âfor an announcementâ. Alison knew that it was silly of her to hate calling it the lounge, but she couldnât help it. The fact that they had a lounge, not a drawing room, was like a symbol of how far her life had fallen short of what it might have been.
She plonked herself into the Parker Knoll, because she knew that he liked it. She wasnât usually petty, but she was still simmering with resentment.
Bernie was the first to arrive, irritatingly on the dot as always.
âSheâs dropped off nicely,â he said. âThe International Monetary Fund did the trick.â A thought struck him. âOh. Did you want me to bring her through? I didnât think. Is she supposed to hear your famous announcement?â
Alison looked at Nick, forcing him to take the responsibility of answering.
âEr ⦠no,â he said. âYou can ⦠er ⦠relay the news to her tomorrow, Bernie. Let her sleep. After all â¦â
He stopped abruptly, to Alisonâs intense relief. She had feared that heâd been on the verge of saying something dreadful, like âAfter all, she wonât be around to see it, so it hardly matters.â
Em arrived soon afterwards, red eyes almost concealed. Alisonâs heart bled for her. Sheâd been very fond of Sam, and it would take months for her to realise that she was well out of it.
âAh. Em. Splendid,â said Nick, oblivious to her red eyes. âGo and drag Gray out, thereâs a good girl.â
âI wouldnât even if you hadnât used that ridiculous, patronising and utterly inaccurate description,â said Em. She had taken to using as many long words as possible, for fear that theyâd think that in becoming a journalist she was dumbing down. Theyâd wanted her to go to university; she might not be the brightest but she could have scraped in to one of the lesser ones if the Collinsonsâ boy could. She could have done âmedia studiesâ or âgolf course managementâ or âPRâ or âforestrytechnologyâ or something unacademic. But no, sheâd wanted to go straight into âthe mediaâ, which sounded rather an ambitious phrase when applied to the
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. âHe can drag himself from his self-imposed isolation.â
âIâll go,â said Alison.
âIâve asked Em to do it,â said Nick.
âAnd sheâs refused,â said Alison, âand family discipline is not what tonight is about.â
Nick knew that he had to give way. He was only too aware that he had no natural authority. It was quite a problem at the hotel. Even Ferenc had more natural authority than him. Ferenc could tell the chambermaids, quite quietly, to make less noise in the corridors when the customers were asleep (they werenât guests any more, they were customers, there had been an edict from Head Office) while Nick had to shout, so the customers were woken by a shrill cry of âCut that bloody racket out. There are people still asleep.â
âOK, thanks, Alison,â he said irritably.
Gray came down from his room very grumpily. He hated being interrupted. People told them that heâd grow out of it.
They all sat down. Nick looked across towards Alison, begging her to help by starting the ball rolling, but she wasnât having any of that. This was his show. She would offer no help.
He stood up.
âEr â¦â he began, âerm ⦠do you all know what a transsexual is?â
Gray and Em looked stunned. Bernie seemed utterly oblivious to the significance of the question. Alison wondered if his mind was beginning to go, or if it was just worry about Marge.
âFeller what dresses in frocks and knickers,â he said. âWe had one in our bowls team. Friday afternoons, as good as anyone in the South Yorkshire League. Saturday evenings, minces off to this club in Wakefield. Vince Brodley.â
âNo, Bernie,
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