White City Blue Read online

  Whatever. She was a stone-cold cert for shifting a flat on to, anyway. So there we were in the Olympia flat. It smelt bad, the paintwork was terrible, but it had one or two features that put it above the first place. It wasn’t in a basement and apart from the mucus-green carpet and 1970s Habitat lampshades, there was quite a good feel to it – high ceilings, big windows. Again it was badly overpriced; I knew Veronica wasn’t going to go for it. What she was going to go for was the place behind Bush Green I had lined up. Dirty Bob was also the freeholder, through one of his anonymous holding companies, but it was probably best not to mention that.

  This one in Bush Green was a sellable flat. Not a bargain – there’s no such thing, unless you’re on the inside track, like me, or a cash buyer – not a palace, but sellable, a quarter to a half decent. Still had a list of faults as long as Tony’s bazooka, but I guessed that Veronica wanted to move fast – on all fronts – trusted me, and was prepared to take my word on it. As I chatted to her, I realized with a certain amount of surprise that I actually did like her – not only her looks, but the way she kept herself apart from herself. There was – how can I put this? – a decent gap between when she thought and when she spoke, there was consideration. It was a mark of self-possession, something I find greatly attractive for some reason. Perhaps because it’s the quality I’ve always lacked. Events sweep me up, clean my clock, leave me gasping.

  Anyway, I was determined not to let it get in the way of making the sale. We chatted this way and that, flirting a little now, laughing even. I prefer woman buyers – they’re more romantic in their approach, which makes them an easier mark, and they don’t do pointless things like knock on partition walls and lift up the carpets to look at the floorboards.

  I’d done my bit to create a sense of urgency – explained that there was very little on the market, that most of the decent stuff was going to cash buyers very quickly. I agreed with whatever she said – you always agree with a purchaser, however dumb, and Veronica, it was beginning to emerge, wasn’t even remotely dumb. Then I made my play.

  Vronky, I can see this isn’t your cup of tea. And to be honest with you, I think you probably can do better. But it’s a tough market at the moment. You’re going to have to be patient. I mean, we occasionally get…

  I stopped in my tracks for a moment, held the position, as if some Jove-like thought had just penetrated my bonce.

  Wait a minute. Something’s just occurred to me. Let me try something. It’s a long shot, but I suppose there’s no harm. Let me just call the office.

  I took out my mobile, my six-gun, my Bowie knife, my mojo, and dialled. My home answering machine did its thing: Hi, this is Frankie. You know what to do, so do it and fuck off.

  Giles? Hi, it’s Frankie Blue. Yes. No, I’m down at Olympia now with Ms Tree. Is Rupert there? He is? OK, I’ll hold.

  I turned to Veronica, who was caught up in the drama now. Stories. It’s how you capture people. I knew that she was hooked, that I had mastered her. It gave me a hard-on right there and then. I hoped she wouldn’t look at my groin. Unlike Tony’s, my knob isn’t up to much, so it was unlikely that she would notice. I gave a little shimmy anyway, to rearrange things down there. Then I gave her my best encouraging smile, and she smiled right back. Her teeth were a little bit crooked at the front, so I marked her down one tenth of a point.

  Rupert, hi. I presume that little maisonette behind Bush Green has gone by now? Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Oh. That’s a bit of luck. Who’s got the keys? Good. No. Pretend they’re lost. Just hold them off. I’ll drop by in… hold on just a minute –

  I turned to Veronica and held my palm over the mouthpiece of the mobile, which was still dutifully recording each precise syllable of bullshit.

  Listen, Vronky. We might have struck it lucky here. There’s this property that came on just this morning, that we got as part of a multiples deal. Farquarsons, and Braxton-Halliday are marketing it too. The vendors are desperate to sell, but I know that Farquarsons had a cash buyer lined up. They’ve rung twice for the keys. There’s just a chance that we may be able to beat them to it. But I think we’d have to go over there right now.

  Veronica shook her head, bit her lip, wrung her hands a little.

  I – I can’t. I’ve got to be back at work in half an hour.

