The Line of Beauty - Alan Hollinghurst [109]
A waitress came past and they both took new glasses of champagne. "Extraordinary people . . . " Lady Partridge was saying. As a rule she was happy and busy in Gerald's political world, she treated his colleagues very graciously, and felt a fierce thrill when, amongst the drab shop talk that alas made up most of their social dealings, they gave her an undiluted fix of policy, the really unanswerable need to reduce manufacturing, curb immigration, rationalize "mental health" (what abuse and waste there were there!), and get public services back into private hands. They were like rehearsals for the telly, and even more inspiring. They liquidated every doubt. Nick said,
"That's Lord Toft, isn't it . . . the man who builds all the roads."
"Nothing extraordinary about Bernie Toft," Lady Partridge said. Sir Jack himself of course had been in the construction business. "I don't know why Gerald has to ask that awful artist man."
"Oh, Norman, you mean? He's not very good, is he?"
"He's a red-hot socialist," said Lady Partridge.
They both looked over to where Norman Kent was standing by the piano, holding on to it symbolically, and probably conscious of his portrait of Toby hanging behind him, as if it was an element in his own portrait. Most people dodged him with a preoccupied smile and pretended to be searching for someone else, but Catherine and Jasper were talking to him. His voice rose emotionally as he said, "Of course you must, my dear girl, paint and paint and paint," and shook Catherine by the shoulder.
"Do you happen to know who that young man is with my granddaughter?" Lady Partridge said.
"Yes, it's Jasper, he's her new boyfriend."
"Ah . . . " Lady Partridge gave an illusionless nod or two; but said, "He looks a cut above the last one, anyway."
"Yes, he's all right . . ."
"He even appears to own shoes."
"I know, amazing!" Nick's main feeling about Jasper, very clear to him at the moment, was that he needed to be tied up face down on a bed for an hour or two. "He's an estate agent, actually."
"Very good-looking," said Lady Partridge, in her own odd lustful way. "I imagine he sells masses of houses."
Trudi Titchfield came past with a grimace, as if not expecting to be remembered. "Lovely party," she said. "It's such a lovely room for a party. We sadly only have the garden flat. Well, one has the garden, but the rooms are rather low."
"Yes," said Lady Partridge.
Trudi lowered her voice. "Not long of course before a very special party. The Silver Wedding . . . ? I hear the PM's coming."
"I don't think the Queen's coming," said Lady Partridge.
"No, not the Queen—the PM"—in a radiant whisper. "The Queen! No, no . . ."
Lady Partridge blinked magnificently. "All rather hush-hush," she said.
Sam Zeman came past and said, "You're making me a rich man, my dear!" which was charming and funny, but he didn't stop to expand. Perhaps it was just the code of business, but Nick felt they'd used up their store of friendship in the gym and the restaurant, and that they would never be close to each other again.
In the crowd around the buffet (all chaffing courtesy and furtive ruth-lessness) little Nina was mixing with her audience, who in general were nice enough to say "Well done!" and ask her where on earth she had learnt to play like that. She had simple expressionless English, and the English people talked to her in the same way, but louder. "So your father, is in prison? You poor thingl" Just in front of Nick, Lady Kimbolton was greeting the Tippers. Lady Kimbolton's first name was Dolly, and even her close friends found ways of avoiding the natural salutation.
"Good evening, Dolly," said Sir Maurice, with a satirical little bow.
"Hello!" said Sally Tipper. "Well, that was very enjoyable."
"I know, heartbreaking," said Lady Kimbolton. "I imagine you saw the Telegraph this morning?"
"I did indeed," said Sir Maurice. "Congratulations!"
"I do like to hear music in the home," Lady Tipper said, "as in the times of Beethoven and Schubert themselves."