By Flower and Dean Street Page 2

  The head waiter padded over and gave his panda’s smile. Behind his back his hand made signals, and a tray of sweets was brought to the table. ‘On the house, sir. And would you like me to keep this table for Wednesday, sir? Or would you rather have the corner?’

  ‘I’m not certain it will be Wednesday. It depends when my clients arrive.’

  ‘I’ll keep the table for an hour, sir?’

  Daniel said decisively: ‘Yes, keep it. My secretary will cancel if necessary. Friday week I’d like a table for six.’

  ‘Very good, Mr Stein. Very good, sir.’

  ‘I’m handling the Bryant case. The old man’s flying over from the States. We’re in court ten days,’ he told Mark.

  ‘How will it go?’ asked Mark.

  ‘Oh, we’ll win,’ he said lightly.

  ‘You must hate it when Daniel’s out in the evenings,’ said Jane.

  ‘Usually he’s only out when he’s doing the free advice evenings, but now because of the flat project and —’

  ‘You must hate it.’

  ‘I don’t mind being on my own. I quite like it.’

  ‘If your husband’s a Labour councillor, you can forget your cosy evenings round the fire talking about squash,’ said Daniel. ‘A Conservative councillor — well that’s another thing.’ He winked at Mark.

  ‘Get an au pair,’ said Jane.

  ‘Don’t want one,’ said Connie.

  ‘You’d be much freer,’ said Jane ferociously.

  ‘Where you read rights for the Left, I read houses for the middle-class at lower cost. Why should —’

  Jane snorted, and the sound terrified a man at the next table. ‘Enough of this,’ she said, getting up. ‘You can discuss all this any time. Come on.’ She took Connie’s arm. ‘We’ve got a special birthday surprise.’

  3

  Jane’s surprise was a crowded nightclub in the West End, and they sat near the floorshow watching six girls, dressed as tigers, slither through a jungle number. Their breasts were bare, their eyes bored. Any interest they might have unearthed in Mark was quelled immediately by the music, which was so loud he had to cover his ears. Jane alone managed to shout above it. ‘This isn’t the surprise.’ The music got louder, the girls spun faster, the lights cut out — Mark looked as though he’d have to be carried out. During the polite applause a spotlight picked out the Master of Ceremonies as he swished on to the floor.

  ‘And now what we’ve all been waiting for. He’s taken them by storm in Paris, thrilled them in Berlin, and now, on his first-ever visit to London, we have the exclusive pleasure of bringing to you, the Magician from Hungary, the Greatest Magician in the World, Danchenko!’

  Jane cried: ‘He’s supposed to be terrific.’

  The lights changed colour several times as he came on in a cloud of white doves, produced a doubtful rabbit from a black hat and juggled a hoop, a ball and a skittle successfully. A pink chiffon scarf gave birth to multicoloured chiffon scarves.

  ‘It’s not feasible to have the bloody thing spread all over London,’ said Daniel. ‘What d’you want? A fleet of taxis to take patients from haematology to X-ray?’

  ‘I just said it spoils the view,’ murmured Mark.

  Drums rolled, doves disappeared, the magician climbed on to a small dais, and Mark fell asleep.

  ‘He used to be a councillor before he became articulate —’

  ‘Wake up, Mark!’ Jane hissed. She passed him his drink.

  ‘I’m not asleep, for Godsake.’

  The magician was thin, dramatic; and he could have been any age. The MC stretched up and blindfolded him with three thick scarves.

  ‘... No. I’ve never actually heard Lewis talk,’ said Daniel. ‘He grunts. When he belches they mistake it for a protest and call point of order. Jenkins is the only tricky one. But I’ll push it through.’

  ‘Not once, not twice, but three times for Danchenko! Now I will touch any object you choose and Danchenko will identify it.’ The MC moved swiftly among the tables with his black tails whipping from side to side — he looked like a snake. ‘What am I touching now, Maestro?’

  ‘Now you have a handkerchief. It is a woman’s handkerchief. Not new. Into it has flowed many tears, but the handkerchief will now stay dry. The cause of the tears is over.’

  ‘You’ll have a free hand, Mark.’

  ‘I’ve got a lot on.’

  ‘You’ll do it,’ said Jane happily. ‘You’ll fit it in. I want to get out of Europe this summer.’

  ‘What am I touching?’

