Playing the Game

Malcolm was one of Marius’s favourites and he had received special treatment from the very beginning. The Marius Mafia had told him about Annette.

Seemingly she had come to London from some Northern city, he wasn’t sure which, to study art. But there was not enough talent to lift her up into the stratosphere of genius that equalled eventual fame. Good looking. But the looks were obscured by her hesitant manner, according to some of the Marius Mafia; it was a sort of diffidence, they said. Blonde, blue eyed, slender as a reed, and exceedingly bright. But ordinary. That was the way they had described her to him. He himself had not known her then.

Not so ordinary now, though, Malcolm thought, his eyes settling on her. It was an elegant creature who stood there. Not the most beautiful woman in the world, but good looking, well put-together, whatever the occasion, and the current golden girl in the art world. Her auction of the Rembrandt had assured her a place in the front row, had given her art consultancy business a big boost …

‘What are you doing here all alone, Malcolm?’ a familiar voice exclaimed.

Swinging around, Malcolm grinned. ‘Watching the show and having a bit of the old bubbly. How about you, David? And where’s Meg?’

His old friend David Oldfield shook his head. ‘Still in New York. On business. I’m solo tonight.’ Reaching into his pocket, David pulled out a small envelope, looked inside, and said, ‘I’m at table ten. What about you?’

‘The same. I have a feeling it’s Marius’s table. Come on, let’s try and get to the bar. I’d like a vodka.’

‘Good idea,’ David responded, and together they struggled through the throng. Once they had secured their Grey Goose on the rocks, they went off into a quiet corner. Clinking glasses, they both said cheers in unison, and David asked, ‘Is it true that Christopher Delaware inherited a lot of really great art from that uncle of his? And that Annette’s going to be representing him?’

Malcolm said in an even tone, ‘I haven’t heard about any great art. But I know he’s Annette’s client. Oh, look, there’s Johnny Davenport. He’s bound to know. Let’s go and talk to him.’

‘Malcolm! Malcolm!’ He heard a woman’s voice calling his name. Trying to be heard above the clamour. Swinging his head, he spotted her at once. An old friend. It was Margaret Mellor, the editor of the best art magazine in Europe called, very simply, ART. She was waving to him.

Catching hold of David’s arm, he said, ‘Will you excuse me for a moment? Margaret Mellor’s beckoning to me. Go ahead, chat to Johnny. I’ll join you both shortly.’

‘No problem.’ David pushed ahead, moving adroitly between people, edging his way forward.

Malcolm went in the opposite direction towards his friend. When he finally reached her, he grinned. ‘I almost didn’t hear you above the din.’

‘It’s bedlam. I was just with Annette, she wants us to go and see the ballroom before it fills up with guests. She says it’s charming.’

‘Then let’s go now, before we get trapped in this corner. The place is suddenly milling with old friends and colleagues. Plus loads of photographers, I notice.’ He frowned.

‘Don’t tell me. The press are swarming all over the place!’

Malcolm sighed. ‘That’s Marius, he never does things by half and he does love the media. As far as he’s concerned, the more the merrier.’

‘He’s a glutton for punishment.’ She sounded sarcastic.

Malcolm laughed. That was Margaret. Spot on with her comments. He put an arm around her shoulders, guided her through the crush. Behind them, flashbulbs were already popping; it seemed to him that the crowd was swelling, getting bigger by the second. How many people had they invited? The whole world, he decided, and hoped the huge crowd wouldn’t ultimately spoil the event. Why do I worry? She knows what she’s doing, even if he doesn’t, sometimes. Marius. Such an enigma.

Finally, Malcolm was pushing open the door into the ballroom. Instantly, a waiter confronted them. ‘I’m very sorry, but you can’t come in. Mrs Remmington doesn’t want anyone in here for another half-hour. She was very precise.’ Polite but determined.

‘Yes, we know. Mrs Remmington sent us to see the ballroom before it fills up. I’m Margaret Mellor of ART magazine, and this is Mr Stevens, a colleague and friend of Mrs Remmington’s.’

The waiter inclined his head but didn’t budge, blocking their way. Still determined – to do his duty and keep them out.

