Part 4 (1/2)

Suddenly he had neither style nor talent. Yet he persisted, and even pa.s.sed exams. It had done him little good. He had seen really talented people, like Peter Usher, go on to the Slade or wherever, while he had to scrabble around for jobs.

The bus queue moved convulsively, and Julian looked up to see the bus he wanted waiting at the stop. He jumped on and went upstairs.

He had actually been working when he met Sarah. An old school-friend who had gone into publis.h.i.+ng had offered him the job of ill.u.s.trating a childrens novel. The money from the advance had enabled him to kid Sarah he had been a successful artist. By the time she found out the truth it was too late for her-and for her father.

The winning of Sarah had made him think, for a little while, that he had got his old touch back. Then it had turned sour. Julian got off the bus, hoping she would not be at home.

The house was in Fulham, although Sarah insisted on calling it Chelsea. Her father had bought it, but Julian was forced to admit the old sod had chosen well. It was small-three bedrooms, two recep., and a study-but ultramodern, all concrete and aluminum. Julian unlocked the front door and went in, up the half-flight of stairs to the main living room.

Three of the walls were gla.s.s. Sadly, one enormous window looked onto the road in front and another to the brick and pine end of a terraced row of houses. But the rear window had a view of the small garden, kept neatly by a part-time gardener who spent most of his twenty hours per week smoking hand-rolled cigarettes and pruning the postage-stamp lawn. And now the afternoon sun streamed in cheerfully, giving a pleasant glow to the golden brown velvet of the upholstery.

One of the low, wide chairs was graced with the long body of Sarah. Julian bent over and kissed her cheek perfunctorily.

Good morning, she said.

He resisted the temptation to look at his watch. It was about five oclock, he knew, but she had only been up since midday.

He sat opposite her. What are you doing? he asked. She shrugged. There was a long cigarette in her right hand and a gla.s.s in her left. She was doing nothing. Her capacity for doing nothing, hour after hour, never ceased to amaze Julian.

She noticed his glance wander to her gla.s.s. Have a drink? she said.

No. He changed his mind. All right, Ill join you.

Ill get it. She stood up and walked over to the bar. She seemed to be taking great care where she put her feet. When she poured his vodka it splashed up out of the gla.s.s onto the polished bar-top.

How long have you been drinking? he said.

Oh, Christ, she said. The blasphemy sounded foul coming from her. She was a woman who knew how to make swear words count. Dont start that.

Julian suppressed a sigh. Sorry, he said. He took the drink from her hand and sipped it.

Sarah crossed one leg over the other, allowing her long robe to slip aside and reveal a long, shapely calf. Her beautiful legs were the first thing he had noticed about her, he remembered. All the way up to her shoulders, he had remarked coa.r.s.ely to a friend at that first party. And her height had obsessed him ever since: she was a couple of inches taller than he even without her outrageous platform shoes.

How did it go? she asked.

Poorly. I felt rather snubbed.

Oh dear. Poor Julian, always getting snubbed.

I thought we agreed not to begin hostilities.

Right.

Julian resumed: Im just going to send out press releases and hope the hacks will turn up. Itll have to be a good do.

Why not?

Because of the money, thats why not. You know what I really ought to do?

Abandon the whole thing.

Julian ignored that. Give them all cheese sandwiches and draft bitter, then spend the money on paintings.

Havent you bought enough?

I havent bought any Julian said. Three artists have agreed to let me show their stuff on a commission basis-if it sells, I get ten percent. What I really ought to do is buy the work outright. Then if the artist catches on in a big way, I make a pile. Thats how these things work There was a silence. Sarah offered no comment. Eventually Julian said: What I need is a couple of thousand more.

Are you going to ask Daddy? There was a hint of scorn in her voice.

I cant face that. Julian slumped lower in his chair and took a long pull at his vodka and tonic. Its not just asking that hurts-its the certainty that h.e.l.l say no.

Quite rightly. My G.o.d, I dont know what made him fork out for your little adventure in the first place.

Julian refused to rise to the bait. Nor do I, he said. He steeled himself to say what he had to. Look, couldnt you sc.r.a.pe up a few hundred?

Her eyes flashed. You stupid little b.a.s.t.a.r.d, she said. You touch my father for twenty thousand, you live in the house he bought, you eat the food I buy, and then you come to me for money! I have just about enough to live on, and you want to take that away. Christ. She looked away from him in disgust.

But Julian had taken the plunge now-he had nothing to lose. Look, you could sell something, he pleaded. Your car would raise enough for me to set the gallery up perfectly. You hardly ever use it. Or some of the jewelry you never wear.

You make me sick. She looked back at him, and her lips flared in a sneer. You cant earn money, you cant paint, you cant manage a b.l.o.o.d.y picture shop- Shut up! Julian was on his feet, his face white with anger. Stop it! he shouted.

You know what else you cant do, dont you? she said. She pressed on remorselessly, turning the blade in the old wound to see it bleed afresh. You cant screw! screw! The last word was shouted, flung in his face like a blow. She stood up in front of him, untied the cord of her robe, and let the garment slip from her shoulders to the floor. She took the weight of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s in her hands, caressing them with her splayed fingers. She looked into his eyes. The last word was shouted, flung in his face like a blow. She stood up in front of him, untied the cord of her robe, and let the garment slip from her shoulders to the floor. She took the weight of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s in her hands, caressing them with her splayed fingers. She looked into his eyes.

Could you do it to me now? she said softly. Could you?

Rage and frustration made him dumb. His lips stretched bloodlessly across his mouth in a rictus of humiliated fury.

She put one hand on her pubis and thrust her hips forward at him. Try and do it, Julian, she said in the same seductive tone. Try and get it up for me.

His voice was half a whisper, half a sob. You b.i.t.c.h, he said. You b.l.o.o.d.y woman, you b.i.t.c.h.

He rushed down the back stairs to the integral garage, the memory of the row a twisting pain inside him. He flicked the switch that lifted the garage door, and got into Sarahs car. She was the kind of person who always left the keys in the ignition.

He had never borrowed her car before, having been reluctant to ask; but now he took it unrepentantly. If she didnt like it, she would have to lump it.

Cow, he said aloud as he drove up the short, steep drive and turned into the road. He headed south, toward Wimbledon. He ought to be used to these quarrels now: he was ent.i.tled to a degree of immunity. But the familiar jibes seemed to hurt more with the pa.s.sing of the years.

She was to blame as much as he, Julian thought. She seemed to take perverse pleasure in his impotence. He had had a couple of girls before Sarah. He had not been spectacular with them, he supposed: still, he had succeeded in doing what was expected. It had something to do with the very qualities which had attracted him to Sarah-the perfection of her tall body, her immaculate aristocratic manners, her moneyed background.

But she could have put things right. She knew what needed to be done, and it was quite within her power to do it. Patience, kindness, and an unhysfierical att.i.tude to s.e.x would have cured him years ago. But Sarah had given him indifference and contempt.

Perhaps she wanted him to be impotent. Maybe it protected her from s.e.x; guarded her own shortcomings. Julian dismissed the thought. He was simply evading responsibility by transferring his blame to her.

He entered the drive of his father-in-laws large house and stopped on the raked gravel in front of the porch. A maid answered his ring at the bell.

Is Lord Cardwell at home? he asked.