Mr Lonely, page 15
‘The writer?’
‘Yes. Do you know him?’
‘Good Lord, no. Only of him. He’s written some great TV plays. He’s won more awards than Ronnie Barker and Glenda Jackson put together.’ Sid didn’t want to lose her. ‘If I get a cab,’ he continued, ‘I could give you a lift to his place.’
‘There’s no need. I have my own car.’
They all have their own bloody cars nowadays, he thought.
‘But if you like, I could drop you off some place,’ she offered. ‘I’ve only got these to deliver.’ She pointed to the briefcase. ‘Then I’m off home. Evidently there’s a problem in the second act and he has to sort it out.’ She gave him a Swedish grin. ‘And my car’s underneath, in the car park. I’m going to his place first, in Green Street, and then home.’
‘Where’s home?’ Sid asked, as if it was a question he asked everybody he met.
‘I have a flat.’
‘I’d like to mend it for you some time.’ A thought seemed to pass through her mind and a lot passed through Sid’s.
‘I’ll get the car and pick you up here. I’ll be about five minutes.’ She left and made her way to the underground car park. Sid quickly went back to the receptionist. There were three or four people queueing for her help. Sid got her attention and mimed to use the phone again. She mimed back, ‘The same number?’ He nodded. She dialled and handed him the phone.
‘Hello?’ Carrie answered.
‘Hello, Carrie.’
‘Who is it?’
‘It’s me, Sid.’
‘Oh, hello, Sid. Is there something wrong?’
‘No, but I’ve just been invited to a party. I think I should go because I think it would be good for me to be seen around. It’s good from a business point of view.’
‘Yes.’
‘It’s in the West End and lots of names will be there.’
‘Oh, yes.’
‘Yes. There’s talk of Cary Grant being there and Lee Marvin. Would you like to come?’
‘What time does it start?’
Oh, Christ, I’ve ruined it, he thought. I’d have given a hundred to one she’d have said ‘No’. He said, ‘It starts early, so that it’s over before midnight or thereabouts, because Cary and Lee are going back to the States tomorrow, and when I say the West End, it’s the other side of the river. It starts about five-thirty to six.’
‘Oh, well, I’d never find the place anyway.’
‘No, dear. I wouldn’t like you driving to a strange place. I’d have to come home and pick you up.’
‘Oh, well, I won’t bother. Is it all right if I don’t wait up?’
‘Yes. No. Don’t wait up. Get an early night in. I won’t be that late.’ Sid glanced out towards the street but there was no Swedish-type blonde honking her hooter yet. ‘So I’ll see you later. Should I give Cary and Lee your love?’ He laughed.
‘What’s the weather like?’ Carrie asked.
‘It’s absolutely gorgeous, but er … there’s a storm brewing in the distance. I’ve heard a couple of claps of thunder.’
‘You should have taken your raincoat.’
‘Yes, I should. I’ll see you later,’ he rushed. ‘Goodnight, dear, and give Elspeth a kiss for me.’
‘She’s staying with your mother in Potters Bar.’
‘Oh, yes. Well you can have the kiss, then. Bye.’ Sid put the phone down.
Carrie put her finger on the phone button and waited for the burring sound telling her she had a clear line. She dialled a number from memory. A girl’s voice answered, ‘Crawford, Adam and Foiley.’
‘Mr Crawford, please.’
‘Who’s calling?’
‘Mrs Dexter.’
A few clicks later. ‘You’re through.’
A short silence.
‘Hello, darling.’
‘Hello, Daniel. I’m free tonight till midnight at the earliest.’
Once more Sid left the Euston Studios building and stood by the kerb. Within seconds a white Stag with the hood down and a beautiful woman at the wheel came to a halt beside him.
Before he could get into the car, an old lady shouted, ‘Hello, Sid,’ and laughed—well, cackled more than laughed. ‘Come on, dearie, give us yer autograph, you’re my biggest fan.’ She cackled again, as she handed Sid a piece of brown paper torn off an old paper bag from her basket. ‘To Seward,’ she instructed.
‘Stewart?’
‘No.’ She thumped him. ‘It’s for my grandson, Seward.’
