Model Guy (45 page)

 
Well, that's her career
plan sorted out but what the fuck am I going to do? I hope Lauren will have some
ideas - she always does. I also start writing about why I slept with Nora and how
it was partly to get at her for sleeping with Peter and partly because I was...was
what? Going bonkers? Going on a bender? Trying to hurt the one I love because that's
what you do when you're angry and confused.

 
It all looks a bit daft
set out on the screen, complete with typos. I find myself checking the Thesaurus
for another word for sorry because I've written so many times, sprinkled uselessly
across the text. I read through it all again and then I delete it all.

 
I bung some washing on,
change my clothes and put new sheets on the bed. Then I open Lauren's wardrobe and
go to the little bit at the end which is full of her own casual clothes rather than
her work outfits. I stick my head in amongst the neatly hanging jeans, shirts, trousers
and jackets and breath deeply, inhaling her.

 
My dad rings at 12.45.
He's in the car.

 
"You all right?"

 
"Yeah, fine."

 
"Sorry I didn't see
you this morning."

 
"I'm back in Chiswick
at the flat."

 
"Made up with Lauren?"

 
"She's not here,
she's back tomorrow. She's been in France with friends. Dad, can I come and see
you this afternoon?" "See me? I'm pretty booked up this afternoon."

 
"Tonight?"

 
"Erm, can't make
it tonight. I've got a...a...business thing. What about tomorrow?"

 
"Oh, never mind."

 
"OK, OK, I've got
something at fourish that I can move. Ring Amanda and book yourself in."

 
"Thanks."

 
Dad keeps me waiting until
twenty five past four. I sit on one of the giant black leather Bauhaus style settees
in the lobby, listening to the two receptionists answer the phone.

 
"Matthew Kendal Barrett,
good afternoon," "Matthew Kendal Barrett, can I help you?"

 
It's funny to hear my
name repeated over and over again. Sometimes there's a pause as they both stare
out of the giant picture windows in front of them or exchange a comment with each
other ("East Enders on tonight?" "No, tomorrow. Matthew Kendal Barrett,
good afternoon. I'm taping it because we're going out. Should be a good one".
"See it last week? Matthew Kendal Barrett, good afternoon. What a bastard what's
his name is. Engaged will you hold?") sometimes they overlap with their greeting,
sometimes one follows the other immediately. On a couple of occasions they say it
in perfect unison. What are the chances of that?

 
Unable to take any more
MTV I ignore the monitors on the wall and read 'Campaign' and 'Media Week'. I see
the name of his agency in a headline and the read the story underneath. Another
acquisition. I'm just about to turn the page when I realise that the guy in the
photo next to it, moody, unsmiling, his face slashed with light filtering in from
the Venetian blinds behind him, is my dad. He's like a stranger.

 
Finally I go up to the
top floor. Amanda asks me to wait again, he won't be long. We make small talk but
my throat feels almost too dry to speak. Then suddenly my Dad is waving for me to
go in.

 
"Hiya," I say,
as casually as I can. He finishes scribbling something, shouts to Amanda for some
coffee and then gets up and gives me a hug.

 
"So. Everything alright?"

 
His office is huge. White
walls, black and white prints, Wenge wood furniture. TV screens along one side -
Bloomberg, MTV, a scene from the House of Commons. Framed awards along the other.
His desk huge and is filled with papers. An Apple Mac computer screen faces him.
In the corner of the room is a Charles Eames recliner.

 
"I think so, Dad.
I had a visit from the police again today."

 
"Yeah?"

 
"They've called off
the investigation, well, the fraud bit, anyway."

 
"Oh, thank God for
that." He looks genuinely relieved. "Oh, that is excellent news,"
he says, accepting a coffee from Amanda. I smile and shake my head in answer to
her offer.

 
"Water?" she
asks.

 
"Oh, yes, that'd
be great, thanks."

 
"But they showed
me this list of names." I'm trying to read my dad's expression but, leaning
back in his huge black leather chair, he looks slightly quizzical, that's all.

 
"And?"

 
"Yours was on it.
Along with a lot of other people, big names, rich and famous people."

 
"And what was this
list about?"

 
"I don't know."

 
"Didn't they say?"

 
"No." Amanda
brings in a tray with a glass, a bottle and dish of ice. It's that water again -
Glacial Purity. "But almost all of them I remember have invested in 2cool."

 
"Sure."

 
"Well, have you invested
in 2cool?"

 
When my dad stands up
and walks over to the window I know the answer.

 
"I put some money
in, yeah. So did a lot of people as you know."

 
"Why didn't you tell
me?"

 
There is no answer

 
"That was Guy on
your phone, wasn't it?"

 
My dad sighs.

 
"Yes, it was."

 
"Cause you know him,
don't you?"

 
"Well, I've met him
a few times."

 
I take a sip of water,
hoping he'll say more but he doesn't. He just stands by the window, his back to
me, looking down at the traffic halting and pushing its way round in Berkeley Square.

 
"Was it your personal
investment or was it Matthew Kendall

Barr - ?"

 
"It was my own money."

 
"How much?"

 
"Fifty grand."

 
"Dad, that's quite
a lot of money."

 
"I can afford it,"
he says defiantly, turning round and watching the TV monitors. I give up on the
hope that he's going to answer the big questions unprompted.

