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  She was moved by his neediness. She also faintly despised it. And she now considered it vital to keep quiet about inviting Nat to dinner.

  EXT. BRIDGES, COUNTRY HOUSE – DAY.

  A car pulls up on the drive in front. CHAS and GWEN get out. The front door opens and JANE emerges to greet them, while a member of her household carries off their luggage. They disappear into the house.

  INT. DRAWING ROOM – DAY.

  JANE is pouring tea for her guests. GWEN and an older man, ROLLO, sit on opposite sofas. CHAS stands at the fireplace, hands in his pockets.

  GWEN

  It’s a beautiful house. I gather you inherited it.

  JANE

  Yes, from an aunt. I was seventeen at the time.

  GWEN

  Gosh. What a responsibility. Was there anyone to help you?

  JANE

  Not really. My parents died when I was three. My aunt was my guardian. But I learned to cope pretty quickly.

  ROLLO

  And now she keeps the best table in Sussex. She’s well known for it.

  JANE

  (to GWEN)

  I like having friends down here. It would be a shame to run a house like this and not have people to fill it.

  GWEN

  Charles often tells me what marvellous times he’s had here. Awfully nice of you to let me tag along with him.

  CUT TO: JANE turns a fond look on CHAS.

  JANE

  He knows he’s always welcome. You must show Gwen around – the wild flowers in the paddock are lovely at the moment.

  CHAS

  At your service. Are you expecting anyone else, Jane?

  JANE

  A few. The Finches. Dean Drayton. And Hugh Vereker, my dear old friend – I expect you know him, Gwen.

  GWEN

  No, I don’t. Though I’ve read him of course, with great admiration.

  JANE

  Oh, then I’ll be sure to place you next to him at dinner.

  CHAS gives GWEN a brief knowing look while ROLLO asks a dull question of JANE about the local fishing.

  INT. CORRIDOR – LATER.

  CHAS knocks at a bedroom door, and hears a voice within, ‘Come in.’

  INT. BEDROOM – DAY.

  GWEN facing a dressing-table mirror sees CHAS in the reflection, leaning around the door.

  CHAS

  See you in the hall – five minutes?

  GWEN

  (addressing the mirror)

  I’ll be right down.

  EXT. FRONT COURTYARD – DAY.

  CHAS and GWEN set out for a walk around the grounds of Bridges.

  EXT. GROUNDS – DAY.

  GWEN and CHAS stroll round an ornamental lake.

  CHAS

  (in mocking imitation)

  ‘Keeps the best table in Sussex’ … What a twerp!

  GWEN

  (laughing)

  Jane’s very beautiful, isn’t she? You never said.

  CHAS

  Didn’t I?

  GWEN

  No. And she’s besotted with you. (She stares at CHAS for a moment.) You don’t seem all that bothered.

  CHAS

  Jane can have her pick. There’ll be someone else to tickle her fancy soon enough.

  GWEN

  But why not you?

  CHAS

  I’m sure you know the phrase ‘the heart has its reasons’.

  GWEN

  They must be very persuasive ones for you to turn your nose up at a girl like that.

  CHAS

  I suppose so. (He stops, looks at her for a moment.) You said George had written to you. Has he made any progress – with the book, I mean?

  GWEN

  He’s still making notes. I don’t think he’s anywhere nearer ‘the thing’, the secret.

  CHAS

  You’re soon to meet the keeper of the secret. I had a feeling Jane would invite him.

  GWEN

  You know, I’ve heard so much talk of Hugh Vereker and the ‘inscrutable mystery’ that I feel bound to find the man himself a disappointment.

  CHAS

  You won’t think so when you meet him. He’s quite different from his work.

  GWEN

  How so?

  CHAS

  There’s a warmth in him you don’t find in the books. I had expected somebody quite … remote.

  GWEN

  That makes you sound rather disappointed!

  CHAS

  No, no. It’s just that liking him, as I do, has rather spiked my guns. If he had been the cold fish I’d imagined I would have stuck to the task.

  GWEN

  Ah. So you’ve given up on it?

  CHAS

  I’d prefer to enjoy his company rather than chivvy out his secret. I don’t believe I can do both.

