Chapter 1
London 1971
‘She’s enjoying the attentions of that young man again,’ said Viv, standing on the deck of her houseboat. Although it was a balmy spring evening, she pulled her tasselled shawl about her shoulders and took a long drag of her cigarette.
‘Not spying again, darling!’ said Fitz with a wry smile.
‘One can’t help noticing the comings and goings of that girl’s lovers.’ Viv narrowed her hooded eyes and inhaled through dilated nostrils.
‘Anyone would think you were jealous,’ Fitz commented, grimacing as he took a sip of cheap French wine. In all the years he had been Viv’s friend and agent she had never once bought a bottle of good wine.
‘I’m a writer. It’s my business to be curious about people. Alba’s engaging. She’s a very selfish creature, but one can’t help being drawn to her.The ubiquitous moth to the flame. Though, in my case, not a moth at all but a rather beautifully dressed butterfly.’ She wandered across the deck and draped herself over a chair, spreading her blue and pink kaftan about her like silken wings. ‘Still, I enjoy her life. It’ll do for a book one day, when we’re no longer friends. I think Alba’s like that. She enjoys people, then moves on. In our case, it shall be I who moves on. By then, the dramas of her life will no longer entertain me and, besides, I’ll have bored of the Thames, too. My old bones will ache from the damp, and the creaking and bumping will keep me up at night. Then I shall buy a small château in France and retire to obscurity, fame having become a bore, too.’ She sucked in her cheeks and grinned at Fitz. But Fitz was no longer listening, although it was his job to.
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