SEBASTIAN CLIFTON
1957
39
DON PEDRO WAS among the last to leave the garden party, and not until he was finally convinced that the princess would not be returning.
Sebastian joined him in the back of the Rolls. ‘This has been one of the great days of my life,’ Don Pedro repeated. Sebastian remained silent, because he couldn’t think of anything new to say on the subject. Don Pedro was clearly drunk, if not on wine, then on the thought of mixing with royalty. Sebastian was surprised that such a successful man could be so easily flattered. Suddenly, Martinez changed tack.
‘I want you to know, my boy, that if you ever need a job, there will always be one for you in Buenos Aires. The choice is yours. You could be a cowboy or a banker. Come to think of it, there’s not a great deal of difference,’ he said, laughing at his own joke.
‘That’s kind of you, sir,’ said Sebastian. Although he wanted to tell him that he would be joining Bruno at Cambridge after all, he thought better of it, because he would have to explain how he’d found out. But he was already beginning to wonder why his father had come halfway round the world just to tell him . . . Don Pedro interrupted his thoughts by taking a wad of five-pound notes from his pocket, peeling off ninety pounds and handing it to Sebastian.
‘I always believe in paying in advance.’
‘But I haven’t done the job yet, sir.’
‘I know you’ll keep your side of the bargain.’ The words only made Sebastian feel more guilty about his little secret, and if the car hadn’t come to a halt outside Martinez’s office, he might have ignored his father’s advice.
‘Take Mr Clifton back to his hotel,’ Don Pedro instructed his driver. Turning to Sebastian he said, ‘A car will pick you up on Wednesday afternoon and take you to the dock. Make sure you enjoy your last couple of days in Buenos Aires, because this city has a lot to offer a young man.’
Harry was not a man who had ever felt it necessary to resort to foul language, even in his books. His churchgoing mother simply wouldn’t have approved. However, after an hour of listening to an endless monologue on Ted Bolton’s life, from his daughter’s responsibilities as a senior-sixer in the Girl Guides, in which she’d won badges for needlework and cookery, to his wife’s role as membership secretary of the Bristol Mothers’ Union, to the guest speakers he had booked for the Rotary Club this autumn, not to mention his views on Marilyn Monroe, Nikita Khrushchev, Hugh Gaitskell and Tony Hancock, he finally snapped.
He opened his eyes and sat up straight. ‘Mr Bolton, why don’t you bugger off?’
To Harry’s surprise and relief, Bolton got up and returned to his seat without another word. Harry fell asleep within moments.
Sebastian decided to take Don Pedro’s advice and make the most of his last two days in the city, before the time came to board the Queen Mary and return home.
After breakfast the following morning, he exchanged four of his five-pound notes for three hundred pesos and left the hotel to go in search of the Spanish arcade, where he hoped to find a present for his mother and sister. He chose a brooch set in rhodochrosite for his mother, in a pale pink shade that the salesman told him could not be found anywhere else in the world. The price came as a bit of a shock, but then Sebastian remembered what he’d put his mother through during the past two weeks.
As he strolled along the promenade on his way back to the hotel, a drawing in a gallery window caught his eye and made him think of Jessica. He stepped inside to take a closer look. The dealer assured him that the young artist had a future, so not only was it a fine still-life, but it would be a shrewd investment. And, yes, he would accept English money. Sebastian only hoped that Jessica would feel the same way about Fernando Botero’s Bowl of Oranges as he did.
The only thing he bought for himself was a magnificent leather belt with a rancher’s buckle. It wasn’t cheap, but he couldn’t resist it.
He stopped to have lunch in a street café, and ate too much Argentinian roast beef while he read an out-of-date copy of The Times. Double yellow lines were to be introduced in all major British city centres. He couldn’t believe his uncle Giles would have voted for that.
After lunch, with the help of his guidebook, he found the only cinema showing English-language films in Buenos Aires. He sat alone in the back row watching A Place in the Sun, fell in love with Elizabeth Taylor, and wondered how you got to meet a girl like that.