  GWEN

  Charles, what a scrupulous fellow you are.

  She smiles at him, and they walk on.

  INT. DINING ROOM – NIGHT.

  A candlelit dinner for twelve. VEREKER at the head of the table, between GWEN and DEAN DRAYTON. JANE has placed herself next to CHAS, who follows GWEN’s conversation with sidelong glances. On CHAS’s other side, JANE’s mousy friend MAUD.

  MAUD

  I seem to remember you were writing for a newspaper when we last met.

  CHAS

  Indeed. The Middle?

  MAUD

  Oh yes. You told me you wrote quite a lot of book reviews.

  CHAS

  And still do. You work in academia, I think …

  MAUD

  I teach Victorian literature, with a special interest in the role of the single woman. It’s quite a fertile subject.

  CHAS

  I can imagine. (He smiles politely, and looks along the table again to GWEN and VEREKER.)

  GWEN

  I suppose you must be working on another book.

  VEREKER

  Not at the moment. I’ve not been in the best of health, and it becomes rather difficult to concentrate.

  GWEN

  I’m sorry to hear it. Are you being looked after?

  VEREKER

  Well, my doctor has suggested a rest cure. Makes me sound awfully valetudinarian, doesn’t it?

  GWEN

  Will you go away?

  VEREKER

  Yes. I’ve a place in Portofino. I’m not sure it will do me much good, but who knows?

  GWEN

  I hope it does. Italy is a great restorative. I wonder, have you heard of a man named George Corvick?

  VEREKER

  The name seems familiar, but …

  DRAYTON

  Books editor of the Middle, yes? Bright chap.

  GWEN

  He’s taken a sabbatical from the paper, to write a book – about our esteemed novelist here.

  DRAYTON

  Indeed? He has a publisher?

  GWEN

  Antrobus. He also told me he’d recently hit on a title for it. The Figure in the Carpet.

  VEREKER

  Ah. Now that phrase I’ve heard before.

  He looks away for a moment, though not down the table at CHAS, who’s listening in disbelief.

  George Corvick. Well, I shall look out for his name.

  GWEN

  You won’t be very far from him in Italy. He lives in Rome.

  VEREKER

  My dear, you seem to know this man rather well …

  GWEN

  I ought to. He’s my fiancé.

  JANE

  (overhearing)

  You’re engaged, Gwen? How thrilling. Have you set a date?

  GWEN

  Not yet. George is going to be in Italy at least until September. We’ll decide after that.

  Camera on CHAS, his expression a mixture of shock and dismay.

  INT. LOUNGE – NIGHT.

  The dinner party has broken up into groups. Four of them play bridge. GWEN and others sit by the fire talking. In the corner VEREKER has come to say goodnight to CHAS and JANE.

/>   VEREKER

  Forgive me, I must retire. I seem to need my bed earlier and earlier these days.

  CHAS

  (rising from his chair)

  It’s been a pleasure to see you again, sir. I hope you enjoy your rest cure.

  VEREKER

  Thank you. I’m sorry we haven’t – all well with you?

  CHAS

  Oh yes. Still writing about books … and missing the point of them.

  VEREKER

  (laughing)

  You’re being modest. I’ve seen a few of your things in the papers and thought, There’s a man who knows what’s o’clock.

  CHAS

  But I think you recall my failure where your own work was concerned.

  VEREKER

  Well, yours and everyone else’s! (They shake hands.) Goodnight, Charles. (To JANE.) My dear, thank you for another splendid evening.

  JANE

  I’ll see you up to your room, Hugh.

  They exit, leaving CHAS to finish his drink alone.

  CUT TO: A few minutes later. GWEN detaches herself from the others and approaches CHAS, drinking in the corner.

  GWEN

  What are you doing here on your own?

  CHAS

  (stiffly)

  I think I’m still in shock.

  GWEN

  Oh, from what?

  CHAS

  You’re kidding. First of all, the small matter of your being engaged? Why didn’t you tell me?

  GWEN

  It’s not official. We have an … understanding.

  CHAS

  George never told me he was a bit engaged.

