Wishful Thinking (50 page)

Not for nothing did he go running and play squash regularly. The blow was a good deal harder than Jerry's, and sent the recipient crashing to the floor. Meanwhile, the guests were pushing forward into the room, anxious not to miss any of the action. MacMurdo, who knew his job, swung in retaliation – Cal dodged sideways – and somehow the Scotsman's huge fist encountered Todd's lantern jaw. Todd would have fallen, if there hadn't been too many people getting in the way. I let go the bag and went to his side, and there was a moment when he collapsed against me, his arm clamping my shoulders. (It should have been a moment of bliss, but I had no time to feel blissful.) Somewhere in the background, Helen Aucham shrieked: ‘We'll sue you for millions, Beauman, you arsehole!'

Todd sat down on the bed, evidently dizzy. His lip was bleeding. There was a box of tissues on one of the tables and I snatched a handful and began to staunch the flow. Lin dropped the bag to harangue MacMurdo – Jerry was trying to sit up – Cal was kissing Georgie's swollen cheek. The photographer went on snapping industriously at what was clearly the most photogenic launch party in history.

There was a minute when the bag was unattended. Jocasta Tate and the It girl almost smashed head-on in their haste to look inside, yanking it open between them and gazing fixedly at the contents. Then Jocasta up-ended it and the money came pouring out, thick wads of banknotes pounding into a heap on the floor, skidding across the carpet. For a second, there was almost silence. Jerry, tottering to his feet, cried: ‘Leave it! It's mine!' but no one paid any attention. They all knew ill-gotten gains when they saw them. That crowd of literati and glitterati – society girls and celebs – journalists both famous and infamous – burst through the confines of the door and rolled forward like a wave. Half a million disappeared under the rush. Georgie, I am sure, grabbed a bundle or two before Cal pulled her away; Lin was in danger of being trampled but MacMurdo lifted her clear. Jerry plunged into the free-for-all and temporarily vanished, though his voice could be heard from time to time.

‘Thieves – you're all thieves!
Get out of my house
!'

‘I told you I was no good at the fights,' Todd remarked. I was still daubing his mouth, though it wasn't bleeding much any more. ‘Are you going to tell me what the hell's going on?'

‘It's a long story,' I said, unable to resist a grin. Helen, too, was swamped in the mob.

‘That's all right,' Todd said. ‘I've got time. After all, I only came tonight to talk to you.'

Chapter 15

Let other pens dwell on guilt and misery. I quit such odious subjects as soon as I can.

JANE AUSTEN:
Mansfield Park

BYRON:
Don Juan

Afterwards, Georgie said she couldn't decide if the party was her most spectacular failure – or her greatest success.

‘You always said it was Jerry's responsibility,' I reminded her.

‘Only if it was a failure. If it was a success, it's down to me.'

‘It all depends what you mean by success . . .'

The wave of marauding guests had retreated at last, leaving a dishevelled Jerry, one eye puffed up and slowly turning black, clutching the remnants of his half a million. There wasn't much of it. He was shaking visibly, his face shrunken into taut lines, the gleam of his good eye almost demonic. He strode towards Georgie, his left arm still pressing the crumpled bank notes against his chest, his right jabbing at the air with a malevolent finger. ‘You did this! – you –
you
—'

‘Leave her alone,' Cal said tersely, stepping in front of her, ‘or I'll black the other one.'

‘MacMurdo!'

‘You can't make him beat people up!' Lin declared unexpectedly. ‘He's supposed to be your chauffeur – your minder – but not your – your private thug! Anyway, he's not like that.' She was holding him back with an outthrust hand. It was a small hand, and it looked child-sized against the looming mass of MacMurdo. I stared at Lin with new respect. The bodyguard appeared decidedly uncomfortable.

(‘He comes from the same village as my mother,' Lin explained later. ‘
His
mum knows
my
aunt. Once I learned that, I knew I could deal with him.')

Jerry's lower jaw was thrust so far forward it seemed only loosely connected to the upper. ‘Get him,' he said, ‘or you're fired.'

