Swan (11 page)

Phil was on a six-figure salary as the director of a
charity that claimed to ‘bring clean water to Africa.’ I had always wondered
how ethical it was for so-called non-profit organisations to pay its staff such
high salaries, when surely, the money would be better spent on the relief
efforts they alleged to represent. I couldn’t see how the many extravagant
lunches Phil attended, and the seemingly endless expenses tabs could be
advantageous to some poor kid on the other side of the world waiting for a well
to be built in their village.

Over the years, Phil and I had had many heated
debates on this topic. He was of the opinion that the high overheads required
to run his charity were justifiable because society events were a great way to
raise profile and get a worthy cause into the public eye. So what if a large
percentage of donations went on swanky hotels and dinners, as long as some of
that revenue eventually reached those who needed it? To people living in such
desperate conditions, some money was better than no money, wasn’t it? It was
during conversations such as these that I really had to doubt my
brother-in-law’s veracity.

Phil smiled and shook David’s hand, before giving me
a little peck on the cheek.

‘Lovely to see you both! I hope you didn’t have any
trouble finding the place this time Maddy?’

‘No, no, I remembered the way.’ I handed him the
greeting card and bottle of Cava we’d brought him. ‘Happy birthday darling.’

‘Thank you. Please, please come in. Tom and Jane
have just arrived. Everyone’s waiting for you in the lounge.’

‘How’s Vicky? Is she up?’

‘God no, we’ve got a baby-sitter. It’s adults only
tonight.’

‘Oh, what a shame. I would have loved to have seen
her.’ Secretly I was relieved. The last time I’d come, Vicky had spent the
whole evening jumping up and down on the sofa, screaming for attention, and
then somehow managed to pour a whole bottle of Ribena over their new cream
carpet. Not a pretty sight.

We followed Phil through the hallway into a large
living room, where Beth was serving drinks to the other guests.

‘Oh darling, you made it, how wonderful!’ she
shrieked.

We embraced warmly, and then my sister proceeded to
introduce David to everyone else: Robert and Pauline, who were both lawyers,
and Tom and Jane who worked in the city - something to do with hedge funds
(whatever those are).

After Beth had finished her frenzied introductions,
we were all led into the fabulous dining room, which had progressed somewhat
from the empty shell it had been on my last visit. The large rosewood table was
laid out immaculately for eight while a beautiful antique chandelier hung from
the ceiling.

My sister served us cocktails followed by spicy
onion soup (actually quite tasty, not sure if she made it from scratch or the
tin). Then we tucked into her famous lamb roast, which was absolutely
delicious. The potatoes were a bit burnt, but overall Beth had done a good job.
I could tell she was very pleased with herself.

The conversation at dinner was highly animated. Jane
and Pauline debated the benefits of sending their children to Church of England
schools, despite the two of them being atheists, and the men indulged in their
usual good-natured banter – football, cars and politics. However, David
was surprisingly quiet and subdued. Apart from complimenting Beth on her
cooking, he barely spoke a word to anyone, preferring to keep focused on his
plate.

My sister soon picked up on this and attempted to
engage him. ‘More wine, David?’

‘Yes please.’

‘What do you do again, David?’

‘I’m a photographer.’

‘Jolly good,’ Tom grinned. ‘What do you photo?’

David gave his customary speech about buildings, and
people and I tried hard not to laugh. I wondered if he ever got sick of having
to repeat himself all the time.

‘Is there good money to be made from that, then?’
Phil asked.

‘Yes, can be. Though, I do it more out of love than
for the money.’

‘I wish I was able to do something like that,’ Jane
sighed. ‘I love taking pictures. I can’t imagine a more wonderful occupation.’

Beth went around refilling everyone’s glasses. ‘So
David, Maddy tells me you went to the cinema the other day. What did you guys
see?’

‘What was that film again, Madeline?’ David asked.

‘
Everybody
Loves Sid
,’ I replied flippantly.

‘Oh I’ve seen that!’ Jane shrieked. ‘Chet Vincent.
Absolutely brilliant film. Loved it, loved it, loved it! He’s so gorgeous,
isn’t he? I’m sooo sad he’s dead.’

