Fine Lines

Chapter Eight

“Amsterdam?”

Anna stared at me. I nodded. “I know it’s asking an awful lot, and if I could think of another way around it, I would. But I can’t.” I looked apologetic. “I do realise I’m springing it on you, and you have got a lot on, but if you could possibly manage it, it would be helping me out enormously. If you can’t, though, you must say. I don’t want to force it on you.”

She seemed completely taken aback. “No, no, of course. It’s just, well, it is rather short notice. And I’ve never bid at an auction before.”

I nodded. “I realise that, and if you can’t go, then that’s quite all right. Quite all right. I’ll think of something else.”

“I’m not saying I can’t,” she said, hurriedly. “You’ve just caught me by surprise, that’s all.” She bit her lip. “Look, you don’t need to know right now, do you? Can I tell you this afternoon? I’m meeting Marty for lunch, and that’ll give me a chance to work out what I’ve got to do and talk it over with him. Is that all right?”

“Of course it is! I don’t want to rush you. I’m sorry to have to ask you at all, but there’s no way I can go myself, so...” I brushed it away. “You have a chat with Marty, and let me know this afternoon. Whatever you decide will be fine by me.”

It was two days after my meeting with Zeppo. It had taken me that long to think of a way to remove Anna from the scene. I had found it in the list of forthcoming auctions. Two were being held in Amsterdam the following week, with a day’s gap in between. Neither had anything I was really interested in, but Anna wasn’t to know that. I had invented a visit from an important buyer as the reason why I couldn’t go myself, and if I could persuade her to go on my behalf, that would leave Marty alone for three full days.

She came back from lunch with a smile on her face. “I’ve spoken to Marty. He says there’s no reason why I shouldn’t go. It’s only for a few days, and it’ll be good experience, won’t it?”

“Excellent experience,” I enthused. “And I’m certain you’ll enjoy it. I can’t tell you what a load that’s taken off my mind. I really don’t know what else I would have done.”

Anna was smiling broadly. She was obviously excited by the prospect now she had accepted it. “Don’t be too relieved. I’ve never done anything like this before. I might make a total mess of it.”

“My dear, you’ll be fine. I have every confidence in you. Just keep putting your hand up until either you’ve beaten everyone else, or the bidding goes beyond your limit. There’s nothing to it.”

“Well, if you’re sure you trust me.” She laughed. “It’s quite exciting, really. I’ve always wanted to bid at a big auction.”

“In that case I’m glad I’ve given you the chance before you leave. I can’t tell you how grateful I am. So long as you’re positive it won’t be too much of an inconvenience. You mustn’t feel obliged to go.”

“I don’t, really. I’m looking forward to it.”

“And you’re sure Marty doesn’t mind?” I found it easy to consider Marty’s wishes when I knew they did not interfere with my own.

“Of course not. I dare say he’ll be able to survive without me for a few days.” Her face suddenly lit up. “In fact, there’s nothing to stop him coming with me, is there? We could pay the extra airfare, and the difference for a double room. If you don’t mind, obviously.”

I managed to smile. “Of course I don’t mind. But wouldn’t it be rather boring for him? Sitting in an auction room isn’t everyone’s idea of fun.”

It was no good. “Oh, Marty won’t mind that,” she said. “And he doesn’t have to come to them if he doesn’t want to. We can spend the rest of the time together.”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

She looked at her watch. “I’ll give him another fifteen minutes, and then I’ll phone him. He should be back at the university by then.”

I could see she was completely taken with the idea. I went to the office, where I did not have to sustain a facade of enthusiasm. I had not anticipated this. If Marty went with her, I would have gone to all that trouble and considerable expense for nothing. Worse, I would have to try and think of another way to isolate Marty, and there would be precious little time left for that.

I felt a fresh surge of antipathy for him. Even in this he was obstructing me. It was yet another grievance to add to my list. Brooding on it, I sat and waited.

After a while the office extension pinged as Anna picked up the telephone downstairs. I resisted the temptation to try and eavesdrop. I had managed it once, by accident. I did not trust my luck to hold a second time.

It seemed a long time before a second chime told me their conversation was over. Steeling myself, I went back downstairs. Anna was still by the telephone. She looked reassuringly crestfallen, and my spirits immediately lifted.

“I’ve just spoken to Marty,” she said. “He can’t come.”

