The Line of Beauty - Alan Hollinghurst [126]
"Someone in his position can't help but do well," said Don.
"I have the feeling . . . " said Gerald, with a condescending twinkle. "I know high hopes are riding on him. The father's quite a character, of course."
"He's the supermarket chappie, isn't he."
"Bertrand? Oh, a. great man!" said Gerald, who used the word very freely, as if hoping it might stick as easily to himself. "I mean, an outstanding businessman, obviously . . . Awfully sad, I didn't know till the other day, but you know, they lost their first son."
"Oh, really . . ."
"Yup, he was knocked down by a lorry in the street, in Beirut of course. The child and his nanny or whatever they call them were both killed. Bertrand Ouradi was telling me about it only the other day."
Nick had to pretend he already knew7 this, and nodded sombrely to confirm it to his parents, who murmured in sympathy but seemed not to care much, as if a death in Beirut were only to be expected. "Yes, it was an awful thing," Nick said. It was a total surprise. His first thought was that his smug reckonings of intimacy with Wani looked very foolish. It was the family mystery, hardly glimpsed, far stronger and darker than their little sexual conspiracy. And Wani was carrying that burden . . . He seemed instantly more touching, more glamorous and more forgivable.
"His fiancee looks a sweet little thing," said Dot. "I've seen her at the hairdresser's."
"Really . . ."
"In the Tatler, I mean!"
"Ah, yes . . ."
"Of course Nick was in the Tatler, after that marvellous party of yours. We dined out on that for months." This was one of his mother's favourite boasts, and strictly a figure of speech, since they only dined out about three times a year. "Who's the other one we see? That great big fat one, that Nick knows?—Lord Shepton: he's always in."
"What about this little runaround of Nick's?" said Don, with anxious enthusiasm.
"Mm, she's a lively little thing," said Gerald.
"Did you say he'd given the car to you, dear, I didn't quite understand . . ."
"I told you, Mum," Nick said, "it's like a company car. I can drive it while I'm working for him."
"He must think very highly of you," Dot said doubtfully. "Well, it's all another world, isn't it?" No one quite assented to this, and after a moment she went on, "And how's your son?"
"Oh, he's in great shape. Set up his own little company now, we'll see how he gets on."
"We used to see his name in the paper a lot!" said Don, as if Toby's back-half paragraphs on share prospects had been the highlight of their days.
"Mm, I think that was a bit of a wrong turning. He's an outdoor sort of chap, you know, far too confined by office life . . . Well, it only lasted five minutes; and good on him for giving it a go."
"Oh, absolutely . . ."
"It was a bit more than that," said Nick.
"Mm? Nick's probably right," said Gerald. "What was it, six months on the Guardian, where I don't think he felt at all at home, and then a year or so on the Telegraph, on the City desk . . . yah."
"Some of Nick's university friends seem to have made their fortunes already," said Dot. "Who was it, dear, you said had bought a castle or something?"
"Oh . . . " said Nick, regretting having bragged about this. "Yes, one of them has. It's quite a small castle . . . ! But he's in reinsurance, you know."
"Ah," said Dot. Nick hoped she wouldn't ask him what reinsurance was. "They go so fast these days, don't they!" she said, as if Gerald might be equally breathless at the thought.
"Lord Exmouth's son's doing jolly well," said Don.
"Ah yes," said Gerald. "One of our local blue-bloods!" He had suddenly become a Barwick man at the mention of the indigenous aristocracy.
"That's right," said Don. "Well, I look after the clocks at Monksbury, so I've seen young Lord David on and off since he was a little boy."
"Really . . . ?" Gerald gave him a narrow look over the rim of his glass. "You don't go to the Noseleys, I suppose?"
"Not since the old lady died," said Don. "I did a lot of work out there, ooh, ten years ago now I suppose. Of