‘Chet Vincent?’ Robert cocked an eyebrow. ‘That’s
the bloke that fell off the yacht isn’t it? Poor guy. What a way to go.’

‘I know,’ Jane enthused. ‘It’s absolutely dreadful!
By the way, does anyone know if they ever found his body?’

Tom shook his head. ‘No they didn’t.’

‘Then how do we know he’s really dead? I mean
technically, he could be hiding somewhere sipping gin and tonics with Lord
Lucan in the South American rainforest.’

‘Nonsense,’ Robert countered, ‘there’s no way
someone could survive in open water for that long. He’s got to be dead. His
body is probably at the bottom of the ocean somewhere, and they just haven’t
found it.’

Jane narrowed her eyes. ‘Oh darling, you can be such
a killjoy.’

‘Wasn’t he dating that actress - you know, what’s
her name with the big bum ... Maria Esposito?’ Tom started drooling. ‘Mmm, yes ...
Maria Esposito. He was a lucky bastard wasn’t he? What I wouldn’t give to have
some private time with her.’

‘She’s only famous because of her looks,’ Pauline
snorted. ‘I saw that wedding film she was in, and she’s a terrible actress.’

‘Trust me,’ Tom laughed, ‘I don’t go to a Maria
Esposito movie for her acting.’

‘Could you be a dear and pass me the bread knife?’
Robert asked. Jane handed it to him , and then he proceeded to cut the
wholemeal loaf into meticulous little slices.

‘So,’ Jane said, addressing the table, ‘who do you
think Chet Vincent left his millions to? He must have been absolutely loaded.’

Phil nodded his head solemnly. ‘Well, I just hope he
did something sensible with it. After all, these actors are paid obscene
amounts of money just to piss around on a movie set all day. It’s not a proper
job is it? They don’t live in the real world. Most of them are away with the
fairies.’

David put down his fork and eyed Phil carefully. ‘So
what do
you
think he should have done
with his money?’

‘I think he should have given it all to charity.
That’s the least he could do after making so much money for doing nothing.’

‘How do you know Chet Vincent didn’t already give a
substantial amount of his earnings to charity? In fact, how do you know he
didn’t give the lion’s share to charity?’

Phil scratched his nose irritably. ‘Well, obviously,
I’m not the man’s accountant, but I’d hazard a guess that Chet Vincent was just
as mean and selfish as most of those gormless celebrities are. I mean, when do
any of them ever do anything that actually makes a difference to the world?’

‘Now hold on a minute Phil,’ Tom cut in, ‘that’s
incredibly unfair. What about people like Bob Geldof, Bono, Sting ... those
guys have raised millions for worthy causes. What about Live Aid? You can’t tar
all celebrities with the same brush.’

‘Hear, hear,’ Jane trilled, ‘well said, Tom.’

David turned back to Phil, who was now looking
decidedly uptight. ‘To be honest Phillip, I’d say the less song and dance a
celebrity makes about their generosity the better. I mean, if it’s really
coming from the heart, why the need to publicise it? If a celebrity genuinely
wants to help a good cause, why not do it confidentially? You don’t need to
tell the whole world about it; it’s not a photo opportunity. Just knowing that
you’ve done a good deed should be enough reward in itself.’

‘Now that’s where I tend to disagree with you,’ Phil
said. ‘Celebrities do need to publicise their generosity because it helps to
raise public awareness. I mean, having Angelina Jolie as your patron gives a
charity far better exposure than shaking a collection tin down Oxford Street on
a Saturday. At the end of the day, David, if it brings money to a good cause,
who cares if the celebrity earns a little free publicity from it?’

‘Do you give to good causes, Phillip?’

‘Phil runs his own charity,’ Beth said cheerily.

‘Oh really?’ David raised his eyebrows.
‘Interesting. So I’m speaking with an expert, then. I didn’t realise.’ He
leaned forward, fixed his eyes on Phil. ‘So, how much of your salary do you
give to charity? Ten per cent? Fifty per cent?’

‘Oh come on! This isn’t about me,’ Phil laughed.
‘I’m not a multi-millionaire, am I?’

