Connections Page 24

  Fleur said, “Oh.”

  “You don’t look happy and excited,” Jess observed.

  “It’s not the best possible moment,” Fleur told her. Jess smiled. “Maybe I’ll feel different when he turns up. At the moment it’s the last straw. I’ve had a shock about my father – don’t ask.”

  “Forget it, Fleur,” Jess told her. “Let’s get something done before Ben walks in. Did you find anything?”

  “No. Did you?”

  “No. Here’s another couple of scripts from agencies. This one came in today by hand from Adam Wheeler. It was almost in production in Hollywood at one time only the financing collapsed. He thinks we could get it if we wanted it. It’s about a man on the run with a baby.”

  Fleur groaned. “Calls first, then faxes,” she said. Jess handed her a sheaf of slips.

  Almost an hour passed and they had just begun on the faxes when Ben walked in with a holdall over his shoulder. He dumped it on the floor, embraced Fleur, kissed Jess on the cheek and said, “Well – busy girls – what goes on?”

  When they’d told him he said, “Phew, not bad. Any chance of a drink?”

  Fleur moved to get it for him just as Jess said, “Help yourself.” He did this, saying, “I was hoping for some dinner. Believe it or not, it’s been twelve hours and I never eat on planes.”

  “We have to finish up here,” Jess said. “This is a second job for both of us at the moment. We have to set things up quickly.”

  “Fleur?” Ben said. “You can finish up here, can’t you, Jess?”

  Jess said, “Why don’t you go down to Bonzo’s and we’ll come along in half an hour?”

  “OK,” he said and turned. “Oh – I’ve got no cash. Has Camera Shake got a tab at Bonzo’s, Jess?”

  “I’ll make a call,” she offered.

  “Thanks,” he said and as he went added, “Guess what I’ve got in my bag – a script you’ll love.”

  “Who by?” Jess asked.

  “Me, naturally.”

  After Ben had gone Jess ran both hands through her thick curly hair. “By me, naturally,” she echoed. “Every time I see Ben I think he’s going to fling a scarf lightly round his neck and say, ‘Well, chaps. Must dash. I’m just off to a tutorial at Balliol,’ and then stride off youthfully through the dreaming spires.” She added, picking up a pen, “That Oxbridge manner’s worth every penny they pay for it. Pity they never seem to pay for anything afterwards.”

  “You’re just jealous because you never went to university,” Fleur said.

  “I am,” Jess agreed with the phone in her hand. “Is Dick there? Good. It’s Jess Stadlen. A man called Ben Campbell’s coming in. I’ll be in later. Can you look after him?”

  “You don’t like Ben, do you?” Fleur asked.

  “Of course I like him,” she said. “He does good work if he’s given the chance. But he needs to be teamed up with someone who’ll keep him on the straight and narrow. Handle the boring bits.” She looked hard at Fleur. “He’s a magnet to women like you, Fleur. Nice, intelligent women from decent homes who look for clever, talented men who’ll treat them apparently as equals.” She shook her head. “Dream on.”

  Fleur didn’t reply and went on sending faxes. Then she said, “We need a mission statement, Jess. I’m faxing all these writers and agencies saying vaguely we want to make films. It’s not enough.”

  “I know,” Jess said. “Let’s think something up.”

  And they did, though as they did so Fleur became increasingly conscious of Ben sitting in Bonzo’s, waiting. Occasionally she thought of what Dominic and Joe had told her about her father’s behaviour on the night Vanessa was attacked.

  “Well, that’s it. Three sentences – small to medium budget films with something to say depending on skill and viewpoint of writers and directors and brilliance of British actors, with valuable US input or words to that effect, in any order you like,” said Jess. “Is that good enough?”

  “Better than nothing,” said Fleur, scribbling.

  “Is there something on your mind, apart from me being nasty?” Jess asked her a little later.

  Fleur did not look up from the computer, “Yes,” she said. “There is. But I can’t stop to tell you.”

  “Bad?” hazarded Jess.

  “I think so,” Fleur said.

  “About Ben or that next-door Irishman?”

  “My father,” said Fleur.

  Jess said no more until fifteen minutes later when she suggested, “Let’s stop.”