‘Seward? S-e-w-a-r-d?’
‘Seward, dearie. My grandson.’
Sid wrote it out and gave her back the scrappy old piece of brown paper and his pen, which she took. ‘Thank you,’ he said. There was not a word from the old lady. Sid got into the car. ‘Sorry about that,’ he said.
‘Funny old dear,’ commented Bobbers.
‘Yes. She looked the type who used to knit whilst they chopped off heads during the French Revolution.’
‘Have you made up your mind where you want to go to?’
‘Oh, yes,’ Sid smiled.
They drove away, heading towards Park Lane first, and then home.
‘These are great cars,’ he said.
‘It’s not mine.’
‘Oh?’
‘It’s Daddy’s.’
‘Daddy’s?’
‘He lets me use it through the week, while I’m in the flat. He uses the firm’s car.’
‘And Mummy?’
‘Mummy uses her own.’
‘How d’you park all these cars outside your flat?’
‘We don’t.’ She smiled. ‘You see, Sid—you don’t mind if I call you Sid, do you? I have a flat of my own, and Mummy and Daddy live in the country. Long Parish in Hampshire. I go there most weekends.’ She drove beautifully. Normally Sid would be nervous being driven by a woman.
Twenty minutes later she got back into the driving-seat and said, ‘Thanks for staying with the car.’
‘You weren’t away that long,’ Sid replied. ‘How come he let you get away that quickly?’
‘One of the reasons could be he wears more make-up than I do, and smells sweeter.’
‘Make-up maybe, sweeter never.’ He fastened his seat belt as she drove off.
‘Well?’ she asked.
‘Well, I’ve been giving it a lot of thought, or I could ask you if you’d like to have dinner with me. I know a quiet restaurant that’s a knockout and not a soul would recognize me.’
‘Where?’
‘Off Fifty-Second Street and Madison Avenue.’
‘If you’re sincere about taking me out to dinner, Sid,’ she answered, ‘the answer’s yes, but I’ll have to go home, bathe and change.’ She joined the traffic, then carried on, ‘One thing, Sid. What about your wife?’
‘A lot of people say that.’
A hotel room with two people in the single bed. A handsome man in his late forties, a woman with happiness in her eyes and her body, smiling to herself. Oh, Sid, she thought, I wonder who you are with and if it’s raining …
‘What a beautiful … You can’t call it a flat. An apartment is a better word. And in Mayfair, too.’
‘I’m glad you like it. Where do you live, Sid?’
‘On the outskirts of my salary. I hope I’m not being rude, but is this place really yours?’
‘No, it actually belongs to Mummy and Daddy. They know I’m not a little girl and always ring before they arrive.’
‘The phone or the door?’
‘Mostly the phone.’
Sid looked around the room he was in. The last time he’d seen anything as lavish as this was in a film about Cleopatra. He said, ‘How often does the Queen pop in?’
‘Never, but Princess Margaret’s next visit will be her third.’ Bobbers said it as if it was true, and as far as Sid was concerned, he believed it.
‘So how long have you been a socialist, then?’
‘All day at work. Would you like a drink?’ she offered.
‘I’d love one.’
‘Well, the bar is over there. Help yourself, and I’ll have a Campari and soda.’
Sid walked over to the white leather bar with four stools around it, found the drinks and put them on the bar top. ‘Have you ever been to LA?’ he asked.
‘Los Angeles?’
‘No, Luton Airport … You know, Campari and soda.’ While he was looking for the glasses, he asked, ‘Are you married?’
‘No, but if you’re interested, I’m engaged, and if you’re really interested, there’s a picture of him on the piano. The one in the plain gold frame. Let me get it for you.’ All this she did with a touch of humour. She had eyes that looked into you and a mobile mouth that always looked as if she was going to burst into laughter. She handed Sid a photograph. It was a picture of a very serious City-type man in his thirties, with thinning hair, cut-away collar, a white shirt and a small, knotted, plain tie. The words written at the side of the dark jacket were, ‘With affection, Robin.’
‘Well, do you like him?’ she asked.
‘Do you want the truth?’
‘Oh, yes.’
‘He looks like he’s been stuffed by a very good taxidermist.’
