I watched her flick a flame up from a lighter attached to the cigarette case. It all felt a bit Charles Boyer or even older, but she did it with style. I drank some of the champagne — very dry and cold and good, and looked around the room. She was right: most of the women were around my age, plus or minus, but the men were decidedly younger, and definitely better looking.
Tanya Scott blew some smoke over my head, not hard for her to do because in those heels she was as tall as me or taller. ‘Take a look around and see if you can come up with something better. I doubt if you can.’
‘OK,’ I said, ‘but I have to be polite. Where’s our hostess?’
She pointed with the cigarette extended in slender fingers with long, silver-painted nails. ‘Over there, but forget it. She’s given up sex.’
Of course I wasn’t looking for the lady of the house in order to meet her but to avoid her. In that crowd and smoky atmosphere it wasn’t hard to do. I moved across and stood in the archway between the two rooms and looked around. I don’t go to many parties and even fewer now than in days gone by, but I know that they’re all different. Some go with a bang from the first cork pulled or can cracked; some take a while to warm up and some just lie down and die. This one was curious. The people seemed not to know each other but to be keen to rub along. The women were cruising the men and some were getting attached and some were staying loose. Some of the women seemed more interested in other women than the men which evened the ratio up a bit. I got a few glances and smiles but I was way too rough to be high on anyone’s list.
I was an odd man out and it would only be a matter of time before I was brought to the attention of the hostess. I lifted another glass of bubbly and wondered if Silver Hair would give me the drum on what the gathering was all about, although by now I had a pretty fair idea. I looked across to where I’d left her but I’d missed my chance — she was deep in conversation with a tall, blond classical profile in an Italian suit.
I sidled past people, ducking and weaving with my glass, and when I was sure no-one was watching and there were no waiters about, I scuttled down a passage past the kitchen where three or four Asian women were working towards the back of the house. The place was a lot bigger than it looked from the front. The block sloped severely and the house was on two levels at the back. There was a sitting room and three smaller rooms on both levels, plus bathrooms top and bottom. I did a quick recce: double beds in each of the rooms. I flicked on a light and went into one — TV and VCR with raunchy videos lined up ready to roll; condoms, lubricant and three sizes of vibrator in a drawer.
I pushed open a door and stepped out into the subtly lit back garden: tall trees around the edges, a few shrubs and a little grass, but most of the space was taken up by a twelve metre pool and a number of cabanas built close around it. The joint could sleep two dozen people easy, or not sleep.
I walked down the terracotta path, skirted the pool and looked into one of the cabins. Very cosy. Light rain began to dapple the surface of the pool and I dashed back under cover. The door to the house swung open.
‘Just exactly what d’you think you’re doing?’
It was her, glass in hand, teased up hair, red dress and stoked. I moved towards her, twiddling my glass in my hand. ‘Nice party,’ I said. “Think I’ll get a refill.’
‘You will not! You’ll leave immediately. Good God, you’re the man…’
‘That’s right, I’m the man who came looking for Ramsay Hewitt, and you’re the woman who lied to me about not knowing him.’
‘You’re trespassing and being offensive. I’ll call the police.’
‘Will you? I wonder what they’ll say about the set-up here? All these fuck rooms?’
‘You’re revolting.’
‘I don’t mean to be. I’m open minded. It’s your business but it sure looks like a business and that could be your problem, Mrs…?’
She took a gulp from her glass and I wished mine wasn’t empty. It was an edgy kind of standoff for us both. In the dim light she came across as an attractive woman and if Tom Bolitho was right about her age and the surgical intervention, she’d done the right thing. Maybe she noticed and appreciated my evaluation, because she abruptly changed her manner and tone of voice.
‘I’m Prue Bonham.’
‘Cliff Hardy. And I’m still looking for Ramsay Hewitt.’
‘I can see I was hasty and underestimated you, Mr Hardy. I do know Ramsay of course. I know him quite well.’
‘If you can tell me where to find him I’ll be on my way.’
She drew in a deep breath and her breasts rose impressively under the red silk of her dress. But somehow I knew it wasn’t for me. ‘I’ll tell you what,’ she said. ‘Come back in and have that drink. Have a couple. I think you’ve cottoned on to what happens here. The numbers’ll be down to next to nothing in a couple of hours and we can talk.’
‘And what will we talk about, Mrs Bonham?’
‘We’ll talk about love and life, life and love. They should interest a man in your occupation. And after that I’ll talk about Ramsay.’
Occupation, I liked that. By not saying profession she kept an edge. Suddenly, I liked her a lot. ‘Is there any Scotch?’ I said.
For the next few hours I nursed a couple of Scotches with water while couples paired off and adjourned to the bedrooms and cabins out the back. Prue Bonham circulated, kept conversations going, made sure the food and drink kept coming. Towards the end Silver Hair, whose name I’d immediately forgotten, approached me again.
‘And?’
‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘I’m otherwise engaged.’
She puffed smoke. ‘Not my night. Don’t tell me you’ve scored with the chatelaine?’
‘We’ve got business to discuss.’
‘Yeah, I didn’t think you were up for grabs. Well, goodnight.’
She sauntered out of the room in her smart black outfit, bound for her Porsche. I watched her stylish departure. Prue Bonham appeared beside me and watched likewise.
‘Poor Tanya. Still hunting,’ she said. ‘Go out to the kitchen and make yourself useful. You look so obviously out of place.’
I dried dishes, amusing the hired help, and kept an eye on the passage as the traffic went by. A few pairs I’d seen go out earlier came back and looked the better for the experience. The exodus slowed and the last couple I saw was female. The voices were fewer from the party room and then faded away altogether with the music — Ella Fitzgerald by now. The two waiters finished up and the kitchen hands got everything shipshape and gave me little salutes as they went out. I hung up my dishcloth, went across to the table that was serving as a bar and mixed a last weak Scotch and water.
Prue Bonham came into the kitchen, looked around and nodded approvingly. She crooked a finger. ‘Come in here. I can give you a few minutes now.’
I followed her back to the party room. It smelled strongly of smoke and wine and perfume. She waved her be-ringed hands in the air. ‘The only thing I don’t like about this is the smoke. Disgusting habit. I can’t think why they do it.’
‘Neither can they now, most of them.’
She sank into an armchair and gestured for me to sit close by. Her skirt rode up and showed her nice calves and knees. ‘You’ve surprised me,’ she said.
‘How’s that?’
‘Moon Teh says you’re a gentleman.’
‘When I have to be. In her case it’s probably a matter of racial guilt.’
She raised her artistically plucked eyebrows. ‘Why so?’
‘I killed a few Chinese guerillas in Malaya.’
‘You don’t look quite that old.’
‘Thanks for the quite. I was young and it went on longer than most people think. Can we get down to business?’
‘Fine. How did you know there’d be a gathering here tonight?’
‘You have a secret admirer in the street.’