  I let that sit there for a few long seconds. Then I uncovered the mobile again.

  Rupert, hold on a minute. No, please. Listen, I’ll be right with you. No. Don’t let them have them.

  I pointed to the phone in the flat. I said in a voice that made it clear there was no room for dissent – no, let me put it plainly, I ordered her. It was fucking beautiful.

  Give your office a ring. Say that you’ve got a headache.

  She considered for a moment, for a mere moment. Then she gave one firm nod. I gave her a full closer’s smile, radiant like the sun, and went back to the mobile.

  We’ll drop round and pick up the keys in a minute. Don’t let them out of your sight. Excellent. Thanks, Rupe. You’re a mensch.

  I laughed into the phone, a dirty kind of laugh that when I am laughing spontaneously I do not possess. My answering machine emitted a high-pitched whine.

  Noooo. It’s not that at all. She’s just a very nice young woman. Yes, that too, if you must know. Mmm-hmm. Yeah, well, believe it or not even I have a heart sometimes.

  I punched the off button of the cellphone and returned it to my pocket, where it met the cluster of keys that would open the Bush Green maisonette. I would have to make a mock drop-off to the office – perhaps keep Rupert and Giles up to speed, perhaps grab a coffee.

  What was that about? said Veronica, a little bit coyly.

  What?

  That last bit. ‘It’s not that at all.’

  Oh, that. That was just Rupert winding me up.

  How?

  Now you’re going to embarrass me.

  I don’t mind.

  Well, he said I must fancy you to go to this much effort.

  She summoned a slight blush. A tiny droop in those heavy, heavy lids. Good. Some innocence left then, after all those lapsed love affairs, those tiffs, those misunderstandings and let-downs, those laddered tights and sad, wet handkerchiefs, those secret diaries and midnight chats with sympathetic girlfriends.

  We took off together for the maisonette at Shepherd’s Bush. I stopped off at the office to pretend to pick up the keys. Giles and I had a good laugh at the way it was going. God, the power and beauty of scamming, of scammery, of the big scamola. I drove her towards Shepherd’s Bush Green, from the office in Holland Park Avenue. I scratched about for a little bit more intimacy. Now I decided to find if I was right about the television job. I covered my bets; she could also be in a small, quality PR company, or at a push junior rights manager for a book publisher. But I was still laying three to one on that it was television. A lot of the one- and two-bedders around here go to BBC staffers, because of the proximity.

  So why are you looking in this area? Handy for work, is it?

  Yes. That’s right.

  1 thought as much. Don’t tell me. You make fly-on-the-wall documentaries.

  She laughed. A good laugh, low and disrespectful.

  What?

  Don’t tell me. You’ve got a hidden camera in your brooch. You’re doing something on estate agents.

  Oh, I see. You think I work for the BBC.

  I would guess a director, or perhaps an editor.

  She gave a little private smile, then said, I’m afraid you’re way off the mark. Although I do work in a cutting room of sorts.

  I shrugged, turned into the street where the flat was.

  Ah… here we are. It’s a great patch this. Recession-proof area. Tennis club at the end of the road. I don’t suppose you play?

  Not really.

  No. Pity. A sushi bar has just opened around the corner, by the way. Look, there’s our board.

  Sure enough, a weather-beaten, paint-flaked wooden board with Farley, Ratchett & Gwynne in
scribed on it was swaying in the slight breeze. It looked like it had been up there for ages, but it couldn’t have been up for more than two months.

  You got that up pretty fast.

  Hmmh?

  If it only came on the market this morning.

  It’s a cutthroat business. And property, particularly one- and two-bedders, is very in demand around here, particularly if you work at the BBC.

  But I just said, I don’t.

  Of course, that’s right. Sorry. Aagh… look. A space. Hold on. What is it you do then? Watch this. I can get this baby into a vacuum.

  I started to reverse. Let go of the rational mind, sense the space behind me. The force is with me, Lord Kenobi. I must let go… be at one with the universe.

  I’m a pathologist.