In no way was she offended. Sid thought, she will probably end up marrying him, but carrying on as she obviously does now. I can’t be the first.
Bobbers put the picture back on the piano. ‘Pour mine out,’ she said. ‘I’ll have it in the bathroom.’
Sid watched her open one of the doors and disappear. He took a sip of his own drink and grimaced at hers. Carrie will be watching the news now, he thought, and he walked over to the window. It was starting to rain.
*
‘It’s starting to rain, Carrie,’ Daniel said.
‘That’s all right, darling. I brought a raincoat.’ Carrie smiled from the bed.
‘I would never have thought it would rain today.’
‘I did.’ She was laughing.
‘Where are you?’ Sid shouted with the two glasses in his hands.
‘Keep coming.’
‘A man of my age could find that difficult.’ He followed the sound of the laugh. He entered the bathroom with its sunken bath, gold taps and mirrors, which made it look as if there were six more people in the room with him.
‘Put the drink down on the table, please.’ Bobbers was now in a bright red towelling dressing-gown and a bath hat that looked wonderfully comical on her head. It was also red. Sid sat down on one of the chairs by the table and put his drink next to hers. She joined him on the other chair.
‘Cheers,’ he said. ‘Bottoms up, if you’ll pardon the expression. May I ask you one more thing?’
‘Why am I a secretary at Thames Television when I have a flat—sorry, apartment—like this? Yes. Go ahead and ask.’
‘Why are you a secretary at Thames Television when you have an apartment like this? In my bathroom at home, to sit down and drink like this, we’d both have to sit on the lavatory seat. This bathroom is bigger than my dining-room.’
‘The answer to that is simple—convert your dining-room into a bathroom and eat out,’ she replied.
‘You’re very quick with answers, aren’t you?’
‘Not at all. It’s just that I’m used to the same questions. I’m sorry … Look, I come from a rich family. I’m an only child. My father is Sir Henry Moor-Roberton. He’s very big in property. He’s very rich. He’s more or less retired now and he works mostly from home.’
‘Hampshire. I remember.’
‘The only time Mummy and Daddy come to town is to see a show now and again. I didn’t want to do nothing, or just have my picture taken at some Hunt Ball for the Tatler. I want to go forward. I love my job and if you want to know, I’d like to produce on television. This flat belongs to my family and the way you’re looking and talking, I should have a little pad in Camden Town.’ She finished her drink and turned the taps off. ‘Now, young man, go and watch the news on TV in the lounge. I’m sorry to have to tell you this. It’s a colour set with a thirty-inch screen. Help yourself to another drink and think where you could take me for dinner. Probably some café.’ She looked at him for a few seconds.
Sid said, ‘Thank you, but before I go could I try your hat on? It would get a big laugh for me on TV.’ She pointed to the door and he made his way towards it. ‘That fellow in the picture? Do you love him? Are you going to marry him?’
‘In three weeks’ time.’
‘So what am I doing in your bathroom?’
‘Leaving.’
Sid left.
‘Would you like to go out to eat, Carrie? We could go to the restaurant here, if you like, or we could go somewhere special and expensive. If we eat here, we wouldn’t have to waste time travelling back here, would we?’
‘Daniel, why don’t you go to the Chinese take-away and bring some food back here?’
‘The hotel wouldn’t be very happy about bringing food into the rooms, and what about the plates and things? No, we’ll eat here, downstairs in the restaurant, okay?’
‘Yes, fine. It’s just that I want to be alone with you as long as possible. I honestly don’t want to share you, even with the waiters.’ She put her arms around him and said, ‘I need you as often as I can have you.’ She kissed him gently and slowly and smiled down at him, then jumped out of bed with no embarrassment at her own nakedness. Standing by the single bed, she said, ‘I could do with a drink. I’ll have a Cinzano Bianco. You’re like Sid, aren’t you? You’re a whiskey man.’ She snatched up the eiderdown from their bed, wrapped it around herself and made for the bathroom. She threw Daniel a towel to wrap around himself. He put the towel round his waist, went to the wardrobe, took his trousers off the hanger, found some change and put it in the drinks machine. A miniature bottle of Cinzano and a miniature Bell’s Scotch fell into the trough at the bottom of the machine. Carrie left the door into the bathroom open, Daniel took the two miniatures into the bathroom and took the glass out of its holder by the washbasin, poured Carrie’s drink into it and handed it to her, put the lid of the toilet down, sat on it and sat Carrie on his knee. Carrie said, ‘Our bathroom at home isn’t much bigger than this. Cheers!’