‘My chief photographer Josh Brady was here earlier,’ Margaret added. ‘Taking pictures for the magazine. You must be Frank Lancel. Mrs Remmington told me to speak to you.’ Charm, a warm smile. Her tools.

‘Yes, I’m Frank,’ the waiter answered, relaxing, but only slightly. ‘And I did help Mr Brady a while ago, when he was taking his shots. So please, come in, look around. I have to stay here at the door. Stand guard. Mrs Remmington’s instructions.’ He sounded droll.

‘She explained that,’ Margaret answered. Taking hold of Malcolm’s hand, she led him forward. The two of them finally stood at the edge of the ballroom floor near the orchestra stand, their eyes sweeping around the room with interest and anticipation.

They were both taken aback by the unique beauty of the magical scene that Annette had designed. The room was a sea of pale green – that peculiar pale green with a hint of grey, so often found in the interiors of French châteaux, which seems to create a misty look. This pale green silk rippled down the walls from the ceiling to the floor, and was repeated for the tablecloths, napkins and chair seats.

But what was so unusual and wonderful about the setting were the green dendrobium orchids with pink centres. These were massed in banks in front of mirrored, folding screens, and also stood on mirrored consoles, Venetian style, placed against the green walls. There were literally hundreds of orchid plants in pale celadon green pots, and those banked in front of the mirrored screens instantly appeared to be twice the quantity because of their reflections. Centrepieces on the tables were crystal bowls filled with stems of green orchids, surrounded by lots of votive lights. Tall crystal candlesticks holding tall white tapers were on either side of the bowls of orchids. Everything glistened and sparkled in the candlelight: the crystal wine goblets and silverware, the silver service plates.

The two of them stood there for a few minutes longer, endeavouring to take everything in. Then Margaret said slowly, ‘It’s almost ethereal, dreamlike. What an effect Annette has created … it’s a garden … a garden of orchids. How clever.’

Malcolm turned to her, exclaimed, ‘Yes, it is. And you can be sure of one thing. It’s going to knock everybody’s socks off.’

TWO

Marius was happy. Annette could tell from the expression on his face. He was beaming, relaxed, leaning back in his chair at the head of the table positioned directly opposite hers. They faced each other, were in each other’s line of vision, could communicate, at least visually, whenever they wanted.

The party was a success. She knew that even though it was only halfway through. There had been a feeling of excitement right from the beginning of the evening. During the cocktail period, a trio played low music in the background, champagne and wine flowed, there was an open bar for other drinks, and an array of delicious canapés was passed around, nonstop, by the busy waiters.

Now, in the ballroom, she was feeling an enormous surge of energy and vitality amongst the guests. They were getting up to dance to the popular music, and she glanced around, noted the hilarity, heard the laughter and the high-voltage babble of conversation. It seemed to her that they were all enjoying themselves, having a great time.

Marius caught her eye and got up, walked over to her table. A moment later he was escorting her out on to the dance floor.

Taking her in his arms, he looked down at her and smiled, his black eyes warm, loving. ‘You’ve pulled it off again,’ he murmured. ‘It’s a fabulous party, everyone’s enjoying it immensely. Are you?’

They began to move around the edge of the dance floor. She cocked her head, looked up at him, an amused smile in her eyes. ‘You’ve always told me that a hostess who enjoys her own party isn’t being a good hostess.’

Marius burst out laughing. ‘Touché, Mrs Remmington. But in that instance, I was actually referring to parties given at one’s home. Not in a public place. So are you?’

‘As a matter of fact, I am. I was a bit uptight at first, when we came into the ballroom, but then I noticed that everyone quickly found their seats, looked happy where they were sitting; also they’d enjoyed themselves during cocktails so they were in the right frame of mind.’

‘Very true. Well oiled. I didn’t see one glum face. But I must admit I did see a lot of astonished faces when they began to realize they were in the middle of an orchid garden.’ He squeezed her hand. ‘The setting is a triumph, darling, you were inspired.’

‘I’m glad you like it,’ was all she said, and drew closer to him, following him as he moved smoothly away from the edge, across the floor to the middle of the room. He was a good dancer, easy to follow, and she found herself relaxing even more, enjoying dancing with him. Eventually she became aware all eyes were on them and she smiled inwardly. She was proud of Marius, proud to be married to him, and also, deep down inside, proud of herself, proud of her hugely successful auction. The Rembrandt had changed her life. And she was glad of that.