  I smacked into the beaten-up Escort that was behind. There was a faint tinkle of breaking glass.

  Oh dear. That doesn’t sound too healthy, said Veronica sweetly.

  I was slightly panicking by now. There was an old man watching me from the pavement and I hate people watching me while I’m trying to park. It reminds me of the way teachers used to stand over you at school. It puts me right off my dinner. He was enjoying this, having nothing more urgent in his diary than further decay. I tried to make the gap again. The old man started to make gestures, to try and guide me in. It took me four more tries until I took the car in perfectly. I leapt out to examine the damage.

  You want to be a bit more careful, said Grandad, and I forced my teeth to grin.

  Faking grins is my stock in trade, but I find this particularly difficult because I hate old people. They remind me of death. I hate thinking about death, which is why Veronica gave me the willies somewhat when she mentioned her job. Assuming she wasn’t winding me up. She was out of the car too now, clicking her tongue sympathetically.

  It’s just your taillight. You’re covered by insurance presumably.

  Let’s not worry about it. You’ve got to get back to work, obviously.

  My clients aren’t going anywhere.

  I laughed uneasily and started manoeuvring towards the front door: 1930s style, stained glass. I felt on the defensive somehow, partly because of smashing the light, partly because of Veronica’s professed occupation. She’d been saving it up, hadn’t she? No, it wasn’t possible. I asked her, she answered my question. So easy to deny the amount of accident in the world.

  This is a lovely feature, isn’t it? Not many of these old doors left.

  They’re a nightmare to keep clean.

  No, you’re absolutely right, Vronky. Still, it’s what’s inside that counts.

  I opened the door. There was a nasty smell inside, like someone hadn’t flushed the toilet. Bad start. We walked up a short flight of stairs to the first floor. The flat was empty of furniture and the carpets had been torn out, which gave it a decent feeling of space. There was plenty of light, and good high ceilings.

  Nice feeling of space.

  Difficult to heat.

  You’re absolutely right. It’s good heating, though. Just installed.

  I found myself momentarily confused as to why it was that we hadn’t shifted it yet. Then, on the wall by the stairs leading up to the second floor, I noticed a thin snaking line crawling across the newly painted and plastered wall. I had been wondering why of all the walls in the flat this one looked immaculate. Then I recalled – one of Dirty Bob’s old tricks. The flat had subsidence, and the hope was to price it low and force through a quick sale without a proper survey. I must have spent too long having this thought, because Veronica noticed where I was staring.

  Those look a bit worrying.

  I shouldn’t bother about it. London’s built on clay. If you want something that doesn’t have a bit of movement, you’re in the wrong city.

  But –

  We’ve had a few dry summers. It hasn’t fallen down yet and it’s a hundred years old.

  All the usual smokescreen. It wasn’t a healthy subject to stay on. I tried to get her up the stairs.

  There’s a lovely little shower room up here and a kind of box room which would do very well as a study, if you bring much work home with you…

  I blinked. I was losing the plot fast. Furthermore, Veronica’s dress was riding up her hips on the way up the stairs. They really were brilliant legs.

  Sorry. Obviously you won’t be…

  That’s all right. I do a lot of paperwork at home. Of course, none of the actual… you know. Cutting. That’s all at the hospital.

  She gave a slight smile. I got the idea that she was enjoying making me uncomfortable. She was arranged against the window now, staring out at the dismal terrace below. The top floor had a lower ceiling, but it still had a good feel. I suddenly sensed that she was keen on the flat. I felt I could hook her, if I wanted. But something held me back.

  What exactly is it… is it that you do then?

  Now she turned from the window and straightened up to me. She looked me right in the eyes, held my gaze, so that I had to turn away. There was something in that gaze, something that frightened me and excited me at the same time. I think it might have been – this sounds stupid, I know – I think it might have been honesty. Whatever it was, it put the wind up me.

  I dissect people. I look inside them. To find damage, she said, as if she was making me some kind of a challenge. And I think she was, she was challenging me, for in the next instant she changed her tone, went all businesslike, and ran her finger along the ledge of the windowsill.

