The Account

Julia had not spoken to Michael since their disastrous dinner and was in no mood to spend the evening alone. ‘I’d be delighted,’ she said.

‘He’ll pick you up at 7.30 for the eight o’clock curtain.’

‘I’m at 208 –’ Julia began.

‘We have the address,’ Jill Bannister said. ‘Enjoy your evening.’

Chapter 10 (#ulink_ef1ea796-827d-5bf7-9d00-e3cdd323d3f0)

As they entered the theatre lobby, crowded with people, some elegantly dressed, some in jeans and sweaters, Brand appeared tense. When a dark-haired young man nodded to him and said, ‘Good evening, Mr Brand,’ he affected not to notice. Then, as they walked towards the stalls entrance, a photographer who had overheard the exchange approached. ‘This way, Mr Brand,’ he called, raising his camera.

Brand quickly turned his back, steering Julia past the usher taking the tickets. She saw the photographer frown – hadn’t she seen him somewhere? – before turning his attention elsewhere.

‘I’m sorry,’ Brand said, as they made their way to their seats. ‘I don’t like to be photographed.’

Julia said nothing. It was not, she guessed, that he minded being photographed. He didn’t want to be photographed with her! In case his wife saw the picture? What was wrong with taking a friend to a first night? It wasn’t as if they were seen entering a backstreet hotel.

At the interval, a champagne cocktail and a tonic water awaited them at the bar – arranged beforehand, obviously.

‘Enjoying it?’ Brand asked, as they moved to a quiet corner.

‘Very much,’ she said, deciding to put the incident with the photographer from her mind. So he didn’t want his picture taken? So what?

‘Writes good dialogue, Pinter,’ Brand said.

‘So they say. I’ve never met anyone who actually talks like that.’

‘The pauses, you mean? Most people don’t pause when they’re talking, do they? They shoot off at tangents. It’s interesting replaying a conversation on tape, as I have to sometimes.’

When they left the theatre, Brand’s Daimler was waiting outside with Parsons, his elderly driver, at the wheel. By the time they reached Mayfair, Brand and Julia were laughing together. The car pulled up in Berkeley Square beside a small canopy.

They descended the steep steps to Annabel’s. Brand seemed to be well known there, and nods and smiles greeted them as they proceeded along the hall towards the restaurant. The maitre d’ welcomed them effusively before leading them to a table against the wall. It was still fairly early. The club was not even half full. Brand ordered drinks. ‘I’m sorry the evening got off to a bad start,’ he said.

Julia shrugged. ‘I understand. You’re a married man.’

‘That’s not it.’ Brand seemed surprised that she had stated it so bluntly. ‘My wife knows I have a social life here. It’s just … well, I have a great antipathy towards the Press. Photographers in particular.’

‘They’re just doing their job,’ Julia said.

‘They must do it without my help.’ Their drinks arrived. Brand held up his glass and touched it lightly against hers. ‘Look,’ he said, turning to face her, ‘you don’t understand and I can’t expect you to. It isn’t that I didn’t want to be photographed with you. Dammit, you’re a beautiful woman, Julia; there isn’t a man on this planet who wouldn’t want to be pictured beside you. I just don’t want to be photographed, period.’ He looked into his drink. ‘I’m known to be a wealthy man. And the only way I can have any kind of a private life is for people not to know what I look like. Then I can’t be pestered. As it is, we get a hundred begging letters a week. Everyone wants something from me.’

‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I took it personally.’

‘You shouldn’t,’ he said. ‘It has absolutely nothing to do with you.’

Julia shook her head. ‘We’ve already had several enquiries about you from newspapers.’

‘Were you able to stall them?’

‘I said you weren’t registered, which is true.’

‘If you have any problems refer them to my office in Grosvenor Square.’ He shrugged. ‘You know what they want? To sit down with me and waste hours of my time asking what it feels like to be wealthy. Either that or it’s financial editors wanting me to forecast the market. I haven’t got time for any of that nonsense. I work a long day. For me time is money.’

The club was beginning to fill up. When the waiter came over with the menus they both ordered the rack of lamb. From the wine list Brand selected a bottle of ‘66 Mouton-Rothschild.

Julia was still puzzled. ‘If you never give interviews and don’t have your picture taken, how did that photographer know who you were?’

‘He didn’t until that fellow called out to me.’

‘There must be some photos of you about?’

‘Not many. Paris-Match once staked me out in New York and Acapulco. Acapulco was no problem. I use a helicopter when I’m there; land right on the roof of my house. In New York I leave through the underground garage.’

‘They never got the picture?’

‘All they got was a picture of the car leaving the garage.’

‘It doesn’t sound too much fun, being you.’

‘It has its moments.’

Julia glanced around the room. In one corner an elderly Englishman was pressing champagne on a young, heavily made-up woman, who was giggling. Suddenly Julia remembered. ‘I forgot to thank you for the roses and the champagne you sent after the party.’

‘I hope you’ve drunk it already?’

‘I’m saving it for a special occasion.’

‘You must drink it immediately. One thing I learned from my father was to live for today.’

‘What did he do – your father?’

Brand looked at her for a moment as if trying to decide whether to confide in her or not. ‘He was a financier. When he was quite young he set about making money.’

‘Just like that.’

‘All you need is the confidence to take risks.’

‘I’ve met a few wealthy men at the hotel,’ Julia said. ‘None of them seemed particularly happy.’

‘Did you ask them?’

‘Of course not.’

‘Why did you assume they weren’t happy? Because they didn’t go around smiling?’

‘I suppose so.’

‘Making money is a serious business,’ Brand said. ‘Anyway, you shouldn’t trust people who go around smiling.’