She didn’t stop dancing for the next half-hour. When she was back at her table, Malcolm came and claimed her, then David Oldfield, followed by Johnny Davenport, all pals of long standing who had worked for Marius, were part of the Marius Mafia. And then, unexpectedly, Christopher Delaware was tapping Johnny on the shoulder, cutting in. This surprised her. Christopher was rather shy, reticent, and certainly not given to bold moves.

They glided around the floor in silence for a moment or two, and then he said, ‘The room looks stunning, it reminds me of A Midsummer Night’s Dream, or rather, I should say, a scene from the play. It’s all this greyish green, I suppose, the misty feeling it creates, and the orchids … a forest of orchids … it’s magical, you created something truly unique. Oh, and what about the tall mirrored screens? Brilliant. How did you think of those?’

‘The Hall of Mirrors at Versailles sprang to mind, and thank you for your compliments. But tell me, if this is the play, where are Oberon and Titania, king and queen of the fairies? And Puck and Bottom? If this really were A Midsummer Night’s Dream, they would definitely be here, you know.’

He laughed. ‘They’re around somewhere, although I haven’t actually seen them yet. However, Lysander, Hermia and Demetrius are here and—’ Abruptly he stopped, cut himself off.

Annette stared at him, frowning, and then looked over his shoulder into the distance, wondering what he meant, although she believed she had a good idea.

Changing the subject swiftly, with a certain adroitness, Christopher said, ‘You are coming to Kent on Saturday, aren’t you? To make the final selections for the next auction?’

‘Of course I am, I would have told you otherwise. I think we’ll have the auction in New York, by the way. I’m certain a number of important collectors will be interested in some of the Impressionists – several museums as well. Possibly the Metropolitan.’

‘I’ve never been to New York!’ he exclaimed. He was suddenly excited. ‘I hope you’ll show me around when we’re there. When are you planning to do this? Have the auction, I mean? When would we go?’

‘That depends on you to a certain extent, Christopher. I think we must analyse everything on Saturday. First, you have to tell me which paintings you would be willing to put up for auction, then we have to study their condition, to ascertain whether they need cleaning or not, restoring, and new frames, that sort of thing, and I have to really focus on what’s happening in New York … other art auctions, gallery shows coming up, that kind of thing. I want this to be big. Bigger than the Rembrandt auction, actually.’

‘Oh, my God, that sounds fantastic.’ A pause. Then, ‘Will Marius be coming with us to New York?’

She stared at him again. Intently. She said, noncommittally, ‘I don’t know. He has his own art business, as you’re well aware, and I have mine. We’re quite separate entities. However, he might be there because of his own work.’ She shrugged. ‘I can’t say whether he’ll be in New York or not. Why?’

‘I just wondered,’ Christopher muttered, and held her a little more tightly, brought her closer, although she wasn’t too surprised by this. Vaguely, she had sensed he had a crush on her for some time now. She wasn’t troubled by it because she rarely saw him, and could handle it anyway. He was young, only twenty-three. But to bring up the love triangle between Lysander, Hermia and Demetrius, characters in a Shakespearean comedy, was somewhat pointed. Still, it amused her. ‘We’ll just play that by ear. If Marius does happen to be there, he’ll be helpful.’

‘Yes, yes, I understand,’ he said quickly, having picked up on something, she wasn’t exactly sure what. Her tone, perhaps?

Now it was her turn to change the subject. ‘What time do you want me to get there on Saturday?’

‘That’s up to you, Annette. Ten? Eleven? Whatever time you want to arrive is all right by me. I was hoping you would be able to stay to lunch.’ A blond brow lifted.

She smiled at him. ‘Lunch would be lovely, especially since I’m planning to be there all day. We’ve a lot of work to do.’

His face instantly brightened. He gazed at her. ‘Oh good, very good, and I’ll try and be as helpful as possible with the collection, decisive.’

She merely smiled at him again, made no further comment.

Annette had just returned to her seat at the table when Marius caught her eye. He glanced in the direction of the podium and nodded.

She understood what he meant immediately. He was going to go up there within a few minutes, say nice things about her and congratulate her. Once he was finished, she would thank him and invite Malcolm to join them, to come up and make the birthday toast.

