Chapter 36
Lulu’s heart sank as she heard the key in the lock. She had hoped to have left the house by the time Todd returned from rehearsals. Unfortunately, he was early, and she, as usual, was running late.
‘You’re back early.’
‘Yeah, well, we’ve just had a piss-awful rehearsal. Con and I had another major argument over the running order in Central Park.’
‘Oh dear,’ she said insincerely as she walked past him and reached into the coat cupboard for her trusty combat jacket.
‘Then Ian turned up two hours late, stoned out of his mind. He had some hippy woman in tow, who he insisted should sit in for the session.’
‘Mmm.’ Lulu searched for her car keys in her numerous pockets.
‘And Derek . . . Derek just whinged on and on about his precious song. He not only thinks we should include it on the album, but now he’s saying he wants us to play it in front of a quarter of a million people in Central Park!’
‘I see.’
‘Con steamed into Derek and told him his song is, as he puts it, “feckin’ desperate” and there was no way it was ever seeing the light of day. Derek stormed out and didn’t reappear, so we were sat there twiddling our thumbs while Ian and this stranger crouched on the floor and recited a mantra.’
‘Really? How nice. If you’re not taking your car out again today, can I borrow it? I can’t find my keys anywhere.’
Todd looked at her. ‘You’ve not heard a word I’ve just said, have you?’
‘Pardon?’
‘I rest my case.’
‘Sorry. Well, can I?’
‘Can you what?’
‘Borrow the car?’
‘Of course.’ Todd handed her the keys. ‘Where are you off to?’
‘I have to see Gus at his office to discuss this part I’ve been offered with him.’
Todd watched as she shrugged on her combat jacket.
‘And which part is this?’
‘The one I told you about.’
‘The one where you have to bare all for that avant-garde plonker that likes to call himself a serious director when his films are nothing more than pornographic filth?’ Todd sneered.
‘Todd, sometimes you sound like a middle-class, strait-laced moralist from the suburbs.’
He placed his hands on his hips. ‘That’s probably because I am.’
‘But you’re meant to be a hip rock star, sweetie.’
‘Okay, fine. I’ll go and snort a couple of lines, then jump into bed with some groupies.’
‘It would probably do you good,’ muttered Lulu under her breath.
‘What did you say?’
‘Oh, nothing,’ sighed Lulu. ‘It’s just that at times you can be so dull.’
‘Thanks a bunch. Okay . . .’ Todd grabbed her, pinned her against the wall and put his lips harshly to hers. A hand snaked up under her top.
‘Stop it, stop it!’ Lulu wrenched herself out of his grasp.
Todd watched as she wiped her lips with the back of her hand.
‘Christ, you should see the look on your face. Do I disgust you that much?’
‘No. Sorry, time of the month and all that.’
Todd sank into the chair by the telephone table in the hall. He sighed. ‘What is going on, Lulu? We haven’t made love for weeks now. You seem to be deliberately avoiding me. You’re out most nights when I get home. I can’t remember the last time we spent an evening together.’
‘Sorry. It’s just the way things are.’ She shrugged.
‘Too busy with your career, your causes and Con Daly to have time for me?’
‘You have loads of places and parties you could go to, Todd.’
‘Yes, I do. But it just so happens that the time I do have off I would prefer to spend at home with my wife.’
‘God, you are getting boring.’
Todd shook his head. ‘I give up. Go on, Lulu, go and get your tits out for your director friend. You’re probably getting them out for Con too, for all I know.’
‘Don’t be juvenile, Todd. Look, I’ll be late tonight.’
‘What a surprise.’
‘Bye.’
The door slammed and Todd gave a little wave in its direction.
‘Bye-bye, Lulu.’
Con stared at the telephone. He knew he should call Sorcha, but the sound of her hurt, strained voice was not something he was able to deal with tonight. He left his study and went into the kitchen to grab a beer from the fridge.
A terrible rehearsal, a row with Derek and then that Detective Inspector Cross had stuck his beak-like nose through the glass of the studio.
They’d gone to the pub, where Cross had laid down the law.
Apparently, a Loyalist hit list had been discovered, on which, along with leading Republican politicians and activists, Con’s name had been included.
He’d suggested that Con keep a low profile and curtail his political activities if he valued his safety.
He’d also suggested that Helen McCarthy hire a couple of bodyguards to supplement the police cover.
The inspector thought it doubtful there’d be a problem in New York, but he was recommending some protection from the NYPD to be on the safe side.
‘You really think the poison-pen letter may have come from a Loyalist group?’
‘The possibility has to be considered. It may only be a coincidence that we discovered the hit list in the same week as you got the letter, but it’s better to be safe than sorry. Just mind your backside, Mr Daly, until this situation calms down.’
