waltz.’
‘You hate them.’
‘That’s all right.’
‘Why did you leave like that? So rude,’ she asked angrily.
‘He was fishing, love. I dislike it.’
‘I don’t understand,’ she said.
‘About the staff.’
‘Jack Lamb, interested in your boys? Why, Theodore? It’s not reasonable.’
‘Some people trade in information.’
‘For heaven’s sake, I was only going to tell him –’
‘Look, let’s leave it, all right?’ He found he did not want Justin Paynter’s name used, and, simply because it had come into his head, he was conscious of his hand
tightening in a fierce spasm on Alma’s shoulder. He had not intended that, but it happened. Justin was in the past and he had to stay there, safely forgotten, almost.
She winced and frowned. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing, love. I’m sorry. Just I don’t want any talk about people of mine to someone like Jack Lamb, and that crazy, money-grubbing kid. That’s all.’
‘Oh, but you’re hard on the girl, I think. One should take as one finds, Theodore, surely.’
It really was a charity do tonight. ‘Perhaps you’re right,’ he said. ‘Lamb does.’
Desmond Iles and a woman Loxton assumed was his wife danced near them and the Assistant Chief gave him and Alma a lavish smile and mouthed a greeting: ‘Wonderful to see you both
again.’ The woman was slim, blonde, very unhappy-looking, and wearing what looked to Loxton like an exclusive powder blue dress, almost as fine as Alma’s. She held Iles as if she wished
like hell he was someone different. That figured. Following Iles’s gaze, her eyes rested for a second on Loxton and Alma and she gave a tiny smile and a formal nod, though Loxton did not
remember ever seeing her before. Then she turned her head away and gazed about at the other dancers.
Loxton and his wife waltzed for a while without talking. Christ, this cruddy music, these ponce steps. He felt like he had aged twenty years since coming on to the floor.
Alma watched him. ‘Theodore, there certainly is something wrong. Darling please. You ought to say. I should know about matters that trouble you. It will make you feel better.’
Not exactly. It would make him feel worse, and very exposed. ‘I’m fine.’ Usually, he liked the way she stuck at things, but now she began to weary him, and to anger him. Why
the hell did he bring her to places where she might gab in her friendly, goofy, careless style to the wrong people? She did not know much, of course, as far as he could tell: he always tried to
make sure of that, but you could never be certain what might get through to her. Alma was not stupid.
Later in the evening, she went off into a side room to see the raffle drawn with some neighbours they had met at the buffet. Loxton had a saunter alone around the city hall’s wide landing
and staircases, looking at the coats of arms and the heavy-framed paintings of people who had achieved big things for the area in history. He liked feeling a contact with these old figures in their
robes or military uniforms. God knew what some of them might have done to get to the top and stay there long enough to earn a painting. Several with red and blue wino faces and sharp chins looked
like they would have strangled their favourite labrador or mother to make it.
One day, when all the opposition was out of the way, such as Leo and Lay-waste and the other son, Loxton might be able to take a rest from the terrible, constant battling in business and become
a real part of the decent local leadership, like these boys in the portraits, and like some of the boys with the letters after their names or the titles in front, dancing with their women here
tonight. It would be more than just shelling out for charity dances, and bidding in twenties for rubbish at Save the Children auctions. He wanted to create something – say help finance an
important public building such as a library or a gallery or a youth centre, a place designed by a
‘You hate them.’
‘That’s all right.’
‘Why did you leave like that? So rude,’ she asked angrily.
‘He was fishing, love. I dislike it.’
‘I don’t understand,’ she said.
‘About the staff.’
‘Jack Lamb, interested in your boys? Why, Theodore? It’s not reasonable.’
‘Some people trade in information.’
‘For heaven’s sake, I was only going to tell him –’
‘Look, let’s leave it, all right?’ He found he did not want Justin Paynter’s name used, and, simply because it had come into his head, he was conscious of his hand
tightening in a fierce spasm on Alma’s shoulder. He had not intended that, but it happened. Justin was in the past and he had to stay there, safely forgotten, almost.
She winced and frowned. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing, love. I’m sorry. Just I don’t want any talk about people of mine to someone like Jack Lamb, and that crazy, money-grubbing kid. That’s all.’
‘Oh, but you’re hard on the girl, I think. One should take as one finds, Theodore, surely.’
It really was a charity do tonight. ‘Perhaps you’re right,’ he said. ‘Lamb does.’
Desmond Iles and a woman Loxton assumed was his wife danced near them and the Assistant Chief gave him and Alma a lavish smile and mouthed a greeting: ‘Wonderful to see you both
again.’ The woman was slim, blonde, very unhappy-looking, and wearing what looked to Loxton like an exclusive powder blue dress, almost as fine as Alma’s. She held Iles as if she wished
like hell he was someone different. That figured. Following Iles’s gaze, her eyes rested for a second on Loxton and Alma and she gave a tiny smile and a formal nod, though Loxton did not
remember ever seeing her before. Then she turned her head away and gazed about at the other dancers.
Loxton and his wife waltzed for a while without talking. Christ, this cruddy music, these ponce steps. He felt like he had aged twenty years since coming on to the floor.
Alma watched him. ‘Theodore, there certainly is something wrong. Darling please. You ought to say. I should know about matters that trouble you. It will make you feel better.’
Not exactly. It would make him feel worse, and very exposed. ‘I’m fine.’ Usually, he liked the way she stuck at things, but now she began to weary him, and to anger him. Why
the hell did he bring her to places where she might gab in her friendly, goofy, careless style to the wrong people? She did not know much, of course, as far as he could tell: he always tried to
make sure of that, but you could never be certain what might get through to her. Alma was not stupid.
Later in the evening, she went off into a side room to see the raffle drawn with some neighbours they had met at the buffet. Loxton had a saunter alone around the city hall’s wide landing
and staircases, looking at the coats of arms and the heavy-framed paintings of people who had achieved big things for the area in history. He liked feeling a contact with these old figures in their
robes or military uniforms. God knew what some of them might have done to get to the top and stay there long enough to earn a painting. Several with red and blue wino faces and sharp chins looked
like they would have strangled their favourite labrador or mother to make it.
One day, when all the opposition was out of the way, such as Leo and Lay-waste and the other son, Loxton might be able to take a rest from the terrible, constant battling in business and become
a real part of the decent local leadership, like these boys in the portraits, and like some of the boys with the letters after their names or the titles in front, dancing with their women here
tonight. It would be more than just shelling out for charity dances, and bidding in twenties for rubbish at Save the Children auctions. He wanted to create something – say help finance an
important public building such as a library or a gallery or a youth centre, a place designed by a
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