But she could have put things right. She knew what needed to be done, and it was quite within her power to do it. Patience, kindness, and an unhysfierical attitude to sex would have cured him years ago. But Sarah had given him indifference and contempt.
Perhaps she wanted him to be impotent. Maybe it protected her from sex; guarded her own shortcomings. Julian dismissed the thought. He was simply evading responsibility by transferring his blame to her.
He entered the drive of his father-in-law?s large house and stopped on the raked gravel in front of the porch. A maid answered his ring at the bell.
?Is Lord Cardwell at home?? he asked.
?No, Mr. Black. He?s at the golf club.?
?Thank you.? Julian got back into the car and drove off. He might have guessed the old boy would be having a round of golf on a fine evening like this.
He drove the Mercedes cautiously, not using its sprightly acceleration and cornering stability. The car?s power served only to remind him of his own ineffectiveness.
The golf club parking lot was crowded. Julian left the car and went into the clubhouse. Sarah?s father was not in the bar.
?Have you seen Lord Cardwell this evening?? he asked the bartender.
?Yes. He?s having a round on his own. He?ll be on the seventh or eighth by now.?
Julian went out again and set off around the course. He found Lord Cardwell putting on the ninth.
His father-in-law was a tall man with very thin white hair. He wore a windbreaker and fawn slacks, and a canvas cap covered most of his near-baldness.
?A nice evening,? Julian said.
?Isn?t it? Well, now that you?re here you can caddy for me.? Cardwell holed with a long putt, retrieved his ball, and walked on.
?How is the gallery coming along?? he asked as he prepared to tee off on the tenth.
?Very well, in general,? Julian said. ?The redecoration is almost complete, and I?m working on the publicity at the moment.?
Cardwell flexed his legs, lined up the ball, and swung. Julian walked beside him along the fairway. ?However,? he continued, ?it?s all costing an awful lot more than I expected.?
?I see,? Cardwell said without interest.
?In order to ensure a good profit right from the start, I need to spend a couple of thousand buying paintings. But with the way money is flowing out I shan?t have it.?
?You will need to be very thrifty at the start, then,? Cardwell said. ?It won?t do you harm.?
Julian cursed inwardly. This was the way he had feared the conversation might go. He said: ?Actually, I was wondering whether you might lay on some extra cash. It would secure your investment.?
Cardwell found his ball and stood contemplating it. ?You?ve got a lot to learn about business, Julian,? he said. ?I may be considered a rich man, but I can?t lay on two thousand pounds at the drop of a hat. I couldn?t afford a three-piece suit if I had to find the money tomorrow. But more important, you must learn how to go about raising capital. You don?t approach a man and say, ?I?m a bit short, could you lay on a few quid?? You tell him you?re on to such a good thing that you want to let him in on it.
?I?m afraid I can?t let you have that extra cash. I put up the money in the first place against my better judgment—however, that?s in the past.
?Now let me tell you what I shall do. You want to buy some pictures. Now I?m a collector, not a dealer, but I know that the gallery owner?s necessary talent is the finding of good buys in the picture market. Find some good buys, and I will give you that extra capital.?
He braced himself over his ball again and prepared to swing.
Julian nodded soberly, trying hard to keep his disappointment from showing on his face.
Cardwell swung powerfully, and watched the ball soar into the air and land on the edge of the green. He turned to Julian.
?I?ll take those now,? he said, and slung the golf bag onto his shoulder. ?You didn?t come here to caddy for me, I know.? His tone became unbearably condescending. ?Off you go, and remember what I said.?
?sure,?Julian said. ?Cheerio.? He turned away and walked back to the parking lot.
He sat in a traffic jam at Wandsworth Bridge and wondered how to avoid Sarah for the rest of the evening.
He felt curiously free. He had done the unpleasant things he had been obliged to do, and was experiencing a sense of relief, despite the fact that he had achieved nothing. He had not really expected Sarah or her father to cough up—but he had been forced to try. He also felt quite irresponsible toward Sarah. He had rowed with her and pinched her car. She would be furious with him, and there was nothing to be done for it.
He felt in his jacket pocket for his diary, to see whether there was anything he could go to. His hand found a slip of paper, and he brought it out.
The traffic shifted, and he moved the car off. He tried to read the piece of paper as he drove. It bore the name Samantha Winacre, and an address in Islington
He remembered. Samantha was an actress, and an acquaintance of Sarah?s. Julian had met her a couple of times. She had called at the gallery in passing the other day, and asked him to let her know what he was going to put on. The occasion came back to him: that was when poor old Peter Usher had come in.
He found himself driving north, past the turning for home. It would be rather pleasant to call on her. She was very beautiful, and a talented, intelligent actress.
It was a poor idea really. She would probably be surrounded by an entourage, or be out at show business parties all evening.
On the other hand, she did not seem the type for that sort of life. All the same he would need an excuse for calling. He tried to think of one.
He drove up Park Lane, negotiated Speakers? Corner, and went up the Edgware Road, eventually turning into Marylebone Road. He drove slightly faster now, looking forward to this slightly mad attempt to impose himself on a film star. Marylebone Road became Euston Road, then he turned left at the Angel.
In a couple of minutes he was outside the house. It looked very ordinary: no blasts of music, no noise of raucous laughter, no blaze of lights. He decided to try his luck.
He left the car and knocked on the door. She came herself, her hair wrapped in a towel.
?Hello!? she said pleasantly.
?Our conversation was cut off rather abruptly the other day,? Julian said. ?I was passing, and I wondered if I might buy you a drink.?
She smiled broadly. ?How delightfully spontaneous of you,? she laughed. ?I was just trying to figure out how to avoid spending the evening in front of the telly. Come in.?
V
ANITA?S SHOES CLATTERED CHEERFULLY on the sidewalk as she hurried toward Samantha Winacre?s house. The sun was warm; it was already 9:30. With luck, Sammy would still be in bed. Anita was supposed to start work at nine o?clock, but she was often late, and Sammy rarely noticed.
She smoked a small cigarette as she walked, inhaling deeply, enjoying the taste of the tobacco and the fresh morning air. This morning she had washed her long fair hair, taken her mother a cup of tea, fed her newest brother with a bottle, and got the rest of the children off to school. She was not tired, for she was only eighteen ; but in ten years? time she would look forty.
The new baby was her mother?s sixth, not counting the one that died and some miscarriages. Did the old man not know about birth control, she wondered, or didn?t he care? If he was my husband I?d make bloody sure he knew.
Gary knew all about taking precautions, but Anita wouldn?t let him have it, not yet. Sammy thought she was old-fashioned, making a fellow wait. Perhaps she was, but she found it wasn?t half so nice unless you really liked each other. Sammy talked a lot of nonsense, anyway.
