CHAPTER TWENTYFOUR: NEMESIS
Tuesday night and waking time on Wednesday
are now fresh occasions for celebration. Colin takes Dorothy out to dinner at
the Poissonnerie, a smart fish restaurant in Sloane Avenue, and treats her to
caviar, which she inspects a little doubtfully, though she approves a plate of
accompanying blinis, and then sole in a rich sauce, which slips down like a
dream. They drink Chablis, and play at being rich, and he tells her about his
interview, and a middle-aged couple at the next table, who had at first looked
disapproving, are obviously listening, and plainly impressed - though he leaves
out Victoria Smuggleigh's thoughts about hormone therapies.
They follow on with creme brulee, and drink
a glass of Tokay, and make plans to rescue Prince and bring him to London, and
afterwards they walk hand in hand to the Australian, a Sloaney pub that Colin
has not set foot in for many, many years, and carry their glasses outside to
stand on the pavement, and pretend not to notice how other customers are
staring at them, as they sip at glasses of sweet golden Muscat, though Colin is
sure that it will kill his head in the morning.
A cluster of smooth young men eye Colin
with disdain, and attempt to attract Dorothy's interest. But she is very
queenly, in a teenage sort of way, and ignores them, and they giggle
together when a cut glass voice mutters
bitterly that 'rich bastards can always afford the best talent'.
Afterwards they stroll back to Bayswater.
It is a fair distance, but they have all the time in the world, and Kensington
Gardens is a magic place of moonlight and shadows. Dorothy stays close, because
it is now dark, and talks little - for it is a time to be companionable. But
her hand is warm in his, and the night smiles on them, and they know that their
own special world is waiting for them as they cross the Bayswater Road and head
for the welcome of their big comfy bed. The gay young man waves from behind
their hotel reception desk, and they whir up in the lift and trudge up the
stairs to their nest, and they both know that they are going to pleasure each
other, and expectation is a force driving them on as they undress each other
and stand for a moment by the bed, and they want to pledge their devotion, but
their bodies are too demanding, and they must be united, and they merge, and
they are together.
Afterwards, when they are both temporarily
sated, they lie, still united, and caress each other. Dorothy thinks she has
found a very suitable flat, with a large sunny room, a neat little kitchen and
a compact toilet and shower, at the top of a house just off Westbourne Grove,
and has also nosed out a reasonably priced secondhand furniture shop at the far
end of the Portobello Road.
But their minds are not really on
furnishings.
"I'll have to get a new prescription
for the pill." Dorothy advances the thought shyly, as though speaking to
herself.
"You'll probably have to go back to
school." Colin can read her thoughts, but is uncertain. He remembers the
jealousy of the young men, and wonders - despite himself - how long he can hold
on to a pretty girl young enough to be his daughter.
Dorothy giggles, and kisses him. "I'm
grown-up now."
Colin makes a questioning sound.
"I've learned everything I'm ever
going to learn from school."
"But what are you going to do?"
"I'm going to look after you."
"That won't keep you busy."
They are circling around each other, each
waiting for the other to show a hand.
"I could come off the pill."
It is a declaration, and they both
understand, and they hold each other close, because the time is not yet quite
right, but they know that it soon will be, and they fall asleep nestled into
each other.
Morning brings fresh embraces, and new
smiles, and crisp croissants in Queensway, and Colin is joyous as the Bat Group
lift spirits him upwards.
Twister is already busily at work,
preparing for the Sultan's visit. He has just made a fresh pot of coffee, and
sits back, beaming, as Colin describes his Home Office interview.
"She's a bit of all right, eh?"
RichQuick's editor leers, at his most basic, and scratches his crotch.
Colin remembers a pair of blue eyes, and a
clear, laughing voice, and wonders how it might be to make love to an Home
Secretary. It is only a thought, but his mind promptly presents him with a
vision of a trim naked body, set about with cushions, stretched out welcomingly
on the floor of a large Whitehall office, and this daydream is such a deviant
fantasy that he quashes it instantly. One day the Home Office may develop
machines for reading minds, and dreadful penalties for sexual insolence.
He smiles, and settles down to transcribe
his cassettes - the most boring job in the world. Wendy arives, and he wonders
whether new-found stardom will carry enough clout to translate into transcription.
But she backs away, with her prettiest dimple, twitches her backside just a
fraction to show that she intends to be wholly mistress of the situation, and
busies herself opening letters.
The telephone rings, and she waves it at
him. "Two men come to see you, in reception."
Colin frowns. He is just getting into the
swing of things, and he doesn't want to be disturbed. "You go."