“Oh, what a shame.”

“I know. But he says there are too many loose ends for him to tie up at the university.” She smiled, trying to hide her disappointment.

“Well, it’s only for three days, isn’t it? And you know what they say about absence.”

“I suppose so.”

“I know it’s no consolation, but I will be giving you a bonus to show how much I appreciate this.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that! I’m getting what amounts to a free holiday anyway.”

Relief had made me expansive. “You’re still pulling my coals out of the fire, and I’m very grateful. When you get back I want you and Marty to go to whatever show or restaurant you like. On me.”

Anna leaned forward and kissed my cheek. Her lips were cool, but my flesh felt branded by the contact.

“If you’re any nicer to me, I don’t think I’ll be able to leave at all.”

“I may just hold you to that,” I said, blushing.

There were no further hitches. On the morning of Anna’s departure I drove her to the airport. Marty came too. They sat together in the back of the car, and when I parked in the airport terminal I saw that they had been holding hands. Both of them seemed a little subdued as Anna waited to check in, and when they said goodbye to each other outside the departure lounge, no one watching would have dreamed the separation was only for three days.

I stood discreetly in the background. Anna’s last, impulsive hug pulled Marty off balance. His glasses were knocked askew, and he adjusted them, absently, as he watched her disappear through the glass doors. He stared after her for a moment before turning towards me.

We walked back to the car in silence.

“Is Anna going to call you later?” I asked, to break it.

“She said she’ll phone me tonight.”

“You’re not going out, then?”

“No, I’ve too much to do.”

“Yes, Anna said you were busy. It’s a shame you couldn’t have gone with her. I hope you didn’t mind my asking her to go?”

“No, not at all. It’ll be a good experience for her. And it’ll all help when she’s looking for work in New York. Have you had any feedback from that, by the way?”

“Feedback?”

“You were going to contact some people you knew, to see if they could help her. Have you heard anything?”

Not only had I not heard anything, I had also forgotten I had offered to try. But I resented him feeling he had the right to ask. “No, not yet. They should have got my letters by now, though. I’ll give them another week and if I’ve not heard from them by then, I’ll try telephoning.” I changed the subject. “I expect it’ll seem strange being in the flat alone.”

He nodded. “I guess.”

I made an attempt at jocularity. “Do you think you’ll be able to manage?”

A faint smile touched his mouth. “Oh, sure. Anna’s going to call every day, so if I run into any trouble, I can always yell for help.”

That was interesting to know. “Have you arranged a set time? In case I need to contact her,” I added.

“She’s going to call between six and seven. I’m usually back by then.”

I dropped Marty at the university and drove to the gallery. It seemed empty and lifeless without Anna. I shook off the feeling and telephoned Zeppo.

“She’s gone.”

“Good. Any problems?”

“No. And I found out that Marty’s staying in tonight.”

“Tonight’s no good.”

I wondered if Zeppo was trying to make excuses. “Why?” Some of my suspicion must have carried into my voice, because he laughed.

“Now, now, Donald, don’t snap. Tonight’s no good because it’s the first night she’s been away, and he’ll probably be wandering around the flat crying and sniffing her perfume, and trying to tell himself he’s missing her. Tomorrow will be better.”

“Isn’t that just wasting a night?”

“Is this the man who lectured me about doing things too soon?”

I conceded. “All right. I suppose you know what you’re doing. But whatever it is, leave it until after seven o’clock.” I told him what Marty had said about Anna telephoning then. “I don’t want her to know he’s seeing you.”

“You’re all heart. Are there any other instructions, while you’re at it? Perhaps you would like to tell me exactly what you want me to do with Marty?”

“I’ll leave that side of things up to you.”

I heard him laugh, drily. “You’re a true leader, Donald.”

That night I had the dream again. It was the same setting as before. I was lying on the sofa, drowsily watching my mother brush her hair in the firelight. She was sitting with her back to me. This time I noticed she was wearing the same white silk robe she often used to wear when I was a child. The room was quiet except for the sound of the fire crackling in the grate, and the whisper of the brush. I felt warm and snugly content, hypnotised by the golden highlights in my mother’s hair. Then, distant but jarring, there was another, more intrusive noise as, in the dream, the doorbell rang.

