I was already established at my table behind the pillar, my meal over, when Maltravers and his lady friend came in after their day trip. Something about Maltravers’ manner made me think he was in a state of some excitement. He called for champagne, an ice bucket, and of course he ordered a dozen oysters from Benoît. The first dozen went down in the usual minute, champagne was poured and I thought I detected a hand-squeeze between the lovers below the level of the tablecloth.
I paid and wandered outside. Benoît was in his usual semi-panic shucking Monsieur Maltravers’ next dozen. He laid the half-shelled oysters on the round tray of ice, like the hour markers on a fishily themed clock. I said, by the by, that I thought the patron wanted him, and as he darted inside, I removed the oyster that was at three o’clock and replaced it with the one that had been cooking in the sun on my windowsill all day. I glanced at the tray and I dribbled some ice-water on my oyster – it looked as plump and glossy as the rest. I sauntered across the square to the Café Riche where I ordered a Calvados and smoked a soothing cigar.
The motorist drives on, past Bergerac, and the lazy river widens as its journey nears the end. Here we are at the lower river, fertile and rich with its neat vineyards on the steep bluffs on either side. It was Delacroix who said, contemplating the Dordogne valley: ‘How shall I describe my pleasure in this place? It is a mixture of all the sensations that are lovely and pleasant in our hearts and imaginations.’
Like everyone in the hotel I was awakened by the clamorous bell of the ambulance at around two o’clock in the morning. I went back to sleep almost immediately.
At midday, wandering over to the terrasse of the Riche for my pre-prandial Pernod, I spotted Maltravers’ lady friend, sitting alone at a corner table, her back to the window, her eyes obscured by sunglasses.
I introduced myself. ‘Yves Hill, I’m a friend of Raleigh.’
We shook hands. ‘Parker Fitzgerald,’ she said, her slight American accent immediately evident. She invited me to join her.
Poor Raleigh: he had excelled himself in his high carnal excitement – five dozen fines de claire, before the magret and the cheese and the tarte tatin. Then in the night, agonizing stomach pains, copious vomiting. Parker (it was indeed her Christian name) heard his frantic beating on the adjoining wall. The concierge was raised, a doctor called, an ambulance summoned. Raleigh was in the hospital at Brive, his stomach pumped empty, a full twenty-litre enema, immobile, a saline drip in his arm, not to stir for at least another three days.
I winced and tut-tutted as I looked at Parker’s strong and elegant features as she related, with great expression, the various diagnoses and prognoses the doctors had given her and I wondered if it were possible to have an affair with a beautiful woman who shared a first name with the pen I wrote with every day. I decided, on balance, that it was. We agreed to meet for dinner at the Couderc later, after her trip to Brive to see poor Raleigh. Do give him my very best, I said.
We did not eat oysters, that night, needless to say. We talked about books, plays, films, cities we knew. She was a young widow, intelligent and cultured (Raleigh had known her late husband, a composer), rediscovering her place in the world. I felt that honour – or professional standards, professional courtesies – obliged me to tell her about Mrs Raleigh Maltravers and the Maltravers brood and she disguised her evident shock with admirable indifference, though I saw a tear well momentarily in her eye. After our supper we walked down to the quai by the old bridge and stood under the elms and watched the black oily river slide by, limned by the lights of the town behind us. I knew I could have kissed her if I had wanted to and thought that she would have let me, but I decided to wait until tomorrow (we had made plans to go to Périgueux – shame to waste the hired car). As we stood there I conjured up the image of a pale and voided Raleigh Maltravers, groaning quietly in the hospital at Brive as his body tried to subdue or expel the remaining toxins lingering inside him. Was it my sun-stewed oyster that had done for Raleigh, I wondered? Or was it that bitter drop of my humiliated blood? No matter: perhaps he would prudently chew his oysters in future – if he ever dared let another one down his throat – the only certain way to tell if an oyster is bad. Parker and I walked slowly back to the Hôtel de la Gare. I kissed her hand in the lobby and climbed the stairs briskly, like a boy, two at a time, to my attic room.