‘That’s not the point. You’re saying that if someone
is grossly overpaid, they should do the good thing by giving the bulk of their
ill-gotten gains to charity. Your perception of overpaid is relative. Looking
around your home, I’d say you make a pretty decent living, Phil. A road sweeper
might look at you and ask the same questions you asked of Chet Vincent.’

Phil turned the colour of chalk. ‘Well, I er ...’

‘Actually that’s a very good question,’ Jane said
tartly, ‘I never thought about that before. Come on. Out with it, Phil. How
much do you give back?’

‘So David,’ Beth simpered, changing the subject,
‘how was Maddy in the cinema? Was she drooling over her phantom boyfriend
again?’

[E6]
 
I
kicked her leg viciously under the table, but my sister was in her element and
had no intention of stopping.

David looked at me curiously. ‘Phantom boyfriend?
What are you talking about?’

‘I mean Chet Vincent of course. Maddy’s been
absolutely obsessed with him since we were kids. She’s got all his memorabilia,
all his films. I think she had this crazy dream that one day he’d sweep her off
her feet and marry her in some fairytale wedding.’ Beth cackled wickedly. ‘Do
you know, it was so sweet when we were at school, boys would ask Maddy out, and
she’d say, “I’m saving myself for Chet!”’

The whole table roared with laughter. Pauline wiped
away a tear. ‘Oh Maddy you didn’t, did you? That’s so funny!’

I wanted the ground to swallow me up. My sister
could be such a bitch sometimes. ‘Yeah it is true,’ I said with dignity, ‘and
I’m not ashamed of it.’

I glanced at David. He wasn’t laughing. He was
staring at me with a look of quiet reverence on his face. ‘I don’t think it’s
funny,’ he said solemnly, 'I think it’s rather endearing. There’s nothing wrong
with being an avid fan. When I was a kid, I seem to remember having a rather
unhealthy attachment to Priscilla Presley during her stint on
Dallas
.’

‘God, yeah!’ Tom broke in. ‘She was stunning, wasn’t
she? I also had a thing for Kelly Le Brock ...’

And so the conversation shifted to the top-ten most
fanciable women of the ‘80s. I was off the hook. David had come to my rescue, and
I was eternally grateful to him for that. Occasionally, I’d catch him stealing
glances at me, his face alive with amusement ... and something else. I didn’t
know what.

Phil nudged Tom. ‘What a result at the weekend eh?’

‘Don’t get me started! Mate, I’m telling you, we
were robbed. Don’t know how the ref gave that penalty.’

David continued to eat in a bemused silence.

‘Did you manage to catch the game?’ Phil asked him.

‘Er, no.’

‘Who do you support? Are you an Arsenal or Spurs
man?’

‘Um, er, Arsenal.’

Tom and Robert cheered in unison. The discussion
about football continued for a couple of minutes, during which I caught Phil
watching David curiously, like he was trying to read him, work him out.

‘So David, what do you think about Youare Awanka’s
transfer?’ Phil said the name so quickly, at first I didn’t catch the joke.

‘Excuse me?’ David asked politely, wiping his mouth.

‘You know that African player Youare Awanka? Arsenal
bought him for twenty million. Do you think he’s worth it?’

There was a tense silence around the table.

‘Oh yes, definitely,’ David nodded eagerly, ‘he’s
one of the best players we’ve got.’

Tom almost spat out his wine.

‘Enough,’ Beth scolded, ‘you guys are terrible.
Leave poor David alone.’

David frowned. He still didn’t seem to get the joke.

I quickly changed the subject. ‘So Beth, how’s your
appeal for Vicky’s school going?’

‘Oh darling, don’t get me started! That headmistress
is absolutely dire. You’ll never believe what she said to me ...’

As Beth rattled on, David and I exchanged glances.
The look of relief on his face told me that he knew I’d just saved his bacon.

I glared at Phil, surprised by how vindictive he’d
been. Clearly, David had no interest in football whatsoever and had only played
along to be part of the lads’ conversation, so why had Phil exposed his
ineptitude so cruelly? Okay, perhaps he was a bit smashed, but that still
wasn’t an excuse.