Princess, ‘goes to museums and churches and whatever.’
Rad was too young to know what ‘egghead’ meant. ‘So what do you do, Your Highness?’
‘Well, Mr Fortescue, since you ask, I manage to get about on foot a little. It’s the sunshine, you know, it does me good. I go to dress shops and jewellery shops and spend money and sit outside cafés and watch the world go by. She’s happy enough to join me when there’s any drink going, I can tell you.’
Not deigning to rebut this, June went to the window and looked up and down Hexam Place. The only car parked in the street was Montserrat’s VW. ‘Your friend taking you out for a drive, is she?’
‘Not so far as I know.’ Rad sounded rather uncomfortable.
‘I thought you might be going over to Wimbledon Common. It’s a fine night. Maybe it’s more cosy at home.’
Rad said a hasty goodbye, wished them a nice holiday and made his way across the street to number 7 where he went down the area steps and for a moment disappeared from view. It looked to Miss Grieves on the basement stairs of number 8 as if he must have retreated into the cupboard which faced the basement door. That dark girl who was a friend of Thea’s soon appeared, flooding the area with light from the basement. In her day and for a good many days afterwards no girl would have met her boyfriend dressed in dirty jeans with their bottoms turned up, an old biker’s jacket and a man’s vest. Rad emerged from where he had been hiding and followed her in. They didn’t kiss. Weird, thought Miss Grieves. Not to say bloody mad.
Maybe he’d stay the night. There was no reason why he shouldn’t. The Stills seemed very easy-going with their staff. Miss Grieves went back to her evening drink, half English Breakfast tea and half whisky, and lit a cigarette. Back at the window an hour later she saw Beacon arriving in the Audi, turning, parking behind that girl’s car. She could see him quite clearly by the light from a street lamp slip on a headset and move his right thumb round the circle on an iPod. Even the colour of the iPod could be seen, an iridescent peach.
Now if he gets a call to go and get Preston Still from Victoria or Euston or somewhere, thought Miss Grieves, what’s the betting that as soon as the car moves off that girl will have Rad out of there before you can say ‘mystery’? But why? Maybe Lucy Still doesn’t mind her having a lover in her room but Preston does. A far cry it was, all of it, from the days when she had been maid-of-all-work to Lady Pimble in Elystan Place. She dragged a chair to the window so that she could keep on looking in comfort. Whatever Beacon was listening to it seemed to be keeping him in a state of rapture, his headback against the Audi’s headrest, his lips parted in a beatific half-smile. Gossip was that he only had hymns on his iPod, ‘Abide with Me’ and ‘Lead us, Heavenly Father, Lead us’, and all that stuff. Bloody insane. It could go on all night …
But suddenly the headset was pulled off, the iPod discarded and Beacon was talking on his mobile. Seconds later the Audi was moving off southwards. Victoria it must be, thought Miss Grieves. And sure enough, Montserrat must have been watching – wasn’t there any sex going on with those two? – for Beacon hadn’t been gone five minutes when the basement door opened and Rad emerged, shoved by the girl, her hand in the middle of his back. He ran up those stairs like all the devils in hell were after him and legged it up the street. Miss Grieves wondered what he’d do if she went out there and asked him what the hurry was. But she didn’t go. It took her a good ten minutes to climb those stairs.
T hea decided to have a second cigarette while she was out there. She was sitting on the third step from the top of the steps up to the front door of number 8. It was either that or stand shivering in the wet back garden. She picked another Marlboro from the pack and lit it, inhaling deeply. The
Rad was too young to know what ‘egghead’ meant. ‘So what do you do, Your Highness?’
‘Well, Mr Fortescue, since you ask, I manage to get about on foot a little. It’s the sunshine, you know, it does me good. I go to dress shops and jewellery shops and spend money and sit outside cafés and watch the world go by. She’s happy enough to join me when there’s any drink going, I can tell you.’
Not deigning to rebut this, June went to the window and looked up and down Hexam Place. The only car parked in the street was Montserrat’s VW. ‘Your friend taking you out for a drive, is she?’
‘Not so far as I know.’ Rad sounded rather uncomfortable.
‘I thought you might be going over to Wimbledon Common. It’s a fine night. Maybe it’s more cosy at home.’
Rad said a hasty goodbye, wished them a nice holiday and made his way across the street to number 7 where he went down the area steps and for a moment disappeared from view. It looked to Miss Grieves on the basement stairs of number 8 as if he must have retreated into the cupboard which faced the basement door. That dark girl who was a friend of Thea’s soon appeared, flooding the area with light from the basement. In her day and for a good many days afterwards no girl would have met her boyfriend dressed in dirty jeans with their bottoms turned up, an old biker’s jacket and a man’s vest. Rad emerged from where he had been hiding and followed her in. They didn’t kiss. Weird, thought Miss Grieves. Not to say bloody mad.
Maybe he’d stay the night. There was no reason why he shouldn’t. The Stills seemed very easy-going with their staff. Miss Grieves went back to her evening drink, half English Breakfast tea and half whisky, and lit a cigarette. Back at the window an hour later she saw Beacon arriving in the Audi, turning, parking behind that girl’s car. She could see him quite clearly by the light from a street lamp slip on a headset and move his right thumb round the circle on an iPod. Even the colour of the iPod could be seen, an iridescent peach.
Now if he gets a call to go and get Preston Still from Victoria or Euston or somewhere, thought Miss Grieves, what’s the betting that as soon as the car moves off that girl will have Rad out of there before you can say ‘mystery’? But why? Maybe Lucy Still doesn’t mind her having a lover in her room but Preston does. A far cry it was, all of it, from the days when she had been maid-of-all-work to Lady Pimble in Elystan Place. She dragged a chair to the window so that she could keep on looking in comfort. Whatever Beacon was listening to it seemed to be keeping him in a state of rapture, his headback against the Audi’s headrest, his lips parted in a beatific half-smile. Gossip was that he only had hymns on his iPod, ‘Abide with Me’ and ‘Lead us, Heavenly Father, Lead us’, and all that stuff. Bloody insane. It could go on all night …
But suddenly the headset was pulled off, the iPod discarded and Beacon was talking on his mobile. Seconds later the Audi was moving off southwards. Victoria it must be, thought Miss Grieves. And sure enough, Montserrat must have been watching – wasn’t there any sex going on with those two? – for Beacon hadn’t been gone five minutes when the basement door opened and Rad emerged, shoved by the girl, her hand in the middle of his back. He ran up those stairs like all the devils in hell were after him and legged it up the street. Miss Grieves wondered what he’d do if she went out there and asked him what the hurry was. But she didn’t go. It took her a good ten minutes to climb those stairs.
T hea decided to have a second cigarette while she was out there. She was sitting on the third step from the top of the steps up to the front door of number 8. It was either that or stand shivering in the wet back garden. She picked another Marlboro from the pack and lit it, inhaling deeply. The
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