 
"Why didn't you tell
me?" He says nothing. I can feel anger and tears welling up inside me but I
keep control. "Why didn't you say when I first got involved with 2cool? You
must have been in on the start. You knew all along. Why did you pretend not to know
Guy and Piers? No wonder you popped up at the Huntsman's thing. You got that first
article about it faxed to you in New York. Why have you lied to me?"

 
When my dad turns to look
at me there are tears in his eyes and his jaw is shaking.

 
"I wanted to protect
you. I, I've just been caught up in this thing."

 
"Caught up in what
thing? 2cool? How? Why?"

 
"Something bigger."

 
"What?"

 
"Charlie, I can't
tell you. Please don't ask."

 
"For God's sake,
Dad, what is it?"

 
"Never mind. Look
why don't you and Lauren go on a holiday. Get away from it all, now you've been
cleared and this whole thing is all over. You could go somewhere nice - relax, talk
about your relationship - "

 
"Dad, what're you
talking about?"

 
"I'll pay for it."
He opens a drawer and takes out a cheque book.

"Remember last year, I went to the Gazelle D'Or with, er..."
He starts writing. "With...er...what's her name? We had a great time. Why don't
you take Lauren there?"

 
However weird and alien
this conversation might seem, I can recognise my father now - practical solutions.
Do something. Identify the problem and develop an effective response to it. After
all, that's why those hip funky off-the-wall guys in the offices further down the
corridor employed him. That's why he thought little trips to Thorpe Park would sort
out his relationship with his children when his marriage was breaking up.

 
I watch him write the
cheque, tear it out and hold it out to me. It's for £5,000. Bloody hell, what kind
of holiday would that pay for? I look up at him. He has blinked back the tears and
his face is set with a positive, upbeat look. It must be killing him. I take the
cheque and put it down on the desk between us.

 
"I don't want to
talk to you again until you tell me the truth," I say and walk out of the office.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Out in the street again I ring Nora at the office. Someone else
answers, sounding rather hassled, and snaps that she's not there, could I call back
later? I end the call without saying anything and then try her mobile. Voicemail.
I leave a message for her to ring me immediately.

 
I walk around the streets
of Mayfair for a while thinking. There are smart offices in old houses with brass
name plates below the entry phones. Some of them are just surnames or initials -
solicitors? PR companies? Accountants? Others have more obvious names such as West
African Oil Exploration Inc or Anglo American Data Solutions Ltd.

 
I make my way down to
Green Park tube and go home to Chiswick. I potter around trying to decide what to
do. Then I pour myself a whiskey and then lie in the bath where I can think. A couple
of times I think I hear Lauren's key in the lock for some reason and I sit up.

 
As well as being angry
with my dad, I also feel very sorry for him. Watching your father cry is a weird
experience. He's seen me cry thousands of times when I was a kid. A kid? I bawled
my eyes out when that I discovered that that cow Karen Sutton was seeing my mate
Tony behind my back and I was 16 then.

 
Having the roles reversed
is strange, though. Like when you realise for the first time that your parents are
not the all knowing omni-competent beings you thought they were, like when you explain
to them how some bit of technology works or what something means that they've read
in the paper, or when you say goodnight to them but they're the ones who are going
to bed.

 
When the father helps
the son both smile. When the son helps the father both cry. It's a Chinese saying
I think. Watching your father cry while you're dry eyed is even worse.

 
You sort of assume that
a wealthy man behind a big desk is safe but perhaps not. Oh, Dad, what is it? Why
can't you tell me? What have you done? Something illegal? Criminal? No, surely not.
Did you just get a bit greedy? Has someone got something on you? If so, what? And
what - or who - are you protecting me from? I slip underwater and stay there as
long as I can manage. When I come up, my mobile is ringing.

 
I reach across to the
towel rail and dry my hands and then pick up the phone. It's a breathless Nora,
obviously out on the street.

 
"I've just been talking
to Piers. We've had a long, long talk. He's been talking, really talking. Spilled
his guts, man. I had to bully it out of him - told him I'd tell everyone where he
was - but, my God, what a story! I know why all those people including your...I
know why they haven't sued."

 
"Why not?"

 
"Because he and Guy
have got something on them."

 
"Blackmail?"

 
"That's what I said
and Piers said 'What an ugly word' or something. He called it 'encouragement'."

 
"So what has he got
on them?"

 
Nora laughs hysterically.

 
"You won't believe
it. Let's just say it's about badgers again."

 
"Badgers?"

 
She laughs again.

 
"Yeah, look we're
going to a party again tonight."

 
"Nora, what are you
talking about?" I'm hanging over the edge of the bath now. "What did he
say about my dad?"

 
"He and Guy do know
your dad. It almost certainly was Guy who rang for your dad that day."

 
"Yeah, I know, I
spoke to Dad this afternoon."

 
"Oh, right! What
did he say?" "He told me he was involved in something, something more
than just 2cool."

 
"That would be it!"
says Nora. "Charlie, this is huge."

 
That phrase again. I shiver
in the steaming bath water.

 
"Stop saying that.
What have you found out?"

 
There is a rustle of fabric
and a muffled cry.

 
"Oh, shit, sorry,"
I hear Nora say. "Are you all right?"

 
"What's going on?"

 
She comes back to me.

 
"Sorry about that,
bumped into someone. So, what else did your dad say?"

 
"Nothing."

 
"Nothing at all?"

 
"He just suggested
I...Lauren and I go on holiday."

 
"Well, you'd better
wait till tomorrow. After then it will all have blown over and it won't really matter."

 
"Nora, what the fuck
are you talking about?"