Gun Street Girl (12 page)

‘I'm always up for that.'

She stood up and opened the other bottle of champagne. ‘Let's do it then.'

And we did.

God knows what time we finished drinking, but I do know that we got through every drop of booze in the room before Catherine went unsteadily back to her rooms through the connecting door to my suite.

I left the mess and the light on, and went to bed leaving a trail of clothes behind me. I tossed and turned for a few hours. I finally came to about seven thirty and lay there fighting back the urge to vomit. Bad news, Nick, I thought. Throwing up in the morning is serious bodily abuse. What was wrong with me? Getting old was the only answer I could come up with. Getting old and cold and past it. I put the thought away as gently as I would have placed a precious stone on a velvet mount.

I crawled out of bed and thanked Christ for the slight breeze puffing the white curtains at the window. I stood for a while in the relief it gave from the heat of the sun that was already trying to melt the brickwork. Then I braved the shaving mirror.

I scraped stubble and skin from my face. I thought that if it had belonged to a friend I would have sat down and given him a serious talking to about an excessive life style. I tamed my hair with cold water and beat it to submission with a comb from my case. At first it fought back but I soon showed it who was boss.

I dressed in jeans, black loafers with red socks and a black polo shirt. I picked up a pair of tortoiseshell Mulberry shades from the dresser and hung them on my nose and then I gave up. What the hell, I was as ready as I was ever going to be to face the morning.

I went to the breakfast room. Elizabeth was sitting at the table alone, cutting a slice of toast into matchsticks and dipping them into a cup of coffee.

‘Jesus,' I said. ‘What's that, occupational therapy?'

She was wearing another black suit and all the accessories. She looked good enough to eat, except I had no appetite.

‘You could say that,' she replied. ‘What's up with you? You look awful.'

‘Thanks,' I said. ‘You're making me feel much better. I'm the victim of a recurring hangover. Two days running. I'm never at my best with doors banging inside my head.'

‘You shouldn't drink so much.'

I had heard that before. I sat down opposite her with my cup and saucer rattling in my unsteady grip. ‘Thanks for the advice, but I'm only trying to keep Catherine company.'

‘That wasn't what you were hired for.'

‘That seems to be precisely what I was hired for.'

‘Have it your own way.'

‘Sorry,' I said. ‘I'll go out and come in again if you like, and we can start over fresh.'

‘Why bother?'

‘Why bother to do anything?'

‘I thought you wanted to be bothered to help us?'

‘I do, I do. Just give me a few minutes.'

We sat in a silence that was almost palpable. I drank my coffee and she filled hers with soggy crumbs that made me feel quite nauseous again.

‘Elizabeth.'

‘Yes?'

‘Stop doing that.'

‘What?'

‘Playing with your food.'

‘I'm so sorry.' She pushed the cup away so that the liquid slopped into the saucer. I finished my coffee and took a wrinkled pack of cigarettes from my back pocket. I lit one from a book of matches and offered the pack to Elizabeth. She took the cigarette from my mouth so I lit another.

‘I apologize,' I said. ‘I'm not much good at conversation in the morning.'

‘I'll remember that,' she said through a mouthful of grey-blue smoke.

I gave her half a smile and she gave me back the other half.

‘So let's get down to business,' I said. ‘What time does this show get on the road?'

‘We're due at the solicitors' at ten, so I suppose we'll leave here at about nine fifteen.' I looked at my watch. Eight fifteen. ‘The rest should be down for breakfast soon,' she went on.

‘You're sure you want me to come?'

‘Of course.'

‘I'll leave you to it then. I think I'd better change into something more befitting a trip to the lawyers. Have you spoken to Catherine about those phone calls?'

Elizabeth nodded. ‘She wasn't too happy that you told me. But yes, we have talked about them.'

‘No fresh ideas?'

‘No.'

‘We'd better all talk as soon as possible.'

‘Very well. But let's get this will business out of the way first.'

‘You're the boss,' I said. ‘I'll see you later.' I left her to the remains of her breakfast and went upstairs and stood under a cold shower until my head was numb. I dressed in a suit and tie. I got back downstairs in time to meet the rest of the family in the hall. They were all dressed in variations of funeral clothes and I was glad I'd changed.