I awoke with a start. The alarm clock was clamouring next to my head. I reached across and turned it off, then lay back to gather myself. I felt disorientated and confused. The dream was still vividly with me. I could remember every detail, but now the glow of contentment it had given previously had gone. In its place I felt only a vague sense of unease.

It had lifted a little by the time I sat down to breakfast, but still not disappeared completely. I put it down to having a lot on my mind, and tried to ignore it. I had enough to think about in the real world without worrying about any dream. Dismissing it, I set off for the gallery, and more immediate concerns. Namely, that Anna was due to telephone sometime that morning. Her first auction was at ten o’clock.

She rang shortly after eleven.

“Donald, I’ve got it!”

Her excitement cut through the bad connection. “You’ve got it?” For a moment I had no idea what she meant.

“The Hopper! I’ve just come straight out to tell you! God, it was great! And I got it for five hundred less than you said!”

I put all the enthusiasm I could muster into my voice. “That’s fantastic! How on earth did you manage it?”

“I just kept bidding. I thought one man was going to keep on going. He kept up with me right up to the end, but then he dropped out! Oh, I can’t believe it!”

Neither could I. I had selected a painting from both auctions, and authorised Anna to stop bidding at a figure well below what I imagined each would go for. Clearly, I had miscalculated. Now I was several thousand pounds poorer, and the proud owner of a painting I did not want. “You’ve done marvellously well!” I said.

She laughed. “Well, all I did was keep sticking my hand in the air like you said.”

“You outbluffed another bidder, and got it for five hundred pounds less than your limit. That’s no mean feat. I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks. God, I’m still out of breath! I think the adrenalin must still be pumping.”

“In that case I recommend you buy a bottle of champagne to calm your nerves. Put it on expenses.”

“I can’t drink a full bottle by myself!”

“Nonsense. And if not, you can always save some for after the next auction.” At which I sincerely hoped she would be less successful.

“I’m tempted, I must admit. Oh, I can’t wait to tell Marty!”

I felt a hard knot of bitterness. Marty again. Always Marty, “Are you going to call him now?” I asked.

“No, I can’t. He’ll be at the university, and I don’t want to disturb him. I’ll have to wait until tonight.”

“No doubt he’ll be waiting by the telephone.”

Anna laughed again. “He better be. I’m bursting to tell him. Oh, I’m going to be cut off,” she said, suddenly.

“I’ll talk to you the day after tomorrow. Well done, again.”

“Okay, I’ll phone after the—” The line went dead. I held the receiver to my ear for a moment longer, reluctant to relinquish the link between myself and Anna, before setting it back in its cradle. In spite of the news of my unwanted acquisition, it had been good to hear from her. If this was what it was like when she was away for a matter of days, I dared not imagine how I would feel if she went to America.

A mood of restlessness settled on me. In the past I had never lacked for anything to do. But now, with two days to go before Anna returned, and a day and night before I learned how successful Zeppo had been with Marty, the hours stretched endlessly in front of me.

Boredom made me eat an ill-advised lunch, after which my stomach steadily deteriorated. Acid seared my chest, and by early evening my fears of an ulcer had given way to something more sinister. I contemplated calling for a doctor, half convinced I was having a heart attack. For a while I allowed the thought to occupy me, losing myself in fantasies of hospitals and death-beds, and as my thoughts became more morbid, so they were taken from the subject that had prompted them. Either that or the indigestion tablets finally did the trick: it was almost with surprise that I realised the pain had finally eased.

I felt better still when I realised my maudlin self-indulgence had occupied a considerable portion of the evening. Suddenly, the morning no longer seemed a lifetime away. Almost cheerful now, I made a light, bland snack and considered how to pass the rest of the time. The anodyne of television has never appealed to me. I refuse to have one in the house, preferring instead to read or listen to music. Or retreat into an even more private world. It was this last I chose now.

My private gallery is in a windowless room on the first floor. Inside are the pieces that comprise my secret collection, started when I bought that first snuffbox. I let myself in and turned on the lights. The atmosphere was cathedral quiet; restful. The anxieties of the day sloughed off as soon as I closed the door, and I paused for a moment to savour the feeling.

