Untouchable Things (13 page)

She spent a long time getting ready, Jason sticking his head in from time to time with silent disapproval. Up until five o’clock the day had gone well: a lazy Saturday of coffee, sex and shopping. But as their dinner date loomed closer, Jason had got tetchy. Going to dinner parties wasn’t his thing, still less with a bunch of strangers who talked about art. He subsided in front of the TV as she contemplated her wardrobe. The invitation simply said
Dress for dinner
. What did that mean? Evening dress? Seth moved in a different world from her, no doubt with its own protocols that she knew nothing about. In the end she opted for a strappy black top and pinstriped trousers that made her legs look as long as Naomi Campbell’s – according to Des in the Red Lion. Then she spent the best part of forty minutes wrestling her hair with grips, bobbles and hairspray to create her own interpretation of a French pleat, complete with stray tresses spiralling to her shoulders. She found Jason sulking in front of
Blind Date
.

“What do you think?” The ‘aren’t I gorgeous?’ pirouette was pushing it but she wasn’t going to let him spoil her night.

He muttered something sarcastic about bridesmaids.

“For God’s sake.” She stopped herself, turned away. Now was not the time to get into an argument. “We should get going. Are you ready? Shouldn’t you put a shirt on?”

* * * * *

It went well, mostly, until dinner was over. Seth had greeted her with a compliment and a kiss and shaken Jason’s hand warmly. The room looked wonderful, red tea lights winking and extra lighting provided by the full moon gazing on through the back window. Jason looked a little awed despite himself. Seth checked his watch a couple of times until Anna and José arrived, late, bitching about the Circle and Northern line respectively, which led into one of those inevitable London conversations about the Tube. Seth listened with the twitch of a smile on his face.

“Funnily enough I find it perfectly possible to avoid all that by never taking the Tube.”

José snorted. “You avoid all that by never leaving your flat.”

“
Au contraire
, my dear José. I spend many a day when the rest of you are beavering away in your offices, or whatever it is you do, pacing the streets of London. Know it like the back of my ’and, I do.” He had switched to a Cockney accent. “I could be a cabbie in my next life.”

A gale of laughter. “Yes, I can really see that.”

Rebecca sensed Jason bristling beside her.

Anna scooped up a mound of hummus onto a Kettle Chip and turned to Seth. “So what is it exactly you do all day then? I’ve often wondered.”

Seth raised an eyebrow. “Well, I walk, like I said. Go to galleries, afternoon concerts, matinees. Pay for sex now and again.”

He was almost certainly joking but Rebecca felt uncomfortable and saw her feelings mirrored on José’s face. Jason was muttering under his breath next to her.

Anna snorted. “I’ve never had to pay, myself.” The banter continued.

Jake had done the food again, veggie moussaka for José and Rebecca, steak for the rest, Catherine ferrying things backwards and forwards like a waitress. Rebecca wondered if it provided her with a purpose and an excuse not to join in the conversation. Seth was an accomplished host, tossing in conversational bones, which he unobtrusively withdrew if people started tussling over them. That only happened once, when Michael and Anna got a little heated on the subject of the Iraq war. Rebecca was glad to see the subject changed; politics secretly bored her and she didn’t want her lack of current affairs knowledge exposed. She was flattered to be seated next to Seth, who was at the head of the table. Jason, to her right, chatted a lot to Charles, who was customarily solicitous to both of them, while José kept up the repartee.

Before dessert they braved the patio where a November wind was gusting across shivery gardens. Anna shivered too. “What are we doing here? Since when do you bother to smoke outside?”

Seth wrapped his free arm round her shoulder, flicking cigarette ash with his other hand. “We’re trying to get a flavour of autumn. See – trees, darling.” They looked across to where clusters of skinny branches waved back in response. “I must say it’s the one season where I’m not fully satisfied with London. I’m sure Michael would agree with me.”

Michael was leaning over the railings, his Roman profile silhouetted against the glow, hair flapping about madly. “For once I do agree with you, Seth.” He turned and smiled, a softness around his face that Rebecca hadn’t seen before.

“Ah well. I shall just have to gaze upon Rebecca’s hair and let my imagination do the rest.” Seth sighed dreamily and Jason tightened his grip on her arm. Catherine turned away so her face was hidden, but Rebecca could read the tension in her stance.