After this, the birthday cake would be wheeled in, the orchestra would play ‘Happy Birthday', and Marius would cut the cake. The plan had been made yesterday and it was all very straightforward.

But she was taken aback when Marius rose almost immediately and headed in the direction of the band. A moment later, Malcolm was at her side, along with David Oldfield, and the three of them followed Marius, stood with him to one side of the band.

When the last song finished, there was a loud drum roll and everyone left the dance floor, went back to their tables. Another drum roll echoed as David walked over to the podium and picked up the mike. ‘Good evening, everyone, and welcome. Now, please don’t get worried. This is not going to be an hour of speeches. No, not at all. Neither Annette nor Marius wanted that. However, there will be a few words from Marius before he cuts his birthday cake.’

There was a round of applause when Marius stepped forward. He went to join David at the podium, who handed him the mike.

‘I want to thank you all for coming,’ Marius began. ‘I’m thrilled and flattered to see you all here tonight at my sixtieth … so many good friends and colleagues. But this is not simply a birthday party for me, but a celebration of Annette as well. The other day I decided it must be a double-headed event; I felt my wife should share it with me. Because I believe she deserves to be honoured … for conducting one of the greatest art auctions ever held. Her sale of the lost Rembrandt was extraordinary, and she is extraordinary. In every way … a wonderfully talented painter, an art consultant of enormous expertise, a dealer par excellence, and for a number of years my right hand when I still owned the Remmington Gallery. Altogether a unique woman.’

Marius paused, looked across at Annette, and said, ‘Come and join me, darling.’

She did so. Putting an arm around her, he said, ‘Congratulations, Annette, you really pulled off a big one, and have now entered the big league of art dealers.’ He laughed. ‘I suppose I could say you’re now one of my competitors. But why not? I love it, and I love you.’

A waiter brought glasses of champagne. ‘Here’s to you, Mrs Remmington,’ Marius toasted.

There was a burst of applause and Annette kissed him on his cheek, and then just stood there holding her glass, smiling, enjoying for a moment being in the limelight. And then unexpectedly she felt that small knot inside her stomach, and the lead pellet of anxiety lodged there once again. She managed to keep the smile on her face as she thanked the guests, thanked Marius once more for his lovely words, and then she introduced Malcolm Stevens.

Taking hold of Marius’s hand, she led him to one side so that Malcolm could take over. He was witty, clever, insightful, serious and cheeky by turn. He had everyone laughing within seconds as he drew a verbal portrait of a man he obviously admired and cared about, and whom he truly understood, and who would not be troubled by his irreverence.

The audience loved Malcolm and his words, and there was much laughter and applause, at times a few whistles, hoots and catcalls. Hilarity prevailed, as Malcolm had intended.

Marius loved Malcolm’s speech as much as everyone else, and he came over with Annette to stand with him when a waiter rolled in a table. Standing in the middle was a giant-sized birthday cake, and sixty candle flames fluttered on top of it as the waiter pushed the table across the ballroom.

Stepping forward, Marius picked up the cake knife, stared out at their guests, his face creased with laughter. He blew out all the candles and plunged the knife into the cake.

At this moment the orchestra began to play; every one of the occupants of the ballroom began to sing ‘Happy Birthday'. And all raised their glasses to him.

Annette joined in, but she suddenly felt her throat constricting. Thoughts of that phone call about Hilda Crump intruded. What was that about? That name from her youth was linked to trouble in Annette’s mind, and she shivered as her past loomed large. You never escaped your past, did you? Inevitably, it came back to haunt you. The past was immutable.

THREE

Annette went to see her sister on Friday morning. She usually spent part of Saturday with her, but this week she was going to Kent to make decisions about Christopher Delaware’s paintings and the auction of them.

Laurie was waiting for her, full of smiles and eagerness, happy to see her. As she usually was. There wasn’t a day when Laurie hadn’t welcomed her with a loving, wide-open heart and open arms, her pleasure at being with her reflected on her face. Laurie. The real beauty in the family with her green eyes and golden-red hair. Laurie, who had wanted to be an actress when she was a child and had been cheated of the chance.

