“I appreciate your letting me know, but I think I’ll have to pass on them.” I said.
“Oh.” Dryden’s surprise was obvious. “They are all excellent pieces. Particularly the Fuseli. I’m sure that would be very much to your taste.”
“Quite possibly, but I’m afraid I’ll still have to say no.”
“Well, of course, that’s up to you. But I think you’ll regret it. Perhaps you’d like to see them before you make up your mind...?”
“I don’t think that’s necessary. I’m really not interested in buying just now.”
There was a subtle change in his tone. “In that case, perhaps you might be interested in selling? I know you have a sizeable collection yourself. If you’re considering letting go of one or two pieces, I’m sure we could come to some arrangement.”
With shock, I realised he thought my reasons were financial. My dislike for him grew. “I’ve no intention of either buying or selling. I simply don’t want to add to my collection at the moment.”
He picked up the coldness in my voice. Now I was no longer a prospective client, he responded to it. “That’s your choice, Mr. Ramsey. I’m certain I don’t need to tell you what an opportunity you’re missing. But I’m sure you have your reasons. If you change your mind about anything you know where to find me.”
“Thank you. I don’t think I will.” I hung up before he could, furious that he should have the nerve to try to patronise me. The man was nothing more than a common trader. I had no doubt that Dryden had already made, or was planning to make, similar telephone calls to other possible buyers, hoping to play them off against each other in a blind auction. I was glad that I had robbed him of at least one potential bidder. But as I began to calm down, I began to think about what he had said, and wonder if he had not had a point. Although I had no financial need, perhaps I should consider selling some of my pieces. They no longer held any fascination for me, and there is no point in keeping anything once the passion for it has gone.
Then I remembered my meeting that evening with Zeppo, and suddenly my collection, Dryden, and his wares seemed unimportant. Even the unsettling influence of the dream finally faded into the background in the face of this much more real crisis. This was the watershed. Everything depended on Zeppo’s reaction to what I told him.
Shaking off the last wisps of my earlier abstraction, I focused my energies on preparing myself for the coming confrontation, imagining almost every permutation of Zeppo’s possible reactions to what I had to say, and preparing my arguments in advance. There was one, however, that I shied away from considering too closely. Refusal.
Even so, fear of it was very much with me later that afternoon as I said goodnight to Anna, closed the gallery, and drove to Zeppo’s flat.
He answered the door with a sardonic grin. “Nice of you to drop by.” I had nothing to say. I followed him inside silently. “Drink?”
“A brandy, if you have it.”
“Oh, I think I might just be able to rustle one up.” He went over to a black table that held a vast collection of bottles. From what I could see, they were all costly and famous brands. But not necessarily the best. His knowledge of quality seemed to depend largely on name and price, and I reflected that his modelling career must pay better than I expected. The room too was expensively, if rather gauchely, decorated. But I was not really concerned with that just then. He handed me a drink and sprawled on the huge black leather settee opposite. He smiled, condescendingly.
“So. Confession time.”
I looked into my glass. “It’s hardly a matter of confession. More making sure we understand each other.”
“Donald, you can call it whatever the fuck you like so long as you tell me what you’re playing at.”
“I’m not “playing” at anything.”
“Well, you certainly seem to have been making up new rules as we go along. So come on, let’s have it. What’s been going on in that devious little head of yours?”
“You’re making this sound much more Machiavellian than it is. I’ve not been plotting anything, I assure you.”
“What is it then? Second thoughts?”
“No, not at all. Far from it.”
“So what’s wrong? Either you still want me to get Anna into bed or you don’t. Which is it?”
I could not look at him. “Yes. I do.”
“Then why all this pissing about?” There was an impatient edge to his voice. I could feel him staring at me. There was no avoiding it now.
“Because...” I stopped. The words refused to come.
“Yes? Because?” Zeppo prompted. “I’m waiting, Donald.”
I wondered if he already knew. It would be like him to torment me.
“Because I want to watch,” I said.
When there was no immediate response I looked up. He was staring at me, dumbly. I felt a small flicker of satisfaction. Obviously he had not guessed after all.
“You want to watch?” he echoed.
“Yes.”
His poise reasserted itself. The smile came back: he relaxed into the sofa. “Fine. I’m sure Anna won’t mind. We’ll just put a chair by the bed for you. Would you like some popcorn, as well?”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I. Is there anything else you’d like while we’re at it? Any more surprises you’ve got lined up for me?”
“No.”
“Oh good.”
“I don’t find your facetiousness amusing.”
He snorted. “Well, what did you expect? Congratulations? Jesus!” He looked sharply over at me. “You do just want to watch, don’t you? You’re not thinking about joining in as well?”
“Of course not!”
“Don’t look so appalled, Donald. You’re hardly in a position to start with the moral outrage routine.” He gave an incredulous laugh. “All your prudishness when I’ve talked about fucking her, and it turns out you’re nothing but a dirty old man who gets his kicks by watching someone else shaft the girl he fancies.”
“It’s not like that.”
“Oh, no, of course it isn’t. What is it, then? Scientific interest?”
“I’m paying you. I don’t have to explain my motives as well.”
“Donald!” His tone was teasing. “You want to share a beautiful moment with me, and you won’t even tell me why? Shame on you!”
I could feel my face burning. “You already know why. This... this is the nearest I can get to... to possessing Anna myself. I don’t think it’s too much to ask.”
“Oh, don’t you?” Zeppo gazed at me, a half-smile on his face. “And don’t you think Anna herself might have something to say about it? Or do you seriously think she won’t mind you having a ringside seat?”
I looked into my glass. “Anna doesn’t have to know anything about it.”
Zeppo’s smile grew. “Ahh, I get it now. You want your own private peep show! You sly old voyeur, you!”
“Do you have to demean everything?”
“What is there to demean? Having someone’s boyfriend bumped off so you can hide in a closet and slobber while she’s serviced by a paid stud is hardly a noble enterprise, is it?”
“I don’t think your moral record entitles you to criticise anyone.”
“Who’s criticising? All it boils down to is that you want to get your rocks off, and if this is how you like doing it then that’s up to you. I’m just pointing out that you’ve got nothing to be pious about.”
“I didn’t expect you to understand.”
“Oh, I understand all right. Probably better than you do.” His smirk was infuriating.