Unsent Letters
1 March
Dear Meryl,
We haven’t met but, as you can see from my letterhead, I am a film director and producer (Flaming Terrapin Productions Ltd). I thought I would write an old-fashioned letter rather than email, if only to show how much an admirer I am of you how much importance I attach to this communication. In fact, we have a mutual friend in the shape of Tarquin Wolde, my co-producer – whom I believe you worked with, or were about to work with, on Jezebel – before the whole thing collapsed. What a business!
Anyhoo, I wanted to send you the script of my latest film, Oblong or Triangle, in the genuine hope that you’d consider playing the co-lead role of ‘Ernestine’ – above the title, of course. If you were interested, at all, I’d be prepared to travel the world to meet you (I’ll be in New York next month, as it happens). Nothing would give me greater pleasure than –
2 March
My darling Jadranka,
How I miss you, my sweet girl. I miss you so much I thought I’d write to you, rather than call. Set things down in black and white, not rely on those transient, shifting things that are words, spoken. How are matters in sunny Pietermaritzburg? I hope that bastard Tim Whatsisname is treating you well. He’s a lecherous swine, so be careful – and don’t make him force you to do night-shoots. He deliberately tries to exhaust his actors, so I’ve been told, to make them more vulnerable to his advances. And don’t be alone with him. He flashed his cock at Paula Vanni in a script meeting. Just keep your distance – and keep mentioning my name – he absolutely knows who I am. Call me your ‘fiancé’ (well, I am, sort of!). Darling, I wanted to write because it looks very much as if the shoot of Oblong or Triangle isn’t going to happen in June, after all. The usual boring financial issues. We will definitely be going in the Fall so I want you to keep yourself available – if anyone can pull this off, I can, don’t worry. I have hopes that Meryl (!) might play ‘Ernestine’ – negotiations are underway. What do you think about a week in Capri when your shoot ends? Let me know and I’ll book a suite in –
7 March
Dear Marty (if I may) –
I’m sure you won’t remember, but we met fleetingly in Cannes on the terrace at the Majestic a few years ago (my film Ten And A Half Grand was screening). I’m writing to you in your capacity as producer – very cognisant of your relationship with the studios, of course! My new film, Oblong or Triangle, is in pre-production, aiming to shoot in the Fall (in Lisbon and Prague). I am directing, Jadranka Juranic is attached and we are in negotiations with an A-list star to play ‘Ernestine’ (script, herewith). It goes without saying that your name would add immeasurable lustre to the project – and, dare I say it, I think the subject matter is something very close to your –
15 March
Darling girl,
No! You can’t do reshoots in October. No, no, thrice no! Tell that arsehole Tim Hopkins-Hughes to fuck himself. That’s when we’re filming Oblong or Triangle, you know that. Look at your contract; get your useless manager to look at the contract. Anyway, why do you need reshoots? You’ve been in South Africa for eleven weeks already – what’s he been doing? My film is ninety per cent financed, everything’s looking very positive, all sorts of people are interested. If I say you’re not available we’ll have to push back to next year. Everything will fall apart. Let’s not jeopardize a project that’s already been five years in the works. It must happen this year – and this is your moment, my darling, I wrote this film for you. You can’t possibly let me down at this –
20 March
Dear Geraldyne Vaux,
You don’t know me – but you know
my name. I am the director of Claustral, the film that you have decided not to release. Actions have consequences, my dear. And the consequences of your disgusting betrayal – we have a contract, by the way – is that I have lost almost all my financing for my next film. Yes. Does that make you feel good? Feel happy? My producing partner, Tarquin Wolde, said that your sudden absurd decision – how did you get your job, by the way? – is the single salient cause for this new shortfall. With Claustral released as Video on Demand it will be impossible Do you ever think about the consequences of your whims, you losers? You ‘eunuchs at the orgy’ (I’m quoting Richard Burton – ever heard of him?). If you had any idea how difficult it was, in the current climate, to make a film of any remote artistic merit you would die of shame at what reasons you gave of my – of what farcical judgement you display – at your utter ignorance, your utter stupidity, your depthless inanity. Yes, actions have consequences, ‘Geraldyne’ (no ‘y’ can make you any more interesting, darling) and the consequences of your insane, baseless destruction of Claustral will be this: I know where you live, I will be waiting for you outside your house – one day, one night – and I will follow you to whatever place you are going and I will make sure that you are never going to ever be able to ever –