  ‘A glass.’

  ‘And now?’

  ‘Another glass.’

  Laughter. ‘You can’t fool Danchenko,’ said the MC.

  ‘Come out to the lavatory, Mark, and I’ll give you a dozen reasons why you should.’

  Jane, waving her watch, jumped up and down, among the crowd all vying for attention. The MC, dismayed by her flapping hair and digging fingers, had no choice, and the watch was forced into his hand. He just stopped her holding up his arm by doing it himself.

  ‘Now, Danchenko.’

  ‘A wristwatch with a thin strap. I feel it is too tight.’

  Jane’s mouth hung open.

  ‘The wearer of this watch has a strong wrist. The pulse is often very fast but strong. The person does much running. The arm sometimes waves strenuously, but not goodbye to a lover she no longer has use for, nor again to warn a lover she likes that her husband is home.’ Laughter. ‘She is playing tennis.’ Loud applause and the MC escaped over to the other side of the room.

  ‘I can’t Wednesday,’ said Daniel. ‘The Lord Mayor’s having a thing at the Goldsmith’s Hall. Have a stab at the drawings and —’

  ‘Did you hear that?’ asked Jane.

  ‘Terrific,’ said Daniel.

  ‘And what am I holding here, Maestro?’

  ‘You are touching a bald head.’

  Laughter.

  ‘It’s all done by code,’ Daniel told Jane. ‘Or he can see.’

  ‘Well, he couldn’t see my strap was too tight. Still, it’s not the only thing tight around here. Wake up, Mark. Pull yourself together.’

  ‘A glass,’ said Danchenko.

  ‘What’s in the glass?’ shouted a man in the audience.

  ‘Give him something of yours, Daniel. Give him —’ Jane looked at his coat, then at Connie. ‘Give him her brooch. Go on, Dan.’

  He stiffened. He’d made rather a point of always being called Daniel.

  ‘Amber liquid. It won’t be there long.’ Men around the table cheered. The magician leaned forward. Suddenly his blindfold eyes seemed to peer into the audience. In a low menacing voice, he said: ‘The glass forever emptying, forever refilling. A sorrow is being swilled away. A hardening liver can be more sorrowful, my friend. Take an old magic man’s advice.’ During the shocked silence, Daniel was heard to say, ‘Isn’t there a bar or something? Let’s go and discuss it properly. The girls are all right. They’re having fun.’

  ‘Too near the mark, Maestro,’ someone bellowed.

  The magician chuckled.

  ‘His laugh isn’t the funniest thing in the world,’ said Jane. She looked at Daniel — at his mouth, firm and decisive, at his yellow eyes, penetrating, steady — and she looked so hard she nearly missed the next bit and Connie nudged her. The MC was holding his hand up in the air.

  ‘And now?’

  ‘Do not think you are touching nothing, my friend. The air is not empty but full of vibrations.’

  Daniel held out Connie’s brooch, but the MC, attracted to a nail-file at the next table, turned his back and was about to reach for it, when Jane, grabbing the brooch, swung it like lightning in front of the almost victorious nail-file and dumped it unceremoniously on to the MC’s outstretched hand. She’d won too many relay races to let her side be ignored, and the MC, startled by her, was obliged to hold it up and say: ‘And now?’

  The magician shuddered. Perhaps it was his black, flowing clothes that made the action so
terrifying. Conversation died, forgotten. Jane still tipped the champagne bottle against her glass. All around were objects, held out, held up, dangling, foolish. Only the cigarette smoke carried on drifting up, unafraid.

  ‘A heart,’ and he smiled — a long cavernous smile that made his face look like a Halloween lantern. Then the audience started to move, to mutter. A man at the next table leaned across to Jane. The MC, disconcerted, tried to hand the brooch back. The noise grew, and through it the magician said quietly: ‘A heart. It will not be gashed or cut or crushed but taken whole and still beating from the body.’

  Stunned, Connie turned to Daniel. He was talking to Mark. No longer believing what she’d heard, she said, ‘Did you hear that?’

  ‘What?’ asked Mark.

  She grabbed Jane. ‘Did you hear it?’ Then she saw a woman at the next table looking at her. She’d heard it. She was appalled.

  ‘He said something about a heart,’ said Jane.

  ‘ “It will not be cut or ... ”. He said that,’ said Connie. Jane looked at her, startled.

