She was the same height as Jenny, the same height as me, just touching five foot six. As my smallness had always been an asset for racing, I never looked on it as a handicap for life in general, either physical or social. Neither had I ever really understood why so many people thought that height for its own sake was important. But it would have been naïve not to take note of the widespread extraordinary assumption that the mind and heart could be measured by tallness. The little man with the big emotion was a stock comic figure. It was utterly irrational. What difference did three or four inches of leg bone make to a man’s essential nature? Perhaps I had been fortunate in coming to terms early with the effect of poor nutrition in a difficult childhood; but it did not stop me understanding why other short men struck back in defensive aggression. There were the pinpricks, for instance, of girls like Doria calling one ‘little’ and intending it as an insult.
‘You’ve dug yourself into a cushy berth here, haven’t you?’ she said, taking a cigarette from the silver box on the mantelpiece.
‘I suppose so.’
‘If I were the Admiral I’d kick you out.’
‘Thank you,’ I said, neglecting to offer her a light. With a mean look she found a box of matches and struck one for herself.
‘Are you ill, or something?’
‘No. Why?’
‘You eat those faddy health foods, and you look such a sickly little creature… I just wondered.’ She blew the smoke down her nose. ‘The Admiral’s daughter must have been pretty desperate for a wedding ring.’
‘Give her her due,’ I said mildly. ‘At least she didn’t pick a rich father-figure twice her age.’
I thought for a moment she meant to go into the corny routine of smacking my face, but as it happened she was holding the cigarette in the hand she needed.
‘You little shit,’ she said instead. A charming girl, altogether.
‘I get along.’
‘Not with me, you don’t.’ Her face was tight. I had struck very deep, it seemed.
‘Where is everyone else?’ I asked, gesturing around the empty room.
‘Out with the Admiral somewhere. And you can take yourself off again too. You’re not wanted in here.’
‘I’m not going. I live here, remember?’
‘You went quick enough last night,’ she sneered. ‘When the Admiral says jump, you jump. But fast, little man. And that I like to see.’
‘The Admiral,’ I pointed out, ‘is the hand that feeds. I don’t bite it.’
‘Boot-licking little creep.’
I grinned at her nastily and sat down in an armchair. I still didn’t feel too good. Pea green and clammy, to be exact. Nothing to be done though, but wait for it to clear off.
Doria tapped ash off her cigarette and looked at me down her nose, thinking up her next attack. Before she could launch it, however, the door opened and her husband came in.
‘Doria,’ he said happily, not immediately seeing me in the armchair, ‘where have you hidden my cigarette case? I shall punish you for it.’
She made a quick movement towards me with her hand and Howard saw me and stopped dead.
‘What are you doing here?’ he said brusquely, the fun-and-games dying abruptly out of his face and voice.
‘Passing the time.’
‘Clear out then. I want to talk to my wife.’
I shook my head and stayed put.
‘Short of picking him up and throwing him out bodily,’ said Doria, ‘you won’t get rid of him. I’ve tried.’
Kraye shrugged. ‘Roland puts up with him. I suppose we can too.’ He picked up one of the newspapers and sat down in an armchair facing me. Doria wandered back to the window-seat, pouting. Kraye straightened up the paper and began to read the front page. Across the back page, the racing page, facing me across the fireplace, the black, bold headlines jumped out.
‘ANOTHER HALLEY?’
Underneath, side by side, were two photographs; one of me, and the other of a boy who had won a big race the day before.
It was by then essential that Kraye should not discover how Charles had misrepresented me; it had gone much too far to be explained away as a joke. The photograph was clearly printed for once. I knew it well. It was an old one which the papers had used several times before, chiefly because it was a good likeness. Even if none of the guests read the racing column, as Doria obviously hadn’t, it might catch their eye in passing, through being in such a conspicuous place.
Kraye finished reading the front page and began to turn the paper over.
‘Mr Kraye,’ I said. ‘Do you have a very big quartz collection yourself?’
He lowered the paper a little and gave me an unenthusiastic glance.
‘Yes, I have,’ he said briefly.
‘Then could you please tell me what would be a good thing to give the Admiral to add to his collection? And where would I get it, and how much would it cost?’
The paper folded over, hiding my picture. He cleared his throat and with strained politeness started to tell me about some obscure form of crystal which the Admiral didn’t have. Press the right button, I thought… Doria spoilt it. She walked jerkily over to Kraye and said crossly, ‘Howard, for God’s sake. The little creep is buttering you up. I bet he wants something. You’re a sucker for anyone who will talk about rocks.’
‘People don’t make fools of me,’ said Kraye flatly, his eyes narrowing in irritation.
‘No. I only want to please the Admiral,’ I explained.
‘He’s a sly little beast,’ said Doria. ‘I don’t like him.’
Kraye shrugged, looked down at the newspaper and began to unfold it again.
‘It’s mutual,’ I said casually. ‘You Daddy’s doll.’
Kraye stood up slowly and the paper slid to the floor, front page up.
‘What did you say?’
‘I said I didn’t think much of your wife.’
He was outraged, as well he might be. He took a single step across the rug, and there was suddenly something more in the room than three guests sparring round a Sunday morning fire.
Even though I was as far as he knew an insignificant fly to swat, a clear quality of menace flowed out of him like a radio signal. The calm social mask had disappeared, along with the wordy, phony, surface personality. The vague suspicion I had gained from reading his papers, together with the antipathy I had felt for him all along, clarified into belated recognition: this was not just a smooth speculator operating near the legal border-line, but a full-blown, powerful, dangerous big-time crook.
Trust me, I thought, to prod an anthill and find a hornets’ nest. Twist the tail of a grass snake and find a boa constrictor. What on earth would he be like, I wondered, if one did more to cross him than disparage his choice of wife.
‘He’s sweating,’ said Doria, pleased. ‘He’s afraid of you.’
‘Get up,’ he said.
As I was sure that if I stood up he would simply knock me down again, I stayed where I was.
‘I’ll apologise,’ I said.
‘Oh no,’ said Doria, ‘that’s much too easy.’
‘Something subtle,’ suggested Kraye, staring down.
‘I know!’ Doria was delighted with her idea. ‘Let’s get that hand out of his pocket.’
They both saw from my face that I would hate that more than anything. They both smiled. I thought of bolting, but it meant leaving the paper behind.
That will do very nicely,’ said Kraye. He leant down, twined one hand into the front of my jersey shirt and the other into my hair, and pulled me to my feet. The top of my head reached about to his chin. I wasn’t in much physical shape for resisting, but I took a half-hearted swipe at him as I came up. Doria caught my swinging arm and twisted it up behind my back, using both of hers and an uncomfortable amount of pressure. She was a strong healthy girl with no inhibitions about hurting people.