The Last Word

  It took Harry and two of the staff, their bow ties discombobulated, to get a more or less unconscious Mamoon out through the restaurant and into the back seat of the car. They removed his shoes, put a cushion under his head and a blanket over the rest of him.

  ‘If I’d known that biography would turn out to be such physical labour, I might have thought twice about it,’ Harry told Liana, once the job had been done and he’d tipped the staff.

  ‘Let’s go,’ she said. ‘Forward, please.’

  Eleven

  She told Harry to drive carefully and let Mamoon sleep. He’d wake up in an hour or so and they would have sexy fun later. From the car window, she made her last goodbyes and waved at some of the departing guests, one of whom was vomiting in the gutter.

  Since Liana was pouting and swaying ridiculously as if she would burst under some inner pressure, Harry removed one hand from the steering wheel and pressed it against her chest.

  ‘Careful,’ she cried. ‘I’ve got a rose quartz crystal in my bra!’ When Harry said idly that he thought her guests had enjoyed the food, she said, ‘If you think that, you’re a fool who knows nothing about Indian cuisine. You’ll never be constipated again. Didn’t you see it was a tragedy? I don’t want to be around these grotesques.’

  ‘What you really want, Liana, is to be a great lady, a fashionable society hostess, with a salon, where Somerset Maugham, Arnold Bennett and, on rare occasions, Thomas Hardy, drop by for tea and talk about what’s on at the theatre.’

  She said, ‘I would have to be in London to do that. Have you ever noticed how little Mamoon does for me?’

  ‘But you’re Tolstoy’s wife,’ said Harry. ‘Aren’t the consolations of status and respect enough?’

  ‘I only arranged that unappreciated dinner because Mamoon takes me nowhere. You know Dirty Ben, my psychic with the filthy mind?’

  ‘The short-term psychic? Is that the one you said is a tranny?’

  ‘Darling, with those nails he must be.’

  ‘Liana, can I ask, what is the point of hiring a psychic who can only see a maximum of six months ahead? Isn’t that like having a blind surgeon?’

  ‘I asked Dirty Ben,’ she said, ‘can’t you set Mamoon on fire? During the next six months do you see any sex for me? No way – he thinks I’ve been cursed by my ex-husband, and asked for seven hundred pounds to lift the evil intention.’

  ‘No chance of a loyalty discount?’

  ‘Harry, I’m asking you, what choice did I have? Mamoon hardly talks to me. I wrote about my need in big handwriting and left my diary out. What sort of husband walks past his wife’s diary without a second glance?’

  ‘Does he touch you?’

  ‘Not even on my birthday! For me the sacred lives inside the profane. Can a person go mad for lack of passion and love? Aren’t I still touchable? I guess you might know, Harry.’

  He glanced at her. ‘You are a succulent woman, juicy as a dolphin, and at your sexual peak too. A woman of unused potential with much life ahead. Particularly during the next six months.’

  ‘Though I tried, my forties were not fulfilling,’ she said. ‘Tesoro, dear, divorce and all that rather dries one out.’

  She described her literary admiration for Mamoon, and how, in a moment, it had turned into love. For her, it had been an ‘awakening’ – sexually, spiritually, emotionally. She saw the point of the world; everything added up and her soul filled with light and life. This went on for the first three years. Then the light began to flicker. ‘At the moment he has nothing to give me and no intention of giving it.’

  Harry said, ‘You were slipping books into paper bags, Liana. Now you have the house, the land, and dogs that wag their tails at you. When Mamoon goes, you’ll get the money and you’ll be regarded with wonder as the keeper of the eternal flame. You have a lifetime’s work ahead of you, refusing permission for this or that, and attacking whichever journalist has called your husband a charlatan faggot.’

  ‘Harry, it is worse for women, Harry, you don’t understand. You could find a wife when you’re seventy-five. He will be my last lover. Perhaps my last man ever, and I will never be loved again. What man will go near me after Mamoon?’

  ‘You will have had a great artist for a husband. Liana, do you still get horny?’