  ‘I didn’t hear that. Come on, Maestro. It’s her birthday,’ she shouted.

  The magician had taken his blindfold off and the MC was gliding on to the floor. The drums rolled, people clapped; but the atmosphere in the club was not as festive as it had been.

  The magician walked slowly forward and pointed a long finger at a man at the back. ‘Bring me that glass, my friend.’

  Amid a few calls and whistles (‘Watch it or he’ll turn you into a rabbit’), the man went self-consciously up to Danchenko and gave him the glass.

  Danchenko said softly: ‘What the magician touches brings luck. And now a small thing.’ He peered into the audience, and here and there an object was held out to him. ‘An ear-ring? No, not an ear-ring.’ He bent towards a middle-aged fat woman and chuckled. ‘Beware your ear hears too much gossip. A cackling woman and a crowing hen bring no luck to cock or hen.’

  ‘He’s got that wrong,’ murmured Jane. She was staring at Daniel again. ‘Hasn’t he?’ She squirmed long and luxuriously. It seemed to relieve something. He looked away.

  The magician’s black-rimmed eyes swung over the room, searching. They flicked on to Connie, and flicked away; but it was she he chose. The long finger pointed unquestionably at her. ‘And now bring me the heart.’

  ‘Go on,’ said Jane, excited.

  ‘How did he know who it belonged to?’ asked Daniel.

  ‘He must have seen Jane give it back,’ said Mark.

  Connie got up and walked on to the centre of the floor, her soft dark hair blue in the strange light. The magician held the heart for a moment, and then said, ‘A clean cut of the knife. Beware the reformer.’

  Connie stared at him. Then she turned and went back to her place. She was still moving gracefully.

  The magician did a complicated trick, during which he turned red, and then green. There was smoke, the doves flew round, the glass and the heart disappeared, and Connie thought, ‘How did he know the brooch was mine?’

  As though encouraged by the half light, Jane’s leg shifted so close to Daniel it must almost have been touching him.

  Daniel was looking at Mark. ‘Will you do it?’

  *

  It was after four as they walked along a deserted road to the car. Daniel, though short-legged and pudgy, moved with surprising agility and had more speed even than Jane.

  ‘The baby-sitter had better stay the night — what’s left of it,’ said Connie. ‘It was fun, but I didn’t like his laugh.’

  ‘He’s a fake,’ said Daniel.

  ‘He is not, Dan!’ Jane pranced up and down like a horse.

  Seeing her husband’s expression, Connie said, ‘Daniel doesn’t believe in the supernatural.’

  ‘When will you get the drawings in?’ Daniel asked Mark.

  ‘End of the week,’ said Jane. ‘He got my watch strap being tight.’

  ‘Law of averages,’ said Daniel. ‘He certainly isn’t Hungarian.’

  ‘What are you muttering about?’ Jane asked Mark. ‘Yes, you’ll have time. I’ll let you off the hour with the kid each night and you’ll have a clear run. Poor old Connie. Beating hearts and beware informers.’

  ‘Reformers,’ said Mark.

  ‘Hardly a birthday greeting,’ she said. ‘Anyway, how do you know? You were asleep most of the time. At least Dan doesn’t fall asleep.’ Her voice was slurred.

  ‘Yes, what was all that about?’ asked Mark. ‘I thought I heard him say something about cutting things out from a body.’

  ‘I didn’t hear that,’ said Daniel. ‘I’m sure he didn’t say that.’

  ‘He did,’ said Connie. ‘Everyone was making such a noise. I wonder what it means.’

  ‘Nothing to worry about,’ said Jane. ‘Probably an abortion.’

  Connie shuddered.

  ‘And what about your departing and approaching lovers?’ said Daniel.

  ‘Huh!’ Jane flushed. She had, unknown to the men, but known to Connie, just trifled with a lean young tennis player. ‘I wonder where we’ll go on Connie’s next birthday.’

  Connie was aware of the street without looking at it. It was narrow, ordinary, its buildings vague, except for a lighted shop-front here and there, and at the end Regent’s Street brimming with light. Suddenly it all changed. The lights didn’t look right. The corner of the street moved, and the tailor’s shop was something else. She stopped, and blinked; but when she opened her eyes the street was all right again.

  ‘Forgotten something?’ Daniel asked.