1 April
Dear Mr Macfarlane,
I thought I would write, personally, to you, my ‘Personal Banker’ to alert you to the fact that I am in urgent need of an extension of my overdraft. Unforeseen circumstances have meant that my new film, Oblong or Triangle, has had to postpone filming until the autumn. We will be shooting in Lisbon and Prague, we are fully financed and I am in final negotiations with a major Hollywood star to play the lead, but I currently need to cash-flow this crucial period of pre-production. I have to fly to New York to meet this particular actress (I’m not allowed to divulge her name, alas) and I would greatly appreciate it if my overdraft could accommodate a further expenditure of £20,000. As and when the film is made I’d like to invite you and Mrs Macfarlane (or your significant other) to our premiere. I’m most grateful for your attention to this matter and fully appreciate the –
2 April
Dear Ned,
Fuck you and the horse you rode in on. I’m sorry, but no, dream on, there is no way you can claim back that ‘money’ you lent me. You were actually repaying me the loan I made to you, you total idiot – a loan provided so you could make a deposit on a flat you were going to buy (whatever happened to that flat, as it happens?). In fact, your call reminded me, inconveniently for you, that it was a partial repayment and you still owe me another £5,000, thank you very much, you dickhead. Make sure the cheque is in the post. And don’t ever do that deplorable brotherly love act on me again, it makes me want to puke. You may be my brother but that doesn’t stop me from seeing what a useless human being and waste of space you happen to be. Have you any idea what I’m going through? Have you the slightest notion of how difficult it is trying to forge a career as a film director of integrity in a culture of crass philistinism and money-obsession? Do you ever give any thought – even a moment’s thought – to what I may be up to, other than to sponge off me or touch me for another loan? Did you ever thank me for paying five years of Emily’s school fees? Of course not. No. Take, take, take. When it comes to solipsistic self-absorption you really are the absolute master, no one can hold a –
23 April
Dear Tarquin,
Perhaps you might read a letter as you don’t seem to be able to reply to emails or listen to your voicemail. Where the fuck are you? What’s happening with Oblong or Triangle? I got a call from Terry Muldoon saying I would have to get another DOP. He said you hadn’t paid his retainer for months and he was only staying on board because of me. You know I can’t shoot a film without Terry. Get him back, mate – pronto. Jadranka is still attached and free for an October start. Her film in S. Africa has run over by four weeks for some mystifying reason. For ‘some mystifying reason’ read the self-regarding, raging incompetence of Tim Hopkins-Hughes, I mean. Anyway, Jadranka is still solidly there, wonderful human being that she is. And I’ve written to Meryl again. I can’t believe some pretentious critic could be causing us such problems. Who in the name of Zeus reads film/e.com? Anyway, call me, email me, write to me, you bastard. You’re giving me sleepless nights and I’m beginning to worry that the whole thing might be –
3 May
Jadranka – I can’t call you ‘darling’ any more, after what you’ve told me, what you’ve done to me. Don’t you see everything is ruined, everything? Not just ‘us’, but everything that was ‘us’, that world of ‘us’, and more. Our plans, our films, the life that we were going to have together. How can I tell people that Oblong or Triangle isn’t going to happen because of your affair with Hopkins-Hughes? I may be a fool – a lovelorn, blind fool – but I don’t want to be a public fool, laughed at by my peers, mocked, pitied, the subject of salacious industry gossip. No – you’ve destroyed everything. You say ‘we can still work together’ – and I wonder: are you completely insane, totally out of your mind? How can I even see you – let alone work with you – when I know what you and that nonentity (that hideously ugly nonentity, by the way) have done together? To think of his thin cracked lips on your lips, his blunt hands on your breasts, his tiny –