The detective had left the pub and Con ordered himself two double whiskeys. Then he had driven home to his empty house, whereupon he’d tried to take his mind off his problems by concentrating on a new song. At half past four he’d given up and found solace in the fridge.
Con took a slug from the beer bottle. Lulu would be here soon. That would take his mind off things. She was coming over to discuss an idea she had about Con meeting up with John Lennon in New York and maybe joining his ‘bed-ins’ for peace for a few hours in front of the camera.
The telephone rang. Con walked across the hall to the study and picked it up.
‘Yeah?’
‘Con, it’s Helen.’
‘Oh, hi.’
‘How are you?’
‘I’d say today has not been the best, Helen.’
‘No. I’m sure it hasn’t. Can I drop by tomorrow morning at about nine? I realise it’s early, but as you know, Metropolitan are moving offices at present and everything is totally chaotic. And I’d really like to speak to you before you fly to New York.’
‘I suppose.’
‘Sorry, but we do need to talk. About all sorts of things. Okay?’
‘Okay. Bye, Helen.’
He put the telephone down. He and Helen had maintained a distant but professional relationship over the years.
Of course, that first night he’d seen her in London, he had been filled with dread.
The last thing he needed was his past catching up with him.
But, as days had turned into weeks, and weeks into months, Helen had remained tight-lipped and out of the way.
But now, she wanted to talk.
Con sighed. If Helen’s manner was less than warm, she made up for it with her cool efficiency.
And with Brad hitting the bottle so regularly, he was glad there was someone at the helm of Metropolitan who knew what day it was – because Brad certainly didn’t.
That was a further problem. The man simply wasn’t up to producing their new album – if one actually ever got written.
‘Shit!’ Con’s frustration at the complications of his existence prompted him to chuck his beer bottle across the room. It hit the door but did not break, bouncing noisily and then rolling to and fro across the tiled floor.
The door opened.
‘Okay, I surrender, please lay down your arms.’
Lulu appeared in the kitchen, her hands up, a look of mock fear on her face.
‘It wasn’t meant for you, Lulu. I’ve just had a rough old day and Heil Helen phoned to cap it all and . . .’ Con shrugged sheepishly. ‘Yeah. Sorry.’
‘Oh dear, oh dear.’ Lulu leant against the door. ‘I saw Todd before I left. He looked as happy as you do. What is going on at the moment?’
‘Got all night?’
‘I might have.’ Lulu’s eyes twinkled.
‘Then I’ll tell you. But before I do, I have to get some food inside me. I haven’t eaten since breakfast.’
‘Really? Where’s Sorcha? I thought she’d be serving one of her stomach-bloating casseroles on the dot of seven as she usually does.’
‘Now now, Lulu. As a matter of fact, she’s in Ireland. Her father died and she’s gone home for the funeral.’
‘I see. When’s she back?’
‘Dunno.’ He shrugged.
‘Like that, is it?’
‘Possibly.’
‘I also need to eat. The trouble is, unlike your lovely wife, I can’t even boil an egg. We’ll have to go out.’
‘There’s the French place in the village. Let’s go there.’
‘Fine. Do you think escargots are counted as meat? I adore snails soaked in butter and garlic.’ Lulu followed Con towards the door.
‘You’d be doing the local gardeners a favour. There’s been a plague of the buggers this year.’ Con smiled as they strolled towards his car.
They drove out of the gates, Con unusually failing to wave to his loyal groupies sitting on the pavement outside. He checked his rear mirror and saw a Rover move from its parking space opposite his home. It followed them down the hill towards Hampstead Village.
‘See that car?’ Con nodded to the mirror.
‘Yes?’
‘I bet you a fiver it parks behind us.’ Con slid the car to a halt in front of the restaurant.
Lulu looked at him in astonishment as the Rover drew up a few yards behind him. ‘How did you know?’
Con swung his long legs out of the car. ‘I’ll tell you over dinner.’
The ma?tre d’ found them a table in an alcove. Con sat with his back to the window and his fellow diners in the hope he wouldn’t be recognised.
Over an excellent supper of escargots, a huge steak for Con and a cheese soufflé for Lulu, they drank a few of bottles of good red wine. Lulu chattered on about an audition she’d attended yesterday for a film.
‘They want me to appear topless. Of course, Todd doesn’t approve. But what’s wrong with nudity, for Christ’s sake? If they offer me the part, I’ll take it. The director’s wonderful, very young, very open-minded and bloody gorgeous actually. We got on like a house on fire.’
Con drained his wine glass and the waiter immediately refilled it. He stared at Lulu across the table as she talked about the Victorian novel that the film was based on.
‘Coffee for monsieur and madame?’