‘Erm . . . sorry, sir.'

Jerry started yelling for other minions, giving orders right and left – Re-cork the champagne! – Stuff the toad back in its hole! – Get rid of the remaining guests! In the middle Helen Aucham walked in, adopted a protective stance close to Todd, and threatened to issue a writ, or whatever it is lawyers issue under these circumstances. To give her her due, before very long she was also offering to represent MacMurdo in a suit for unfair dismissal. ‘I'd better take her home,' Todd said. ‘I'm damned if I want to star in a court case over a split lip, but I'll need to talk her out of it quietly. Will you be all right? I'm going to call you tomorrow, and we'll get together, preferably over dinner, and then you'll tell me everything. Okay?'

I nodded.

He turned to Cal. ‘Would you look after her?'

‘'Course. Sorry about that—' he indicated the lip ‘– I think it was meant for me.'

Todd grinned crookedly. ‘My pleasure.'

In the living room, half the party hadn't quite realised what had happened to the other half. Embarrassed waiters stood around, not too sure about hurling the leftover guests into the street: it wasn't a task which had previously come their way. Rumours of the scrum in the bedroom were spreading, wildly distorted (or so everyone assumed), and there was a wailing and a gnashing of teeth among those who had missed the fun. The one person who remained completely oblivious to disaster was Alistair Garnett. In the aftermath of the speeches he was talking to John Walsh of the
Independent
– they'd been at Oxford together – and he continued in lofty ignorance until the moment when Jerry lighted on him as an adequate target for his rage. ‘He demanded I fire you,' Alistair told Georgie the next morning. ‘And Cookie – and Lin – and Cal McGregor. In fact, he demanded I fire practically the entire staff of Ransome, as far as I could tell. I don't know what you did – the poor chap was babbling, virtually incoherent. I swear he was actually frothing at the mouth.
Writers
.'

‘
Are
you going to fire us?' Georgie inquired.

‘Lord, no. He's the one who wanted the bloody party. I always said it was a mistake.' Alistair looked gratified at his own foresight. ‘Of course, he can't tear up the contract – too late now – but he'll go elsewhere next time. Doesn't matter, though. We've got him at his peak. His sales have nowhere to go but down.'

As the evening disintegrated, Cal had put Lin and me into a taxi, obviously intending to see Georgie home personally. On an impulse I gripped her lapel and said for her private ear: ‘Sort yourself out this time. Tell him why you needed a millionaire. Tell him about your credit-card debts. Tell him there's no such thing as the future. Tell him—'

‘All
right
.' She detached herself, and we drove away.

Cal found another cab.

‘Are you taking me home?' Georgie asked.

‘I'd better, hadn't I? Before you get into any more trouble. Where did that money come from?'

‘Under the bath,' Georgie said, and proceeded to explain.

‘He should have hidden it in the washing machine,' Cal commented. ‘Then he could have laundered it.'

‘Jokes really aren't your forte, are they? I can't believe I had a serious affair with a man who has no sense of humour.'

‘I've got a big dick, though.'

‘Sometimes,' Georgie said darkly, ‘you
are
a big—'

‘All right,' Cal said, ‘I'm sorry. I'm sorry I've been a dick. I've always asked too much from you, and I'm married to another woman, and you could do so much better – but I do love you. Anyone else would cry if some guy thumped her, but you just worry about your blusher. You're the best, d'you know that?' He stroked her swollen cheek with one finger.

Presently, they kissed.

‘Are we back together?' Georgie asked.

‘Suppose so. It's up to you.'

‘No, it's up to you. You were the one who finished it.'

‘You wanted to see other men. You have every right, but—'

‘Look—' she gave a deep sigh ‘– there are some things I ought to tell you. Important things.'

‘Go on.'

‘The problem is, our relationship has never been about – well, business stuff. It's just been about sex and love and things. The nice things. We don't have to share the everyday nitty-gritty of life. I didn't feel it was fair to burden you . . .'

Cal was looking bewildered. ‘Burden me.'

