I said at once, ‘I’m not sure if I like that.’
‘There’s nothing to worry about. As the organiser, I’ll see that it’s all right. It’s all for charity. Once I get the bidding going, I reckon I can get it up to fifty, with some of the stockbroker types round here.’
‘Fifty pounds would help the old folk quite a lot,’ said Angela. ‘Darling, it’s just a dance. You like old people, don’t you?’
As a matter of fact, I do. Older men, in my experience, have far more genuine charm than thrusting, self-assertive blokes like Mike or Duncan. ‘If you promise to come with me,’ I reluctantly agreed. I didn’t fancy doing a private dance for some character with fantasies that he was King Farouk.
‘You’re on,’ said Duncan. ‘I’ll see it gets top billing in the programme. This will guarantee we get a record-breaking profit. The old people are going to be grateful to this year’s fair committee, I can tell you.’
‘I can tell you how to earn some gratitude round here,’ said Angela with an unadmiring smile. ‘Wash the dishes while I help the lovely Yasmin out of her costume — and no, I won’t switch jobs.’ When the bedroom door was closed, she told me, ‘I’ll be glad when the damned thing is over. He talks of nothing else, even in bed. It’s the first time he’s been chairman of anything, and he desperately wants a huge success.’
‘That’s rather sweet,’ I said.
‘It might help matters if he put some energy into his career. I’ve told him marriage is out of the question while he’s still earning less than I do shouting at schoolgirls all day and flabby housewives in the evening. Sorry — nothing personal.’
‘You’re right about marriage if that’s the way you feel, Angela. You want to be sure before you take it on.’
‘I love him really, but it’s no good making it too easy for them, is it? Let’s find those bangles for you.’
The programme for the summer fair was dropped through my letterbox two weeks before the date. Duncan had kept his promise: I was top of the bill. The wording was a bit excessive, I thought, but I suppose that’s how you sell things.
It certainly aroused some interest. The same afternoon, I had a call from Duncan. The local paper wanted to photograph me in my costume. Duncan was elated. It was marvellous publicity for the fair. I agreed provided that my name did not appear.
I took my costume to the keep fit and they took my picture there. The girls were very excited about it. I felt terribly self-conscious. Angela made them all work forty minutes over to rehearse the music and movement programme for the fair. Because of the time it took me to get ready, I was not in the team this year.
Well, the fair was all that Duncan could have wished. A brilliant day, every programme sold and no problems with the sideshows. I’ll be brief about my dancing, because it is secondary to the story. Let’s say only that the large marquee was so packed with people that my space for dancing had to be reduced to a ten-foot square. They clapped and cheered and called out things I would be mortified to put in print. But not unflattering things. I gave them both sides of the 45 called An Arabian Night. I swayed and swivelled and jigged my stomach until it ached. There was tumultuous applause.
Then a table was brought in. They stood me on it, still panting with the effort. Duncan stood on a chair to conduct the auction.
It was a revelation to me. The bidding started at ten pounds and rapidly got up to fifty. Then Duncan murmured to me to wriggle my hips again. That put the figure up to seventy. A rivalry developed between my local butcher and some lads in leather who seemed to have formed a syndicate. I didn’t altogether like the idea of that, but at eighty pounds they reached their limit. The butcher bid eighty-five. Then Duncan held up a piece of paper.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, a secret bidder has entered the auction. I have a bid of one hundred pounds. Do I hear one hundred and five?’
The butcher bleakly shook his head.
I was sold for a hundred pounds.
‘Who is it?’ I asked Duncan as soon as I got near him.
‘It isn’t clear, but here’s the money in an envelope. The minute I find out I’ll let you know.’
I heard nothing for four days. I couldn’t sleep for thinking of it. I was in quite a state: frightened, yes, a little, but excited, too. Someone had paid a hundred pounds to have me dance for him. I considered all the affluent gentlemen of the district, from the scrap merchant to the Mayor. Who had I left out?
On Wednesday morning came a call from Duncan. The mysterious bidder had named a time and place. Saturday afternoon at an address in Esher. I asked Duncan who it was. He still didn’t know. The message had been left for him. However, he would collect me in his car on Saturday and make sure everything was proper. He suggested that I put on the costume first and wore my raincoat over it.
That evening at the keep fit I asked Angela if she knew any more, but she was in the dark as well. She said the whole thing bored her now. I had a suspicion she was slightly peeved at Duncan sacrificing a Saturday afternoon he should have spent with her. She also made what I thought was a rather bitchy joke in the presence of the others, suggesting my new shoes were a present from the butcher.
Saturday was hot again. People were mowing lawns and cleaning cars along my suburban street. I looked at my glittering, semi-naked image in the mirror and thought how bizarre this episode was. A car horn sounded. I draped the raincoat round my shoulders, picked up my disc and hurried out to Duncan’s unexotic old Cortina.
‘All set, my precious?’
I gave him a terse, ‘Yes.’ He would never have called me his precious when Angela was about, and I wasn’t certain that I liked it. Perhaps it was my state of nerves.
As we drove out of Kingston along the Portsmouth Road, his conversation made me increasingly uneasy.
‘Super write-up in the local, wasn’t it? I didn’t think the picture did you justice. They should have had a full-length shot, in my opinion. Criminal not to show a gorgeous pair of legs like yours. Are you getting warm? You could slip the coat off now.’
I kept it on. ‘Has this man been in touch again?’ I asked him. ‘Do you know any more about him?’
‘Nothing of importance. I think he must be some kind of rich recluse. It’s a smart address.’
We had gone through the town of Esher, and past the race course. We took the road to Oxshott for about a mile, and then turned left, along a shadowy, wooded lane.
‘A little off the beaten track,’ said Duncan. ‘Barely a mile to go now.’
I kept the raincoat tightly across my legs. I had a strong suspicion that Duncan had not been frank with me. He seemed to know exactly where he was taking me. Suppose there was no secret bidder other than himself? Suppose he had set me up for something? Like some frightened schoolgirl, I considered what to do if he stopped the car.
‘Nervous?’ he enquired. ‘I keep a flask of brandy in the glove compartment. Have a nip if you want.’
‘No thanks.’
‘I could easily stop a minute.’
‘I’d rather get there and get it over.’
A short way on, we came to an entrance with wrought iron gates about ten feet high.
‘This is it. Better get your yashmak on, my darling, while I open up.’