high quality of workmanship to make it succeed. Again the walls were white, and sported a series of black-and-white eighteenth-century political cartoons in huge white mounts and thin gold frames. The polished floorboards were covered in the centre with a large square carpet, very thick and blackberry purple. There was an enormous sofa covered in coarse white material, with lavender-coloured scatter cushions, and a heavy glass coffee table on which stood a single purple orchid in another tall skinny glass. The only other chair was an expensive-looking leather recliner which faced the state-of-the-art television set in the corner. Behind the TV was a cabinet which seemed to have been specially designed to house four video recorders – for his job as reviewer, Slider supposed. Evidently he didn’t watch Channel 5 – but then, who did?
‘You’ve really put some work into your flat, haven’t you?’ Slider said in admiring tones.
Medmenham seemed pleased. ‘Do you like it?’
‘You obviously have very good taste,’ Slider said. ‘But I wonder you should do so much when you don’t own it. I mean, I suppose you must have had to pay for all the building work yourself?’
‘Goodness, you don’t think Sborksi would
ever
put his hand in his pocket? I know,’ he said, looking round, ‘it’s probably a bit foolish of me, but the rent is so low, and I’m comfortable here, and my surroundings are so important to me. Things grate, don’t you find, if they’re not
just so
? And I never intended to move again, so what did it matter?’
‘You never intended – does that mean you intend now?’
Medmenham waved him graciously to the sofa, and stood facing him, clasping his hands together as though he were going to recite. ‘I don’t know. All this business – poor Phoebe – it’s so unsettling. I wonder if I’ll be able to bear it here now, thinking of her being – you know – up there.’ He rolled his eyesat the ceiling. ‘And, of course, not having her there to talk to will make such a difference. We always planned to grow old together.’
The lighting in the room came from artfully placed lamps and was designed to be flattering, but even so Slider could see the age and weariness that had come to the plump face. Medmenham had bags under his eyes that even a BA stewardess would have rejected as cabin luggage.
‘You were very fond of her?’ Slider suggested.
‘I thought I’d made
that
clear,’ said Medmenham.
‘I thought you’d made a lot of things clear, until it turned out you’d been lying,’ Slider said sternly.
He made a fluttery movement of his hands. ‘Oh, Lord, don’t make a big thing of it! I’m not up to it. I can’t tell you what a state I’ve been in these last few days! Look, would you like a snort? Frankly, I’m not going to get through the next half hour without a drinkette. Gin and ton?’
Slider accepted, and having handed him a gin and tonic very nearly large enough to wash in, Medmenham took his own replenished glass and retired to the leather recliner, where he tucked one foot under him girlishly, took a good mouthful, swallowed, and shuddered.
‘That’s better! Not’, he added firmly, ‘that I want you to think I’m a boozer. Normally it’s moderation in all things, but things aren’t normal, are they? And frankly, dear, it’s ruinous to the complexion. Oh, I know, don’t look! I must look shocking. I’ve been weeping like a waterfall, and no sleep; but I just haven’t had the heart to put any slap on. I’ve said to Phoebe many a time, you and I just can’t go on drinking at our age the way we used to – well, you know what journalists are like, first cousin to a bottomless pit as far as alcohol’s concerned; but when you’re young you burn it off, don’t you? And just lately darling Feeb’s been hitting the White Horse a bit hard. I mean, I said, you’re not Lester Piggott, darling! But the past few weeks it’s been sip, sip, sip like a dowager.
‘You’ve really put some work into your flat, haven’t you?’ Slider said in admiring tones.
Medmenham seemed pleased. ‘Do you like it?’
‘You obviously have very good taste,’ Slider said. ‘But I wonder you should do so much when you don’t own it. I mean, I suppose you must have had to pay for all the building work yourself?’
‘Goodness, you don’t think Sborksi would
ever
put his hand in his pocket? I know,’ he said, looking round, ‘it’s probably a bit foolish of me, but the rent is so low, and I’m comfortable here, and my surroundings are so important to me. Things grate, don’t you find, if they’re not
just so
? And I never intended to move again, so what did it matter?’
‘You never intended – does that mean you intend now?’
Medmenham waved him graciously to the sofa, and stood facing him, clasping his hands together as though he were going to recite. ‘I don’t know. All this business – poor Phoebe – it’s so unsettling. I wonder if I’ll be able to bear it here now, thinking of her being – you know – up there.’ He rolled his eyesat the ceiling. ‘And, of course, not having her there to talk to will make such a difference. We always planned to grow old together.’
The lighting in the room came from artfully placed lamps and was designed to be flattering, but even so Slider could see the age and weariness that had come to the plump face. Medmenham had bags under his eyes that even a BA stewardess would have rejected as cabin luggage.
‘You were very fond of her?’ Slider suggested.
‘I thought I’d made
that
clear,’ said Medmenham.
‘I thought you’d made a lot of things clear, until it turned out you’d been lying,’ Slider said sternly.
He made a fluttery movement of his hands. ‘Oh, Lord, don’t make a big thing of it! I’m not up to it. I can’t tell you what a state I’ve been in these last few days! Look, would you like a snort? Frankly, I’m not going to get through the next half hour without a drinkette. Gin and ton?’
Slider accepted, and having handed him a gin and tonic very nearly large enough to wash in, Medmenham took his own replenished glass and retired to the leather recliner, where he tucked one foot under him girlishly, took a good mouthful, swallowed, and shuddered.
‘That’s better! Not’, he added firmly, ‘that I want you to think I’m a boozer. Normally it’s moderation in all things, but things aren’t normal, are they? And frankly, dear, it’s ruinous to the complexion. Oh, I know, don’t look! I must look shocking. I’ve been weeping like a waterfall, and no sleep; but I just haven’t had the heart to put any slap on. I’ve said to Phoebe many a time, you and I just can’t go on drinking at our age the way we used to – well, you know what journalists are like, first cousin to a bottomless pit as far as alcohol’s concerned; but when you’re young you burn it off, don’t you? And just lately darling Feeb’s been hitting the White Horse a bit hard. I mean, I said, you’re not Lester Piggott, darling! But the past few weeks it’s been sip, sip, sip like a dowager.
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