In my preoccupation with Anna, I had not been in the room for weeks. Now it was like a homecoming. I knew every painting, every line-drawing intimately, but their attraction had never palled. Each was erotic in its own way, some strikingly so, others more subtle in their appeal. There was an eighteenth-century pastoral scene, typical in every way but for the shepherdess’ bare breasts, and the shepherd’s hand beneath her petticoats. Next to it, an engraving of Leda embracing the swan, burying her face in its feathers as its neck twined around her back. Further along was a scene of two naked girls supine on a bed, sensual and languorous after their passion.

I lost myself amongst them, sometimes lingering over a particular piece, sometimes only pausing briefly before moving on to the next. One, however, drew me back time and time again. It showed a couple making love in front of a fire, while from behind a screen a man watched unseen. Gradually, I forgot about the other pictures. After a while I moved a chair closer and sat down to study it more comfortably.

The watcher’s face was rapt as he crouched behind the screen, only feet from where the couple lay. They appeared oblivious to him. The man’s head was thrown back in the extremity of his passion, the girl’s eyes closed in ecstasy. One arm curled around her lover’s neck, the other lay flung out, apparently in abandon. Or was it? Palm upwards, stretched out towards the screen, it could just as easily have been extended in invitation. It was that ambiguity that fascinated me. That outstretched arm transformed the entire picture, implicating the watcher in the lover’s union, elevating him from mere voyeur to an actual participant.

I gazed at the scene, hypnotised. The girl became Anna, the man Zeppo. The fantasy took form, began to move. I crouched behind the screen, invisible. I moved closer, lingered on the edge of Anna’s outstretched hand. On a level with them, I looked directly into Anna’s face as her head turned, her eyes opened, and she smiled at me...

I woke with a start. I was still in the chair, facing the now flat, two-dimensional picture. My neck ached. I rubbed it gingerly, my thoughts still sleep-muddied. I had a vague impression that something had woken me, and then I heard the noise again. Muffled and distant, a faint chiming noise, followed by a dull but violent banging. The last wisps of sleep disappeared, and I stood up.

Someone was at the door.

I looked at my watch as I hurried downstairs. It was two o’clock. Uncaring of the time, the banging grew louder as I neared the front door. I unlocked it without thinking. I suppose I already knew who it had to be.

As soon as I opened it, Zeppo pushed inside. He was soaking wet.

“Have you any idea what the time is?” I said, closing the door on the rain. His hair was flat to his head, trickling water over his face. It was already pooling around him. “Look at the mess you’re making on the carpet!” I was aware of how inane I sounded even as I spoke.

Zeppo was breathing heavily, his lips curled. “Fuck the carpet!”

Strangely, I did not feel surprised to see him. Nor was I in any hurry to hear why he was there. “Take your shoes off and get yourself a drink in the lounge,” I said. “I’ll get you a towel.”

When I came back from the kitchen, the trail of muddy footprints on the pale carpet told me that Zeppo had ignored at least one of my instructions. He stood in the centre of the lounge, drink in hand, clearly daring me to object. Restraining myself, I handed him the towel.

“Well? I presume this isn’t a social call?”

Zeppo glared at me. “He’s fucking straight!”

I poured myself a drink. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh, take a fucking guess! Where have I been tonight?”

“You mean Marty?”

“You’re like fucking lightning, aren’t you? That’s right, Marty. I saw him tonight, just like you wanted, and guess what? He’s not queer. He’s straight. Hetero. So can you guess what happened when I made a pass at him?”

I felt amazingly calm. Even his language failed to bother me. “I presume all this is a preamble to telling me it didn’t work.”

His face twisted. “Of course it didn’t fucking work! I knew it wouldn’t! I never should have listened to you!”

“As I recall, it was you who claimed he was gay in the first place, so you can hardly blame me because he’s not. I refuse to be a scapegoat for your failure.”

Zeppo’s glass shattered against the wall. “Don’t start, or I’ll break your fucking neck!”

He faced me with clenched fists, his face contorted. Surprisingly unconcerned, I went to the cabinet and poured him another drink. I took it over to him.

“Try not to throw this one. It’s a rather good malt, so if you feel the urge to break something, tell me and I’ll get you a blended whisky in a cheap glass.”

For a moment he did not move. Then, reluctantly, he accepted it. A little of the violence ebbed away from him. I sat down.

“Now, if you feel capable of it, why don’t you tell me exactly what happened?”

He hesitated, then flopped into a chair. “Jesus, what a fucking night.” He rubbed his hand across his face. “I met him in this gay club in Soho—”

“Did you have any difficulty persuading him to go?”

