The Green Flash (11 page)

She didn't have a nice laugh; not like the clear note of her voice – it was broken, like a twelve-year-old boy's. But it suited her.

When I came back from Barbados the second time she asked if I had enjoyed myself and then added: ‘Have you ever fenced, David?'

‘Fenced? At school a bit. Centuries ago.'

‘That's at least five years. Well, I go once a week to the Sloane gymnasium. It is perhaps the nearest I can now get to ballet, and it is an aid to fitness. If you are doing nothing tomorrow night, possibly you would like to come with me?'

‘OK,' I said. It was the first sign of social friendliness in more than two years. Even John Carreros, with that one invitation to bridge at his club – which had never been repeated – had been more forthcoming.

So on the Tuesday I went. The fencing school was in this big hall, as big as a film studio, with the floor marked out in white paint to line out the fencing territories. A fair number of people turned up, some getting tuition, others practising on their own or having mock contests. Those actually in contention had wires running from their backs to a control panel, so that every time a hit was scored a bell rang and a light showed on the board. That didn't stop them howling out in triumph as well – a sort of ‘gotcher' without the consonants.

Shona was good, as I suppose you would have expected, and you could guess at her Bolshoi training by the way she used her feet. We did a bit of limbering up together, then I sat and watched while she had a couple of bouts with a slim, fair, pretty female who was better still. The girl won 9–1 and 9–2, and then Shona, breathing hard, took off her mask and sat beside me and introduced me to this girl, who was called Erica Lease.

Eighteen or nineteen: long narrow face, deepish voice, a cheeky way with her, sultry eyes which didn't quite match her comic style. They said she was among the top women fencers in the country.

After she had cooled off Shona said: ‘Come, David, let us try a little engagement.'

We shoved on protective masks, got wired up and had a go. It was a casual bout without any formality except the bells, and of course she scored the first seven points over me more or less as it grabbed her. I was rusty. When she put on her mask there had been a glint in her eyes; now when I saw her sword flickering over my chest it seemed to me to be warlike behaviour that went a bit beyond ordinary fencing. And the ‘yah' she uttered every time she scored a point riled me. They hadn't shouted like that at Loretto. So I began to concentrate. I tried to recall in five minutes all I'd forgotten over the last decade. I scored two hits before she won 9–2.

‘Thank you,' she said, grasping my hand in the formal way. ‘You did well.'

‘Not well enough.' I rubbed my arm where her last point had been scored.

‘You could be good, I think. You have quick reflexes. Do you not think so, Erica?'

‘He
could
be good.'

‘I'll come again,' I said, ‘after I've done a job on my reflexes.'

Pupils a muddy grey, even though the whites were clear. Maybe they masked the mischief. ‘Come next Saturday,' she said. ‘ We have some good county trials. Shona, bring him then.'

‘I cannot,' said Shona. ‘We shall be in the States.'

‘Ah. Then the week after. Or as soon as you come back.'

‘I will do that.'

‘Have you fenced for long?' I asked the girl.

‘Oh, all my life.' She pulled off her gauntlet and grinned at me. ‘Mine, they say, was a foil birth.'

‘The sport's on the increase,' said a chap standing near. ‘There's a new school opening in Lambeth later this month.'

‘Yes, I put money into it,' said Miss Lease. ‘Have you time for a chink, Shona? We're all going round the corner in a minute.'

Eight of us went. It was a jolly party, and for once Shona seemed overshadowed by the others, who all chattered in loud voices and interrupted each other and yelped good-humouredly at their own jokes. After the stimulation of the sport she was in one of her quiescent moods, hair screwed back any way, small-boned and foreign in her camel-hair coat. Not the great lady for the time being.

She caught my eye, blinking her own through somebody else's cigarette smoke.

‘I expect you do much of this in Barbados, David.'

‘Much of what?'

‘Drinking in bars.'

‘To excess. It's Jerry Dawson's weakness.'

‘Does he go with you? I didn't know.'

‘This year, yes. Of course the whole island is a sink of vice.'

‘That is a funny joke; but who knows? Think of Haiti.'

