recent marriage.
Carole’s mind went back to the moment in Gallimaufry when Jude had issued the invitation to her open house. Lola had suggested that Ricky’s mum might look after the children while she and Ricky came to Woodside Cottage. In the event, it appeared that Lola herself had been left holding the babies. And somehow Carole couldn’t imagine her using the expression ‘Ricky’s mum’ in Flora Le Bonnier’s rather daunting presence.
“Oh, come on, Grandma,” said Polly, “give the place a chance. It’s hardly been open three months. Lola’s worked bloody hard on it and we should all give her as much support as we can.”
Carole was surprised to hear this expression of solidarity. According to hallowed fairytale stereotypes, Polly should resent her stepmother, but that appeared not to be the case. Maybe the two young women were near enough in age to bond as girlfriends.
Ricky Le Bonnier evidently considered that he had been silent too long. “I think, next to putting your own money into a musical or opening a restaurant, going into the retail business must be one of the riskiest investments out there. But as you say, Polly, if anyone can make a go of it, Lola can.”
This prompted a barely disguised snort from Flora, as her son continued, “Mind you, it can work for the lucky few. I knew Gordon and Anita Roddick when they started up Body Shop – not far away from here, the first store was in Brighton – and, God, I wish I’d got in on the ground floor of that. Some of their franchisees have just minted it over the years.”
“I wouldn’t worry about that, Ricky, because you’ve done very well yourself. You’ve made your money through the music business,” said his mother, as though this was an article of faith.
“Oh yes, I’m not complaining. Mind you, the people who really clean up there – apart from the artistes, of course – always end up being the middlemen, the lawyers, the accountants. At the more creative end of the spectrum, the producers and so on are usually the ones who miss out. Very few creatives are also good businessmen.”
He favoured Carole with a big, confidential smile. He had that ability, shared by many professional charmers, of being able to make the person they’re looking at feel for that moment that there’s no one else in the room. “My background’s as a record producer. Worked with a lot of big names in the past…Led Zeppelin, Procol Harum, Jethro Tull. My name was never in the foreground, but, to give them their due, a lot of the artistes always make a point of recognizing my contribution…you know, when they’re interviewed, that kind of stuff.”
Still rather sensitive about her own retired status, Carole asked, “And are you still working?”
He chuckled and made a broad gesture to his womenfolk, whose message seemed to be, “Isn’t it amazing that people still have to ask questions like that about Ricky Le Bonnier?”
“Carole,” he said gently, “I’m the kind of guy who’s never not working. I’m always switched on. I don’t do downtime. So, yes, in answer to your question, I am still working.”
“Still in the music business?”
“You betcha. They say it’s all changed, and certainly it isn’t the same world I grew up in. God, we knew how to enjoy our work in those days. We knew how to lunch. We knew how to have a proper all-nighter in the studio with a few bottles and, er, other stimulants, to aid the creative process. Today’s Perrier-sipping wimps in the music industry couldn’t keep up with the pace we used to live at. But, hell, it worked! The stuff that came out of those studio sessions was pure gold. Now the accountants have moved in – as they have in most of the creative industries – but they still have to turn to me for help when they get stuck. Oh, yes, the skills of Ricky Le Bonnier remain very much in demand.”
“So when did you last actually produce a record?” asked Polly coolly.
For the first time Ricky looked slightly thrown by the question. His daughter, it seemed, had the ability to get under his skin. For the first time Carole was aware of considerable tension between them.
“It’s not actually to produce the record, Polly love, that they look to me for these days. I work more in an advisory capacity. I allow them to pick my brains when they need a bit of expertise – not to mention experience.”
“And do they
He looked down at his mother with the same expression he’d used when Carole had asked whether he was still working. He sighed and addressed his daughter. “Look, love, you should know by now that your daddy just attracts money. He doesn’t have to go out of his way to find it. He works hard for it, certainly, but your daddy is a money magnet.”
“And a babe magnet?” There wasn’t much affection in Polly’s tone.
Her father looked down to Flora in her armchair and shrugged helplessly. She smiled up at him lovingly as he said, “Guilty as charged.”
Polly’s snort was very similar to the one recently emitted by her grandmother. Then the girl looked at her watch. “Can we get back soon? You know I’ve got to catch the seven-thirty-two train back to London this evening and I haven’t seen much of the little ones.”
Ricky’s hands rose in a placatory gesture. “Just a few more people I want to see. I haven’t spoken to the lovely Jude properly yet.” And he drifted off. Flora was also lifting herself out of her armchair with the help of her sticks, saying she needed ‘the little girls’ room’. Carole noticed how little movement she had in her clawlike hands; she couldn’t grip the sticks, only push them into the right position to support herself.
Left alone with Polly, she asked, “When you mentioned ‘the little ones’…?”
“Lola’s two. Mabel and Henry.”
“Your stepsister and stepbrother?”
“Yes, though it’s more like I’m their aunt, really, given the age difference.” Polly seemed noticeably to have relaxed now her father was not beside her. “But I don’t get a chance to see much of them…” she looked again with irritation at her watch “…and, quite honestly, I’d rather be with Mabel and Henry at this moment than at a drinks party full of people I don’t know.” Realizing how ungracious this must have sounded, she was quick to apologize.
“Oh, don’t worry,” said Carole. “I’m not much of a one for parties myself. It’s just that I live next door, so I know Jude and…” She shrugged.
“Bit of a life force, isn’t she?”
Carole had never put it into words before, but of course, yes, that was exactly what Jude was; a ‘bit of a life force’. With inevitable and dispiriting logic, Carole wondered what, by comparison, that made her. She didn’t pursue the thought.
“So you’re not spending Christmas down here, Polly?”
“No, I’ll be at my boyfriend’s parents’. They live in Gloucestershire.”
“Oh. Very beautiful county,” said Carole with all the fatuity of small talk. “Or, at least, bits of it are.”
“The bit where they live certainly is. Near the Slad Valley. Laurie Lee country. No, we’ll have a few days down there, living in the lap of luxury, miles away from the real world, and then we’ll have to come back to the harsh reality of making a living.”
“And how do you do that? I mean, what do you do?”
Polly Le Bonnier wrinkled up her prominent nose. “I’m an actor.”
“Like your grandmother.”
“Yes. Or rather, not like my grandmother. Anyway, she isn’t really my grandmother.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m not Ricky’s real daughter. I’m his stepdaughter. He married my mother.”
“Ah, and is she still – ?”
But Polly clearly didn’t want to talk about her mother. She moved brusquely on. “No, I’m not like my grandmother. She was successful. I may have a famous name – which arguably isn’t mine by right, anyway – but I’m only an actor when somebody will employ me. The rest of the time I’m an occasional barmaid or waitress.” She sounded rueful rather than dispirited about her situation.
“Ah. Well, maybe things’ll pick up for you next year.”
“Maybe.” Polly didn’t sound like she’d put a very large bet on the possibility.
“And your boyfriend…Is he also…?” Rather proudly Carole remembered a phrase Gaby had used when speaking of the clients at the theatrical agency where she used to work. “Is he also ‘in the business’?”
“Yes. To some extent. But Piers is a comedy writer too, so he’s not so dependent on the acting as I am. Mind