On his way back to the hotel, he dropped into a secondhand bookshop that boasted a shelf of English novels. He smiled when he saw his father’s first book had been reduced to three pesos, and left after he’d purchased a much-thumbed copy of Officers and Gentlemen.
In the evening, Sebastian had dinner in the hotel restaurant and, with the help of his guidebook, selected several places of interest he still hoped to visit if he had time: the Catedral Metropolitana, the Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes, La Casa Rosada, and the Jardín Botánico Carlos Thays in the old Palermo neighbourhood. Don Pedro was right – the city had a lot to offer.
He signed the bill, and decided to return to his room and continue reading Evelyn Waugh. He would have done just that if he hadn’t noticed her sitting on a stool at the bar. She gave him a coquettish smile, which stopped him in his tracks. The second smile acted like a magnet, and moments later he was standing by her side. She looked about the same age as Ruby, but much more alluring.
‘Would you like to buy me a drink?’ she asked.
Sebastian nodded as he climbed on to the stool next to her. She turned to the barman and ordered two glasses of champagne.
‘My name is Gabriella.’
‘Sebastian,’ he said, offering his hand. She shook it. He’d had no idea a woman’s touch could have that effect on him.
‘Where do you come from?’
‘England,’ he replied.
‘I’m going to visit England one day. The Tower of London and Buckingham Palace,’ she said, as the barman poured them two glasses of champagne. ‘Cheers. Isn’t that what the English say?’
Sebastian raised his glass and said, ‘Cheers.’ He found it difficult not to stare at her slim, graceful legs. He wanted to touch them.
‘Are you staying at the hotel?’ she asked, placing a hand on his thigh.
Sebastian was glad the lights in the bar were so muted she wasn’t able to see the colour of his cheeks. ‘Yes, I am.’
‘And are you alone?’ she said, not removing her hand.
‘Yes,’ he managed.
‘Would you like me to come up to your room, Sebastian?’
He couldn’t believe his luck. He’d found Ruby in Buenos Aires, and the headmaster was 7,000 miles away. He didn’t need to reply, because she had already slipped off the stool, taken him by the hand and was leading him out of the bar.
They headed towards a bank of lifts on the far side of the lobby.
‘What’s your room number, Sebastian?’
‘One one seven zero,’ he said, as they stepped into the lift.
When they reached his room on the eleventh floor, Sebastian fumbled with his key as he tried to open the door. She began to kiss him even before they’d stepped inside, and went on kissing him as she deftly removed his jacket and unbuckled his belt, only stopping when his trousers fell to the floor.
When he opened his eyes, he found her blouse and skirt had joined them. He wanted to just stand there and admire her body, but once again she took him by the hand, this time guiding him towards the bed. He pulled off his shirt and tie, desperate to touch every part of her at once. She fell back on the bed and pulled him on top of her. Moments later he let out a loud sigh.
He lay still for a few seconds before she slipped out from under him, gathered up her clothes and disappeared into the bathroom. He pulled the sheet over his naked body and impatiently waited for her to return. He was looking forward to spending the rest of the night with this goddess, and wondered how many times he could make love before the morning. But when the bathroom door opened, Gabriella stepped out, fully dressed, and looked as if she was about to leave.
‘Was that your first time?’ she asked.
‘Of course not.’
‘I thought so,’ she said. ‘But it’s still three hundred pesos.’
Sebastian sat bolt upright, not sure what she meant.
‘You don’t think it was your good looks and English charm that persuaded me to come up to your room?’
‘No, of course not,’ said Sebastian. He got off the bed, picked up his jacket from the floor and took out his wallet. He stared at the remaining five-pound notes.
‘Twenty pounds,’ she said, obviously having come across this problem before.
He took out four five-pound notes and handed them to her.
She took the money and disappeared even more quickly than he had come.