9 May
Dear Mr Macfarlane,
You call yourself a banker, you sad little man. Worse, you call yourself a ‘personal’ banker and yet you hide and cower behind the faceless law. As a banker you are meant to offer fiscal support – not withdraw it. And to send a writ, like that, with no warning … It defies belief. Or rather it doesn’t defy belief – a second’s thought makes one realize that it is the nasty little bureaucrats, the creepy apparatchiks of the financial state like yourself, who are the true enemies of people like me. People with ambitions, with dreams – artists, in other words. Someone, some worm like you, some vile money-lender in Renaissance Italy, would have closed da Vinci’s line of credit. I herewith terminate my account with your bank. I herewith counter-sue you for incompetence and negligence. I herewith warn you that I will write to every consumer website on the planet and inform them of –
15 May
Tarquin, the despicable, Tarquin, the vile,
Yes, you truly are a deplorable sham of a human being, a miserable excuse of a man. A nothing, un nul. Imagine my astonishment when I opened my Hollywood Reporter and saw that the ‘executive producer’ of Tim Hopkins-Hughes’s next film, Inflammable, was to be one Tarquin Wolde. No wonder you were hiding from me, you cretin, you hypocrite. What I marvel at – no, what dismays me to the core of my being – is the fickleness of friendship. How can you treat such a bond so lightly, be so cavalier? We have made three films together. I was best man at your second wedding. Where did you run to when that ended? You lived with me for nearly eight months – eight long months – while you ‘got your mojo back’. And now this brutal betrayal. Maybe you are unaware of this but Tim Hopkins-Hughes is having an affair with Jadranka. And now Jadranka isn’t available for the Oblong or Triangle shoot in October. Just when I need you, you desert me. Well, I won’t forget this, my ex-friend. You’ll come crawling back to me one day, asking for forgiveness (or money) and do you know what I’ll do? I wouldn’t piss on you if you were on fire, I wouldn’t –
2 June
Dear Granville,
This is a difficult letter to write – and it had to be a letter because of that very difficulty – but I’m afraid I sadly have to let you know that you are, henceforth, no longer my agent. I will take up one of the many other ardent suitors who so keenly wish to represent me. You know of my personal issues with Tim Hopkins-Hughes (though I have to say I now regret sharing them with you – please regard them as absolutely confidential) but how – how in the name of reason – could you take him on as a client and expect me to happily remain with you? It defies any credence. We have been associates – I cannot use the word ‘friends’ any more – for seventeen years, since
my first short film, Wild Flowers. Remember that? Remember the audience award at the San Sebastián Film Festival? It was the beginning of everything. The world, as you so memorably put it, was our lobster. And we were a team – or so I thought. But I suppose, in your game, money is everything – or rather ten per cent of everything. And so you sacrifice an old friendship for ten per cent of Tim Hopkins-Hughes’s lamentable but lucrative career. Shame on you. Shame on your life. You deserve nothing but the worst of ill fortune and I heartily wish you that. In fact I wish you nothing but –
13 July
Dear Mr Macfarlane,
This has been a burdensome time for us both, or so I sense. I would like to apologize for my last telephone call to your office, and to the young lady who had to endure my unkind words. I was under a great deal of stress, owing to the failure of a film that I had spent some five years bringing to fruition only to see it fall apart at the last moment through no fault of my own. I am only human – a plaint made since time immemorial, I am aware – but it is worth remembering: sometimes we know not what we say or do. I am convinced, also, that you are an understanding man. Please find enclosed a cheque for £200. This is to open a new business account (Flaming Terrapin Entertainment Ltd). Might I take this opportunity to ask for overdraft facilities of £10,000? This will enable me to get the new company up and running and cash-flow the production of my new film Circle into Square. We have already approached an A-list Hollywood star to play the principal role. I would like to thank you for your shrewd financial guidance of my affairs over the years and I want to reassure you there will be no repeat of my egregious –