Evelyn Barkley leaned against the door frame. For a moment she was afraid, not recognizing him, then he tilted his head and smiled at her.
‘Well, hello, cousin, surprise, surprise! Expected Mother, where is she?’
Jinks felt herself flushing, and stammered that Barbara was out for the evening.
‘Oh, she must have forgotten. Still, not to worry.’
There was a knock on the door and he opened it, standing aside for room service to enter. Jinks excused herself and returned to her bedroom to dress. By the time she came out, he was sitting down, pouring a glass of wine.
He was wearing the filthiest pair of leather trousers and an old leather jacket, a scarf knotted at his throat. His motorbike boots had so many straps and buckles he looked like a Hell’s Angel, but he was perfectly at ease. Smiling, he told her he had ordered a steak for himself.
She could not meet his black, slanting eyes. His delicate bone structure was reminiscent of Barbara’s finely chiselled features; and he was an exceptionally handsome boy, but his face, like his hands, was filthy. His hair was lank and greasy, and he wore an elaborate silver skull-and-crossbones earring. She accepted the glass of wine, and before she could offer a toast he had downed his full glass and was pouring another.
‘So what’s with you? What are you doing here with the duchess?’
‘I’m here for the collections.’
He looked at her and laughed. ‘Oh, we’re here for the collections, are we? Christ, how tall are you? You must be nearly six feet.’
Jinks flushed bright pink and sat down quickly, picking up her napkin to cover her embarrassment. He leaned over and tugged her hair. ‘You look better than you did last time. Christ, you used to wear those specs, and those pigtails...’
Jinks could not think of anything to say, so she sipped her wine while he made himself at home, forking salad out of the bowl and then eating it with his fingers, filthy fingernails prodding at the tomatoes and then dipping them into the salad dressing.
‘How’s college, aren’t you at college here?’ Jinks finally managed.
Evelyn snorted. With his mouth full, he told her about his time at St Martin’s of Pontoise. ‘Place is, rather was, run by friggin’ monks. We hadda call them Brother or Frere. Place was like a concentration camp — mass every day, bloody dormitories, fucking ice-cold showers... Jesus, it was a shit-hole. I got out after my first term, not that the old lady knows, or the old man. They wouldn’t know if I died of the clap over here, but they keep on sending the allowance, so who gives a fuck. Know what I mean?’
His steak arrived, and he sauntered to the door to let the waiter in, then kicked it shut. He proceeded to eat the steak with his hands, waving it around the room as he talked. Suddenly Jinks started to laugh. He was trying so hard to impress her or disgust her, she couldn’t tell which, but it was just so ridiculous, and it was all the funnier to think that he was Barbara’s son.
‘Has your mother seen you in this get-up? Or have you bought it especially for tonight?’
He looked at her and licked his filthy fingers. Then, with an open-handed gesture, he enquired what was wrong with his gear... but he was smiling, and his eyes were like a naughty boy’s, wonderful, twinkling eyes with thick, long eyelashes. He threw himself on to the sofa, propped his boots on the satin cushions and unzipped one of his many pockets.
‘I’d rather hoped the duchess would be here so I could hit her for some cash. She coughs up fast when I look like this, especially if she’s got company... you wanna smoke?’
Evelyn drew a rather squashed joint from his pocket, lit it, and inhaled the smoke deeply. Jinks continued to sip her wine, leaving her food untouched.
‘So you’ve left college?’
He nodded, then offered her the joint. She hesitated a moment, then walked over to take it. He pulled her down to sit next to him.
‘So how’s life, willow-legs? You look very affluent, what do you do? You work, do you?’
Jinks puffed tentatively at the joint, but the end was soggy so she handed it back. He took a deep drag, then stared at her.
‘What does a little rich girl do in Paris, huh?’
‘I’m going to college in America.’
‘Oh, are we? Isn’t that exciting...’
‘If you are no longer at St Martin’s, what do you do?’
‘I live in a commune. My friends and I fight against the stinking capitalist shits who run this country.’
He watched her closely for a reaction, but receiving none either way he continued, growing serious about his political beliefs. He spoke in glowing terms of the Baader-Meinhof gang, and spouted the Red Army jargon. Looking at her, he gestured to her silk robe.
‘Sitting in the lap of luxury I doubt if you could understand, could feel any compassion for the injustices...’
Jinks had heard enough. His childish and irritating arrogance annoyed her. ‘On the contrary, I am more than aware of the injustice in the world, but I doubt if joining some tin-pot terrorist organization can put it to rights. You are a typical recruit. It’s a fact that most terrorist organizations draw the offspring of wealthy parents like magnets. Although, as far as I have discovered, there is usually an element of their own failure that surpasses their hatred of their so-called capitalist parents’ wealth. I’m not saying that all the offshoots, all terrorist organizations, are made up of rich kids, but they are essentially useful — if for nothing else but finances. You had every opportunity to make something of yourself but you blew it. If you want my opinion you’d be better off going back to college, or better still, if you don’t want to use the money that I presume is still being paid out for your education and is consequently being wasted, give it to some kid who wouldn’t have the chance...’
He jumped to his feet in a fury, shouting at her, ‘If I wanted a fucking lecture I’d go to my father, you mind your own damned business!’
‘Fine! You started it, I didn’t ask you to come in here spouting political dogma. In fact, I’d appreciate it if you left, you stink — doesn’t this commune of yours possess a bath, or is it not the thing to do?’
They glared at each other, then suddenly he roared with laughter. ‘Come to think of it, I wouldn’t mind a bath, thanks... You know, I preferred you with your hair in pigtails and those weird glasses you used to wear. How’s Aunt Harriet?’
Jinks had to turn away from him. ‘She died, nearly nine months ago...’
Evelyn hesitated, and he suddenly dropped his act, became real, even appeared vulnerable. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t know. She was nice... You sure it’s okay for me to have a bath?’
Jinks turned to him, and they were totally at ease with each other. She nodded her head. For a moment he looked just like he had done at school, a cheeky grin flashed on his handsome face, then he disappeared into her bedroom.
She could hear him moving around, and then the sound of the bath running. After a moment he called out for her to come and talk to him. She hesitated... and opened the door.
He was stripping off his clothes in preparation for his bath, tipping bath salts and perfume into the steaming tub. She remained hovering in the doorway, and he looked over, laughing, as she flushed crimson and returned to the lounge. She rang for room service to clear dinner, and waited for fifteen minutes, listening to him singing and splashing in the bathroom.
Room service cleared the trolley and delivered fresh coffee. She had just poured herself a cup when he reappeared, wrapped in bath towels. While she poured him the coffee he asked for, he stood very close to her, too close, and she was aware of his body. His hair, washed and drawn back from his face, dripped water down his naked back. In a genuinely friendly gesture he slipped an arm around her.