“Not really. He was a bit wary at first, so I told him there was something I wanted to talk about that I couldn’t discuss over the phone.”

“What time was this? After Anna called him?”

“Yes! I’m not fucking stupid, now do you want to hear this or not?” I said nothing. Nostrils flared, he continued. “I got to the club early, so I could watch his face when he came in. There’s no way you can miss what sort of a place it is, but he didn’t bat an eye. Didn’t even flinch. Just ordered a mineral water and sat down. So I thought Stevie must have been right.”

He took a drink, grimly shaking his head. “Anyway, he asked what I wanted to see him about, so I said I wanted to apologise for being a bit of a bastard the last time I saw him, and that I didn’t want him to get the wrong idea about me.” He snorted. “Christ, him get the wrong idea about me.

“Then a stripper came on, so I said, “He’s good, isn’t he?” and he said, “Yeah, I’ve seen him before”.” Zeppo spread his arms, carried away by his narrative. “What the fuck was I supposed to think? I thought he was letting me know he bent both ways. I asked where he’d seen him, and he told me it was at the Pink Flamingo. That was where Stevie has spotted him. I said I’d never been, but I’d heard it was pretty good, and said we should both go sometime.”

He closed his eyes. “Jesus, I can’t believe I let myself in for this.” He emptied his glass and held it out to me. I refilled it, this time pouring the blended scotch instead of the malt.

“Then what?”

Zeppo took a swig of whisky. “He said, “I didn’t know you went to that sort of place”, so I said, “Well, sometimes it doesn’t pay to advertise”. He looked a bit uncomfortable, and asked why I was telling him all this, but I thought he was just embarrassed at being found out. So I said oh, shit I said, “Because I was jealous when I saw you with Anna.” His face screwed up at the memory. “Oh, fucking hell, why did I listen to you?”

“What did Marty say?”

Zeppo blew out a long breath. “He started stammering that he thought I should know he wasn’t gay, or anything. I thought he was still trying to pretend, or something, so I asked who he was trying to kid, and said oh, Jesus I said Anna need never know about it.”

He took another gulp of whisky. “I thought he was just another queer trying to fool himself he was straight.”

“Are you sure he’s not?”

“Of course I’m fucking sure! The little shit started patronising me! Him! Patronising me! I couldn’t believe it! He said I’d got the wrong idea, and he was sorry if he’d given me that impression, but he really wasn’t gay. So I asked how come he went to places like the Pink Flamingo then, and guess what he said?” Zeppo looked at me, thin-lipped. “He’s doing it for research. Fucking research! He’s been going to different types of nightclubs to study “behaviour patterns”. Not just gay clubs. All types. It’s part of his fucking thesis!” He spat the word out and finished the rest of his whisky in one go.

“Could he have been using that as an excuse?” I asked, not really believing it. Zeppo gave a terse shake of his head.

“No. I could tell he wasn’t lying. He got all involved when he started telling me about it. I wasn’t even listening by then, though. I just couldn’t believe what a cunt I’d made of myself.”

“I wonder what his thesis is actually about?” I mused. Zeppo looked startled.

“Does it fucking matter? He made a fool of me! He even had the fucking nerve to say he was flattered! Christ, I should think he was!”

“Calm down.”

“Why? I’ve just been humiliated by that little runt for something I didn’t want to do in the first place!” He ran his hand through his hair. “I told you it’d be a mistake, but you wouldn’t listen, would you?”

“We’ve already been through that.”

“Fuck that! You weren’t the one who had to sit there while some little shit made you look stupid, were you? No, you just got me to go out and do it instead!”

“Did you try to deny it?” I asked, hoping to distract him.

“How the fuck could I deny it after I’d just made a pass at him? I just sat there like an idiot and wished you were dead. Then he said he thought he’d better go, and that he wouldn’t tell anyone about our “misunderstanding”.”

“Well, that’s something, at least.”

He stared at me. “Oh, yeah, it’s a great consolation. And I bet he means it.”

“Don’t you think he does?”

“Oh, come on, Donald! You seriously think he’s not going to tell Anna? I would. It’s too good a chance to miss. I can just imagine it. “Oh, you know Zeppo, the macho male model? Well, he made a pass at me, and I turned him down.” Then Anna can say, “That’s funny, so did I”. Face it, Donald, we’re fucked.” Abruptly, he stood up. “Where’s the toilet? I need a piss.”