  Although Mamoon was snoring, Liana turned to ensure that he was truly asleep. Harry’s iPod was on low, playing Brazilian songs and Nordic jazz – soft trumpets and mellow slow pianos. Harry could hear Liana breathing rapidly. He let her listen to the music, and concentrated on driving through the dark narrow lanes overhung with bushes and trees, dimming and raising his lights as he went.

  She leaned across and whispered, ‘I’m rabid, dear, rabid. I said to Julia, ideally I wouldn’t want to go without love for more than a month.’

  ‘What did she say?’

  ‘She screamed – more like a week. She informed me that a woman who doesn’t have an orgasm a day will get dry skin, and lines. According to her you should rub your lover’s semen into your forehead.’

  ‘She does have a milky look.’

  Liana went on, ‘I shouldn’t admit this – don’t include it in the book – I put out my arms and hugged a tree.’

  ‘Dogs piss against trees, Liana.’ He said, ‘Would you like me to talk to him about it?’

  ‘Would you? And, if you don’t –’ and here she looked at him hard, ‘I might start asking you where you go at night.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘When it’s dark.’

  He knew she was watching him. He said, ‘When it gets dark I like to relax, Liana. I like to drive. Sometimes I go across to Stonehenge, climb over the fence and press my cheek against the ancient rock. The relaxation helps me think about the book. My paperwork, as you call it.’

  ‘I’m saying this kindly, Harry. Be very careful. I respect your secrets, but save such Stonehenge nonsense for your girlfriend. I’m intrigued to find out what she’s like.’

  ‘I’m annoyed because she said she’d be here for Mamoon’s supper.’

  ‘Is she always elusive?’

  ‘Her whole life’s a no-show.’

  ‘I hate to say it, but you remind me of the Tarot Magician. You’ve got a lot of spiritual power. You deserve better.’ Liana said, ‘I’ll tell you what we’ll do. I’m from a puritanical, Catholic background. In my day we were punished for doubting God. I kept away from chemical experimentation. But I have read about it in modern novels. Have you ever tried cocaine – or whatever it’s called – ecstasy? Do you have any?’

  ‘MDMA? It’s not good for you.’

  ‘Then why, according to the papers, do millions of people take it?’

  ‘It’s enjoyable in the short term.’

  ‘That’s what I want,’ she breathed, ‘enjoyment in the short term. I’m beginning to feel like an old woman. My knees ache. And so does my heart.’

  ‘My father always said that illegal drugs are better for you than the legal stuff. How many artists have created while drunk, high on laudanum, opium, chloral or amphetamines? What have antidepressants ever done for culture?’

  ‘Good. If you don’t get me some of the good stuff to try, I’ll go to that nasty pub in town you have taken to drinking in.’ She touched his knee. ‘Just a little, please Harry.’ He told her she’d have to promise to be nice to him. ‘You must ask Mamoon to give his blessing for me to interview Marion. Okay?’

  ‘But he’s very wary of her. She was full of hate and promised a terrible revenge.’

  ‘What sort?’

  ‘We’re waiting for it to arrive. All he did was fall deeply in love with me. He won’t have her sniping at him. Don’t take the risk: if you mention her he could smash you in two.’

  ‘I’ve got to take that risk.’

  At the house, it was a familiar difficulty for Harry getting Mamoon out of the car, into the kitchen, upstairs and onto his bed.

  Liana had gone ahead of them and, in the bedroom, she turned off the lights and
lit candles. Then she collapsed into her favourite yellow armchair, decorated with exotic birds, let her hair down and removed her shoes.

  ‘You should know,’ she said, when he forced and stumbled Mamoon through the impasse of the door and onto the bed, ‘that the arch of the foot in this shoe is the shape a woman’s foot makes in orgasm.’ She reached into her bra, took out her crystal and caressed it impatiently. ‘Wake him up.’

  Harry said softly, ‘Mamoon . . . Mamoon . . .’

  There was no response. She said, ‘You’re the Muscle Mary – slap him. He’ll thank you later. We both will.’

  Harry tapped Mamoon on the cheek. ‘Come on, old fella.’

  She told him to do it harder. ‘Start his engine. Splash him with water.’