The two of them sat together in front of the fire, in Laurie’s den in her flat in Chesham Place, just around the corner from their home in Eaton Square. It pleased Laurie that she and Marius lived nearby because it gave her a sense of security; Annette felt the same. If ever Laurie needed her urgently or in any kind of emergency, she could be there within minutes on foot.

Almost immediately she told her sister about the phone call from Malcolm Stevens earlier that week, and how he had brought up the name of Hilda Crump.

Laurie listened, her face calm, the expression in her intelligent eyes changing ever so slightly by the time Annette finished.

There was a small silence, and Annette realized Laurie was running everything through her mind in that analytical way she had. Finally Laurie said softly, ‘I hope you’re not worrying about this.’

‘I have been. Well, a little bit. It was such a jolt, hearing that name out of the blue, and I couldn’t help wondering who could possibly be looking for Hilda Crump.’

‘Yes. Who? Yes, indeed who? And also why? But listen, it doesn’t really matter. Hilda went away years ago, she’ll never be found, not unless you break the promise you made. You’re not going to do that, are you?’

‘No, I’m not. Obviously.’

‘We’ll never know who’s looking for her anyway, not unless the private detective informs Malcolm, and he then tells us. But whoever it is doesn’t matter. Hilda’s not available and we can’t give anybody any information.’

‘But we were so involved with her, we were privy to so much.’

‘Only you and I know that, and it happened long ago. Over twenty years, Annette. Believe me, it doesn’t matter.’

Annette leaned back in the chair, staring at her younger sister. ‘If that’s the case, all right.’

‘There’s no question in my mind. Just please stop worrying, because if you don’t I’ll start worrying about you.’ Laurie laughed. ‘Now, please tell me more about the party. On the phone you’ve been awfully sketchy. I’m longing to hear everything.’ Her eagerness was reflected in her eyes.

Annette said, ‘I wish you’d been there, enjoyed it with us, Laurie. I can’t understand why you were so adamant about not coming, and neither can Marius. He wanted you to be with us as much as I did.’

‘In this? In this wheelchair? Don’t be silly, I’d have been a useless encumbrance. An inconvenience.’

‘Don’t say that! You’re none of those things. We really did hope you’d change your mind, that you would join us, and you know I never lie to you.’

‘I’m sorry, don’t get upset. And I do know how sincere you were about my coming. But I see things differently to you at times, Annette. I didn’t want to be a burden. And look, I didn’t want you to have questions to answer later. About me. People asking you why I was in a wheelchair, et cetera, et cetera. All that nonsense. I’ve told you before, you don’t need a cripple hanging on to your apron strings—’

‘Don’t say that, you know how I hate you to say that!’ Annette exclaimed, her voice rising.

‘But I am a cripple, no two ways about it. I was in a bad car crash and now I’m a paraplegic.’

‘You’ve lost the use of your legs, yes, but you survived. The others died, and you’re still a beautiful woman. Intelligent, charming, and clever, and you are not an embarrassment to me. Nor to Marius. Besides, you’ve been with us on many occasions with friends and—’

‘Very close friends,’ Laurie interjected.

Annette continued, ‘And there’s never been any problem.’

‘That’s quite true. The birthday party was different, though, you’d invited two hundred people, and they’d all accepted. I knew it would be a heavy-duty evening for you.’

‘I would have put you at my table, or with Marius, and you know so many of our close friends, like Malcolm and David, Johnny Davenport. You’d have been perfectly fine.’

Laurie smiled. ‘I know. Don’t go on about it. Please. Look, I preferred not to come.’ Laurie made a face. ‘It would have been quite an effort for me, actually.’

‘Are you all right? You’re not feeling ill, are you?’

‘No, I’m not ill. Listen, it would have been a bit tough for me, that’s all, the crowds, lots of people I don’t know.’ She gave her sister another loving smile, her eyes reassuring. Laurie had not gone because she had not wanted to be a reminder of the bad days, not on this particularly special night in Annette’s life. But then a name from the past had done that. Unfortunately. Taking a deep breath, Laurie said, ‘Please tell me about the party. And don’t you dare miss out one detail.’

There were not many people about as Annette walked next to Laurie in the motorized wheelchair, crossing Eaton Square, making for their flat on the far corner. But then it was cold, breezy, a typical early March day, with a hint of rain in the air. People stayed home on days like this.