Brian Freemantle: Charlie Muffin U.S.A.

The organising committee, headed by Senator Cosgrove, was near the door. Tonight the man was accompanied by his wife. Sally, remembered Charlie, from the disdained introduction he’d been granted thirty minutes earlier. He could easily understand why Clarissa Willoughby and Sally Cosgrove were friends. The American socialite butterflied from person to person and group to group, almost with a professional mannequin’s awareness of any passing camera, bestowing greetings and gushing kisses. She’d seemed appalled at the possibility of Charlie appearing with her in any photograph, removing herself from his presence as soon as possible. That had pleased Charlie, but for different reasons.

Charlie was aware of Pendlebury moving and became attentive, realising the man was coming towards him. Pendlebury walked in such a way that the entrance was never obscured from his view; the man was very professional, Charlie decided.

‘So far, so good,’ he said.

‘Hardly expected a smash and grab, did you?’ said Charlie.

‘If this is the sort of interest they can expect, the charity should make a lot of money,’ predicted Pendlebury.

‘The food and drink is free,’ Charlie reminded him.

‘Cynical bastard,’ said Pendlebury, amused. Throughout the conversation, he remained looking at the door.

‘Never believed the Seven Dwarfs took Snow White in just to keep house, did you?’ said Charlie.

‘The senator’s enjoying himself,’ said Pendlebury.

‘So’s his wife.’

‘Nice piece of ass,’ judged Pendlebury. ‘Used to be a cocktail waitress in Beverly Hills.’

‘That’s what I like about America,’ said Charlie. ‘True democracy.’

‘Take an Old Fashioned from her any time,’ said Pendlebury.

‘Doubt if you’d get the offer,’ said Charlie.

‘No,’ agreed Pendlebury regretfully. ‘You’re probably right.’

Momentarily, the American looked into the room, to where a security man was having difficulty closing a display case besides which a philatelist stood still. The lock finally clicked and Pendlebury sighed.

‘That’s a stupid idea,’ said Charlie. ‘The cases shouldn’t be opened in the middle of a function like this.’

‘Organisers probably felt it necessary.’

‘I don’t,’ said Charlie. ‘I want it stopped.’

‘Organisers won’t like it,’ warned Pendlebury. ‘Neither will the senator.’

‘They haven’t got to.’

There was a sudden flurry by the door and Charlie followed Pendlebury’s look. Clarissa Willoughby was arriving, surrounded by a group of people. They all wore evening dress. The woman paused just inside the room, staring around. From a distance, Charlie decided, she looked remarkably attractive. She still wore her hair in a bubbled style, which he didn’t like, but she had discarded the feather-effect dress. She wore a simple black tube, supported over her shoulder by a single strap, the only jewellery a diamond pin high on the shoulder. She was big-busted, Charlie saw appreciatively. He’d always been a tit man.

Sally Cosgrove surged forward, arms outstretched, and there was much kissing and hugging to the accompaniment of camera flashes.

Over the American woman’s shoulder, Clarissa Willoughby saw him and when she had detached herself from the greeting embrace, she waved. Charlie gestured back, wondering why he felt self-conscious.

‘You know her?’ asked Pendlebury.

Charlie smiled at the astonishment in the other man’s voice.

‘Slightly.’

‘I’d like to know her a lot better than that,’ said Pendlebury.

‘A lot of people probably do,’ guessed Charlie.

Led by the senator’s wife, Clarissa and her group moved further into the room, making a pretence of interest in the exhibits.

Had Charlie not been following their progress, which brought his head around so that Pendlebury was directly in front of him, he might have missed the other man’s reaction. As it was, Charlie was unsure whether there had been a change. He had expected a tightening within the man, if there were any recognition, but instead Pendlebury seemed very slightly to relax. Charlie turned within seconds of discerning the American’s attitude. There were four people in the doorway, apparently arriving separately. There was a masculine looking woman, in a severe black trouser suit and carrying a long cigarette holder, an immaculately dressed, slightly greying man with a deep suntan, and a husband and wife, who were immediately recognised by Cosgrove and some of the charity officials just inside the room, and snatched further in for greeting.

‘Recognise somebody?’ demanded Charlie.

Pendlebury shook his head. ‘Wish I had.’

Charlie looked back to the door. The four had moved into the room now and were lost in the crowd.

A waiter passed near by and Pendlebury gestured with an expertise that came from long hours in bar-rooms.

‘Champagne?’ he invited. ‘French, not Californian.’

‘Gives me wind,’ replied Charlie.

The American sipped his wine, looking directly at Charlie and smiling. ‘One glass won’t hurt,’ he said. He looked beyond Charlie to the display cases.

‘The reception will be over soon,’ said Charlie. ‘I can wait.’

‘Afraid I shan’t be able to join you tonight,’ apologised Pendlebury. ‘Got an appointment.’

Charlie shrugged, not having expected the man’s company. He heard familiar voices and turned towards Clarissa Willoughby. She was advancing slightly ahead of her party, smiling.

‘Darling!’ she cried. ‘I’ve been telling everyone what a simply fascinating man you are.’

By her side Sally Cosgrove stood uncertainly. Then recognising in a sideways look the trouser-suited woman who had been in the group to which Pendlebury seemed to react, she waved, welcoming the excuse to leave Clarissa’s presence while she spoke to the staff.

‘Hello,’ said Charlie.

‘Fran, John, Pandora and Giles,’ recited Clarissa, sweeping her hand back but not looking at them. ‘And you’ve already met Sally. We’re all going to the Four Seasons.’

‘Have fun,’ said Charlie.

‘No, darling. You too. I want you to come.’

‘Too busy,’ replied Charlie.

‘Nonsense. It’s all going to be over soon. You’ve no excuse.’

Pendlebury had moved away and was watching the performance with an amused smile upon his face.

Clarissa shook her head.

‘We’re not leaving the room without you,’ she said, in her little-girl-petulant voice: ‘I insist. ’

Charlie sighed. It had happened before, just like the funny way people looked at him. He’d never enjoyed it, not even the screwing bit, and that hadn’t always been the eventual reward.

‘We’ll call back to the hotel so you can change,’ she said, looking down at him.

‘I’ll go as I am,’ said Charlie. ‘It’s traditional for jesters to wear peculiar clothes.’

There was an aircraft in permanent readiness for him at La Guardia, but Pendlebury was held up by traffic on the Triboro Bridge, so it took him almost three hours to reach Washington. Warburger was too excited by what had happened to be annoyed at the delay.

‘Well!’ he said, repeating the demand of which Bowler had become sickened during the wait. ‘Well! Is it going to work or isn’t it?’

‘He came,’ admitted Pendlebury.

From his desk the Director took up the copies of photographs which had been taken during the Romanov reception and wired down from New York ahead of Pendlebury’s arrival. Pendlebury had brought the video film which they had just sat through in its entirety.

‘He came!’ repeated Warburger. ‘Just like I said he would. He wants them. I can almost feel the tingle in his hands, needing to touch them and know they’re his.’