  “Right,” said Fleur. She tidied up, closed down the file on which she was logging their present activities and fell into one of Debs’ deep easy chairs. “Jess – can I tell you something?”

  “As long as it doesn’t end with you asking me to take Ben home with me,” Jess said evenly.

  “It’s not that,” Fleur said. “Though isn’t it funny how we argued about him once?”

  “We probably will again,” Jess said. “He’s just suffering from a temporary desirability failure. But hurry up, Fleur. We’ve got to get to Bonzo’s. I’d like to get home, see my husband tonight.”

  Fleur sat down and told Jess about the attack on Vanessa by the Russian, and what Dominic and Joe were saying about her father’s part in the affair.

  After she’d finished Jess said nothing for a while. Then she commented, “They could have been mistaken. But from his description it sounds as if the Russian could have been this Tallinn they’re all looking for.”

  “Who’s he?” Fleur asked.

  “There’s some sort of a mystery,” Jess told her. “He’d been caught smuggling plutonium. Apparently he was in Britain but the Germans wanted him and now he’s on the run. Probably back in Russia by now. I’m not sure of the details, but Adrian’s interested. They’ve got an idea at the paper there might be a story in it but they can’t get enough to make it stand up. Adrian’s got the photos of him – he’s fantastically attractive in a frightening sort of way. Young and very skinny with long hair, so fair it’s white. Very distinctive. That’s why I wonder if he’s the same man who attacked this girl. But he couldn’t have been with your father – what would your father be doing with a man like that? I’ll get a couple of the pictures of him from Adrian. You can show them to the others.” She paused. “Listen – Fleur – are you taking Ben home with you tonight?”

  “That depends what his plans are.”

  “Trust me – he hasn’t got any,” Jess assured her.

  At Bonzo’s they got a table and had a short dinner. Jess signed the bill and left. Fleur told Ben, “Unless you’ve got any money we’d better leave.”

  “What happened to the big-time new job?”

  “I only just started. I haven’t been paid.”

  “Let’s go home, then. I’ll get a bottle of wine.”

  Ben cashed in some dollars he had in his wallet and they bought the wine and got on the tube for Cray Hill. On the train Ben counted out the stops on the tube map. “Not very central, is it?”

  “No, but it’s very downmarket when you get there,” she told him.

  They sat silently side by side as the train rattled on. Ben looked discouraged, sorry to be back in Britain perhaps, she thought, and certainly pretty sorry to be going to Cray Hill with her.

  “I spoke to Gerry Sullivan about Verity’s debts,” she finally said. “I’ve got an appointment with a firm he says will help. Do you want to come along?”

  “Not much, but I suppose I ought to,” he said.

  “How did it go with Arnoldson?”

  “I got to New York, slept in a rat-trap hotel, had a meeting which was pretty obviously just a courtesy to Arnoldson, spent a bit of time with some friends in Cape Cod. It was freezing. I left before I committed suicide. Look, Fleur, you did me a lot of damage by running like that. By the time I returned to New York I was just the guy Dickie Jethro’s daughter had left Barbados to escape. It didn’t help my credibility. The word was out, suspect this man. The result of the meeting in New York w
as more or less a foregone conclusion.”

  “Was that what they all thought – I’d gone because of you?” Fleur asked.

  “They didn’t say so openly. But they didn’t really need to, did they? They’d picked me up and brought me over because of you and suddenly there wasn’t any you. People were bound to wonder. The reality is, when you left like that you didn’t just fuck yourself up, you fucked me up too. You left me with egg on my face, Fleur. Admit it.”

  “I can’t really deny it, can I?” said Fleur sulkily.

  The air in the empty carriage was full of rancour. Fleur wondered how on earth they were going to coexist in her small flat.

  They got out of the train and walked down Cray Hill High Street in silence. Fleur wasn’t looking forward to Ben’s reaction to her flat. And then there was Dominic. Ever since Ben’s announcement that he was returning she had been deliberately not thinking about Dominic’s reaction to him. But they’d meet sooner or later, she knew that.