I answered without thinking. “Upstairs, at the end of the landing.”

He went out. I mulled over what he had told me. For some reason I did not feel surprised. It was almost as though I had expected it. But before I could follow this line of thought further, a far more urgent one seized me. The toilet was on the same floor as my private gallery. And I had left the door open.

I almost ran upstairs. The bathroom was at the far end of the hall. The door was closed. Relieved, I hurried to the room that housed my collection and froze. Zeppo was inside, standing in front of the cabinet that held my snuffboxes.

I tried to keep my voice level. “The toilet is at the end of the corridor.”

He turned and grinned at me. “I know.”

I held the door open. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to lock up in here now.”

“Not yet. I haven’t finished looking.”

I could feel myself shaking. “This is my private collection. It’s not for public viewing.”

“I’m not surprised.” He laughed. “You dirty old bugger, Donald! You’ve kept these quiet, haven’t you?”

I moved towards him. “Will you please get out of here?”

“Hey, hey, hey, no need to be hostile. The door was open, I saw the pretty pictures, and came in to look. That’s what art’s for, isn’t it?” He peered at the print next to him. “Is that swan shafting her, or what?”

“Get out.”

“Donald, don’t be so pushy. I’m not hurting anything. I’m interested, really I am. I’ve never seen antique porn before.”

“This is not pornography!”

“Well, it’s not Enid Blyton, is it? Is there a Readers’ Wives section as well?” He strolled around the room. “God, look at the size of that fat bitch! You should have told me you were into this sort of stuff. I could have got you the real McCoy. None of this soft porn shit. I mean, there’s not one penetration shot in the lot of them. And those dykes look like they’ve fallen asleep.”

“I told you to get out!”

He looked at me. His smile was unpleasant. “I heard you. But I like it here. I feel more at home.” To prove his point he pulled over the chair I had fallen asleep on earlier and sat down on it. “Don’t let me keep you, though, Donald. You go if you want to.”

There was nothing I could do. The more I let him see how much his presence there bothered me, the longer he would stay. “If you insist on being childish, I suppose I can’t stop you.”

“That’s right, you can’t.” He looked around. “So this stuff turns you on, does it?”

“Not in the way you seem to imagine. I find it aesthetically stimulating, if that’s what you mean.”

“Bullshit, Donald. If you’re only interested in their “aesthetic value”, how come they’re all about people having it off? Or is that just a coincidence.”

“I don’t deny that they’re erotic. But first and foremost, they’re erotic art, although I don’t suppose that distinction means anything to you.”

“So you’re trying to tell me it’s only the art you’re interested in, and not the erotic?” He laughed.

“I would hardly expect someone like you to understand what I mean.”

“Now, now, don’t get snotty. If you get your rocks off over blue paintings, that’s up to you. Far be it from me to call you a dirty old man.” He stretched out his legs. “Anyway, down to business. You and me have got some settling up to do, haven’t we?”

“Settling up?”

“That’s right. For services rendered.” He leaned forward. “I want paying. Then I’ll leave you to enjoy your “art” in private.”

I laughed. It did not sound too unconvincing. “I’m sorry, Zeppo, I’m not with you. I was under the impression that our arrangement was for payment on completion.”

“It’s as complete as it’s going to be.”

“Do I take it that you intend to give up?”

“Give up? Donald, what the fuck are you talking about? There’s nothing to give up. It’s over, and you owe me.”

“Owe you? What do I owe you for? As I recall, the agreement was for you to seduce Anna. You haven’t. Then we agreed that you would do the same to Marty. Again, you haven’t. So I’m afraid I don’t really see how I owe you anything.”

My refusal was motivated as much as anything by a desire to hit back at him. I felt a spiteful pleasure as his complacency began to crack. “Don’t stick the blame for Marty on to me! That was all your idea!”

“Based on your information that he was homosexual. Which was apparently wrong.”

He took a deep breath. “Look, I’ve been fucked around enough. If you think I’m going to let you welsh on the deal, forget it.”

“How am I welshing? I hired you to do a specific job, which you haven’t done. And now you want paying for it?” I knew I was provoking him, but I did not care. I shook my head. “I’m sorry, Zeppo, but as I see it you’re the one who’s “welshing”. I’ll gladly pay you when you’ve done what you said you would.”