Wendy speaks to the telephone, and shakes
her head. "They say they've come to see you specially."
Colin leaves his wordprocessor reluctantly.
He has already jotted down a rough introduction and a backbone for his Home
Office feature, and he wants to get his copy away. He takes the lift down to
the Bat Group reception desk, scowling a little.
The two men are lounging on the reception
area settee, their eyes hidden behind aviator shades. They spring to their feet
as Colin comes out of the lift, and they are lithe and taut, a pair of panthers
ready to pounce. Something about them is vaguely menacing, and the Bat Group
receptionist is watching them with deep distrust.
The younger man extends a hand heavy with
gold rings. "Mr Vast?" His tone is polite, but his outstretched hand
is not a greeting.
Colin eyes him suspiciously.
"We've come to recover some lost
property." The man smiles slightly, baring his teeth, and his expression
is now wolfish.
"Lost property?" Colin is
bewildered."
"A young lady, Miss Dorothy Sorrow,
took a case from a friend of ours. He wants it back."
The man closes on Colin, forcing him to
step back, and his companion moves to stand beside him, boxing Colin into a
corner.
Colin feels his blood turn to ice. "I
don't know what you're talking about."
"Oh, we think you do." The man is
now very close to Colin indeed, and Colin can smell the peppermint scent of his
breath. "We think you know just where it is, and we think you'd be very
wise to return it, because we care about your wellbeing."
His hand closes on Colin's shirt, and Colin
is transfixed with terror.
"All right, all right." He is
stuttering with his fear. "I'll get it for you."
Two more men have now come out of the lift.
They are large men, bulls of men, and they watch silently.
The man holding Colin's shirt ignores them.
"No, Colin, we'll come with you. We
wouldn't want you running away - our friend says his case is worth a great deal
of readies."
One of the two newcomers walks past him to
the reception desk, leaving his companion by the lift.
The girl looks up at the newcomer in
bewilderment, and he smiles politely. "I'm looking for Mr. Colin
Vast."
The girl gestures at Colin, still boxed
into the corner, and the newcomer turns to face him, ignoring the two men with
aviator shades.
"Mr. Vast?"
The reception area is a still-life tableau.
Colin has the eyes of a terrified rabbit cornered by a pair of ferrets, the two
men with hidden eyes seem irritated at this interruption, and the receptionist
is frozen into her seat.
The newcomer holds up a laminated card.
"I'm a police officer. We've come to ask you a few questions."
The two men with hidden eyes stare at the
newcomers, quiver, and release Colin as though he has suddenly become something
very unpleasant indeed. They tear open the emergency exit door, and are
suddenly gone, clattering away down the stairs. Colin stares at the newcomers,
and turns very pale, and collapses.
Some time later, after he has been taken
away, Twister is talking to Karim, who has flown into London to make
preparations for the Sultan's arrival.
"Sad business." Karim shakes his
head. "Very sad business."
"We'll cope." Twister shrugs.
Unemployment is rife in Fleet Street, and good journalists are really quite
cheap. "We've got a transcript of his interview, and an outline he roughed
out. I'll polish it up personally."
"What will they do to him?"
Twister leers. "Probably give him a
choice between twelve months and a pill."
"Really?" Karim looks shocked.
"Pilot scheme. He'll be flying the
first plane." Twister prides himself on his sharp sense of humour, and he
is pleased, because Colin was starting to become a bit too smart for his own
good. "It'll be poetic justice - people who live by the sword, and all
that."
Karim is patently lost.
"He mopped up this really pretty little
girl, but she was under age, and he got mixed up in the drug scene."
Twister leans back in his chair, and scratches his crotch, and wonders who will
take over Dorothy. "Sex makes people do silly things, they can become
obsessed. I suppose he wasn't getting enough at home, and wanted it so badly he
was prepared to take risks."
He smiles a superior smile, because he has
none of these problems. He has sold his shares in Bat Group, and he is rich,
and wealth is a magic aphrodisiac.
"The word is that he'll be chemically
neutered and locked up for a while, to see whether the treatment works. Then
they'll let him go."
Karim is alarmed. "No more pretty
girls?"
Twister leers again. "None. He won't
know what to do with them."
Karim sighs. It is a shame, and a sad
ending, because Vast promised to be very useful. But fate is fate, and the
world must move on. He takes a deep breath, and starts to outline the Sultan's
plans for developing the Bat Group, and the two men push Colin Vast out of their minds. For sex may be pleasing, and
a pleasure, and a nice way to pass the time. But only wimps let it become an
obsession.