Charles smoothed things over, as ever. “Have you got anything new lined up, Rebecca?”

She laughed. “You sound like a casting director. Actually, I have.” It was fresh off the press, a bit part in a TV serial drama. Her first telly.

“So we’ll see you on Tuesday nights?”

“For a couple of episodes. Not until after Christmas.”

“Crikey. Are you excited?”

She laughed. “Not as much as my mum. To be honest I think I prefer theatre but I’ll give it a go and see what happens.”

Seth stubbed out his cigarette on the railing. “And what do you make of our own Hugh Grant here? Rocking the floppy-haired look, Charlie boy.”

Rebecca bit her lip. With his concave chest, beard and crew neck jumper, Charles bore little resemblance to his
Four Weddings and a Funeral
alter ego, bar perhaps the hair. He coughed and gave a little bow. “I try my best.”

The light kiss of rain in the air drove them inside to huddle round the fire, while Anna raided Seth’s music collection. “Still plenty of vinyl I see. Hmmm. Classical. Classical. More classical. Don’t you ever listen to anything else?”

“There’s some jazz on the right-hand shelf.”

Anna screwed up her face. “You need your music updating, my son. I’ll tell you who you’d like, Divine Comedy.”

“I presume we’re not talking Dante?”

“Well, not exactly, but there are enough literary references and classical music influences to keep even
you
happy.” Anna twiddled with the stem of her glass. “I met the lead singer, Neil Hannon, way before he got famous.”

“Ooh, get you.”

José winked at Seth. “Northern Irish.”

“Ah,” a knowing nod, “enough said. Does he play the fiddle and dance a reel?”

Cue raised voices, mostly Anna’s, and more laughter, while Catherine scurried around clearing the table. Rebecca felt a brief prod of guilt, which she shrugged off fairly easily. Why should she offer to help just because she was female? She didn’t want to miss a second, and besides, Catherine was probably happier being a martyr about it. She smiled quickly at Jason who was reaching for the bottle of wine on the coffee table to top up his glass. He was knocking it back.

They subsided onto comfy chairs, watching the fire. Seth suggested making some stove-top coffee.

“One of your coffees at this time? You must be kidding.” There were general murmurings about herbal tea, which Seth derided.

“You won’t find any of that gubbins in my cupboard. Come on, Rebecca, be my partner in crime. I know what you’re like for a good strong espresso.”

She accepted, of course, excusing herself so she could head to the loo first. It was gleaming white with an old fashioned pull-chain that took her back to childhood. A sprawling corner bath, which she briefly pictured sharing with Seth. When she returned, Seth handed her the coffee in a tiny, colourful cup. “Miro. Gorgeous, aren’t they?” He looked at his watch. “I think it must be time for a little after-dinner entertainment.”

From nowhere came the rasp of Jason’s voice, slurred and suggestive. “Got some strippers booked, mate?”

The room fell totally, utterly silent. Rebecca saw now that Jason was as drunk as she’d ever seen him. It wasn’t even the kind of thing he approved of. She wanted to die.

Jake boomed with laughter. Everyone else looked at Seth, who was smirking.

“Actually,
mate
, we thought you could do the honours.” Over more laughter it flashed into her mind that Seth was bisexual. Was he attracted to Jason? The thought was too disturbing to pursue. Luckily Jason wasn’t quick enough to flick back a reply and conversation moved on. Everyone was pressing Catherine to play, who protested that she couldn’t possibly after drinking. Had she even had a full glass? Rebecca deliberately looked away, didn’t add her voice.

Naturally, Catherine demurred and everyone took their seats for the grand performance. Seth requested ‘something dark to match the night’. Catherine took a breath. Deep black chords moved into swelling rumbling runs down the bass of the piano. It was impossible not to be captivated. Like the rest of the room, Rebecca stared at the slight figure creating such a vast, restless energy. Where did it come from? Anna leaned her head back, Jason sipped his wine, Michael looked like he’d found God. And Seth – Seth was gazing at Catherine as if she were an angel and Rebecca felt the exiled fury of the dark angel fly off the keys and seize her.