‘I'm broke. I owe so much money on my credit cards they're threatening to bankrupt me. I could lose the house. I thought if I married a millionaire it would solve my problems, but I couldn't even bring myself to sleep with one. I only wanted you.' She sat staring in front of her in the darkness, her gaze fixed on the back of the cabby's neck. Fortunately, Cal had closed the intervening window early in the conversation. ‘I've made such a mess of it – such a mess of everything. I never stopped loving you, though God knows I tried. Even if being with you is complicated and – and stressful and sometimes painful, I can't bear being without you. It doesn't matter if we haven't any future, as long as we always keep the present . . .'

Cal wiped away a tear, further smudging her makeup. ‘You're
broke
? That's
all
? Why didn't you tell me?'

‘I was ashamed. I thought you'd say I was hopelessly extravagant . . .'

‘You're hopelessly extravagant.'

‘Only when we split up, I was so unhappy I didn't even want to buy clothes any more.'

In the dark, she saw the ghost of his mischievous smile flicker across his face. ‘My God, you
do
love me after all . . .'

‘He was wonderful,' Georgie said the following morning. ‘He was utterly wonderful. That's what love is: you meet some ordinary guy who isn't rich or famous and makes very bad jokes, and suddenly you know he's wonderful. He's going to arrange a bank loan to cover my debts – in his name – and help me pay them off. This friend of his who's opening a restaurant has offered him a commission to do some pictures for it. It's lots of money, and he says he'll give it to me. There's a trust fund for Jamie and Christy has a good income so they're not short at home. And he's going to tell her he's seeing someone, so he doesn't have to make up lies for her, and then it'll be easier for us. And he says when we're very old he'll still be coming round to make love to me, dosed up to the eyebrows with Viagra.'

‘How romantic,' sighed Lin, with such obvious sincerity I concluded she'd missed the last bit.

We were meant to be checking the newspapers for coverage of the party (or even the book), but so far we hadn't found a single line. The diarists burbled on about other matters; the columnists were strangely mute. Two days later, Jocasta Tate came out with a lengthy piece on the glamorous life of the It girl, but there wasn't a word about Jerry Beauman. Georgie, buoyed up by the renewal of her relationship with Cal, had decided the party must have been a success after all, and was inclined to view the lack of publicity in a positive spirit. ‘Anyhow,' she pointed out, ‘what could they have said? That Jerry had a stash of money which he'd obviously acquired illegally and which had mysteriously disappeared along with most of the guests? They're not going to print that, are they? They were the guests who were busy disappearing.'

‘Not all of them.'

‘Yes, but the ones who actually saw what happened were involved in it. The more I think about it, the more I feel no one's going to run the risk of going public. Otherwise they'll all end up with egg on their faces – not to mention dirt on their hands.'

‘Could you sound out some of your contacts?'

‘I'll try.'

In fact, Georgie's hypothesis was proved right. There had been no secret confabulations, no formal conspiracy of silence. The journalists present at the final mêlée had gone away with a hot story and hot money in their pockets – and each had waited for one of the others to rush into print. The herd instinct is very strong in the press, and with nobody ready to stampede the herd made no move. A state of
omertà
kept the whole incident off the record. Those guests who had avoided the scrimmage knew what had happened, but hearsay wasn't good enough for publication on such a sensitive issue, and anyway, too many of their friends and colleagues were compromised. The story passed into journalistic myth and was revived with the brandy at the tag end of drunken dinner parties, and whispered in intimate circles, as proof of a mystic truth – the biggest scandals never see the light of day. The investigative team deduced where the money had come from and printed a few hints, but dared not venture further. Only the
Independent
gave the matter a mention, concluding: ‘There was a minor fracas in one of the bedrooms – a falling out between the host and some of his guests – which resulted in a disgruntled Beauman calling off the party early and sending revellers home without any toad-in-the-hole, a sad come-down from Beauman's former standards of hospitality. Prison has clearly had a detrimental effect on him. A rumour that he had terminated his contract with Ransome Harber has not been confirmed.'