I travelled in the front of the Rolls with Vincent, who didn't say one word to me for the whole journey. The five family members squeezed into the back, so I probably got the best of the deal. The family lawyer was in Lincoln's Inn and the drive took twenty-five minutes or so. Vincent parked right outside on a double yellow line.

I followed the family into the lawyers' office, which was a converted town house that smelled of beeswax, fresh flowers and cigar smoke. We went into a waiting room and after a minute or so a woman in a dark suit, with a respectful, troubled look that she probably thought befitted the occasion, came in and led the others through a set of double doors opposite. I stayed behind and sat in a leather Chesterfield chair.

I sat and smoked and drank a cup of coffee that an amazingly attractive receptionist with breasts that fought at the confines of her white blouse brought me. Halfway through the second cigarette one of the double doors burst open and banged against the wall. David flew through the doorway and down the hall shouting, ‘I'm not staying a moment more. Claire, come on, we'll get a cab.'

Claire wobbled after him and Simon followed her. Elizabeth came to the doorway, looked after them and said something I didn't catch. Then she came across to the waiting room.

‘What the hell was all that about?' I asked.

‘The bloody will, of course. Daddy left everything equally to all his children, including Catherine. David wasn't keen on the idea. He's off to his own solicitors to contest the will.'

‘Christ,' I said. ‘The poop's hit the propeller.'

‘Very apt, Mr Sharman, very apt indeed. Shall we go?'

‘How's Catherine taken all this?' I asked.

‘She's not happy. She's in there crying.'

‘And I'm fresh out of clean hankies,' I said.

She ignored the remark and went back over to the office. I stubbed out my cigarette and waited. After a minute or so, Elizabeth and Catherine appeared in the doorway with an old boy behind them. He was nervously dry-washing his hands and talking to them in a low tone so that I couldn't hear him. Catherine came over to me. Her eyes were full of tears and she leant up against me as Elizabeth said her farewells. The old boy retreated into his office and shut the door.

‘What's the plan?' I asked.

‘I don't know,' said Elizabeth.

‘I could fancy a drink.'

‘Not the most unusual state of affairs,' she replied, and walked down the corridor away from me.

‘Maybe not,' I said to her retreating back.

We had Vincent stop at the Inn On The Park and trooped into the cocktail bar. It was early and just a couple of sports were taking the water. I ordered three large bourbons, straight up, from the bar. It was that kind of morning. Then I joined the two women at a table in a lonely corner of the room.

The waiter pranced over with our order and pranced off again. ‘I should get his number for Leee,' I said.

‘Must you always make jokes?' asked Elizabeth.

‘Sorry,' I said. ‘Just trying to lighten the load.'

Catherine smiled for the first time since we'd left the lawyers' office. ‘Leave him, Liz. He's probably right. Leee would love that boy.'

‘So what's cooking?' I asked through the smoky aftertaste of my drink.

‘What's cooking is the estate's in flux,' said Elizabeth.

The estate's in a state, I thought, but didn't vocalise it. ‘How long for?' I asked no one.

‘How the hell do I know?' Elizabeth snapped.

‘It's all my fault,' said Catherine. ‘I had no idea.'

‘It's not your fault,' Elizabeth told her, ‘it's David's.'

‘And Daddy's,' said Catherine.

‘The money was his to do with as he wanted.' Elizabeth picked up her drink. ‘If he wanted to leave you a third of it, fine by me. Christ Almighty, there's enough for three thousand people, let alone three.'

That was almost what I'd said to her the previous evening. ‘But David didn't see it that way?' I asked.

‘He's a bloody pig,' said Elizabeth. ‘Just like the rest of them.'

‘What are you going to do?'

‘Do?' said Elizabeth. ‘Do? We're going to have a party, that's what we're going to do.'

‘When?' Catherine seemed surprised.

‘Tonight,' said Elizabeth. She finished her drink with a swallow and stood up, picked up her bag and marched out. Catherine and I looked at each other and followed her to the door.