  GWEN

  We all have secrets. Do you tell him everything?

  CHAS

  Of course not. But I couldn’t have resisted letting that slip.

  GWEN

  He’s more discreet than you imagine.

  CHAS

  Hmm, and more underhand. ‘The Figure in the Carpet.’ I mentioned that very phrase to George months ago.

  GWEN

  But you’re not writing a book.

  CHAS

  All the same, he knew it was mine. I don’t go stealing things from him.

  GWEN

  I’m sure he just forgot.

  CHAS

  How convenient – for you both. ‘Oh, forgot to tell poor old Chas about our engagement. And about nicking that line of his for my book.’

  He rises from his chair and knocks back the remainder of his drink.

  Nice to have friends, I must say.

  CHAS exits the room, leaving GWEN standing there.

  INT. BEDROOM – NIGHT.

  CHAS is asleep in bed. A knock is heard on his door. He wakes, dozing – then comes another knock. He switches on his bedside light, and the door opens to reveal GWEN in her dressing gown.

  Camera angle reverses to GWEN stepping into the bedroom.

  GWEN

  Do you mind if I come in?

  CHAS

  What time is it?

  GWEN

  I’m not sure. I wanted to apologise …

  CUT TO: GWEN undoes her gown and lets it fall to the floor. She is naked, back to camera.

  … and make it up to you. Is that all right?

  Camera fades.

  9

  Harry Pulver bit off the head of his baguette and began chewing it savagely. Around his neck he wore a huge white napkin, a gourmand’s comfort blanket. He ate with his mouth open, so Nat could see whitish gobbets of the crab he had been forking in there as well as bits of bread and glints of his gold teeth. Harry, at the head of a long mahogany dining table, had placed Nat and Berk on either side of him. He was short and thickset, with a boxer’s habit of turning his eyes rather than his neck to address you. Lights from the chandelier pinpointed tiny broken capillaries in his nose.

  ‘Get them whatever they want to drink,’ he told a lackey. It seemed he wasn’t going to offer them anything to eat. Berk asked for a Coke. Nat, risking it, asked for champagne, which was brought to him without comment. On the way to the house in Seymour Place Berk had talked about Harry Pulver with a frowning and untypical obliquity that did not put Nat at his ease. He was a sound businessman, Berk insisted, and he loved movies. Without his money they wouldn’t have made the budget for Eureka. Everything would be fine, just so long as he didn’t stare at the ‘piece’. Nat was quietly horrified: the man kept a gun on him! Though why should it be a surprise? As for not staring at it, didn’t people like Harry wear a gun precisely to make people like Nat stare at it?

  The dining room’s long windows peered onto a higgledy-piggledy arrangement of roofs and chimneys, framed by the night sky. A faint hiss of traffic drifted upwards. On receiving a summons they had come straight from the studio.

  ‘Where’s Reiner?’ asked Harry suddenly.

  Berk made a clicking noise of regret. ‘Back in the Fatherland – Nuremberg, as a matter of fact. Overnight trip.’

  ‘What for?’

  When Berk hesitated Nat said, ‘Cup Winners’ Cup Final. Bayern Munich versus Glasgow Rangers. Reiner’s their number-one fan.’

  Harry’s thick eyebrows knitted into a frown. ‘So he wastes a whole day’s studio time for a football match. Does he think I can shit money?’

  Berk laughed. ‘He’ll make the time up. I gotta tell you, though, Harry, the dailies are out of this world.’

  Harry nodded, and returned to scraping out the meat from the crab shell. Nat watched him, fascinated. He could see no sign of the gun, no bulge at his shoulder or hip. What mainly puzzled him was Harry’s hair, black as a raven’s wing and teased into a crest over his brow, which made him look like a superannuated Teddy boy. Did he dye it, or was he wearing a wig? It was still an object of sly contemplation when Harry looked up from his plate to stare him in the eye.

  ‘What?’ he said, with a little jerk of his chin. His expression shifted from stillness to truculence in an unnerving instant.

  Nat, caught mid-inspection, improvised: ‘Just admiring that crustacean. I had the most wonderful crab last week at Wilton’s.’

