Clouds among the Stars. Victoria Clayton

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      I was obliged to try though I was not in the least hungry and after a while, whether it was the rich risotto, unctuous with beef marrow, or the figs baked in marsala-flavoured custard or the utter kindness of Maria-Alba, petting and coaxing me as though I were a child, I certainly started to feel braver and stronger.

      ‘We’re going to have to make some economies.’ I wiped my greasy chin with the napkin. ‘No new clothes or taxis for anyone until Pa’s out of prison.’

      ‘Va bene. La cucina italiana is the peasant cooking, simple and cheap and good. We have pasta and polenta and gnocchi. I go see to the larder. And,’ she paused as though struck by inspiration, ‘we say go to Mrs Dyer. I tell her in the morning.’ Maria-Alba and Mrs Dyer, our daily, had never got on. Mrs Dyer was openly xenophobic when my parents were not in earshot, muttering about wogs, eyties, japs and darkies, usually with the prefix ‘dirty’. Maria-Alba clapped her hands together in a manner well satisfied and smiled for the first time for days.

      ‘What do you think?’ Bron stood with his hips thrust forward and his chin sunk on his chest so that his eyes looked brooding and sultry as they met ours. Well, everyone’s but mine. I was still less popular than Napoleon on the retreat from Moscow. Bron was wearing a long black coat with an elegant fur lining.

      ‘Amazing!’ Ophelia was moved to unusual enthusiasm. ‘It looks like mink.’

      ‘It is mink.’

      ‘No! How much?’

      ‘Just fifty pounds on account. Bloke I met in the pub is selling them cheap. Warehouse closing down. I’m paying in monthly instalments.’

      I wondered where Bron had got even so much as fifty pounds. The telephone call with Mr Potter was much on my mind but I was reluctant to give them the opportunity to snub me, so I said nothing.

      ‘Do they have them in women’s sizes?’ Ophelia’s eyes were sharp. ‘Can you get me one?’

      ‘Got fifty smackers?’

      ‘No, but I could borrow from Peregrine.’

      ‘Consider it done.’

      The curtailment of family spending seemed to have got off to a very poor start.

      The doorbell began to ring persistently, which made Dirk howl and, for some reason, attack Bron’s coat.

      ‘Get your dog off me!’ he yelled. ‘He’s got his teeth into the lining.’

      ‘I go tell them va’ farsi fottere!’ Maria-Alba picked up the ladle.

      ‘You get on with supper,’ I said. ‘I’ll go.’

      I was overtaken by Dirk, who hurled himself at the front door with a scream of rage. ‘No comment,’ I shouted when I could get near the letter box. ‘Please go away.’

      ‘For God’s sake, let me in!’ cried Portia’s voice.

      I undid the chain and the lock and drew back the bolts. Portia fell into my arms. Dirk displayed wonderful intelligence by allowing Portia to enter before baring his teeth at the reporters who were trying to follow her in, and growling ferociously, until I managed to shut them out.

      ‘Who are those bloody people? Has the world gone mad?’ Portia sank down on the Cleopatra day bed, her head drooping as though exhausted. Then, as Dirk gave her a hearty, reassuring lick, ‘What’s this dog doing here?’

      She looked up. Even in the scattered light from the chandelier I could see that Portia was a mess. She was wearing a black leather blouson, much too big for her, and enormous, baggy jeans. Her face was extremely dirty.

      ‘Where have you been? I’ve been so worried!’ I was so relieved, I probably sounded cross.

      ‘Don’t scold me. I’ve had the most awful time. I’m as weak as ditchwater.’

      I sat down and put my arms around her. ‘I’m so thankful to see you. I’d made up my mind to ring the police.’

      ‘Ow! That hurts.’ She winced and pulled away. I saw that what I had assumed to be dirt on her cheeks and lips was bruising.

      ‘Portia! Who did this to you?’

      ‘That bastard Dimitri, of course. We went to his house. You never saw anything like it – an absolute scream – a circular bed, nylon furry cushions and a television that popped up and down when you pressed a button, a cocktail bar – and I thought it was going to be fun.’ Portia was talking fast, as though she was nervous. ‘But when I laughed at the erotic murals on the ceiling – they were really awful – Dimitri got huffy. We had a bit of a row. Then I said I didn’t want to go to bed with a bad-tempered dwarf – I may not have mentioned that he’s stocky, with short legs. And other similarities to Toulouse-Lautrec, as I discovered later. The most enormous prick you ever saw.’ Portia laughed but her expression was anguished. I realised she was trying to recapture her usual breezy, cynical manner but also that it was a huge effort.

      ‘Portia! You didn’t really say that! I mean, you didn’t call him a dwarf?’ I had always admired her blasé attitude to sex and her flippant attitude towards the male ego. ‘What did he say?’

      ‘He smacked me across the mouth and broke my tooth. Look!’ Portia lifted her swollen top lip to show me her front tooth, broken in half. ‘I tried not to cry but I do so hate the dentist!’

      Portia closed her eyes and hugged herself, shaking her head as though to rid herself of the memory. Her fingernails were grubby as usual, which made her small white hands look childlike. I took one of them in mine. ‘Poor darling, what an ordeal! The brute! Hitting a girl! He ought to be locked up.’

      She smiled and shrugged. ‘That isn’t the worst of it. But don’t let’s go into detail. Only I’m conditioned now, like Pavlov’s dogs. I shan’t be able to see a pair of sunglasses ever again without wanting to throw up. Dimitri wore them all the time, even in bed. I’ve no idea what colour his eyes are.’

      ‘In bed! You slept with him? Why didn’t you come home straightaway?’

      ‘He had a gun, that’s why.’

      ‘A gun!’ Cold waves of fear ran up and down my legs. ‘Oh, Portia!’

      ‘For God’s sake, Hat, keep your voice down! I don’t want the entire neighbourhood to know. He put the gun against my head –’ Portia gave me a look that was shamefaced – ‘I know I always say I’m not frightened of anything but I was really scared then. So I let him do what he wanted.’

      ‘Only a fool wouldn’t have been scared! I’d have screamed!’

      ‘I expect you would have. You always were a terrible coward.’ Portia tried to regain her old spirit, but added, ‘I may have let out a small scream myself. The bodyguards – they took it in turns to sit outside the door – had guns too.’

      ‘Portia! You might have been killed!’ I tried to put my arm round her again but she gave a gasp of pain. ‘Darling, what a risk to take! I can’t bear to think about it!’

      ‘All СКАЧАТЬ