Sarah Hall - The Beautiful Indifference - Stories

Oh, champagne! he said quickly. It’s practically the afternoon, isn’t it? Please, sit.

He moved to a side door and opened it. There was a small kitchen beyond; the corner of a refrigerator was visible and a cabinet door. I heard the dinging of glassware, a muted pop, and the wet crackle of the drink being poured. Alistair reappeared holding two tall stems. He set them on the table, sat down on the couch and held out a hand.

Join me?

The leather of the chair clucked and sighed as I sat.

I’m sorry, I said. I was referred by a friend and it’s all very new to me. I suppose I don’t really know what I’m doing or what I should do. I think I haven’t completely made up my mind, about anything. I’m sorry.

Alistair smiled again. His teeth were crowded, but white.

Please don’t apologise. It’s wonderful that you found us, even just as an option. Here.

He reached forward and slid the stem towards me. I lifted it to show willing, and then looked at him properly. He was clean-faced, with a remarkably good complexion, and his hair had been cut to fall one side of his brow in a sharp, stylish way. There was a classic, vintage tailoring to his suit, and he wore the waistcoat buttoned. He would not have been out of place in a pre-war television drama. He had obviously been created to go with the location, though his attentiveness and etiquette seemed unforced. He was attractive in a singular and imperfect way. Is this what women want? I thought. I took a sip. The champagne tingled against my lip, and was crisp and sour. I knew I would drink it too quickly if I kept it in my hand, so I set it back on the table.

Thank you, I said, and again he replied, Of course.

He leaned back against the upholstery and crossed his legs.

So, Hannah. Really The Agency prefers to consider this initial meeting as you interviewing us. We absolutely hope to be able to provide you with everything you’d wish, but it’s entirely at your discretion, whether you think we’re suitable for you, and whether you choose to engage us. We’re versatile, and we operate a legal service, on and off the premises, but we understand that some special requirements also need to be met.

He paused a moment, as if to allow time for the words, and their meaning, to be metabolised.

We want to meet all possible needs. So it’s best to be as specific as possible in these early stages. He uncrossed his legs and leaned forward. There was a sheet of paper on the table. He drew it towards him and lifted a corner.

Hannah. Would it be very boring if I offered you some literature, so you can get a sense of what we provide, and we can get a sense of what you prefer?

I was watching his mouth as he spoke. He was moderating his language, his politeness had escalated, and his lips were amplifying the shapes they made.

I’ll let you have some privacy while you look through. There’s no time pressure at all. Often people like to consider things at home again before committing to a further appointment.

The last phrase had been cleverly chosen. He had been cleverly chosen. The calibration was perfect. He slid the sheet of paper towards me, took a pen from his inside pocket and set it on the table.

Please don’t worry. This is simply to help us identify your preferences. You can take it away after we’re done. We don’t keep any records here.

He pressed his hands together again and stood.

I’ll leave you to it. There’s a call button on the desk when you’re done. Don’t forget your champagne.

I took another sip, aware that for all his deference, I was being gently marshalled. There was something deliberately neutral about the meeting, but the young man standing over me was passively steering things. Alistair had been selected for his social skills and his intelligence. Or was the enterprise his, I wondered. Had he recognised a niche in the market and filled it? How old was he? In his mid-twenties? Only a few years ago he might have been one of John’s Politics students. He moved towards the door.

Oh, and Hannah? he said quietly. I should just make it clear, the first question, gender, doesn’t apply to you. We know you’re female. All our members are, as you’re probably aware.

He smiled. The door closed.

I felt as if I’d been holding my breath for the entire discussion. I blew air out, reached for the glass and drank to the halfway mark. Alistair’s glass had not been touched and it occurred to me that it had actually been poured and left for me as well, to make the proceedings as comfortable as possible. I stood and went over to the fireplace. The inlaid tiles were Arts and Crafts. The lilies on the mantel were real. Their scent was delicate, elative. The petals were austerely white, but here and there were orange pollen stains. The stamens had not been removed and on their tips were gathered beads of sap. It was not just nerves or caffeine making me edgy, exciting me. I did not feel unsafe or exposed, as I had supposed I would. I knew that I could leave, easily, and without drama, while the reception room was empty. Alistair would not be surprised to find me gone when he came back. But I didn’t want to leave. And I knew he also would not be surprised to find me still there.

I sat back down on the warm leather and picked up the sheet of paper. It was a form with a series of boxes to tick, not unlike the questionnaires found in beauty clinics. I scanned through. The term used was companion . There was brevity to the phrasing, options that I had perhaps anticipated, but some of the later choices were startling. Film, Restraints, Doll, Defecation .

Anthea had not gone into detail about her experiences. I tried to guess how she might have navigated the form, how straightforward or strange her choices. My life seemed so simple. I did not think what I wanted was unusual. I picked up the pen and struck a line through the appropriate boxes. Then I selected two more from the last section. I finished the champagne, went to the desk and pressed the call bell.

Alistair knocked and opened the door, greeting me warmly, as if we were old friends. He had removed his suit jacket. Underneath was a fashionably striped shirt. The waistcoat was still buttoned.

OK, Hannah. If you would like me to review the form now, and if you’re happy for me to arrange an introduction, I most certainly can. Otherwise I can get in touch with you in a few days with a referral and a telephone number. Would you like me to top you up there?

He gestured to my empty glass. I shook my head.

I have to drive, but thank you.

There was a pause. I expected him to say it again, ‘Of course’, but he did not. The veneer of professionalism remained but now I felt his keener interest. It was not flirtation, the way he was looking at me, but curiosity perhaps, as to my proclivities. The atmosphere in the room felt low, as if the wind outside had relieved the room of its currents. I held the sheet of paper out. My hand was steady. If Alistair noticed the change he gave no indication. He sat opposite me again, crossed his legs, and read through the profile. His eyes flickered across the page, he nodded once, but his face remained expressionless. I tried to guess his age again. Old enough to front such a business and be intuitive. Young enough to seem coltish and, when necessary, submissive. How many wives had he hosted in this room? How much power did he hold? There was obviously money and experience behind the venture, though surely not his. However entrepreneurial he was, however philogynous, he could not be so knowing. Suddenly I was certain he had not orchestrated the enterprise. No. He was skilled, but he was, in effect, a drone. The Agency had been conceived by a woman. The rooms, the tidy gatekeeper, the subtle game; it all belonged to a woman.