Tuna took Jennings to one side and asked him to get rid of Bone and all his effects – she wanted him gone within the hour. ‘Don’t look at me like that,’ she said, holding up a finger to his face. ‘I hate it when you look at me like that.’
He raised a wry eyebrow. ‘I don’t know what you could possibly mean.’
‘You may judge me,’ said Tuna, ‘but I pay you. Get rid of him. Don’t let him take the portrait in the green room.’
‘Which one?’
She leaned in and whispered into his ear.
‘Ah,’ he said. ‘That one.’
‘It was a gift,’ said Tuna. ‘He’ll try and say it wasn’t, but it was. It’s mine.’
‘Very well.’
‘I do appreciate everything you do for me, Jen-Jens.’
His lips tightened and pursed as if he were trying out a smile for the first time. ‘I’m sure, Mrs Garside,’ he said, leaving.
‘He’s not fooling anyone,’ said Tuna, snapping her fingers at the drinks’ waiter. ‘He absolutely adores me.’ She took a drink and sipped it. ‘I do hope Bone doesn’t make a fuss. He’s always threatening to kill himself.’
‘Then let him.’
Tuna stared at Bettina, shocked. ‘Meow, darling. Bad kitty.’
‘All I mean is, he’s not your problem any more.’ She waved her hand around the crowded room. ‘Look at all these other problems you can choose from.’
‘Give me five minutes to breathe, will you? I think I could do with a break from men, to be honest. He was so mean to me, Betts. Always trying to pick at me, to pick me to the bone. Ha! Bone! He called me a tourist, can you believe that? Here, let me light that for you.’ She snapped open her lighter and hovered it under Bettina’s cigarette. ‘I mean, it’s true that I’ve dipped my toe into a new way of life recently—’
‘Dipped your toe? You’ve dived right in.’
‘Well, yes. I know how it looks. But this is what I said to him: I said, for a start, even if I am a tourist, it is not for the sake of fashion, it’s not so superficial as that – it’s not like buying a pair of jodhpurs because jodhpurs happen to be in vogue, it’s because I have an adventurous spirit, I aim to explore and celebrate all forms of culture, to feast at the table of life. And what could be more quintessentially bohemian than the possession of such— Are you listening to me, darling? I also said to him, “Well, I’d rather be a tourist than a bore!” And I poked him like this.’ She jabbed a finger into Bettina’s chest. ‘“I’m fucking interesting! And I’m funny! And those two qualities trump yours, you neurotic cry-baby!” Sorry, darling, did I poke you too hard there?’
‘Oh, no, it’s fine.’ She gave her cousin a dazed smile. There was a woman across the room who she’d first thought a man, a very slender man, in a man’s suit and bowler hat. But there was the suggestion of hips, of breasts. Her hair was short and black, or seemingly short; it was probably scooped up into a bun and hidden under her hat.
‘Honestly, I think you really lucked out with Bart,’ continued Tuna. ‘He’s such a riot. He doesn’t care what anyone thinks, it’s so very refreshing—’
Was the woman looking at her?
‘—but then, I thought I’d lucked out with Max, and look at our situation. Him nipping back once in a blue moon to try to impregnate me—’
Winking?
‘—and me just waiting in this huge house, neglected and bored and getting fat, like some tragic Dickensian figure. What was her name? Mrs Haber – you know, whenever I try to remember her name, I always think “Haberdashery”! Was she even fat? Something about a wedding dress, that’s all I remember. Didn’t she set herself on fire? Perhaps I should set myself on fire. Bettina, are you actually ignoring me?’
‘Huh?’
‘Perhaps I should set myself on fire if it meant I’d get your attention. That man you’re staring at is actually a woman, by the way. In a man’s suit.’
‘I wasn’t—’
‘You wouldn’t be the first gal fooled.’ Tuna looked at the woman from under her white-blonde lashes, her head dipping slyly – setting the turkey’s feet to waggling – and gave her an icy little wave. The woman started to stroll over, hands in her pockets. ‘Her name is Jean, she’s a complete pervert,’ said Tuna. ‘Be careful – she eats straight girls for breakfast.’
The woman – Jean – arrived. ‘Petunia.’ She poked Tuna’s earrings with a gloved forefinger. ‘Are those bird’s feet?’
‘They are indeed.’
‘Fantastic. How are you not an artist?’
Tuna drew her lips into a lemon-sucking smile. ‘You know very well that I am.’
Jean turned to Bettina and extended her hand. ‘Janine Freeman, but everyone calls me Jean.’
Bettina took her hand, squeezed. ‘Bettina Wyn Thomas. Sorry – Bettina Dawes.’ And – how awful – she let out a shrill yelping laugh belonging to a baby seal. ‘What a thing to forget!’
‘If I was married to a man I’d want to forget it too,’ said Jean.
‘Oh for God’s sake,’ said Tuna, rolling her eyes. ‘So it begins.’ She plunged her hand down her dress and plucked a pack of cards from her cleavage. ‘I’m off to do tarot readings.’ She leaned into Bettina, held out her hand and said, in a crone’s whisper, ‘Crosss my palm with seelver,’ then stumbled off, dragging her leg.
Bettina let out another panicked laugh. It was like hundreds of pigeons suddenly flying off from Trafalgar Square – a vast empty silence left in its wake.
‘Isn’t she terrifically funny?’ she said. ‘Isn’t she just – she’s my cousin, you know.’
Jean took out a slim silver flask from her breast pocket. ‘She did a tarot reading for me once and it was quite eye-opening.’ Her eyes were so black that the pupil was indistinguishable from the iris, the skin around them bruised by lack of sleep or anaemia or some other deficiency. Her skin was flawless but very pale, almost unpleasantly so. She had a big nose, slightly hooked, and a full mouth that tucked in at the corners. She looked very sure of herself.
‘So what do you do?’ said Bettina.
‘I have a bookshop in Piccadilly.’
‘Oh? Which one?’
‘The Cave of Virtue.’
Bettina smiled politely and emitted a quiet ‘Oh’. She had nothing to say about a shop she’d never heard of. She had nothing to say at all.
‘And you?’ said Jean.
Bettina took a drag of her cigarette, turning and tilting her head to blow the smoke away. What answer could she give? What had she to recommend herself, besides money? ‘Well.’ Jean waited, amused. ‘I suppose I don’t do anything that you might consider valuable. I’m a wife and I run a household. I happen to be growing a human being inside me at the moment.’ She looked at Jean with defiance – a child’s defiance.
Jean frowned. ‘Why do you think I wouldn’t find value in these things?’
‘I don’t know.’ Bettina felt her face go hot. ‘Because you’re a working woman? And I don’t do anything? I don’t know.’ She took a big swallow of her drink. What an idiot she was being. What a weird baby.
‘What do you like to do? By way of pleasure.’
‘I like to…’ What did she like to do? Really? She forced her eyes to meet Jean’s. ‘I’m going to be honest with you, Miss… Freeman, was it? I enjoy drinking, eating and sitting around saying marvellously witty things. I like spending my husband’s money and dancing. That’s about it. No, wait – I like to read books, lots of books. Does that redeem me somewhat?’