  Harry gave the old man a light backhander and tipped a little water over his forehead. Mamoon raised his head, opened his eyes and stared straight at Harry for a moment. Then he fell back, and closed his eyes.

  Liana snorted and gestured at Mamoon’s silk pyjamas. ‘The bastard’s gone for the night. We’ll have to make our own fun. At least try and get him into those.’

  ‘Why am I doing this, Liana?’

  ‘You wanted to know him, and aren’t I dead on my feet! Don’t you think my ankles are looking puffy?’ She said, ‘To be serious for a moment, you’ve given me hope. Do you really think I can win Mamoon back in the way we’ve discussed?’

  After several outraged snorts and gasps, Mamoon had returned to a deep sleep even as Harry embarked on the considerable process of getting the old man out of his trousers and into the pyjamas. Meanwhile, Harry glanced towards the window. Outside all was dark; thin rain fell. Harry went to the window: he believed he’d seen the light from a mobile phone in the distance.

  He said to Liana, ‘You’ll have to be determined and use all your tricks of seduction.’

  She was caressing the arm of the chair with the crystal. ‘You’re right. I’ve been too inactive.’ Elaborately, she crossed her legs. ‘I see you looking at me. He used to look at me. He loved my legs, though I think he was a bit surprised, on that wonderful day in Venice, that he had to marry the rest of me too. Harry—’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘You’ve been very inspiring tonight . . . Are you going to go where you go at night? Suppose I become frightened? What if I must cry?’

  ‘Don’t cry.’ At last Mamoon was done. Harry went to the door and saluted her. He thanked her for the evening and told her to sleep well. He retired to his room and locked the door. A few minutes later she came and tried it, crying out, ‘Don’t reject me like everyone else!’

  He didn’t believe her heart was in it, and she soon gave up. He went to the window, climbed out and jumped down.

  Julia was waiting for him in the yard, holding her raincoat over her head in the midnight rain.

  Twelve

  ‘They’re not for me.’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘They really are not.’

  ‘I know what you think, and I’ve said already they’re not for most people, Alice. These pompous, authoritarian old men are more than an acquired taste – a perversion, perhaps.’

  But it amused Alice to insist that he must be in love with Mamoon. It was ‘obvious’. He asked her where she got that idea from.

  ‘The other day, when you called me in one of your miserable states, I had to endure a description of his lips and eyes.’ She repeated Harry’s fruity and ironical upper-class drawl. ‘“His eyes, dear Alice, will appear to be dark and impenetrable, but they contain the heat of chestnuts boiled for a hundred years—”’

  ‘Yes, that was for your information only. You will be thanked for coming here.’

  He reiterated that credit would be racked up; a bonfire of money burned in Bond Street for her. And so, after much argument, evasion, as well as the promise of a trip to Venice, a great event had occurred: Alice had not only consented to visit, but he had found her waiting impatiently on the platform at the little station earlier that morning, tapping at her phone.

  Now the couple were driving through the maze of the narrow lanes to the destination where all local roads met: Prospects House. Her fine head on its long neck turned, and, at the perfect moment, the hedges parted: cows grazed, birds sang, deer stood. While she drank in the restful beauty of the landscape, as he knew she would, he said he had to apologise for not exactly inviting her to the department of sangfroid.

  ‘But my body is uncoiling,’ she said. ‘This is almost a yoga mat moment. Why didn’t you say it was wonderful?’

  ‘Glance across. Tell me, how do I look to you?’

  ‘Did you shower? That T-shirt is gone. If I were you, I’d wax your hair now to make it look fuller. Did you enjoy last night’s dinner? Tell me all.’

  Harry told her that before Mamoon passed out, he had introduced him to his friends as his darbari – meaning courtier, or catamite. Then Liana asked him for drugs and insisted he strip Mamoon. She hinted Harry might want to strip her too. Soon, he’d be qualified to work at the Old Vic as an actor’s dresser.

  Alice said, ‘Have you been flirting? Oh God, Harry, I begged you to behave normally down here. Are you buggering everyone about?’

  ‘I assure you it’s her. Even her pasta is black. She smells my blood, my fear and weakness, and she’s at me, over-intimate, nosy, sneering at my background. When she calls me mediocre and uncreative, as she does most days, I shake with fury and cry alone.’

