Francis Bacon in Your Blood by Michael Peppiatt Read Free Book Online

and tore the shadow off and immediately I thought, ah this might help me with my painting. Of course I probably won’t be able to do anything at all with it – oh good I can see George and Sonia coming in. You’ve been drinking nothing, Michael, have a little more champagne.’
    I look round and see a buxom blonde lady sailing across the room with a pale, athletic-looking younger man in her wake. She’s wearing a cream-coloured shirt buttoned up to the neck and a pleated, grey skirt. Francis makes the introductions, then busies himself filling their glasses from the bottle beside the table and orders some important-sounding Bordeaux as well.
    â€˜Almost impossible to find a taxi in this ghastly drizzle,’ Sonia says breathlessly. She takes a lipstick and compact out of her large handbag and quickly refreshes her crimson lips. ‘We thought we were never going to get here, didn’t we, George?’
    â€˜Yeh, wasn’t ’alf difficult,’ George agrees shyly, half swallowing his words. He seems to have a speech impediment or even a cleft palate, which makes his thick Cockney accent even more impenetrable. ‘It was orful. Fing is, we nearly didn’t get ’ere.’ Sonia has been seated opposite Francis and next to me. I don’t think she’s even taken in my existence yet, although I’m certainly aware of hers, not only as the wife of the man who wrote
Down and Out in Paris and London
but as having worked with Cyril Connolly, whom I revere both as an essayist and as the editor of
Horizon
. I feel overawed to be sitting next to someone who has been at the absolute centre of contemporary literature for so long.
    George, meanwhile, has placed his cigarettes and a chunky silver lighter neatly in front of him, like weapons. He’s chain-smoking in a controlled, studious fashion. I take out a cigarette to keep him company, and he immediately clicks his Ronson lighter into action beneath my nose. I notice the deep little pleat of concentration between George’s eyebrows and the tightly knotted dark-blue tie he’s wearing with a white shirt and dark-blue suit. If I hadn’t heard a bit about him already, I would have thought George was a successful East End entrepreneur in his early thirties. As it is, from the banter in the Soho bars, I’ve made out that he’s actually an unsuccessful thief and burglar of that age. There’s a story going about that Francis actually caught him breaking in to Reece Mews from the skylight above the studio. But Francis says that’s nonsense and they just met in the French pub. ‘I was having a drink with John Deakin and all those others,’ he’s told me, ‘and George was standing on the other side of the bar. And he came over and said, “You all seem to be having a good time. Can I buy you all a drink?” So he just joined us, and there it was.’
    â€˜Now, I just had a call from Michel Leiris as I was coming out,’ Sonia is saying rapidly, ‘and he and Zette are coming over from Paris next week so I thought I’d do a dinner on the Tuesday, if you and George are free, and possibly ask Lucian and DavidSylvester or has David written something recently about Lucian that Lucian doesn’t like and they’re not actually talking?’
    â€˜I think they’re still talking – or you could invite Michael?’ Francis suggests. ‘I believe his French is very good.’
    â€˜
Alors on va voir ça tout de suite
,’ Sonia says, rounding on me suspiciously. ‘
Qu’est-ce que vous pensez pouvoir dire en français, mon pauvre jeune homme?
’
    â€˜
Plus ou moins ce que je veux, selon les circonstances
,’ I answer blushing but promptly. Speaking French is perhaps the one area I can have some confidence in.
    â€˜Well, I suppose you can come if you think you’ll fit in,’ says Sonia, clearly reluctantly, ‘but I should