Director’s award.’ He laughed a deep, manly laugh and sloshed down some beer.
Sam hadn’t let go of my hand. We walked across to the bar and sat on the high stools where girls with camel coats and cowboy boots and black tights were drinking Pimms Number 1 and exchanging West End hairdressers.
‘Two large bitters,’ I said. Through the window the moon was yellow like a low-power bulb in a blue velvet room.
‘Do you ever imagine what it would be like to be on the moon?’ Sam said.
‘Nearly all the time,’ I said.
‘Serious,’ she squeezed my hand, ‘serious, ghoul.’
‘What would it be like?’ I asked.
‘Spooky but wonderful,’ she said.
‘Like you,’ I said and meant it.
Sam picked up her bitter and pulled a face at me. Outside there was the brutal noise of a sports car starting. It scattered a little gravel against the window and broke wind into the damp night air.
Sam was right about the Schönberg ‘Variations for wind band’. I’d wanted to go on account of the Charles Ives ‘Three places in New England’, because I liked the crazy military band sequence, but theSchönberg was something else again. Everyone likes to convert people to something they like. Sam was no exception. She was being laughing and loving and little-girlish. I was a sucker for erudite little girls. We had dinner in Kensington in a poky little two-room place where the menu is as big as a newspaper and everything that can be flambé is flambé.
We moved through the powdered shoulders and borrowed evening suits and Sam felt out of place because she didn’t have elbow-length gloves with jewelled bangles over.
‘Don’t worry,’ I said. ‘You’ve got a great face.’
She poked her tongue out at me.
‘Don’t be sexy,’ I said and the waiter heard me and Sam blushed like a beetroot, which surprised me.
We both liked the same things. We both liked oysters without melon. ‘I like oysters without dressing,’ Sam said.
I raised my eyebrow at the waiter but Sam saw me and gave me a vicious kick in the ankle. The steak was OK and I was strong-willed enough not to hit the sweet-trolley too hard. We’d finished coffee by half past midnight and as we drove home I parked the car near the Serpentine in the Park. Sam said that if we were on the moon we could see which half of the world was sleeping.
‘And we’d be the only people who could still see the sun.’ I said.
‘I would love that.’ It began to rain as I restarted the car.
‘Come and explain why at my place,’ I suggested.
‘My place,’ she said. ‘I still haven’t got my eyebrows.’
‘Tomorrow I’ll buy a complete range of eyebrow pencils and keep them in my flat,’ I promised. She held my arm tight.
I rang the chimes at Sam’s front door. ‘Don’t do that,’ Sam said. ‘I have quiet neighbours.’ She opened the door with a flourish and flipped the light switch.
It wasn’t hard to recognize the signs. Burglars open chests beginning with the bottom drawer, so that they don’t have to waste time shutting each to get at the next. Sam stood looking at the mess—clothes everywhere and wine spilled across the rug. She trapped her lower lip under her teeth and flung it forward in a heartfelt monosyllabic obscenity.
‘Shall I phone the police?’ I asked.
‘The police,’ said Sam scornfully. ‘You mean that your police in England won’t trample around the place like idiots, ask a million questions and end up doing sweet FA?’
‘They will,’ I said. ‘But they are very nicely spoken.’
Sam said she would like to be alone.
‘Whatever you wish,’ I said, for I knew how she felt.
When I got back to my flat I phoned Sam. She didn’t seem nervous or too distressed.
‘She seems OK,’ I said to Austin Butterworth, after replacing the receiver.
‘Good,’ he said. Austin was sitting well back in my most comfortable armchair supping my favourite whisky and being as modest as hell. ‘Run of the mill job,’ he was saying,
Sam hadn’t let go of my hand. We walked across to the bar and sat on the high stools where girls with camel coats and cowboy boots and black tights were drinking Pimms Number 1 and exchanging West End hairdressers.
‘Two large bitters,’ I said. Through the window the moon was yellow like a low-power bulb in a blue velvet room.
‘Do you ever imagine what it would be like to be on the moon?’ Sam said.
‘Nearly all the time,’ I said.
‘Serious,’ she squeezed my hand, ‘serious, ghoul.’
‘What would it be like?’ I asked.
‘Spooky but wonderful,’ she said.
‘Like you,’ I said and meant it.
Sam picked up her bitter and pulled a face at me. Outside there was the brutal noise of a sports car starting. It scattered a little gravel against the window and broke wind into the damp night air.
Sam was right about the Schönberg ‘Variations for wind band’. I’d wanted to go on account of the Charles Ives ‘Three places in New England’, because I liked the crazy military band sequence, but theSchönberg was something else again. Everyone likes to convert people to something they like. Sam was no exception. She was being laughing and loving and little-girlish. I was a sucker for erudite little girls. We had dinner in Kensington in a poky little two-room place where the menu is as big as a newspaper and everything that can be flambé is flambé.
We moved through the powdered shoulders and borrowed evening suits and Sam felt out of place because she didn’t have elbow-length gloves with jewelled bangles over.
‘Don’t worry,’ I said. ‘You’ve got a great face.’
She poked her tongue out at me.
‘Don’t be sexy,’ I said and the waiter heard me and Sam blushed like a beetroot, which surprised me.
We both liked the same things. We both liked oysters without melon. ‘I like oysters without dressing,’ Sam said.
I raised my eyebrow at the waiter but Sam saw me and gave me a vicious kick in the ankle. The steak was OK and I was strong-willed enough not to hit the sweet-trolley too hard. We’d finished coffee by half past midnight and as we drove home I parked the car near the Serpentine in the Park. Sam said that if we were on the moon we could see which half of the world was sleeping.
‘And we’d be the only people who could still see the sun.’ I said.
‘I would love that.’ It began to rain as I restarted the car.
‘Come and explain why at my place,’ I suggested.
‘My place,’ she said. ‘I still haven’t got my eyebrows.’
‘Tomorrow I’ll buy a complete range of eyebrow pencils and keep them in my flat,’ I promised. She held my arm tight.
I rang the chimes at Sam’s front door. ‘Don’t do that,’ Sam said. ‘I have quiet neighbours.’ She opened the door with a flourish and flipped the light switch.
It wasn’t hard to recognize the signs. Burglars open chests beginning with the bottom drawer, so that they don’t have to waste time shutting each to get at the next. Sam stood looking at the mess—clothes everywhere and wine spilled across the rug. She trapped her lower lip under her teeth and flung it forward in a heartfelt monosyllabic obscenity.
‘Shall I phone the police?’ I asked.
‘The police,’ said Sam scornfully. ‘You mean that your police in England won’t trample around the place like idiots, ask a million questions and end up doing sweet FA?’
‘They will,’ I said. ‘But they are very nicely spoken.’
Sam said she would like to be alone.
‘Whatever you wish,’ I said, for I knew how she felt.
When I got back to my flat I phoned Sam. She didn’t seem nervous or too distressed.
‘She seems OK,’ I said to Austin Butterworth, after replacing the receiver.
‘Good,’ he said. Austin was sitting well back in my most comfortable armchair supping my favourite whisky and being as modest as hell. ‘Run of the mill job,’ he was saying,
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