  I like it. I think it has good feng shui. Do you believe in feng shui?

  This is one of the wild cards about women, particularly when they’re unaccompanied. They often claim to have vibrations about a place, which sometimes can be very frustrating, especially when everything else seems to be going well. On the other hand, these superstitions can be very handy, as on this occasion.

  Now she looked at me again. This time, I held her gaze.

  Absolutely, I said.

  What do you think then? she said.

  I answered right away.

  I think you should pitch an offer. What have you got to lose? Not too low under the asking, maybe a few K short. It’s a very good buy. But you’ll have to move fast.

  No, I mean about the feng shui.

  Oh. The feng shui…

  I pronounced it correctly: fang shway. I screwed up my face in the best Jackie Chan kung-fu wiseguy style.

  The feng shui is good, I think. As I’m sure you know, every house has nine areas, each relating to a different aspect of life. I can feel that there’s a lot of positive energy in all of these areas. Particularly relationships.

  I say this with only the slightest hint of suggestiveness.

  I would need to know a lot more about you to give a proper reading of whether this was the right place for you. Birth date, the state of your life and energy and so forth. But crudely, this place isn’t too bad. I don’t like the fact that this corridor leads straight from the front door to the back. And the fact that the toilet faces the front door is not good. That can lead wealth energy to drain. But in every other sense, I would say this place was pretty sound. Nothing that couldn’t be fixed with a few strategically placed mirrors, plants. Or water elements, of course.

  As you can see, I always do my homework. A working knowledge of the magical imaginations of women can be worth several K a year in commissions.

  Then Veronica said, Of course.

  She was clearly impressed. But she obviously wasn’t a total flake, because then she said, What about a survey?

  Fine. A survey’s good. But don’t forget, there’s a cash buyer after this, and I can only pretend to have lost the keys so long. A lot of people don’t bother nowadays, anyway.

  She held my gaze a bit longer, then let it go, as if she had asked a question – a different question – and it had been answered. I seemed to feel some slight disappointment from her. She turned back again, as if wanting to make sure that she’d heard the answer correctly. r />
  So you think 1 should go for it?

  I don’t know what did it. Perhaps because it was at that moment I noticed that there was a hole in the calf of her tights. This called forward an extraordinary emotion in me: both sympathy and a kind of animal, dirty-dog excitement. I almost wanted to kiss her there and then, but above and beyond this, I wanted to protect her. Which was ridiculous, as she seemed not at all in need of protecting from anyone, apart from, of course, me and all the people like me. Of which there are millions.

  Just then I knew it was going to happen. My body, my tongue and the air in my throat betrayed me. Still, there was a long, long pause before I said, I don’t know.

  Honesty will often come as easily to me as lies – they don’t cancel each other out, they’re just different ways of expressing yourself and achieving your ends – but in this case, I felt that a kind of genuine struggle was taking place. I felt faintly surprised. I half-waited for some syrupy feeling of virtue to start working outwards, but I knew from experience that this only happened in old books, Dickens and all those cunts with whiskers.

  I don’t think so.

  Veronica’s eyes rounded slightly, but otherwise she gave no sign of surprise. She stood in front of me, quite still, other than a pointless opening and closing of the catch on her handbag. I could sense her looking at me, but I was looking past her and out of the window. In truth, I was feeling embarrassed at having told the truth. I remembered from my early experiments with it, how uncomfortable and unrewarding it could feel. A good lie – well and imaginatively executed, undetected, effective – is that much more satisfying. The truth is so lazy.

  Why not?

  Now I felt myself unfreeze a bit and focus approximately on her face. I felt ridiculous, weak. Yet it was as if some channel had opened up inside me which I could not negotiate an exit from. There was no proper way back to my starting position, so I decided to continue.

  Well, Dirty Bob’s the freeholder for one thing. Also, it has subsidence. Those little baby cracks in the stairwell have big brothers and sisters and uncles and cousins just underneath.