quickly are your greatest safeguards against an emergency situation.’
‘An emergency situation?’
‘Remember, Hughie,’ Valentine said, ‘this is a highly improvised profession, full of huge unknown variables. The truth is, any flirt can go wrong at any time.’
‘That’s how we lost Freddie.’
‘Freddie?’
No one had mentioned Freddie before.
‘Freddie was a rare case,’ Henry explained. ‘It’s highly unusual for an apprentice’s training to go so … so extremely wrong.’ His voice trailed off.
‘Lost him?’ Hughie felt a faint chill creeping up his limbs. ‘How?’
Marco leant in. ‘She was a Class A Clinger, Smith. Never, in all my years, have I ever seen anything like it!’
‘Yeah, she had a kind of energy,’ Jez recalled, ‘a kind of rolling around on the floor, possessed look in her eyes … like someone plugged her into a light socket. But Freddie didn’t clock she was mental – all he could see was that she was small and blonde.’
‘Beware the Small Blonde Ones!’ warned Marco. ‘From the first moment he spoke to her, you could just tell there was going to be trouble!’
‘What happened to him?’
‘He married her,’ Valentine said sharply.
Silence.
Suddenly Hughie’s shirt tightened around his neck, his skin prickled. A skull in the gardens of Arcadia.
‘But … I mean, married!’ He laughed hollowly. ‘That’s a bit extreme!’
‘She was a Clinger, Hughie.’ Valentine’s face was devoid of any emotion. ‘Never underestimate a Clinger.’
‘She started crying,’ Jez explained. ‘A classic Clinger move. And of course Freddie made a mistake: a big mistake. He put his arm around her. We tried to intervene, tried to get him out of there … thing was, she was small but strong …’
‘Never touch the mark!’ Marco shouted. (The whole thing was clearly too much for him.) ‘Never!’
‘Which brings us to the cardinal rule of our profession,’ Henry cut in, dragging the conversation back from the brink of hysteria. ‘No physical contact, young Smythe. Crossing a physical boundary invites anarchy. From the moment poor Freddie gave the Clinger a hug, his defences began to deteriorate; before he knew it, he lost sight of his exit, then he was buying her a drink, trying to cheer her up. In an hour, he was lost to us for ever.’
Valentine stood. ‘Distance, Hughie. The profession is a paradox – like being a physician. You must have compassion for them but you cannot help these women if you have no detachment. Remember that and you can have a wonderfully successful and lucrative career.’
‘And you’ll be shadowed for the first week or so,’ Henry said. ‘One of us will be with you every step of the way. Nothing can go wrong.’
Hughie swallowed, hard.
‘Nothing,’ Henry assured him, giving his shoulder a squeeze.
Still, the spectre of Freddie, the fresh-faced recruit who hadn’t managed his escape, cast a shadow across the proceedings.
The phone rang. Flick answered it. ‘The offices of Valentine Charles … yes … of course, sir, one moment please …’ She put the call on hold. ‘Mr Jonathan Mortimer on the line for you.’
Valentine took the phone.
‘Class dismissed,’ he said as Flick ushered them towards the door. ‘Oh, Henry, a word please, when I’m done.’
Henry nodded.
The rest of them headed out to the street and said their goodbyes.
Hughie loitered.
After a while Henry came down. ‘Are you waiting for me?’
‘Sort of. Thought I might pick up a few more tips.’
Henry put an arm around his shoulders. ‘Don’t you think you’ve had enough for one day?’
They walked on through the narrow street.
‘I don’t know. It was kind of fun the other night, you know, at Claridge’s. Didn’t you think so?’ He enjoyed having Henry show him things; working together as a team.
‘You did very well.’ Then he stopped, his face serious. ‘The truth is, Hughie, Valentine has asked me to speak to you. We need your absolute assurance that you’ve finished with this girl of yours, Leticia.’
‘Oh.’ Hughie felt the walls closing in on him. ‘Well, the thing is … I thought perhaps I should let her down gently.’
Henry shook his head. ‘Not good enough, old man. It’s got to be done. Otherwise you’re out. Bit of a make-or-break situation, you see.’
‘Yes. Yes.’ Hughie stared at his shiny new shoes. ‘I’m due to see her tonight. At the Victoria bus depot.’
‘Really?’
‘She’s … you know,’ Hughie flushed, ‘fond of public places.’
‘Oh. Yes,’ Henry considered. ‘I can see how she’d be a tough one to give up. What time are you due?’
Hughie checked his watch. ‘Actually, I’m late!’
‘Right.’ Henry flagged down a cab, smiling grimly at Hughie. ‘Best done quickly, son. Like chopping off a leg. Come on. And I’ll get you good and pissed after.’
Over the years Leticia had developed a strict protocol to deal with break-ups; she practised swift and humane methods, not unlike a kosher butcher.
First, break-ups needed to be staged in bland, neutral territory; ideally public places, where the chances for tantrums and tears were dramatically reduced. Car showrooms were good (men were always distracted there), as were shopping malls and hotel lobbies. Next, she rehearsed her speech, the one about them both being in different places and needing different things. Lack of blame was essential. Finally there was the costume. Unwashed hair, no make-up, a shabby tracksuit … he’d look at her and wonder why he’d bothered in the first place. These were the details that separated the men from the boys, ensuring a clean and painless closure.
The thing that most women wouldn’t admit was that they didn’t really want a clean break; they preferred to remain desirable, mysterious; in love with the idea of themselves as forties film stars, playing out tragic scenes in train stations. They enjoyed being tortured by their decision, filled with regrets; it provided the perfect excuse to act out their pain with drink, cigarettes