  The meeting came sooner. They’d almost reached the pub when, on the other side of the road, she saw Dominic and Joe in working clothes, carrying toolbags. They were practically opposite when the pair decided to go into the pub for a drink before going home. They started to cross the road.

  “Hi,” said Joe, spotting Fleur and Ben.

  “Hi,” said Fleur without enthusiasm. “Ben – next-door neighbours, Dominic and Joe. Dominic and Joe – Ben.”

  Ben, though travel-worn, was wearing expensive casual clothes including a pricey leather jacket. Dominic and Joe were in jeans and donkey jackets.

  “Hullo, Ben,” Dominic said in a very friendly way. “We were just going in for a quick one. Do you two want to come? It’s on me. We’re on overtime for the foreseeable. The contractors are behind and they’ve got a penalty clause. We’ll be rich men when it’s done.”

  “Well,” said Fleur, looking at Ben doubtfully and hoping he would refuse the invitation. She didn’t want this meeting. But Ben was quick enough to suspect this and said, “Sure. Why not? Just a quick one and then we’ll head home.”

  As soon as they sat down and Patrick had brought over some beers, Dominic opened by raising his glass and saying, “Cheers, Ben. Good to meet you at last. Heard a lot about you.”

  “Is that a fact?” said Ben. “I haven’t heard anything about you.”

  “Lots to find out, then,” Dominic said cheerfully.

  “I’m looking forward to it,” Ben told him. “What are you working on?”

  “A big new bank in the City. The tallest building since – since the last tall building, I suppose … You do TV documentaries, then, do you? Anything particular at the moment?”

  “That’s what I’m here for,” Ben told him. “To set something up. Oh,” he said, turning to Fleur, “can you read that script of mine tonight?”

  “I’ll try,” said Fleur.

  “Keep the women working, that’s the idea,” Joe said. “Can’t do much of that in the building trade – there aren’t enough women involved. I wish there were.”

  “They’ll end up taking over,” Ben predicted.

  “It’d be a change,” Dominic said.

  “Just wait, mate. You’ll find out,” Ben said warningly.

  Fleur had been nervous about the encounter between Dominic and Ben partly because she suspected Dominic might get aggressive, a fear which subsided when Dominic had greeted Ben like a long-lost brother. Her second worry was that Ben would guess she’d been sleeping with Dominic. He might not immediately suspect that Fleur would have begun a relationship with a man off a building site, but Dominic’s spectacular good looks could make him start to wonder fairly soon.

  “I read something that said if you’ve got enough confidence in yourself, a woman boss doesn’t bother you,” Dominic informed Ben.

  Ben took it badly. “Oh – you’re a bit of a reader are you?” he questioned, his voice rising. “Where would you have picked up that little item – the agony page of the Sun?”

  Dominic agreed. “That was probably it.”

  Fleur intervened, “I didn’t have a chance to tell you, Dominic, but I’ve got a new job. I think I’m going to have to give Patrick notice.”

  “Shame to give up a good job like that,” he said. “What’s the new one?”

  Fleur explained, adding, “I know you’re not in love with Jess—”

  “Who is?” asked Ben. Fleur frowned at him as if to tell him she knew about his brief affair with Jess. Undeterred he said, “She may be your friend but you’ve got to admit she’s a bit of a bitch.”

  Fleur told Dominic, “Her husband’s got some pictures of a Russian for you to look at. Might be the same man.”

  “Right,” said Dominic, thinking.

  “What Russian’s this?” asked Ben.

  Joe asked, “What pictures?”

  “The man seems to be a criminal. He’s in the news and Jess’s husband has some photographs.”

  “Fleur,” Ben said, “what’s all this about?”

  “It’s a long story,” she told him. “I’ll tell you about it.” She noticed this promise did not please the others.

  Ben stood up. “It’s been nice but we must get back. We’ve got a bottle to drink and Fleur has a script to read. Come on, darling.” In this way he stated his claim to her. She thought this was more an automatic gesture rather than any suspicion that she and Dominic had been involved. Seeing no way of not going along with this alpha male demonstration she stood up. Joe stared at her enigmatically.

  Dominic smiled. “Enjoy your wine,” he said.

  “We’ve got a lot of news to catch up on,” Ben told him.