He threw up his hands. “Oh, for Christ’s sake! Tell me what else I could have done! Come on, tell me!”

“I’ve no idea. That’s why I hired you.”

“Jesus Christ, Donald, don’t you listen? Look read my lips forget it! I’ve tried everything I could. There’s not enough time left for anything else. They’re only interested in each other! That’s it! Finito!”

“And you’re prepared to accept that?”

“Yes!”

“In that case I fail to see why I should pay you a penny.”

The chair toppled over as Zeppo jumped to his feet. “Fuck this!” His voice was low, his face hard. “So I’ve not slept with that frigid bitch. I don’t care. I want what you owe me. Now.”

With a shock, I realised he was close to attacking me. And with that threat of violence, the thought that had been at the back of my mind began to push its way forward. I shied away from it, reluctant to confront it too soon, even while I accepted its general direction.

“I must say, I expected more of you, Zeppo,” I goaded, conscious now that I was walking a very fine line. “After all your boasting, I certainly didn’t think you’d let yourself be put off so easily.”

He was glaring at me. “You’re really starting to piss me off, Donald.”

“The feeling’s mutual. Although I’m more disappointed than anything else. I didn’t think you were the type to let someone like Marty beat you. Obviously, I came to the wrong man.”

“Don’t push it.”

I sighed. “Well, if you’re prepared to admit that an American academic, who is half your size and indisputably unattractive, is a better man, perhaps we should part company after all. If you can’t even cope with competition like that you’re no use to me anyway. I’ll pay you a settlement fee. Let’s say ten per cent for trying, shall we?”

“Let’s say all of it, or I smash every picture in here and then start on your fucking face!”

“It’s a pity you can’t show such aggression where it’s needed. Perhaps Marty wouldn’t be waiting to laugh at you with Anna if you had.”

“I’m warning you, Donald!”

“Go ahead and warn me! It still doesn’t alter the fact that you let a worm like Marty get the better of you. Wrecking my paintings and beating me up won’t change that!”

Zeppo took a step towards me, then stopped. His fists were balled. “I want my money. Now.”

“Earn it.”

“Now, or I’ll break your fucking neck!”

I sneered. “Are you sure you’re man enough?”

I miscalculated. Before I could say anything else he had grabbed me by the shirt and flung me against the wall. I felt a frame break beneath my back, and something sharp dug into my flesh. Part of me fretted over the damage, trying to guess which picture it was, then Zeppo punched me in the stomach. I doubled up, struggling for breath, and as he seized hold of me and yanked me off the wall, in a rush the thought I had been suppressing surged forward and formed itself into speech.

“It’s not my neck you should break, is it?” I gasped.

I was slammed back against the wall. But his rage had been pierced. Zeppo blinked. “What?”

I could feel his breath on my face, sweet with whisky. “You heard.” My voice was hoarse and choking. “If you’re going to kill someone, at least make it someone worthwhile.”

A flicker of uncertainty crossed his face. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

He had me pinned up against the wall, his fists bunching my shirt under my throat. I wriggled slightly to ease the pressure on my windpipe. “It’s not me you should be angry at. It’s Marty. He’s the one who’s responsible for all this. He’s the one who’s humiliated you. If you want to kill someone, kill him.”

I could feel his hold on my shirt slacken. He stared at me. “You’re not serious.”

“Aren’t I?”

“Kill Marty?”

“Why not?”

His hands dropped away. He stepped back. “Jesus, you mean it, don’t you?”

I massaged my throat. My shirt was torn. “A few moments ago you were ready to kill me. So why not him?”

“Oh, this is...” He turned and walked a few paces away, shaking his head. “This is getting stupid.”

“Just think about it.”

“Think about what? Committing fucking murder? Forget it, Donald! I’m not interested!”

“Why?”

“Why? What do you mean, “why”? Why do you think? Okay, so I lost my temper just now, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to top someone just for the sake of it!”

“I’m not asking you to do anything for the sake of it. Just tell me why you won’t at least consider killing Marty? You’re obviously capable.” My stomach ached where he had punched me. I tried to ignore it.

Zeppo shook his head again. “Oh, for Christ’s sake! I’ve no intention of spending the rest of my life in prison just because you want to get rid of somebody’s boyfriend! Jesus!”