  ‘Too much to drink.’

  4

  Connie’s kitchen was large, and its long harsh lights made the red-and-black tiled floor jump and dazzle, with all the impact of a migraine attack. The rugs were away at the cleaners. When they were there the kitchen was cosy. Old, useless things on their various journeys from other parts of the house to the dustcart had congregated there and stayed. There was a dilapidated rocking-chair that squealed if touched, an ancient mangle with nonsensical legs, an enormous radiogram, its insides long since gone; and these things, like aged and stubborn relatives, had their place and refused to move or be humiliated by the rest of the kitchen, which gleamed and was impeccably the latest thing.

  Connie, dressed in long striped socks, slippers and a short skirt, was sweeping the floor. Her green-and-white striped sweater emphasised her body and the hazel-green of her eyes. She bent to pick up a crust and saw, beneath the table, other things that had a way of gathering there — the forbidden toys.

  ‘Daniel!’ she shouted. ‘Tell the horrors to come down and take their stuff up to the playroom. I keep telling them.’ She waited optimistically for a reply, and then, when there wasn’t one, went to the door and shouted, ‘Right! I’m throwing them out.’

  ‘Coming, Mum,’ called the child least likely to come.

  Daniel wasn’t fooled and shouted from his study, ‘Adam! Do what your mother tells you.’

  Connie shoved her mending-basket and the heap of clothes to be ironed further along the wooden table and wiped the new space with kitchen paper. She fetched a plate piled with raw meat from the fridge; and as she did so Daniel came in and put down his coffee cup, a screwdriver, a door-handle, and the space was gone. ‘I’ll propose Mark for the new scheme if I can get it through.’ The heap of ironing overflowed on to the floor. ‘We’re voting tonight.’

  Connie kicked the fridge-door shut and hurried across with the heavy plate. ‘Move all that,’ she said, eyeing the screwdriver.

  ‘I want to talk to him. He’d be good, you know. But I must do it somewhere where she can’t possibly be, or he’ll never get a word in.’

  ‘Male sauna,’ and she pushed the plate to the end of the table and got a chopping board from the drawer.

  The overhead light started whirring, and like an answering mating call the pipes started rattling. At the other side of the kitchen the fridge did its bobbing-and-shaking dance.

  ‘Pub,’ he said. �
��Tomorrow lunchtime.’

  ‘But he doesn’t want to do it.’

  ‘We’ll go round the corner to the Crown. Lamb’s Conduit Street’s too crowded.’

  Connie found a recipe book and put on her big shiny apron. The fridge slowed down, and there was sudden silence.

  Daniel pressed himself against her back and stroked her breast. ‘He gets quite soppy about the changing face of London. I don’t know it he’s got illusions or just rather commonplace scruples.’

  ‘He’s sensitive.’

  ‘He’ll grow out of it.’ He left her breast alone and ate a hunk of cheese. ‘She’s not always as bad as the other night. She seems to get louder when she’s with you, for some reason. He’s quite worn out by her. No wonder people think he’s dull.’

  ‘She’s a good friend, Daniel. Her heart’s in the right place.’

  She went over to the other side of the kitchen, over to the long sink unit with its jangling jungle of metal implements, tricks and time-savers, and picked out her sharpest knife.

  Daniel checked his watch with the electric clock. ‘Yes, I’ll get him to the pub.’

  ‘I wish you’d get them to take their stuff upstairs. I wait on them hand and foot.’

  ‘I’ve told you. You’ve devalued a mother’s best weapon. No television.’

  ‘Threats are no good. I —’

  ‘Of course they’re no good,’ he shouted. ‘You never carry them out. Just take the plug out.’ He ate a tomato and looked at the collection Connie had put by the door. ‘The sight of Dolly Deirdre in the dustbin now ...’

  In the twitching strip-lighting, Connie’s face was flawless, serene. Its only signs of age were small lines at the corners of her eyes — upward, optimistic lines. Her eyes, beautiful in shape and colour, had a rare combination of elusiveness and good humour. Her eyes were all you really noticed, some people said; and that was lucky, they added, because her looks were so ordinary.

  ‘It would really be one up, you know, if I could get Mark to do it.’

  Upstairs the battle of the television channels raged, and the losers gave the action a last twist by screeching. It brought Daniel up there in a flash and the plug was pulled out.