Neither van Huren nor Klugvoigt were of the kind to come straight out with what they thought. It was Jonathan who leant forward and let out the jet of truth.
‘He’s a rude bloody bastard with hands as heavy as a gold brick.’
‘I have to advise Nerissa, when I get home,’ I commented.
‘Aunt Portia always said he had a way with horses,’ Sally objected, in defence.
‘Yeah. Backwards,’ said Jonathan.
Van Huren gave him a flickering glance in which humour was by no means lacking, but he changed the subject immediately with the expertise of one thoroughly awake to the risk of slander.
‘Your Clifford Wenkins, Link, telephoned to me yesterday afternoon to offer us all some tickets to your premiere.’ He looked amused. I gratefully accepted that he had loosened with me to the point of dropping the meticulous ‘Mr’ and thought that in an hour or two I might get around to Quentin.
‘Apparently he had had second thoughts about his abruptness to me when I asked for your address.’
‘Probably been doing some belated homework,’ agreed Klugvoigt, who seemed to know all about it.
‘It’s only a... an adventure film,’ I said. ‘You might not enjoy it.’
He gave me a dry sardonic smile. ‘You won’t accuse me again of condemning what I haven’t seen.’
I smiled back. I considerably liked Nerissa’s sister’s husband’s brother.
We finished the excellent lunch and wandered out for the first race. Horses were already being mounted, and Vivi and Sally hurried off to upset the odds with a couple of rand.
‘Your friend Wenkins said he would be here today,’ van Huren remarked.
‘Oh dear.’
He chuckled.
Arknold, in the parade ring, was throwing his magenta-shirted jockey up into the saddle.
‘How heavy is a gold brick?’ I asked.
Van Huren followed my gaze. ‘Seventy-two pounds, usually. You can’t lift them as easily, though, as seventy-two pounds of jockey.’
Danilo was standing by the rails, watching. He turned as the mounted horses walked away, caught sight of us, and came straight across.
‘Hi, Link. I’ve been looking out for you. How’s about a beer?’
I said, ‘Quentin,’ (not two hours: ten minutes) ‘this is Danilo Cavesey, Nerissa’s nephew. And Danilo, this is Quentin van Huren, whose sister-in-law, Portia van Huren, was Nerissa’s sister.’
‘Gee,’ Danilo said. His eyes widened and stayed wide, without blinking. He was more than ordinarily surprised.
‘Good heavens,’ van Huren exclaimed. ‘I didn’t even know she had a nephew.’
‘I kinda dropped out of her life when I was about six, I guess,’ Danilo said. ‘I only saw her again this summer, when I was over in England from the States.’
Van Huren said he had only twice met Nerissa’s husband, and never his brother, Danilo’s father. Danilo said he had never met Portia. The two of them sorted out the family ramifications to their own content and seemed to meet in understanding in a very short time.
‘Well, what do you know?’ Danilo said, evidently pleased to the roots. ‘Say, isn’t that just too much?’
When Vivi and Sally and Jonathan rejoined us after the race they chattered about it like birds, waving their arms about and lifting their voices in little whoops.
‘He’s a sort of cousin,’ said Sally positively. ‘Isn’t it the greatest fun?’
Even Jonathan seemed to brighten up at the idea of receiving the sunshine kid into the family, and the two of them presently bore him away on their own. I saw him looking back over his shoulder with a glance for me that was a lot older than anything Jonathan or Sally could produce.
‘What a nice boy,’ Vivi said.
‘Nerissa is very fond of him,’ I agreed.
‘We must ask him over, while he is here, don’t you think, Quentin? Oh look, do you see who’s down there... Janet Frankenloots... haven’t seen her for ages. Oh, do excuse me, Link...” The great hat swooped off to meet the long-lost friend.
Van Huren was too depressingly right about Clifford Wenkins being at the races. To say that the Distribution Manager approached as directly as Danilo had done would be inaccurate: he made a crabwise deprecating semicircle, tripping over his feet, and ended damply by my side.
‘Er... Link, good to see you... er, would you be Mr van Huren? Pleased... er... to meet you, sir.’
He shook hands with van Huren, who from long social practice managed not to wipe his palm on his trousers afterwards.
‘Now. Er... Link. I’ve tried to reach you a couple of times, but you never seem, er... I mean... I haven’t called you when you are... er... in. So I thought... well, I mean, er... I would be certain to see you here.’
I waited without much patience. He pulled a batch of papers hastily out of an inside pocket.
‘Now, we want... that is to say, Worldic have arranged... er... since you did the press interviews, I mean... they want you to go to... let’s see... there’s a beauty competition to judge next Wednesday for Miss Jo’burg... and er... guest of honour at the Ladies’ Kinema Luncheon Club on Thursday... and on Friday a fund-raising charity reception given by... er... our sponsors for the premiere... er, that is Bow-Miouw Pet-food, of course... and er... well... Saturday’s... the official opening of er... the Modern Homes’ Exhibition... all good publicity... er...’
‘No,’ I said. And for hell’s sake don’t lose your temper here, I told myself severely.
‘Er,’ Wenkins said, seeing no danger signals. ‘We... er... that is, Worldic, do think... I mean... that you really ought to co-operate...’
‘Oh they do.’ I slowed my breathing deliberately. ‘Why do you think I won’t let Worldic pay my expenses? Why do you think I pay for everything myself?’
He was extremely unhappy. Worldic must have been putting on the pressure from one side, and now I was resisting him from the other. The beads sprang out on his forehead.
‘Yes, but...’ He swallowed. ‘Well... I expect... I mean... the various organisations might be prepared to offer... er... I mean... well, fees.’
I counted five. Squeezed my eyes shut and open. Said, when I was sure it would come out moderately, ‘Mr Wenkins, you can tell Worldic that I do not wish to accept any of those invitations. In fact, I will go only to the premiere itself and a simple reception before or after, as I said.’
‘But... We have told everybody that you will.’
‘You know that my agent particularly asked you, right at the beginning, not to fix anything at all.’
‘Yes, but Worldic say... I mean...’
Stuff Worldic, I thought violently. I said, ‘I’m not going to those things.’
‘But... you can’t... I mean... disappoint them all... not now... they will not go to your films, if you don’t turn up when... er... we’ve... er... well... promised you will.’
‘You will have to tell them that you committed me without asking me first.’
‘Worldic won’t like it...’
‘They won’t like it because it will hurt their own takings, if it hurts anything at all. But it’s their own fault. If they thought they could make me go to those functions by a species of blackmail, they were wrong.’
Clifford Wenkins was looking at me anxiously and van Huren with some curiosity, and I knew that despite my best intentions the anger was showing through.
I took pity on Clifford Wenkins and a grip on myself. ‘Tell Worldic I will not be in Johannesburg at all next week. Tell them that if they had had the common-sense to check with me first, I could have told them I am committed elsewhere, until the premiere.’
He swallowed again and looked even unhappier.