The mood of the evening was transformed. Whisky replaced wine, soul searching bypassed small talk. People were curled up, lying back, sitting on the floor. Jake and Seth were smoking. José had his arm round Anna, who was resting against Charles’ legs. Michael and Catherine’s arms were touching on the sofa. Rebecca could almost taste the intimacy. Jason put a hand on her knee. They were the only couple in the room. She put her hand over his, wishing she could push it away.

“Of course you know what we need now.” Seth blew his smoke thoughtfully upwards.

“What?”

“Someone to read to us.” He eyed Rebecca. “Someone to tell us our dreams and desires. Someone, perhaps, with a background in theatre.”

“No way!” But she couldn’t help a smile. She had the sudden urge to perform.

“Yes, come on Rebecca. For all of us who didn’t see
Hamlet
.”

“What would I read?”

Seth shrugged. “Whatever you like. Either something you know by heart, or you’re very welcome to come and browse my bookshelves for inspiration.”

“What if she doesn’t want to? I’m sure you want a break, darling – it is Friday night.”

Bloody Jason. Now she’d have to pretend she didn’t want to, or look like a total show-off. But Seth stepped in, literally, coming over to pull her up.

“You were allowed to say no the first time but not tonight. Get thee to a library!”

She giggled as he pulled her towards the door, feeling Jason’s eyes on them.

“Here.” They were in the adjoining room, made up as a bedroom but with floor-to-ceiling shelves crammed full of books. Library was not far off the mark.

“Wow.” She exhaled slowly and grabbed hold of the door frame. “Oh!”

“What is it?”

“The books are dancing in front of my eyes – optical illusion or too much whisky?”

“Just clever books, darling.” They laughed and looped their arms round each other. Seth straightened. “Look. I’ve got something to show you.” He led her into the room and turned her round.

She was gazing at a huge picture of a woman lying under water, hands open as if in prayer, hair streaming like a sea creature.

“Just a print, I’m afraid. Millais’
Ophelia
. Thought you’d like it.”

“Of course! I love it.”

“What I wouldn’t give to own the original. I must admit to a certain weakness for the pre-Raphs. Not at all the done thing, of course.” He turned suddenly and took her face in his right hand, hard enough for her to feel his thumb digging into her cheek. “There’s a look of you, though you’re a little more – how shall I say – feline.” She could hear her own breathing in the short silence as she met his eyes.

“Those delicately upturned eyes,” she barely dared to blink, “and those cheekbones.” He skated his thumb along the line of the left one. She waited for him to reach her lips, eyes already closing. But he released her face and brushed a spiralled curl with his index finger. “I suppose you’ve got your hair up just to torment me.”

She smiled, didn’t trust her voice to sound.

“Well, it’s worked. I keep wondering what it would look like if I suddenly made it spill around your shoulders.” He threaded his fingers into the hair swept up at the bottom of her neck. Voices sounded from the next room. She arched her spine, a silent invitation. What was she doing? Jason was there, everyone waiting for them. But she stayed, as though spooled in threads of a dream as his thumbs brushed the back of her neck. He tugged at her hair and she felt the bottom grips begin to loosen.

“I want it to look like hers.” A whisper that she barely caught. Then without warning he swivelled back towards the painting, letting go of her so that she staggered. “Sorry, are you okay?” His voice smooth and charming again. They both stared at the painting, though Rebecca could barely see.

“Was there ever a better capturing of female perfection?”

She needed to pull herself together, find her voice. She cleared her throat. “I didn’t know you had necrophiliac tendencies.”

He continued to gaze at
Ophelia
. “I have a great many tendencies, Rebecca, but I don’t want to give away all my secrets in the first month.”

She chuckled, took a deep breath and turned towards the books. “So, how on earth am I going to find something amongst all these?”

He said goodbye to the painting with a final glance and walked towards the back wall. “What kind of thing are you after?”

“Am
I
after? Remember this was
your
idea.”

“Oh yes, you needed to be forced into it.”

“Hey!” She mock-slapped him.

“Why? What’s wrong in performing to the audience now and then? Feeling the heat of adulation and awe upon you. It’s what you do for a living, is it not?”

“Well, I don’t…”

“Oh don’t give me that crap that you just do it for the joy of literature. The performing is the main thing, you love it, remember I’ve seen you post-coital as it were, high as a kite.” He was looking at her with an intensity that made her insides churn. She was sure he was going to kiss her. She didn’t look away.