“And if you could do it without being caught out? Would you consider it then?”

“Oh, I suppose you’ve already got the perfect murder worked out, have you?”

“No. But assuming we could think of something?”

“No!”

“Why not? If you could be assured of not being found out? Why not?”

“I can’t believe you’re even talking about this.”

A small part of me shared his surprise. Even as I was speaking I wondered how long this intention had been brooding in my subconscious. “Give me a reason. Why wouldn’t you?”

He turned to face me again. “All right, then. Why should I?”

My argument came as smoothly as if it had been scripted in advance. “For the same reason you do everything else. Money.”

He gave a short laugh. “Oh, no. Even I draw the line somewhere, and this is it.”

“Are you trying to tell me you object on moral grounds?”

“If you like.”

“I’m afraid I don’t believe you.”

His finger stabbed out at me. “Well, fuck you, and fuck your stupid ideas. I want my money by tomorrow afternoon, or I’m going to tell your precious Anna exactly what her sweet old boss has been trying to do!”

“She’s in Amsterdam.”

“Then I’ll tell her when she gets back!”

“In which case the vice squad will receive some very interesting photographs. With your name and address.” I smiled. “As they may do anyway.” He took a step towards me. “And as they certainly will if anything unfortunate were to happen to me,” I added.

Zeppo paused. “Get fucked.” He went towards the door.

“On your way out, you might have a look in the study,” I said. He stopped, looking back at me suspiciously.

“Why?”

“There’s a picture in there you might be interested in.”

“Shove it.” He began to walk downstairs. I followed him.

“I think you might like to see this one.” He reached the bottom of the stairs and headed for the front door. “The room’s right next to you now. It’d be a shame not to have a look.”

Zeppo turned. “What are you up to?”

“Don’t be such a cynic, Zeppo. I merely want to show you something I think you’ll be interested in.” I opened the door to the study and waited. He hesitated, but curiosity won. He went in.

“All right. Show me.”

“It’s this one.” I indicated a small canvas on the wall. “What do you think of it?”

He gave a cautious shrug. “So so. Why?”

“It’s a sketch by Jean Cocteau. Have you heard of him?”

“Yeah.” I could not tell from his expression if he had or not. I went on anyway.

“In that case you’ll know how rare this is. Cocteau’s famous for his films, but he also made a few quite celebrated sketches in the twenties. This is one of them. It was given to me as a present many years ago, which was the only reason I held on to it. I’ve never really liked it. At the time it had some value as a curio. Do you know how much it’s worth now?”

“No.”

I told him. He appeared unimpressed. “Congratulations. I hope you’ve got it insured. What’s that got to do with me?”

“I thought, with you being in a related field to the film industry, that you might like it?”

He looked at me in surprise. “What?”

“Kill Marty and it’s yours.”

For once I had the pleasure of seeing Zeppo thrown completely off-balance. “Are you serious?”

“Perfectly.”

“You’d give me that to kill him?”

“That’s what I said.”

He looked at the painting, then back to me. “Is it real?”

“Of course it’s real! You don’t think I’d hang a copy in my own home, do you? Or anywhere else, for that matter.”

He regarded the sketch again. I let the idea sink in.

“It’s really worth as much as that?” he asked at last.

“Oh yes. Obviously, it could be a little more, or a little less. But that’s approximately what it would fetch at auction, if you decided to sell it. You can always make your own enquiries if you don’t believe me. So long as you’re subtle about it.”

He studied it again. I doubted it was out of any aesthetic appreciation. I wondered which was the greater lure, the value of the sketch, or the name of the artist. As well as being avaricious, Zeppo was also a poseur. I knew the thought of possessing such a piece would appeal to him.

Slowly, he began to shake his head. “No. Nice try, Donald, but no. No way.” Something about the way he said it made me keep silent. “No, it’s... it’s...” He shook his head more emphatically. “It’s too risky.” I said nothing. “Sleeping with someone’s one thing, but this...” He looked at me, waiting for my response.

“It’s your choice.”

He began shaking his head again. But his eyes continually strayed to the picture. “No... I mean, how can we be sure that we wouldn’t be caught?”

I had him. Trying not to smile too smugly, I took him by the arm and led him back into the lounge.

“Why don’t we have another drink while we discuss it?” I said.