Part 10 (1/2)

Gerard got up and turned the TV off.

She said, 'Do all your weekends end like this?'

'With me the last man standing?'

She nodded at Mark. 'With your guests comatose, yes.'

'Everybody arranges these things differently. I mean, how would I go about capping that evening at yours? Blow the neighbours up?'

'I wouldn't put it past you.'

'They'd have to really annoy me. Wear brown shoes, or whistle in the mornings.'

'Heinous crimes like that.'

'We've all got standards. That husband of yours, drink a lot, does he?'

'Depends on the company.'

'I would, in his posish.' Gerard had, even in his own. But except for a bloodening round the eyes and the occasional verbal stumble, you wouldn't know it. Not bad going, with a dozen empties about the place.

'Meaning?'

'Meaning his job. Keep your hair on.' He clumsily poured another gla.s.s of red. 'So how's it going, anyway? Your little problem?'

'My what?'

He waggled his fingers. 'BHS.'

'Vino veritas,' she said. 'You couldn't keep up the pretence, could you?'

'Which pretence is that?'

'That you're not a s.h.i.+t.'

'Ah, Sarah. Now, the thing is. What you have to do.' He belched, softly. 'You really have to learn who your friends are.'

Mark stirred and mumbled something in an alien tongue.

'This is really good advice you're giving me.'

'You want good advice? I can give you that. Batten down the hatches, girl. You've got big trouble coming.'

'So have you.'

He ignored her. 'You'll be wis.h.i.+ng you were bored again. Soon. Trust me on this.'

'I don't trust you on anything.'

'Time zhit?' said Mark.

Gerard looked at him, then back at her. 'If I was you, I'd get out while you can.'

'Thank you, Gerard. You're a prince among men.'

Mark sat up straight very suddenly. 'G.o.d. Must have dropped off.'

'Must have.'

'Did I miss anything?'

'Only Cary Grant.'

Mark rubbed his eyes. 'Cary was here?'

'Come on, old son,' Gerard said. 'Better be getting you upstairs.'

Ten minutes later they were all in bed, and what felt like ten minutes after that, Sarah was awake again. Downstairs, a shockingly healthy-looking Gerard was making tea for a gratifyingly woebegone Paula: they looked like a normal couple, d.a.m.n them, Gerard having reverted to his Brilliant Host role, pouring tea from a caddy straight into the pot.

'That's a lot easier to gauge if you use a spoon.'

'There's not a spoon to be had. They're all in the dishwasher.'

The downside of technology. Michael Crichton was probably writing a book about it. Gerard made a tray for her to take upstairs, and told her he and Paula were just off to ma.s.s, they'd be back in an hour or so. Sarah was mildly surprised, but hoped it didn't show.

She went back to bed. Mark was well out of the running, only coming round long enough to make it clear he didn't want breakfast and hadn't appreciated the offer. So Sarah drank tea alone and unattended, reflecting as she did that there were two whole rooms in the cottage she'd not been in yet. Probably she'd have been able to sleep if that thought hadn't arrived.

She showered, giving temptation time to wither and die, which it didn't, and took their bedroom first. There wasn't much to it; it looked, in fact, like a second guestroom, with even the clothes in the wardrobes having the air of being extras, spares. She imagined matching counterparts in other wardrobes in their London house; could almost picture Gerard and Paula buying two of everything, to save carting back and forth.

But poking around in other people's bedrooms was a grubby business. She shut the door quietly behind her and thought seriously about forgoing the other room, which might only be a cupboard after all. So really there was no harm in looking, she decided; a piece of deductive justification which might have been more impressive had she reached the end of it before opening the door.

This room was tiny, little more than a boxroom, but it looked like Gerard got a dual purpose out of it anyway: part office, part gallery to his ego. On a table which was surely too big to have got through the door squeezed a PC, a telephone, a fax machine next to what might have been a baby photocopier plus a stack of papers and a palmtop. And around the walls hung framed photographs of Gerard at different stages of his important life: young and chubby, adolescent and chubby; prosperous and fat. In one of the older shots he stood in front of a low wall, flanked by, presumably, his parents. In the way old photographs have, this one looked as if black-and-white weren't just the medium but the subject: the adults appearing straitened, uncomfortable; their very postures suggesting that their post-war years had kept oozing on into the sixties, the way they had in the North. In contrast young Gerard looked simply impatient, as though even at eight or nine he'd been waiting for the coloured times to arrive. He was holding a model aeroplane in a proprietorial way that left no doubt he had built it himself, but Sarah couldn't discern much pride from his demeanour; more dissatisfaction that toys were all he had to occupy himself. His mother was pretty and slight. His father, much taller, stood with one hand on Gerard's head, as if attempting to keep him where he belonged.

Other photos, of more recent vintage, showed Gerard fully emerged from the coc.o.o.n of childhood, not that the result resembled a b.u.t.terfly. A happy slug came to mind. Here was Gerard breaking ground on what an accompanying picture proved an office block (Inchon Enterprises); Gerard spraying champagne over somebody getting out of an expensive car; Gerard becoming married in (of course) top hat and tails, while Paula posed winsomely beside him in a dress even Sarah could see cost well into four figures. She did, it had to be said, look lovely. Even Gerard came out of this one well. Something solemn had crept into his face, forming a solid foundation for what was obviously happiness. The result was to firm up his otherwise slack features; hardly putting him in heart-throb territory, but at least bestowing a visible sense of purpose you could mistake for integrity. Sarah found the same effect in another recent picture which showed him handing a cheque to a tall, priestly man; the pair of them standing in front of a small crowd of children. The background, mostly obscured, seemed to be an inst.i.tution of some sort; a noiceboard behind them had part of what was probably a name, rimat, visible between young heads. Some religious setup, she hypothesized. Catholic or very high: he'd said ma.s.s.

She turned her attention to the clutter on the desk, hoping to find a bomb-maker's manual among it. Nothing doing, but she picked up the palmtop to look at. She'd seen such toys but never operated one; was not really what you'd call a card-carrying member of the technological society, though had enough experience to know the average computer could take you from How Hard Can It Be? to What The h.e.l.l Happened There? in two seconds flat. That was the downside. The upside was it was very small with an obvious on-b.u.t.ton and where was the harm in trying? This b.u.t.ton proved remarkably simple to operate and the little screen came to life immediately, flas.h.i.+ng a prompt she guessed was its demand for a pa.s.sword. What kind of pa.s.sword would a man like Gerard use? She went for blindingly predictable, and keyed Paula. Invalid Pa.s.sword it countered. Not a single other word came to mind. It was as if her brain had been rinsed of all vocabulary.

'What are you looking for?'

She nearly jumped out of her skin.

'Sarah?'

'I wasn't looking for anything. I was just looking.' She put the machine down before turning round, hoping he wouldn't notice, then switched topics in what she prayed was an undetectable, natural manner. 'My G.o.d, you look awful.'

'I feel awful.' Mark ran a hand across his forehead. 'That wine must have been a bit dodgy.'

'That fifth bottle was corked, probably. Come on, I'll make you some coffee.'

Mark took a detour via the bathroom and by the time he joined her in the kitchen, dressed, the others were pulling up outside. 'They may be G.o.dly, but at least I'm clean,' he said.