  ‘Does she whisper a truth?’

  ‘I have to smile and smile.’

  ‘Because Rob insists on it?’

  ‘I’m here to progress spiritually and materially.’ When Alice asked him how the interviews were going, he said, ‘As you advised so wisely, when standing outside Mamoon’s library, I count back from ten, before I can go in. But then, fearing my subject will insert the head of a spiky fish into my anus, I start to shake and have to get to the toilet before he begins to talk.’ Alice questioned his masculinity, as she often liked to do, to which he said, ‘If you read Mamoon’s essays, which you won’t, you would learn that he has eaten human flesh.’

  ‘Please—’

  ‘Not a large amount. Not an arm or throat. But at least, as they say about children, he tried it – fried, with salt and pepper. I do scare him a bit, Alice. When he spies me approaching with my notebook he looks perturbed, like a shellfish about to take a shake of lemon juice on the nose.’ He went on, ‘A lot depends on whether I can meet the former lover, Marion. Rob said I have to get Mamoon’s permission because if I make the old man any more hostile, he’ll throw me out.’

  ‘What scares you?’

  ‘His disapproval. His temper. You will see it all, and grasp the gravity here.’

  ‘Will I?’

  ‘I can’t help provoking him to consider me a worthless person.’

  She wrapped her arms around herself. ‘Is he going to think that of me?’

  ‘Not at first. He will charm you. Later, he will rip your face off and feed it to the pigs.’

  ‘Oh for God’s sake, Harry, please take me back to the station. Why on earth did you invite me to this shit?’

  ‘My blackness is spreading, Alice. I’ve been seeing and hearing things that can’t be there or anywhere. At night, when I’m not hallucinating mad women, I can feel depression starting to burn me around the edges. If I sink into it, I’ll have to give this thing up and write a novel.’

  ‘Then we will be poor.’

  ‘Worse. Despised by my family. Indeed by all families.’

  ‘I hate to say I warned you.’

  ‘But you will see me come through the fire with most of my hair and at least one intact testicle.’

  They passed the garage, the church and the pub, and turned into the lane. Soon they were bumping down the track towards the gingerbread house.

  She leaned across, kissed him and told him he was sadistic. ‘I sense you looking forward to this. You won’t make a fuss when I disappear, will you? You know I like to r
un away.’

  Pulling the numerous cases she’d arrived with from the back of the car, and carrying them to the house, he informed her the locals called the place the Overlook Hotel, and that the exits were padlocked. She would not disappear.

  Just then there was a shout: Liana bustled out to greet, look over and embrace Alice. Alice loved the dogs in particular, and Liana was immediately keen to give Alice the tour.

  But first Harry and Alice went to their room, and he lay down on the bed. Half asleep, he watched her look through her clothes. Alice changed at least three times a day, and spent most of her money, and a good deal of his, on clothes. She obtained a lot of them cheaply from friends in the business, and looked good. Her favourite items were the ones she’d never worn – those which were waiting for the ‘right occasion’ – of which there were a great many. Clothes and accessories were a person’s creativity; how someone looked was always a free decision, like a brushstroke on a painting. He would enjoy women more, she had informed him, if he understood their clothes.

  When she moved in, the parade of dressing and undressing was frequent and regular. They both liked women’s shoes, and could fill many an evening with her feet. His tiny study had become a cave of her dresses and coats. Her clothes covered his books. That was the least of it. ‘I’m in debt, Harry. I can’t stop spending. A tea set, an espresso machine, jewellery, Milan – all those little necessary things have done for me.’ She wanted to borrow money from him, but unless Rob advanced him a bit more, Harry had nothing himself. If they were to buy a house and start a family, they had to be prudent, like everyone else in Europe.

  He knew no one who was not mad, and he recognised Alice was not different from anyone else at the moment: there was no shame attached to debt; in fact, the debtless and thrifty were considered foolish losers. However, he had to urge her to cut down, as one would with any dependency. But she called shopping her ‘outlet’, and was worried that if she did cut back, she’d require another means of assuaging her anxiety.