David Wishart - Finished Business

‘My dear lady, when you’ve been to as many bashes like this as I have, you’ll use the term too. Where’ve they put you, by the way?’

‘Hmm?’

‘Which table?’

‘Oh. One of the ones at the back.’

‘Dear me, we can do better than that! We’re two short where we are, as it happens. No Shadow, either; Caesar doesn’t approve of them.’ Shadows are the odds and sods drafted in at the last minute to fill up any unoccupied places in the dinner party’s basic unit of nine. Me, I tended to agree with Gaius: you choose the people you want to eat with for themselves, not just to make up the numbers. And the professional Shadows — they do exist, for a wonder — try so hard to be the life and soul that they’re a pain in the arse. ‘Old Latiaris’s gout is playing up again, so he and his wife have had to call off. You’re more than welcome to move over to us, my dear. Unless you know the people on the other couches where you are, of course, in which case you’ll probably want to stay.’

‘No, actually, we don’t,’ Perilla said. ‘And yes, thank you, we’d be delighted.’

‘Then that’s settled. Claudius? Lucius? You’ve no objections, do you?’

‘None at all.’ Vinicianus was looking at me as he said it, the grey eyes still cold and level. ‘I’d be delighted to get to know Valerius Corvinus better.’

‘Fine. Perilla, you’re on the other side of me from Claudius, on the bottom couch. Three writers together, if I can include myself in that category. It should make for quite an interesting evening, for a change.’

‘Tiberius Claudius writes?’ I said, startled.

Perilla nudged me hard in the ribs just as Claudius said blandly: ‘He d-does indeed, C–Corvinus. S-Surprising as it may seem. He also r-reads quite well. S-Speaking, I’ll grant you, does p-pose a p-problem, although he can m-manage it quite s-successfully on his own behalf. G-Given sufficient time.’

Ouch. I felt myself redden.

Vinicius chuckled. ‘A bit of advice, Corvinus, if you’ll forgive me,’ he said. ‘Don’t judge a book by its wrappings. And Claudius, go easy on the poor man. He doesn’t know you as well as we do.’

‘Uh … yeah,’ I said. ‘Yeah, I’m sorry. My apologies.’

‘N-None n-necessary. F-forget it, p-please.’

‘Tiberius Claudius is a very distinguished linguist and histor-ian, Marcus.’ Perilla gave me a tight smile, and her tone of voice was straight off a glacier. Shit; we were in real trouble here, or would be later, I could tell. ‘His work on the Etruscans is groundbreaking.’

‘W-Well, I w-wouldn’t go so far as-’

‘Nonsense, my dear chap!’ Vinicius clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Groundbreaking is exactly right. You and Perilla can both tell me what you’re working on at present and I’ll bore you by reciprocating.’ There was a stir by the door behind us. ‘Ah. That’s Caesar and Caesonia arriving now. About time, I’m starving.’

I looked round. Gods. Yeah, well, I supposed that being emperor and the fact that he was footing the no doubt whopping bill for the evening excused the guy from conforming to the usual dress code; mind you, a get-up that would’ve been seriously OTT at the Great King’s court in Parthia was taking things a bit too far, I thought. Caesonia, dolled up to the nines as she was and hung with enough jewellery to fit out a couple of shops in the Saepta, was drab in comparison.

His make-up was a bit overstated, too. Trowels came to mind. Not exactly one of your shy, self-effacing characters, our Gaius.

‘Marcus,’ Perilla murmured. ‘You’re staring. No one else is. Stop it.’

‘Uh … right. Right.’ I shifted my eyes to where slaves were folding back the doors at the end of the room.

‘Well, I think we can go in now,’ Vinicius said. ‘Over to the left near the front, Corvinus. The ladies will be there ahead of us, I expect.’

Near the front was understating things; we turned out to be almost slap bang next to the top table itself, where Gaius and Caesonia were lying. I didn’t recognize any of the other seven at it, but the impeccably mantled ramrod-stiff guy and matching frozen-faced matron on the lowest couch must’ve been the new year’s suffect consul and spouse. Frozen-faced, because from the looks of things their table-mates for the evening were Gaius’s flavour-of-the-month pals and gals, one of whom had the muscle-bound look of a professional gladiator. She wasn’t one of the pals, either.

Well, it was all part of life’s rich tapestry.

Vinicius had lain down in the host’s place at the top end of our bottom couch. The three wives were already there, together on the couch opposite; at least, I recognized Livilla and Messalina, and the third, on Livilla’s far side at the couch’s end, had to be Vinicianus’s.

‘You’re next to me, Perilla.’ Vinicius patted the place to his left, where the principal guest usually lay. ‘No, I insist. I told you.’ Livilla shot him a look that was pure venom, but he either missed it or chose to ignore it. Not the happiest or best-matched of couples, Vinicius and Gaius’s sister. I noticed she’d put on even more weight than she’d been carrying the last time I’d seen her; Messalina and Vinicianus’s wife were going to be pretty pushed for space here. ‘Claudius on my other side, Vinicianus beyond Perilla, if you will, Lucius, my boy, and then Corvinus. Can’t have husband and wife together, can we?’ Hell; that put me next to Messalina reclining at the near end of the top couch. Relative or not, I’d’ve preferred to steer well clear of that lady. ‘Oh, and I’m sorry. Corvinus and Perilla, I should’ve introduced you to Vinicianus’s wife, Fulvia Procula.’ We nodded to each other. ‘Now. I think that should do us. Let’s get on with it, shall we?’

We reclined. Messalina gave me a sunny smile and what was almost a wink. She was a looker, sure, always had been, and even now in her mid-twenties and two husbands down the road with her slim figure, soft features and clear skin, she could’ve passed for ten years younger, easy; minimum of make-up and jewellery, although I noticed that she was wearing a ring with a ruby in it the size of a quail’s egg that must’ve cost Claudius an arm and a leg.

‘Why, Cousin Corvinus,’ she said. ‘What a surprise.’

‘Yeah. Yeah, it is.’ I kept my voice neutral.

‘A pleasant one, of course.’ She laughed and held her hands out to the slave coming round with the perfumed water. ‘And Perilla’s looking extremely well. For her age.’

Uh-huh. I glanced sideways, but fortunately the lady was already in deep conversation with Vinicius, as was Livilla with Procula. It looked like Messalina, Vinicianus and me were going to form a threesome. At least for the moment. I held my own hands over the basin while the jug slave poured.

‘So, Corvinus,’ Vinicianus said. ‘What’s this sleuthing business my uncle mentioned? It sounds fascinating.’

The slave behind the one with the water jug dried my hands with a napkin. Including the guy holding the basin, that made three of them. Obviously hand-washing duty was pretty labour-intensive: there was certainly no shortage of bought help around.

‘Oh, it’s nothing much,’ I said.

‘That’s not what I’ve heard.’ Messalina held up her cup without looking at the wine slave who was following behind the hand-rinse guys. He poured. ‘Quite the little busy bee, so I’m told.’

I held up my own cup. The slave filled it.

‘Thanks, pal,’ I said. ‘Yeah, well, it keeps me off the streets and reasonably sober.’ It didn’t do either of those things, mind, but at a dinner party you’re not under oath.

‘Are you working on anything at the moment?’ Vinicianus said, lifting his cup for the slave.