LITMIR.BIZ

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escorts. And the father, savagely drawn, cruel to the boy and remote from the man. Richard’s innocent moved in a world they all knew. It was a world of the Fourth of June, the Eton and Harrow match, Henley Regatta and country house parties and tennis. And then, as the innocence was eroded, another, parallel world emerged. It was a black world of corruption and degradation, pursued in the alleyways of Soho and the tattered streets of the East End. The knowing young man pushed deeper and deeper into it in search of what he wanted, and needed. The end came abruptly. No longer innocent, he was stabbed to death by his lover of that night in a deserted bar.

      That was Richard’s metaphor for the progress of life. Light into dark, innocence into depravity, unstoppable. The bleakness of the vision frightened Amy. Was that what Richard thought, behind his smile and his flow of banter?

      His book was sad, and also funny in macabre, characteristic bursts. It was brave, and a considerable achievement. And Amy thought that reading it would break her father’s heart.

      The telephone rang on the desk beside her, startling her. She realized that she had been sitting in the same position for hours, and she was stiff from head to foot.

      ‘May I speak to Mr Lovell?’ an unrecognizable voice asked.

      ‘I’m afraid not. He’s out at lunch.’

      ‘Am I speaking to Lady Lovell?’

      ‘No. I’m Mr Lovell’s sister.’

      ‘My name is Corbett. The Evening Voice. We’re all very admiring of your brother’s novel, here. Perhaps you can tell me why he describes it as “nearly a novel”? It’s an unusual vision for a young man to conjure up, wouldn’t you say? Especially for the son of Lord Lovell? A future Defender of His Majesty, as it were? Of course, if it is fiction, but an imagination so strong …’

      ‘I can’t comment,’ Amy said coldly. ‘You would have to talk to my brother in person. Good afternoon.’ She hung up sharply, and then sat staring at the telephone, fighting the feeling of being invaded. So that was what Richard had meant by seedy fellows reading the laundry lists. She could only hope for Gerald’s sake that the lists weren’t too revealing.

      The library door opened and Richard himself peered round it. ‘Ah-ha. Mama told me you were lurking down here. Was that one of the vultures?’

      ‘Yes. A horrible, insinuating man.’

      ‘Dear me, how they love a whiff of corruption in high places. “Peer’s Son charged with Immoral Behaviour”. They are positively fainting with delight at the prospect.’

      ‘Will it come to that?’ Amy asked in alarm.

      ‘Of course not. I’m far too circumspect.’

      ‘Your book isn’t circumspect.’

      ‘It’s fiction, darling. And it isn’t, technically, obscene either. What did you think of it?’

      Looking at him as she framed her answer, Amy saw that her brother looked, oddly, more substantial, as if his overnight success suited him. And she also saw that he was anxious. He didn’t write to please, clearly, but he wanted approval. From her, at least.

      ‘I thought it was impressive,’ she said carefully. ‘Scabrous, but impressive …’

      ‘So kind,’ he trilled at her, covering his pleasure with flippancy, as always.

      ‘… and it will hurt Papa terribly.’

      Richard’s face stiffened. ‘Our father has never thought about me,’ he said, ‘from the moment it sank through his hide that I couldn’t be Airlie all over again. I can’t adjust my life to please him, Amy. Truly I can’t.’

      ‘I suppose not,’ she said sadly.

      Dismissing the thought, Richard put his arm through hers. ‘Come on. Let’s have some tea and I’ll tell all. I meant the book when I wrote it, deeply heartfelt and all that, of course. But it’s been the most wonderful tease since it came out. I wouldn’t have missed it for anything. Nervous, respectful reviews here, trying to convey the book’s essence without mentioning the dread word buggery. Darling, I’m so glad you’re a nurse and know all these things, tending those poor sailors down at Lambeth. It makes you so much easier to talk to.’

      ‘You’re thinking of Greenwich,’ Amy protested.

      ‘No, I’m not. I know my sailors. Anyway, po-faced rejections there saying it’s not a book they could review in a family publication. The literary crowd in two camps – no, don’t laugh – and every party one goes to divided right down the middle between people queuing to shake hands and people who can’t snub one fast enough. Who would have thought anyone cared? Imploring letters from old queens and violent threats from purple brigadiers pouring into Randle & Cates by every post. Tony’s been such a tower, the dear boy.’

      ‘What’s Tony’s reaction to all this?’ Amy asked, laughing in spite of herself.

      ‘Unbridled delight. It’s all shillings in the coffers, after all.’

      As he always managed to do, Richard disarmed her. There was no point in judging or moralizing, because Richard was his own law.

      He insisted on taking her out to dinner at the Ritz.

      ‘I’ve got lots of cash. Do let’s spend.’

      He commanded, and got, the best table. ‘See?’ he crowed. ‘Word has even spread here. They know I shall be filthily rich on the proceeds of my writings and they’re looking to the ten bobs of the future.’ He was already mildly drunk, and Amy knew from experience that it would be a long, bibulous evening. She settled back in her seat, prepared to be her brother’s audience of one.

      ‘I shall be rich, of course,’ he assured her.

      ‘And what will you do with all this wealth?’

      ‘Oh, stay around here for a little while. People keep asking me to do things. Reviews, articles, that kind of thing. Do you know, I met a dear little choreographer the other night who wants to turn it all into a ballet? Can’t you see it, all black and silver leotards and very, very stark lighting? And then, if things are a little warm here and I detect suspicious men watching me, then I might go to Paris for a little while, or even Berlin.’

      Amy frowned at him. ‘Berlin? Would you really want to go there?’

      ‘How political you are. Other things go on in Berlin, darling, as well as Herr Hitler.’

      ‘Oh, of course.’

      Richard filled her glass to the brim, although she had barely taken two sips from it. ‘And you, my sister?’

      ‘I shall stay here for a day or two. And then go back to Chance. To … be with Gerald, for a while, until your little cloud has blown over.’

      After an evening of Richard’s company, it was easy to find oneself talking like him. He leaned across the table now, suddenly shrewd. ‘Who is he?’ he asked.

      ‘What do you mean?’

      ‘Don’t fence. Whoever he is who’s making you look the way you do. As if you can’t quite hear and see what’s going on because something much more important is blocking it out. I remember the feeling. Hasn’t happened much lately.’

      ‘No one you know,’ Amy said quietly.

      Richard put his hands over hers. ‘He’s very lucky, whoever he is.’

      Later, Tony Hardy came across the room to join them. Richard was clearly expecting him. He jumped up at once and put his arm round his shoulders.

      ‘It’s fair that Tony should celebrate with us, don’t you think?’

      Even Tony looked a little sleeker. His shapeless evening clothes were at least well brushed, and his thin, quizzical face seemed to have filled out. Amy had a renewed sense of time passing, and leaving her.

      Tony

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