High society (39 page)

Authors: Ben Elton

Tags: #Mystery, #Mystery & Detective - General, #Crime & mystery, #Mystery & Detective, #Humorous, #Drug traffic, #Drug abuse, #Modern & contemporary fiction (post c 1945), #Fiction, #Fiction - General, #Humorous stories - gsafd, #Suspense, #General & Literary Fiction, #General, #English Mystery & Suspense Fiction, #Criminal behavior

BOOK: High society

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OUTSIDE STARNSTEAD PRISON

T
ommy sat in the back of the long stretch limo. In his hands he held a letter he had received from a member of the Starnstead Prison Narcotics Anonymous Group. The letter had given him certain information for which Tommy had gladly paid generously. Now he could only wait and hope.

The door of the prison opened and a number of women emerged. One of them was Jessie, more beautiful to Tommy than he remembered her. A little fuller of face, certainly, but the same elfin bones. And those eyes, dark, flashing, angry eyes set in milk white skin.

Tommy’s heart felt as if it would burst. He had found her.

Most of the other women who were leaving the prison had loved ones to meet them and they soon dispersed in excited little family groups, but Jessie was alone. She had no one. As she turned and walked away up the street Tommy instructed Tony to drive up alongside her.

Tommy wound down the window and spoke to her. ‘Hello, Jessie.’

‘Fuck off.’ She spoke without looking round.

‘It’s me, Jessie.’

‘Ah said fuck off, mate, all right? Ah’m not for hire any more.’ Still she did not look.

‘Jessie, please…I want to give you something.’

Jessie swung round in fury, blazing eyes, snarling mouth. ‘Listen, you dirty little cunt! Ah said — ’

Tommy spoke quickly. ‘I want to give you Point Three! Point Three of the Great Plan! The holiday…The sunshine…I want to give you the sunshine. All-day sunshine, sunshine everywhere! Dappling the ground, rippling in your clothes, getting caught up in your hair…like havin’ a bath in it…’

Tony had stopped the car. For what seemed like an age Jessie stared at Tommy through the open window. ‘Have we met before?’

‘Yes. Once. I’ve been looking for you ever since.’

‘Who are you?’

‘Like I told you last time, I’m Tommy Hanson.’

THE OLD BAILEY

P
eter Paget was convicted on witness evidence of using a Grade A drug. Laura, Kurt and Samantha testified against him in exchange for immunity from prosecution regarding the fact that they had taken the drugs also.

‘Peter Paget,’ the judge’s voice was charged with withering contempt, ‘your crime is far far worse than that of any unfortunate teenaged drug-taker who has appeared before me. You held a position of unique trust and responsibility, you were privileged to have been elevated to amongst the highest in the land. Of all people in this country you had a duty to set an example to others and yet instead you chose to indulge your loathsome appetites for sex and drugs to the full, preying on young innocent girls and using your powerful position to force sex and drugs upon them. What is more, once the evidence of your immoral and criminal tastes emerged, you sought to mislead the entire nation in whose service you were employed. You lied to Parliament, you lied to the police, you lied to your family and you lied to the people. Can ever a sorrier catalogue of mendacity have been brought before a court? I doubt it. I sincerely doubt it. Peter Paget, it is my solemn duty to sentence you to four years in prison with a recommendation that you serve at least two. Take him down.’

BANGKOK WOMEN’S PRISON

S
onia rocked back and forth in her seat. She spoke only one word during her interview and that was kharuna, Thai for ‘please’. This she repeated many times. She was dirty and unkempt and appeared to have little awareness of herself or her surroundings.

She had recognized her mother, though, and had wept.

‘I’m so sorry to have to inform you both,’ the Consulate representative explained, ‘but his Royal Highness has declined to exercise clemency in Sonia’s case. He had as you know been giving serious consideration to Peter Paget’s request for an early release for Sonia, but in the light of revelations concerning Paget’s own drug-taking the King is no longer in any mood to do Britain favours. Attitudes in Asia have hardened considerably towards Western double standards and special pleading.’

Sonia’s mother had known. From the moment she had read in the papers of Peter Paget’s disgrace she had known what must follow. Nonetheless the blow was almost too much to bear.

‘All I can say,’ the official continued, ‘is that in the light of Sonia’s deteriorating mental condition we will continue to pursue the appeals process on medical grounds.’

‘Kharuna,’ said Sonia.

AN ISLAND FAR AWAY

T
he beach was long and empty, just as she had imagined it, with glistening white sand so bright in the sun it hurt the eyes. Sand like talcum powder, with a warm turquoise ocean lapping against it. And there she sat, day after day after day, all alone, basking in the sun. With nobody bothering her at all.

WORMWOOD SCRUBS

P
eter Paget sat in his cell on his bunkbed. The letter he had been reading had fallen from his hands and now lay on the floor between his feet. Angela Paget always wrote in longhand, with a fountain pen, and now Peter’s tears smudged the ink as they fell onto the paper below.

‘Cathy wants us to go abroad, perhaps to France, although such was the size of your celebrity that we’re scarcely less notorious there. I don’t know, perhaps we’ll go overseas. I know that we can’t stay in London. Nobody really wants to know us here any more, not even our friends. At best we’re an embarrassment and at worst, well, we’ve all been shouted at in the street, and spat at too. Suzie has gone very quiet; she hates her name and refuses to use it, and says that she’ll change it by deed poll the moment she’s old enough. I’m afraid to say that both of them have begun to take drugs. I know this because they’re quite open about it. There’s a terrible fatalism about the girls now, as if nothing really matters. Perhaps it doesn’t. They mainly smoke marijuana. You probably saw that Cathy was sold some by an undercover journalist and was back on the front pages briefly. She almost seemed to revel in it. It’s obviously a way of getting at you.

Now I must come to my own position, Peter. I’m divorcing you. You have destroyed all of our lives, we’ll never get them back and I don’t think any of us will ever forgive you. I can’t bring myself to love you any more or even feel pity for you. I feel nothing beyond a sort of dull weary anger. If only you’d told the truth I would have stood by you, I’m sure I would. But you didn’t, you lied and then you kept lying, and it’s all finished now.

Peter wrung his hands and sobbed.

In the bunk above one of his cellmates stirred. ‘If you don’t shut the fuck up I’ll personally fucking break your fingers, Paget.’

AN ISLAND FAR AWAY

J
essie sat watching the ocean, running the sand through her fingers and toes and listening to music on her brand-new, state of-the-art Sorry Discman. Jogproof, light as a feather. Beautifully rounded and smooth to touch.

A little further up the beach sat Tommy. He did not try to speak to her. In fact, he didn’t bother her at all. He was quite content.

They both had their music, and books to read. Their own private thoughts.

Perhaps one day she would share hers with him.

Tommy was happy to wait.

THE END

Table of Contents

ST HILDA’S CHURCH HALL, SOHO

THE PAGET HOUSEHOLD, DALSTON

AN AMUSEMENT ARCADE, PICCADILLY, LONDON

ST HILDA’S CHURCH HALL, SOHO

A HOUSE IN CHORLTONCUM-HARDY

THE PAGET HOUSEHOLD, DALSTON