Constant looked at his watch, before turning his narrowed eyes back on to Jude. “Actually, I could show you the college’s Drama facilities now if you like…”
“I’ve seen the theatre.”
“But not the Drama Studio. I keep a secret supply of hooch in the Drama Studio. We could have our second drink there.”
“No, thank you,” said Jude firmly.
Andy Constant’s reaction was like that of a spoiled child. He swallowed down the rest of his lager and, with a brusque ‘Thank you for the drink – I’d better go and sort things out back at the college’, left the pub.
Jude was appalled by his behaviour. If she read what had happened right, Andy Constant had had some kind of assignation set up with the Joan that Sophia Urquhart had mentioned…quite possibly back in the Drama Studio. Within seconds of hearing that Joan couldn’t make it, he had, presumably on the ‘bird in the hand’ principle, asked Jude to share the delights of the Drama Studio with him. And when she, who hardly knew him, had refused, he had immediately thrown his toys out of the pram.
But Jude had a feeling that wouldn’t be the last she heard from Andy Constant. She recognized the kind of man who wouldn’t acknowledge failure when it came to women. He’d be on the phone again before too long, suggesting another meeting. And Jude hated herself for knowing that she’d probably respond to his invitation.
Oh dear, how weak she could sometimes be. Time to get back to Woodside Cottage. She reached into her handbag for her mobile to call a cab, and then realized she’d left it on charge in her bedroom. Never mind, there was bound to be a public phone in the pub. In fact there was a sign to it over the far side of the room.
As she approached the bar, she found herself passing the three Urquharts. “Jude,” said Ewan bonhomously, “are you after another drink? Please, allow me to do the honours.”
“That’s very kind, but actually I was just on my way. Going to phone for a cab.”
“Oh, you don’t need to do that. You’re in Fethering, aren’t you? So are we. I’ll give you a lift.”
“Well, thank you.”
“And since the massed Urquhart clan are not leaving till we’ve had another dram, what can I get for you?”
¦
Ewan Urquhart, as he never missed telling everyone, drove a large sleek black Lexus. It must have been recently cleaned. In the damp February weather cars in West Sussex were very quickly spattered with mud from the roads, and his shone as though it had just come out of the showroom.
The interior was also immaculate. Hamish had offered her the passenger seat, but Jude had said she was sure he needed the leg-room, so sat in the back with Sophia. She was aware of the girl’s distinctive and very expensive perfume. She was also aware that Sophia seemed subdued and out of sorts. Perhaps it was just the come-down after giving of herself in
The relative silence of his children didn’t appear to worry Ewan Urquhart, as he continued the monologue which, from what Jude had seen, filled his every waking hour. “I thought the show was pretty well done, but I’m not sure what the point of it was. I mean, good as a showcase for student talent perhaps, but not what you’d call entertainment. I can’t imagine anyone who hadn’t a vested interest…you know, some connection with the cast… voluntarily going to a show like that.”
“You don’t know anything about theatre, Daddy,” said his daughter truculently.
“I may not know about theatre, but I know what I like,” he riposted with a self-satisfied guffaw. “And what I like is something with a structure. A ‘well-made play’ I think it’s called.”
“An ‘old·fashioned play’ is what I think you mean.”
“Nonsense, Soph. Certain standards are always viable. In my young day plays were crafted, not thrown together from the ideas of a bunch of self-dramatizing students. And craft is what plays should be about.”
“I didn’t know you were a lover of the theatre, Ewan,” said Jude.
“Oh yes, there’s some stuff I enjoy.”
“Really?” asked his daughter. “But you never go to the theatre, Daddy.”
“I do.”
“Come on, before tonight, when was the last time you went to the theatre?”
“Well…Well, I…”
“See, you can’t remember. Honestly, Daddy, sometimes you’re so full of shit.”
He wouldn’t have taken a line like that from anyone else, but when his beloved daughter said it, Ewan Urquhart just chuckled. “You may be right, but I know what I like.”
“Do you get to see a lot of theatre, Sophia?” asked Jude.
“Oh yes, I go whenever I can. It’s important, you know, because of the course I’m on. Andy sometimes organizes trips to the West End for us, and we get to see most of what’s on in Brighton and Chichester.”
“Now Chichester used to do some good plays,” said her father.
“Yes, but you never went to see any of those either.”
“I remember you and Mum taking us to see some pantomimes there when we were little,” said Hamish, rather pathetically.
But his contribution to the dialogue was, as ever, ignored, as his father chuntered on. “It’s a very insecure business, though, the theatre. I’m just waiting, Jude, till young Sophia sees the error of her ways and starts doing something sensible.”
“It’s my life,” said his daughter passionately, “and I’ll do what I want with it!”
Her father was instantly contrite. Clearly he didn’t like to upset his precious Sophia, “Yes, of course you will,” he said soothingly. “I was only joking.”
“Dad’s always joking,” said Hamish, contributing his bit to the reassurance. “He’s really not getting at you.”
“Huh,” was all the response they got from the girl.
There was then a moment of silence, which Jude broke by asking, “Have you had singing lessons, Sophia? You’ve got a really good voice.”
“Not much. We cover it a bit in general voice work on the course. But I have sung a bit with bands round here, and I did some singing with people when I was on my gap year.”
“Gap year,” her father snorted. “Weren’t any gap years when I was growing up. You finished your education and you got down to work. Mind you, we didn’t have a government then that wanted to keep as many kids as possible as students to massage the unemployment figures.”
Carole would agree with you on that, thought Jude.
“I think,” he went on, “that university is just an excuse for not facing up to real life. I didn’t go to university and it hasn’t done me any harm.”
“Nor me,” Hamish agreed.
But of course he was just setting himself up for another parental put-down. “Yes, but the cases were slightly different. I didn’t go to university as a career decision. I reckoned the education I’d had at Charterhouse would be quite sufficient to see me through life. Which indeed has proved to be the case. Whereas you, Hamish, didn’t go to university because you were too thick to get in!”
As before, all the Urquharts, including Hamish, enjoyed this joke at his expense.
“So, Sophia, where did you go on your gap year?” asked Jude.
“Oh, just round Europe. InterRailing, you know. France, Germany, Denmark.”
“Did you get into any of the old Eastern Bloc countries?”
“No.”
“Thought you said you went to East Germany,” her father pointed out, nitpicking as ever.