  Harry rolled his tongue around to dislodge any flakes on his teeth. ‘I get mine from a feller at Billingsgate. My old man used to be a porter there, back in the thirties. We was poor as you like, but we always ’ad fresh fish, and the rest: whelks, cockles, eels.’

  ‘That so?’ said Berk. ‘Where we lived –’

  ‘Then he worked in Shoreditch,’ Harry continued, ignoring him, ‘in a fried-fish shop round the corner from us. When I bought the place – he was dead by then, from his lungs – I named it after him. Morry. Morry’s fish shop.’

  ‘Or you could have called it Memento Morry,’ said Nat before he could stop himself. Harry squinted at him, wondering if he’d heard something disrespectful. He looked at Berk for clarification.

  Berk, who hadn’t a clue either, returned a comradely shrug. ‘Writers … So, Harry, what’s on your mind?’

  With no more than a flick of his eyes Harry commanded the attention of another white-jacketed minion, who stepped in and took his plate and napkin away. That was a curious thing about power, thought Nat: it stayed put, it didn’t move. It got others to move for you. He hadn’t even stood up to greet them. After a little more grooming – brushing off invisible specks from his shirt front – Harry splayed his stubby fingers on the edge of the table, like a concert pianist about to give a recital.

  ‘I’ve got a young friend,’ he began, and pushed a buff envelope down the table in Berk’s direction. ‘As a, whatchamacallit, “sleeping partner” in this production I reckon I’m entitled to make a suggestion now and then. Have a gander.’

  Berk opened the envelope and drew out a sheaf of ten-by-eights, all black-and-white portrait shots of a young woman. He leafed through them one by one, and, at a nod from Harry, passed them over to Nat. She was eager-eyed, mid-twenties, a brunette with long legs; the shots had a professional air, they had come from a studio, though the girl was no glamour model. There
was something awkward and unpractised in her look. She hadn’t learned how to carry herself, or to hold the camera’s gaze. But she was pretty, like a nice girl from the tennis club.

  ‘Her name’s Gina. Gina Press. Started out as a dancer. Bit of a show pony, but a good sort.’

  ‘A very fine young lady,’ said Berk, glancing at Nat, who nodded in agreement. He knew what was coming, and composed his features accordingly.

  ‘She wants to be in films,’ said Harry with a little shrug. ‘I’m sure you’ve got something she can do.’

  ‘Can Miss, er, Press act?’ asked Nat.

  ‘A bit. Might not be Garbo, but she’s a quick learner.’

  After a pause Berk said, ‘Thing is, Harry, we gotta pretty full complement, cast-wise. Can she do hair and make-up?’

  Harry shook his head. ‘When I said “in films”, I mean she wants to act.’

  Berk looked across the table in appeal. ‘Nat?’

  Nat considered for a moment. Not having finished a script yet, he could hardly object to making late changes; winging it was part of the screenwriter’s job. And they weren’t being asked in any case. ‘I’ll find a way to, um, accommodate her. We can improvise.’

  Harry’s mouth broke into a leer of satisfaction, like a music-hall comic who’d just got his first laugh. That’s what he wanted to hear – improvise! This last word set him off on a reminiscence about his service days in Egypt during the war. Their platoon had been caught in a tight spot, German tanks apparently ready to blow them all to hell. Enter some young captain whose genius for improvisation not only got them out of their corner but gave Jerry a fright to boot. Harry deployed the salt cellar and pepper pot and ashtray as tools in his battlefield recreation, shifting them about as though he were hunkered down with the strategists at HQ … but Nat wasn’t really listening. He was spellbound again by Harry’s strange tonsorial arrangement, and how that black lick of hair managed to hold itself so stiffly upon his brow. Once or twice he sensed Berk’s disapproving eye, worried that he wasn’t giving Harry’s war story his undivided attention.

  Without warning the voice cut out. Nat was trapped again under the scalding fury of Harry’s glare. Once in an evening was bad enough; twice was surely terminal.

  ‘What are you looking at?’ asked Harry in a low voice, which then jumped to a parade-ground bark. ‘What? WHAT?’