‘We sleep together, yeah.’
‘So you’re lesbians.’
‘Um … yeah,’ said Selena, thinking that she had already made this fairly obvious.
‘And is she … like you?’
‘Like me?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, I don’t know. We’re quite different personality types, really. I’m Taurus, for one thing, and she’s Gemini …’
‘No — I mean, is she black as well?’
‘Ah.’ Christ, this woman is blunt, Selena thought. But she’d caught her interest, for some reason, and she was going to make the most of it. ‘Yes, she is.’
‘And does she have a job, your friend? Apart from the painting, I mean.’
‘No. Neither of us have, since we finished our course.’
‘I don’t suppose … I don’t suppose she’s on benefits of any sort?’
‘Well, yeah, we couldn’t survive otherwise. There’s the housing benefit, the disability allowance …’
She tailed off, and gave Josephine what she hoped was an appealing smile. To her surprise, the smile was returned.
‘Your girlfriend,’ Josephine said, ‘sounds absolutely amazing.’
‘Could you write something about her, do you think?’
‘Yes, I think I could.’
‘Wow,’ said Selena. ‘Wow. Just wait till she hears that you said that.’
Josephine held up her hand in a cautionary gesture. ‘No,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘I don’t think you should tell her anything yet. If you can bear it, this is going to be our little secret for now.’ She put a hand on Selena’s arm. ‘You can keep a secret, can’t you? Good. Now — let’s have another cigarette.’
*
‘You missed all the excitement,’ said Sir Peter, as Josephine returned to the table. ‘They awarded the prize five minutes ago.’
‘Really?’ she said, stifling a yawn. ‘I don’t even know what was on the shortlist.’
‘Everyone thought it would go to the Hilton Humanitarian Prize this year. Either that, or the Mo Ibrahim Prize for Achievement in African Leadership.’
‘So which one was it?’
‘Neither. They gave it to the Literary Review Bad Sex Award.’
‘Great!’ said Josephine. ‘Another triumph for the Brits.’
‘Exactly. Being embarrassed about sex is one of the few things we’re still world leaders at, these days.’
He drained his wine glass quickly, and signalled for a refill. Josephine wondered how many glasses he’d got through while she’d been outside. She also wondered whether to tell him that, thanks to her conversation with Selena, she now knew that he’d been wrong to criticize her column that time, and soon she would be able to present him with living proof. But she decided to keep it to herself for a while longer.
‘Your man made a fucking awful speech,’ Sir Peter said. ‘Didn’t get a single laugh. Don’t think anyone here had the faintest idea what he was on about.’
‘Did he mention us?’
‘Oh yes. Made sure he gave the whole family a good kicking.’
‘The cheek! I hope you’re not going to let him get away with it.’
‘No, I’m not,’ said Sir Peter. He picked up an unused steak knife from his table and began thoughtfully stroking its serrated edge. ‘I have plans for Mr Quirky. In fact, I’m going to discuss them with him now.’
Still holding the knife, Sir Peter attempted to rise to his feet, but he was very much the worse for drink and it took nothing more than Josephine’s restraining hand to keep him in his chair.
‘I don’t think this is really the place to cause a scene.’
‘There won’t be any scene,’ said Sir Peter, breathing heavily. ‘I’ll tell you what I’m going to do to that fucker.’ He fixed her with a bug-eyed, resolute glare. ‘I’m going to offer him a job.’
‘You’re going to do what?’
‘You heard me. I’m going to take him on as a columnist.’
‘Oh, sit down, you’re completely pissed.’
‘I may be pissed but I know what I’m talking about. You don’t attack your enemies, if you really want to hurt them. You co-opt them. “Hey, Ryan,” we’ll say, “come and join us. No hard feelings, old boy. Love your schtick. Come and do a bit of work for us.” We chuck him a couple of hundred grand a year for a thousand words a week and then everyone sees he’s writing for us and thinks we can’t be so nasty after all. We look good, and he looks bad. We keep him on for eighteen months and give him a couple of pay rises. By then he’s lost most of his teeth and he’s hardly being rude about us at all. But he has pissed off quite a few of his fans. And then we kick him out on the street — bam! — and watch how he copes with having his income, which in a short space of time he’s become thoroughly comfortable with, slashed by about eighty per cent.’ He smiled at his daughter and relished the way she was staring at him, open-mouthed with admiration. Sir Peter’s eyes gleamed. ‘So now, if you’d just help a doddery old cunt to his feet, I’m going to get the wheels moving.’
Josephine did indeed take his arm and raise him carefully out of his chair. Then Sir Peter started to take a few slow, erratic steps towards table number 11. Whether it was because he was becoming forgetful, or because he was rather drunk, or a combination of the two, he was still wielding the steak knife, held at a decidedly aggressive angle, as he approached the unsuspecting figure of Ryan Quirky, who was deep in conversation with a young female admirer in a low-cut dress. But Sir Peter never got as far as the comedian’s table anyway. Before he knew what was happening, he felt his arm politely but firmly seized by a burly, middle-aged man flanked by four or five similar-looking guests, who blocked his path and formed a rapid, protective circle around him.
‘Now then, Sir Peter,’ said DCI Capes. ‘I think it would be a good idea if you put that down, don’t you?’
‘What are you talking about? Who the fuck are you? Get out of my way.’
‘Put the knife down, and come along with us quietly, and then there won’t be any problems.’
The other policemen gathered around Sir Peter in an even tighter group. And then Nathan was on the scene, tapping his superior urgently on the shoulder.
‘DCI Capes? What are you doing?’
‘Not now, Pilbeam. We’re kind of busy here.’
‘But, sir, I thought we’d agreed about not jumping —’
‘Drop it, Pilbeam, all right? I’m taking this man for questioning. Arkwright, have you got the media room ready?’
‘The media room? But you can’t question him there. It’s where the prizewinners are interviewed. It’s full of photographers and TV cameras.’
‘PC Pilbeam, I shall handle this situation in my own way, thank you very much.’
The other officers had by now relieved Sir Peter of his knife and were frogmarching him forward with his hands pinned behind his back. Nathan made one last appeal.
‘With respect, sir, we have no case against Sir Peter at all.’
‘That’s enough, Pilbeam,’ said DCI Capes, and there was no mistaking the note of aggression in his voice now. ‘Why don’t you sit down, and enjoy the rest of your evening, and concentrate your energies on impressing your very attractive date?’
With that he was gone, striding swiftly to catch up with the group of officers who were already propelling Sir Peter — too befuddled to protest any further — away from the dining area and in the direction of the awaiting media representatives. A few of the diners looked around to see what was happening, but the operation had been discreet and didn’t cause much of a stir. Most people were more interested in the imminent arrival of dessert.