hair styled into the same short curly bob, jeans and T-shirts not identical but similar enough to be interchangeable. I was no connoisseur of ballet, but I thought I might be able to tolerate watching them dance.
Bill leaned back slowly, giving me a good glimpse of his long profile, and said in a public school mockney that made me suspect he’d got his broken nose at a hunt meeting, ‘… everyone has a good time’.
I banged my case against the banister to avoid hearing the rest of his instructions and he pushed open the door gently with the toe of his smart black shoe, revealing a quick flash of metal segs. The toe was slim, but I suspected it would be steel capped.
Bill’s move was smooth and unhurried but his expression flashed from smile to wary then to smile again as he spotted first me, then my equipment case with its motif of gold stars, and guessed who I was.
‘Mr Magic, we were just wondering when you’d appear.’
‘We thought you might come in a puff of smoke,’ cut in the blonde girl.
I said, ‘There’s time yet.’
And we all laughed.
Bill straightened up with the elegance of a sneak thief.
‘Meet Shaz,’ he put his arm around the Asian girl’s waist, ‘and Jacque.’ His free arm snaked around the small blonde. Bill squeezed his captives who staggered slightly on their high heels. He smiled. ‘Lovely. Well I guess we should leave you ladies to powder your noses.’
He kissed them twice, continental style, then closed the door gently behind him and fished out a white hanky, absently wiping his mouth before folding it back into a perfect triangle and returning it to his breast pocket. He held his hand out to me.
‘Mr Williams.’
‘Wilson.’ I didn’t like the way he’d wiped the feel of the girls’ flesh from his lips. I wondered if he would wash my handshake from his palm. I thought I might his.
‘Mr Wilson,’ he let the emphasis hang on my name as if he was amused I’d bothered to correct him. Letting me know it didn’t matter to him who I was, or perhaps that in his world one name served as well as another. ‘The girls have commandeered our only dressing room, but there’s a few cubby holes on offer if you need to change or,’ he paused, smiling, ‘fix your makeup.’
‘Are you trying to tell me my mascara’s run?’ He gave me a quick sharp look, then laughed. ‘I’d appreciate somewhere to go through my props.’
Bill showed me into a shabby bedroom equipped with two single beds draped with orange and brown floral covers and polyester valances that had long lost their bounce. He leant against the doorjamb. Leaning in doorways seemed to be Bill’s thing. He watched as I laid the suitcase on one of the beds and unfastened its clasp.
‘You based in London, Mr Wilson?’
‘Ealing.’
‘Travel much?’
‘When required.’ Bill might just be making casual conversation or he might be looking for a travelling man to deliver a parcel or two. I set a pack of playing cards on the bed and changed the subject. ‘So how’s business? Club keeping you busy?’
‘Busy enough. Keeps me out of mischief. Speaking of which,’ he turned to go, ‘anything I can get you before I start mingling with the invited guests?’
‘I could manage a white wine.’ I slapped my stomach. ‘I’m on a bit of a health kick.’
Bill smiled.
‘I’ll have a bottle sent up.’
I turned back to my case. In truth there was nothing I needed to do to prepare, but Bill still lingered in the doorway.
‘A word of warning on tonight.’ I looked back at him. ‘These guys are here for the booze and the girls, for most of them you’re an unexpected bonus.’
‘Nice to know you think I can improve on booze and girls.’
Bill’s smile looked like a threat.
‘The inspector who’s retiring is nicknamed the Magician. I think you’re more in the way of an in-joke.’
‘Good to be in.’
‘Just remember this isn’t a kid’s birthday party. If I were you I’d keep it short and snappy.’
‘Don’t worry, I know my place.’
‘Good, always best to make sure everyone understands each other. I reckon they’ll be ready in about half an hour, so take all the time you need.’
‘As long as it’s short of thirty minutes.’
Bill smiled.
‘We don’t want people getting impatient.’
I’d expected the door girl to bring up the wine, but when the knock came it brought a familiar face.
‘Sam?’
‘The one and only.’ Sam rosenswest smiled. He slid himself and a tray holding two glasses, a corkscrew and a bottle of white wine into the room. ‘How you doing?’
‘Great.’ I got to my feet and slapped him on the back. ‘Good to see you, man.’
‘Hey!’ Sam raised the tray in the air, like a ship’s waiter serving through a squall. ‘Watch the merchandise.’
I pushed the lamp on the small bedside table to one side and Sam settled the tray in the gap. ‘So how are you?’
Sam started to work the corkscrew into the bottle’s cork and grinned.
‘Never better.’
‘Nice threads.’
He glanced at his suit.
‘Yeah well,’ Sam pulled the cork from the bottle and poured us each a glass. ‘When in Rome.’ He handed me my drink. ‘How about you, William? Still a slave to the gee-gees?’
‘You know me, always the animal lover.’
He shook his head.
‘I’m not sure following form quite qualifies you as St Francis. Won’t keep you warm at night neither. You want to quit all that and get yourself hooked up with a nice bird.’
‘That’s good advice coming from you.’
Sam grinned.
‘You know what I mean. How’s old Fagin? You seen him lately?’
‘He set me up with tonight.’
‘Aha.’ He sat down on the single bed opposite me and took a sip of his drink. ‘That’s where you’re wrong. You’ve got old Sam-I-Am to thank for this particular box of tricks.’
‘Yeah?’