Talk of holidays had gone around, and it seemed Erica had recently been to Cap Ferrat. She had met the Gregory Pecks while she was there. And David Niven. And Trevor Howard.

As I drove Shona home I said: ‘A high-flying filly.'

‘Who, Erica? Yes. Lives a full life. If she concentrated on her fencing she would be a world beater.'

‘Married?'

‘No.'

‘Lovers?'

‘Why, are you interested?'

‘No,' I said. ‘Though I see she would be top of the milk for many a good man.'

‘Not for you? Oh, come now. Pray be honest.'

‘You know that's not my best policy.'

She laughed, broken-voiced. ‘You've not stolen anything from the till yet, have you?'

‘Not a bean. Disappointing.'

‘But you can still be honest about Erica?'

I pondered. ‘ She's OK, yes, I could bed her. But she's not really my style.'

‘Who is?'

It was an incautious question. I said: ‘You, of course.'

The lights went green and I edged forward. The car in front carried an L-plate. The driver was so nervous that even her brake lights were trembling.

Shona said: ‘I think I had better take that remark as unspoken.'

‘Why?'

‘I was not looking for that answer.'

‘Well, now you have it.'

We turned into South Audley Street.

‘It would never do.'

‘Why not?'

‘I need you still to remain in the firm.'

‘Of course. I don't see that the two ends are incompatible.'

She patted my arm. ‘But I am afraid, David, that that is how it is.'

I

I flew to New York on the Friday and was met at Kennedy by Jim Barton and by another man we'd engaged called Phil Grogam, a big hearty Jewish character who had been an executive with Estée Lauder. Shona reluctantly followed on the Monday. John would not come, so she arrived quite alone. She was met at the airport, of course, by a bandwagon of reporters and publicity men, and photographed and interviewed in the airport buildings, in the limousine, in the lobby of the Pierre. I was surprised to see how edgy she was; I suppose she realized she was now in the country of the big talkers, the big sellers and the big spenders. All the same in the end she had her way and insisted on a quiet luncheon with me. I explained to her about the party we had arranged at the hotel that evening; the fashion press would be there in even greater force, of course; the buyers for the major stores, a variety of people who counted in one way or another; and a few celebrities.

She said: ‘This is foreign territory for me, David. Essentially I am still a Russian – and very much a European. I feel quite at home in Paris or London. But New York – what is this food we are eating?'

‘Long Island clams. Thought you might fancy them.'

‘Well, I do not. They are revolting. And those districts we drove through from the airport; they remind me of Moscow!'

I looked round the plush restaurant. ‘And this is the Lubyanka?'

‘Do not joke about that,' she said. ‘I once went to see my father in the Lubyanka, before he was sent away to a corrective camp.'

‘What was his error – your father's error? The reason why he was sent away?'

‘He became friendly with an English girl secretary at the embassy. In Stalin's day it was considered treason.'

‘Well, there's no treason involved in becoming friendly with your secretary here. That makes a refreshing change.'

She did not take me up on this. ‘You will make the necessary speech, David?'

‘I'll say a word. But it's your big night. Above everyone else, you
are
Shona. Even if you make it quite short, you'll have to give it to them.'

‘I will speak. But briefly. You will draft something for me and I will amend it as I think necessary.'

‘I've made one or two notes.'

‘Good. We will discuss them after lunch.'

We finished the meal. She had picked at a few pieces of undercooked lamb, an elaborate iced sweet, sipped two vodkas and shared a half-bottle of Chablis.

‘Now I am going to rest for an hour,' she said. ‘The aeroplane has made my ears deaf.'

I wondered how she'd dress for the evening, whether her cool dignity would fit well with the Americans, who were so used to a more free and easy way and had their own ideas – put over by other ladies of far greater flamboyance – of how a leading woman perfumer ought to court their attention.

I needn't have had a second thought. They seemed to see her as a friend at once. Her few words went well; she contrived to answer some rather bitchy questions, and answer them in a good-humoured way which kept everyone in the right mood. It was I who splotched my copybook.