  Crossing the road, Ben took her arm, a gesture which would have been visible from the pub. She concluded Ben had probably lost the encounter with Dominic on points. He’d been obviously aggressive, ready to lose his cool. Dominic hadn’t, which probably gave him the advantage. So, who’s counting? she asked herself impatiently. Dominic and Ben are, she answered. At bottom she knew Dominic had spotted her ambivalence about Ben and enjoyed it.

  Inside the flat Ben looked round. “Couldn’t you have found something better than this, Fleur?”

  It was as if he’d spent every minute since they’d met studying how to jar her. Was it deliberate? she wondered. It certainly felt like it. But how on earth did he expect them to get on together if all he did was upset her in small ways? “I didn’t have a lot of money after the bank took the flat,” she said. “I wouldn’t have had this if Jess hadn’t gone to Gerry Sullivan. He offered to fight them on the grounds that I was not individually financially advised when I signed the papers. They cut me a deal rather than have a fight in court. Which actually I couldn’t have afforded. So that was how I got the deposit.”

  She was opening the wine when he put his arms round her. “It must have been awful for you,” he said. “I suppose that means this place was bought out of company funds. It belongs to both of us.”

  Fleur pulled away. He might be right. She pulled herself together. Calm down, she told herself. Enjoy it. Play a game. Count how many times Ben can upset you over the next hour.

  She went into the kitchen and found the corkscrew, started to open the bottle. He took it from her. “You’ve got very independent in your old age.”

  “Let’s go in the other room,” said Fleur. She put her glass and the bottle of wine on a tray and left the kitchen.

  “Yes, let’s go back into the salon,” Ben said gloomily, following her.

  He looked around again, said, “Yes,” loudly in a tone of gloomy satisfaction and threw himself into a chair.

  “It’s not a palace but it’s a roof over our heads,” she said, conceding, she knew, that he was going to share the flat with her. She was embarking on a routine she had once taken for granted, the steps towards calming Ben down. There were other things she should be saying. “We’re together now. I’m sure your script is brilliant. There’s bound to be work for you here – you’re so talented.” His role would be t
o counter with scepticism, depression, soul-weariness and contempt for her as a kind of Pollyanna until gradually, as with the process of rocking a fretful baby to sleep, he would feel soothed and, finally, content. Had he always been so difficult, she wondered? Not really, she answered herself. He felt at a disadvantage, weak, worried about his future.

  “It’s a pity you can’t take some of your father’s money,” he said. “To get you a decent place is a decent area. I suppose you’re paying a mortgage on this.”

  It had been their flat five minutes ago. Now it was her mortgage. She replied, “At the moment Grace and Robin are paying it. But the new job will take care of that.”

  “That’d be money from your father as well,” he said.

  “Maybe. I didn’t know that when I borrowed it.”

  “So what’s the difference?” he persisted.

  “Ben – I don’t want to spend too long talking about my father’s money.” An instinct warned her not to tell him the story of how her father might have thrown a beaten-up Vanessa in the street. She only said, “I haven’t been in touch with the Jethros since I left Barbados and they haven’t contacted me. I’ve blotted my copybook for good. And I don’t really care.”

  “There’s such a thing as an apology, offered and received. Why don’t you just say sorry? He just wants to help you. He’s not after your immortal soul. Can’t you give a bit?”

  “I saw enough in Barbados to know it doesn’t work like that. That help turns into debt, which you have to pay back in different ways, ways you didn’t expect. There’s no such thing as a free lunch, Ben.”

  “That’s just where you’re wrong, Fleur. There is such a thing as a free lunch. Jesus God – the man’s your father.”

  “What does that mean? Robin’s my father, Ben, not Dickie Jethro. Dickie’s the man who slept with my mother, a long time ago. He couldn’t handle the consequences, went away and sent money.”

  “It looks as if that’s all Grace let him do.”

  “He could have found me later. That’s not the point, Ben. I just don’t care. I can’t be made to care. How many people of our age worry about their parents? If you’re sitting around in your twenties and thirties fretting about your parents either you’re a very sad person or there’s something wrong, or both.” She sighed. “It’s been a long day.”