Vincent was patiently waiting in the car. He whisked us round the corner, back to the house. The three of us went into the conservatory and Miranda was summoned to serve us more booze. She made a jug of martinis, large enough to drown a donkey, and left us to it.

‘Do you think a party is a good idea?' I asked.

‘Why not?' said Elizabeth. ‘I'm going to show David whose side I'm on.'

‘And a party's the way to do that?'

‘As good a way as any. I want him to know that I support Catherine all the way.'

Catherine smiled her gratitude round the edge of her martini glass.

‘Have you had any more threatening calls?' I asked Catherine.

‘Not since you arrived,' she said.

‘I'd love to think it was my influence, but I doubt it,' I said. ‘And I don't know about inviting a bunch of people here. If someone is out to get you, it would be a great opportunity. I'm on my tod, and this is a big house with lots of nooks and crannies. With the best will in the world, I can't be with you every second.'

‘Do you think that one of our friends is behind this?' asked Catherine. ‘Because it will be our friends who are coming tonight.'

‘Who knows?' I said. ‘But at this short notice, there will be no formal invites. Anyone could get into the house. It's got more entrances than Harrods and in this weather they'll all be open wide.'

‘The servants will be here.'

‘They're hardly security experts.'

‘What do you think, Catherine?' asked Elizabeth.

‘I think we should have a party.'

‘So do I,' said Elizabeth. ‘And if we're going to have one, I've got a million and one things to do. I've got to invite some people, do some shopping and brief the staff. I'd better get moving.'

‘Me too,' said Catherine. ‘I'm so glad I went shopping yesterday. I'm going upstairs to get on the phone. I'll invite everyone I can think of, Liz. I know who you want here. Leave it to me, you get out to the shops. I'll take care of everything. How many should we cater for? Sixty?'

‘That sounds about right. I'll get Courtneidge to tell David and Claire and Simon. Do you think they'll come?'

‘Who knows?' shrugged Catherine. ‘Nick, you can come upstairs and keep me company?'

‘Okay,' I said and we dumped our empty glasses and left the room.

I accompanied Catherine upstairs in the lift and followed her into her suite. The shape of the rooms was the same as mine, but reversed. The furniture was covered in a pale brocade which matched the curtains covering the french windows. They opened onto a tiny balcony that was the twin of the one outside my sitting room.

She put a Cowboy Junkies CD onto the player at a whisper and sat down in an armchair next to a table which supported a telephone and a leather address book. I found an ashtray and a pile of magazines and sat on the sofa. First she called Courtneidge and put him in the picture, and then she called Leee, told him about the party, and asked him to drop by at four, so that he could do her hair and then stick around for the festivities. Then she got down to the serious telephoning and I sat with my eyes closed and half listened as she invited twenty or so friends to crack a bottle of vino later.

Lunch was served by Constance at one thirty. She appeared and disappeared like a puff of smoke, leaving a trolley groaning with goodies.

I picked at a Waldorf salad and drank some sparkling wine while we watched
Neighbours
. Gee, but it's great to be rich. After lunch we played Trivial Pursuit and I beat Catherine two games to one. We drank more wine and Catherine made more phone calls. At three thirty she went for a bath. I took my glass and a fresh bottle out onto the balcony and stood in the sun, looking out over the roof tops and down at the conservatory and paved garden beneath me. At four o'clock precisely the internal telephone rang. I answered it. Constance told me that Mr Leee was at the front door. I asked her to send him up.

Two minutes later he blew in like a mini typhoon and he gave me a hug, accepted a drink, stole a cigarette, complained about the heat, getting cabs in the West End, the weight of his handbag and asked where Catherine was, all in one twenty-second burst of energy.

‘Slow down, Leee,' I said. ‘You're making me feel quite weary.'

‘I've got just the thing, dear.' He produced a wrap from the pocket of his white jacket and cut out two fat lines on a small mirror before you could say knife, or razor blade. ‘Give this a go, it's good stuff,' he said, and produced a thick straw cut down to about three inches long. He snarfed his line and danced around the room for a moment, then changed the CD from Elgar's
Variations
to
Guns 'n' Roses
and whacked the volume up high. ‘Let's get into a party mood,' he shouted above the music.