Moonshine. Victoria Clayton

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СКАЧАТЬ At first I yearned to lie in her arms, like reclining on the bed of a fast-flowing stream. But after a while, I got chilly. That was when I fell out of love with her.’

      ‘Was she dreadfully hurt?’

      ‘Annoyed more than anything. Her mother gave her a lot of stick for parting company with me.’

      ‘Her mother? How did she come into it?’

      ‘She was a mink-wrapped, ruby-hung adding machine, totting up my credits, setting them against my debits.’

      ‘The credits being? If that isn’t an impossibly rude question?’

      ‘An inheritance. A nice old house in Norfolk. An entrée into other nice old houses belonging to people she approved of.’

      ‘I had no idea you were such an eligible parti.’

      ‘I conceal it brilliantly, don’t I?’

      ‘Now don’t fish. And the debits? Those are well hidden.’

      ‘It’s a little late to truckle, Miss Bobbie. Debits minimal, from Fenella’s mother’s point of view. An inability to take life seriously, a shocking inconstancy in matters of love, a face like an amiable schoolboy’s and a strong dislike of scheming, snobbish mammas.’

      ‘You said Fenella was your last girlfriend. Describe your present girlfriend, if you’d be so kind.’

      ‘Situation vacant.’

      ‘So you’re looking for someone with a face like an El Greco saint, whose embrace is as cosy as thermal underwear and who loves fiercely but briefly. Preferably an orphan.’

      ‘Oh no. I said I was inconstant in love. Now I want a woman about five feet six or seven, slender but not bony, whose hair is the colour of unsalted butter, with large, glowing eyes that vary in hue between neat scotch and seawater, who has a tendency to weep when she thinks no one’s looking. She has a fascinating way of raising one eyebrow seductively and looking at you with a positively wicked gleam, while smiling as demurely as a postulant nun.’

      ‘I think she sounds extremely irritating. I’d have nothing to do with her if I were you.’

      ‘You aren’t me. I shall have as much to do with her as I can possibly arrange.’

      ‘But we know the fascination won’t last long.’

      ‘I have a feeling she’s the exception that proves the rule.’

      ‘You’re obviously a case-hardened flirt.’ I bit into the last piece of cake and smiled as I chewed to show I did not take him seriously.

      ‘You’re the girl of my dreams,’ replied Kit, not smiling back.

      ‘Oh, look! Rain!’ I directed his attention to the window where plummeting water formed a curtain, obliterating the view of the public lavatories. ‘What a mercy! Every single man who’s been in there has waited until emerging into full view of the hotel to tuck in his shirt and zip up his trousers. Is there a law in this country against doing oneself up privately indoors?’

      ‘But it’s provided you with a conversational diversion. You needn’t be afraid that I’m going to pounce, you know. I’m well aware you’re still besotted with Mr Latimer. But, unlike you, I don’t believe that you’ll never get over it. I bet you think that from now on your life will be a sad round of charitable works and knitting hideous cardigans for your nephews and nieces.’

      ‘I hope not. I hate it when the stitches get so tight you have to practically crowbar them off the needle.’

      ‘Don’t worry. Psychic wounds always heal eventually, even if there is some scar tissue left. People who pretend their hearts are broken really want an excuse not to have to risk themselves again on the merry-go-round of human relationships. Uncle Kit knows these things.’

      He looked up as the waitress brought us the bill.

      ‘I insist.’ I snatched it up from the table.

      ‘You see,’ Kit explained to the waitress, ‘I’m a kept man. My companion is fabulously rich and she takes me everywhere with her like a sort of pug-dog.’

      The girl, who must have been about seventeen but was made up to look forty-five, was at first nonplussed. Then she melted under his friendly gaze and giggled.

      ‘Is t’at her car t’en?’ she asked, pointing through the window at the little red Alfa. ‘I’d give anyt’ing to go for a drive in somet’ing like t’at. My boyfriend’s a fishmonger and when we go out in his van I stink of fish for days after.’

      ‘Like a mermaid,’ said Kit. ‘Your boyfriend’s a lucky man.’ His blue eyes seemed to dazzle as a ray of sunlight shot through the rain-glazed window.

      She giggled again as she counted the money I had given her. ‘I wouldn’t go out wit’ him but the other boys here only have bikes and I hate riding on crossbars. Your clothes get all anyhow. I want to go and work in Dublin but me mum won’t let me.’

      ‘You’d be a smash hit there.’

      She looked at Kit doubtfully. ‘Do ye t’ink so?’

      ‘One glimpse of those eyes and they’d be hiring limousines to take you out.’

      ‘Arrah, go on wit’ you!’ She twitched her shoulders and threw up her chin to show she could not be so easily taken in but her small, painted face was beaming. ‘T’ank you, miss,’ she added when I gave her a tip of fifty pence. ‘T’at’s very kind of ye. Enjoy yer ride now.’ She gave Kit a last slaying glance over her shoulder as she went away.

      ‘You’re pretty much a smash hit yourself,’ I said, getting up and putting on my mac.

      ‘The Irish expect a little badinage. Talking’s a national pastime. It’s only good manners.’

      As I checked my reflection for crumbs in the mirror over the fireplace I saw Kit whisper something to the waitress which made her blush with pleasure. She almost curtseyed when he gave her what looked like a five-pound note.

      ‘Throat oiled and spirit soothed?’ he asked as we got into the car.

      ‘Thank you, yes. What a good Samaritan you are.’

      ‘Could we have less of the distance-making gratitude? I could swamp you with thanks for lunch and tea, but I know how to accept gracefully.’

      Opposite the entrance of the car-park was a shop that sold television sets. A small crowd had gathered on the pavement to stare at the rows of flickering screens, a bright point of interest in the dull, rain-soaked street. As we swept by I saw a man’s face, striking in black and white, and was almost certain that it was Burgo’s. I closed my eyes and swallowed down the sour taste that rose into my mouth, a combination of barmbrack and grief. For once Kit, who had been concentrating on the traffic, had noticed nothing.

      ‘Now, my fair friend and fellow voyager,’ he continued, ‘as we embark on the last part of our journey, I want you to tell me what happened after the dinner party. You needn’t look blank. You know perfectly well which dinner party I mean. СКАЧАТЬ