Warhol's Prophecy

66

‘AM I BORING you, Miss Gibson?’

Hailey looked directly at Nicholas Barber and saw a look of mild irritation on his face.

‘I’m sorry, what did you say?’ she asked, forcing a smile and shifting uncomfortably in her chair. She swallowed hard, aware that the MP’s gaze had settled on her unwaveringly.

At other tables in the restaurant, people chatted amiably, and the babble of their conversation mingled with the chinking of cutlery on crockery. The odd loud laugh punctuated the background hubbub.

Come on, get a grip.

‘Your attention seemed to be wandering,’ said Barber. ‘I realize that’s something of an occupational hazard in my position. People don’t exactly tend to hang on my every word.’

She met the MP’s stare and ran a hand through her hair.

Barber pushed a spoonful of crème brulée into his mouth.

He was a narrow-shouldered individual with pinched features and enough grey hair to suggest that he lied about his age. Hailey had figured him for mid-fifties, but he insisted he was yet to reach the half-century. But then again, she reasoned, he was a politician. Why should he be truthful about his age when he spent his life lying about everything else?

‘I was listening,’ Hailey assured him. ‘There’s so much to think about, though. The organization behind this gig is incredible.’

‘Well, fortunately, that’s your problem not mine, Miss Gibson.’

‘Mrs Gibson,’ she corrected him.

It was Barber’s turn to look bemused.

‘So, how many guest passes will you want for the gig, Mr Barber?’ Hailey said finally.

‘I think half a dozen should cover it.’

‘Well, we are trying to limit them to two per person, it being a charity event.’

Barber shook his head. ‘And how many are the pop group themselves getting?’ he wanted to know.

‘I’m not sure yet. That side of it is being handled by their record company. And it is their gig after all.’

‘I was under the impression this was Jim Marsh’s event.’

‘There wouldn’t be an event without Waterhole,’ Hailey reminded him.

Barber sat back in his seat, dabbing at the corners of his mouth with his napkin.

‘I’ve known Jim Marsh for years,’ he said. ‘I knew him when he didn’t have a pot to piss in.’

Hailey tried to hide her surprise at the MP’s words.

‘I was a local councillor and he was running a business with just two people working for him,’ Barber said. ‘Things have changed for both of us, Mrs Gibson. He’s a multi-millionaire employing eighty people in this town alone. He’s created jobs, and that’s good for the community. I’ve done my bit, too. I’ve been MP for this borough for the last fifteen years. I’ve served it well. It’s flourished, and I like to think that people like myself and Jim Marsh can claim some responsibility for its vibrancy.’

Pompous bastard.

Hailey sipped her cappuccino.

‘I’m sure everyone who lives here is grateful to you, Mr Barber,’ she said, barely able to hide her sarcasm.

All she wanted to do was get away from the rambling sod. She had other things on her mind.

Lunch had taken an eternity, or so it seemed. More than once she’d chanced a surreptitious glance at her watch.

‘Yes, this concert will be good for the town,’ Barber decided. ‘It’ll bring more money in. My family are looking forward to it, so I wouldn’t want to disappoint them.’ He smiled and leant forward. ‘Do you have family?’

She told him about Rob and Becky.

‘And they’ll be attending the concert, will they?’ Barber wanted to know.

‘Yes.’

‘And the party afterwards?’

Hailey nodded.

‘How many guests will be at the party?’ Barber enquired.

‘Fifty or sixty. We’re running competitions in a number of music magazines too, so there’ll be four winners there to meet the band.’

‘A pop group and a Member of Parliament,’ Barber said smugly. ‘It should be a night to remember for them.’

‘I’m sure it will be,’ Hailey said in her most convincingly reverential tone.

They won’t even know who you are.

‘So, you’ll see that I have all the passes I need?’ Barber persisted.

Hailey nodded resignedly.

Anything. Just let me out of here.

It was Barber’s turn to check his watch.

‘Well, I’ve just got time for a brandy,’ he smiled. ‘This is going on your expense account, I trust?’

Hailey ordered him his drink and herself another coffee.

The restaurant was beginning to empty. There were only three or four tables still occupied. Elsewhere, the staff were busy clearing up, some of them glancing over in the direction of Hailey and Barber.

‘Here’s to a successful concert,’ said the MP, raising his glass.

Hailey smiled dutifully. Again she looked fleetingly at her watch.

There were things she had to do.

One in particular.