But this was later. The speeches were long over, the perfumes and beauty products had been displayed and samples pushed around. Then there was a move, downstairs. Grogam had cunningly arranged that our party should begin at 5.30, because on the same evening at the Pierre the Fragrance Foundation was holding its annual awards dinner, where presentations were being made for the best perfume of the year, the best advertising, etc. Tickets for this were highly sought after, and those of our guests who didn't have tickets could at least say they were at the Pierre that evening; those who did could join this other and more prestigious party where all the great names of the perfumery business were in attendance.

Now there was this tall blonde called Kathy Schwarzheim, with lots of obvious attractions in the right places. She was on behalf of some insignificant rag in Philadelphia, but she'd somehow scraped an invitation for the Foundation dinner. She'd been around me ever since I landed last Friday, making rather a nuisance of herself.

When we were circulating at the gathering downstairs I found her next to me.

‘Tell me, Mr Abden,' she said, ‘ is it true that Mme Shona is a ballet dancer?' I hesitated a moment, and she added: ‘ Or
was
,' and laughed.

I said: ‘ She studied ballet.'

‘Where?'

‘At the Bolshoi.'

She whistled. ‘ Wow! Isn't that something! And she's a concert pianist too?'

‘Hardly. She plays Brubeck.'

‘What talent! … Tell me, how does it feel to be the Prince Consort?'

I looked across at Shona's lanky, distinguished figure. Then I looked at this Kathy Schwarzheim. ‘That implies a lot.'

‘Oh, surely not that much!'

‘Well, since you ask, I think she makes a good queen.'

There was a laugh. Having tossed off her drink, Kathy Schwarzheim turned towards a waiter with a tray of full glasses and took another quick one before we were called for dinner. No doubt she would have come back to me for more sly questions, but her face annoyed me and I edged away. As I did so I heard a black-bearded, heavy, middle-aged character called Marini growl to her in an amiable overtone: ‘ I guess it's one queen to another.'

Kathy Schwarzheim giggled so much she spilt champagne on her fingers, and I moved out of hearing. But not for long. Two minutes later I saw Marini without a companion and sidled up to him. I clutched his velvet jacket by the lapel and gave it a violent wrench downwards. There was the sound of threads breaking and Marini was nearly pulled over, dropped his glass with a clatter.

‘You goddam fool! What d'you mean –'

I said: ‘Sorry, dear. The trouble with us queens is that we can't keep our hands off other men.'

I suppose I must have looked ugly, because Marini slowly unclenched the fists he had raised.

A breaking glass always briefly stops talk, and people around cut off what they were saying and stared. Grogam came steering across, anxiety writ large. A waiter brought another glass while a second disappeared in search of a brush and tray. It was maybe a minute before the noise decibel in the room reached its previous level, like water rising in a cistern after someone has pulled the plug.

Marini laughed and moved away, examining his torn lapel with fat nicotined fingers. Eventually he left the room, presumably for another jacket or a quick stitch. I could see Grogam looking daggers at me. Somebody spoke to him and he made a gesture towards me and shrugged. Then dinner was called. I sat next to a pretty young female who was the buyer for Tracey's of Fifth Avenue, and a not so pretty one high up in the Arden hierarchy. The dinner and the presentations seemed to go on for ever; and it was not until we met in the lobby much later that Grogam: launched into a diatribe. Marini, it seemed, was the chief executive of de Luxembourg, one of the most powerful and successful of the newer perfumery giants.

‘It just happened that the hairy slob made a remark I didn't like,' I said shortly. ‘ He was lucky he didn't get his teeth knocked in.'

‘Maybe you'll be lucky if
you
don't,' said Grogam.

‘What's that supposed to mean? The fellow's a competitor. Teach him to mind his manners.'

Grogam looked at me in a peculiar way. ‘You don't know about de Luxembourg, then.'

‘What about them?'

‘They're financed by the Mafia.'

II

Shona said: ‘I will write a letter to Francesco, explaining that you are new to the United States and do not understand their ways. You must write too. A letter of apology will not hurt you.'