‘Bottoms up!’
CHAPTER TWELVE
May, 1978
So with that in mind, I’ll play for you and you alone, Mrs Carmichael, Bing Crosby singing “The Folks who Live on the Hill”,’ DJ Tony Brandon said.
‘What time is it?’ Sid yawned.
‘Mmm?’ Bobbers mmmed.
‘Time is it?’ He was almost asleep again.
‘Six-thirty.’
‘Eight-thirty?’
‘Six-thirty.’
‘Six-thirty?’
‘Mmm.’
‘Why is Bing Crosby in bed with us?’
‘It’s Tony Brandon.’
‘Okay, why is Tony Brandon in bed with us?’
‘It’s the radio. It’s set to wake you up at six-thirty.’
‘You’ve got everything, haven’t you?’
‘You thought so last night.’
Sid put a hand out and tapped her bare tummy under the sheet, then sprang out of bed. His feet landed quite firmly on a soft sheepskin rug. He stood there as the early morning and Bing Crosby filtered through to his brain. He was swaying. He took a deep breath and almost passed out. There was only wine in his legs, champagne in his stomach and about four large brandies in his head. His mouth tasted like a brewery smells. He sat down on the edge of the bed, hoping to stop the room from disappearing completely. Crosby was on his last few bars, while Sid thought he was on his last few minutes.
Through a music centre that would have made Bang say to Olufsen, ‘We should have one of these,’ came the voice of Tony Brandon: ‘What a great voice he had, they don’t make ‘em like that any more, when he was born they threw away the mould—’
‘Shut up.’
‘Pardon?’ mumbled Bobbers.
‘Shut up,’ Sid said to the music centre. ‘How do you turn this thing off, for God’s sake?’
‘An old George Harrison song,’ the music centre said, and Shirley Bassey sang the words, ‘Something in the way you move,’ which upset Sid because at that particular moment he couldn’t.
Bobbers leaned on one elbow and stretched over to turn it off. ‘Are you all right?’ she asked.
‘If dead is all right, then I’m all right.’
‘How about some breakfast?’ she suggested.
Sid heard his head turn towards her. Bobbers saw two red eyes look at her. They were unfocused. ‘Breakfast? Breakfast? Good God, woman, look at me. I can’t move.’
‘I told you you were drinking too much.’
‘Shut up … We are not married, so don’t sound as if we are. That’s the same thing Carrie would have said, so please …’ His voice faded away into a rasping bronchial coughing eruption. It was nature’s way of making him blink. ‘Oh God,’ he tried to bellow, but it came out as a death rattle.
‘That’s one hell of a hangover. Are you working today?’
‘I am, but my body isn’t.’
‘At the studios, or are you only rehearsing?’
‘Studios. I’m on cameras this morning at nine-thirty.’
‘It’s almost seven now.’
‘How far away are we from Shepherd’s Bush?’
‘Half an hour. Depends what time you’re leaving.’
‘I’d like to get there for about nine.’
‘Well, that’s right in the middle of the start of the rush hour.’
‘God, that’s Irish … and female … How can you be in the middle of the start of the rush hour?’
‘Well, you know what I mean.’ She lay back on the pillow. Sid tried to raise himself from the sitting position he was in. He was concentrating so hard that Carrie could have walked in and he wouldn’t have seen her. Bobbers opened her eyes and looked at the darkness of his suntanned back and legs but laughed at the whiteness of his bum. ‘Where did you get that tan?’ she asked.
‘States.’
‘Florida?’
‘Vegas.’
‘Vegas?’
‘Yes.’ He was now standing up, on his own, unaided, and not swaying—sinking a little, but not swaying. ‘I went to have a look at the MGM Grand Hotel, and to see what they like over there without anybody knowing. I was only there about five days.’
