Tremor

  ‘I don’t think,’ Lee said, ‘there’s anything more enjoyable than a picnic. Not the most original thought in the world, but I’m prepared to stand by it.’

  ‘And without beggar boys,’ said Letty. ‘I do not think they are ever as hungry as they look, but I do not enjoy eating and being watched.’

  There was a flush of pleasure in her cheeks. She liked Morocco, its strangeness, its remoteness from anything she had ever known before.

  After lunch they drove through Goulimine until the metalled road ended and there was only a camel trail. Lee said they could now claim to have eaten at least one orange in the Sahara, but Letty was nervous lest the car should get stuck in the sand, so they drove back to the little fortified town and wandered round among the camels and the donkeys and the mules, amid a smell of spices and dung and leather and rancid oil. Men of all ages were squatting against the ochre walls in their white, brown and blue robes, and there were stalls selling honey and molasses and almonds and fried fish and sheep’s kidneys. Black-capped Jews strolled by, and a student or two carrying books and prayer mats. Overhead the storks were making a great noise as they nested in the ruined walls of the fort.

  They took a few photographs and bought some sweets and a metal teapot for making mint tea, and a fistful of bananas, and got into the car to leave, when they were accosted by two ‘Blue Men’ seeking a lift. Lee smiled a question at Letty and then nodded to the men. They grinned and climbed enormously into the back and sat there, formidable-looking but polite, and smelling of goat. The Blue Men spoke no French, so conversation was confined to nods and grunts. They were driven for about ten miles, to a hamlet under some palm trees, then they climbed hairily out with large white grins and taps of thanks on the side windows.

  Letty said: ‘When I heard first about Blue Men I thought it was their skins that were blue, not just their robes!’

  ‘Sometimes the dye does get onto their faces and hands,’ Lee said.

  They stayed a moment or two watching the two men walk towards the shacks, which in fact were hardly more than roofs of branches and boards covered by earth and supported by thin tree stumps with a few stone and mud walls.

  They turned and waved. Lee and Letty waved back and then drove on.

  Letty said: ‘ Carl is always so very careful about who he gives a lift to. He never picks up women because they may try to blackmail him and claim he has assaulted them. I wonder what he would think about us picking up two Blue Men!’

  She had said little more about herself since she told him about their escape from Norway, except that when she reached America she had worked as a Red Cross nurse in New Jersey for the rest of the war. She had met Carl Heinz early on when he was brought to her hospital for treatment after a plane crash, and they had married soon after.

  Her brother had been killed in 1943, and her mother had also died, though only two years ago.

  So she was almost as much alone in the world as Lee. Soon after Ann became friendly with her, Lee had caught sight of her in Concord in company with a big, fair, lumbering boy with a mane of Nordic hair. It had meant nothing to Lee then but he supposed now it was Leon, the errant son. According to Letty there had frequently been noisy, even violent, rows. Yet Carl had left his wife more than a year before their son. It was not he who had driven the boy away.

  They stopped at Tiznit for tea on the way back.

  ‘There’s not much to buy,’ Lee said as they walked into the souk. ‘I might get a cover for a hassock – an ottoman. This white one – is it elephant hide? It would look well in our drawing-room.’

  She said nothing.

  He said: ‘Are you hoping your husband will come back?’

  ‘No! Oh, no.’

  ‘Then why don’t you divorce him?’

  ‘It does not seem to matter. I receive an allowance.’

  ‘How much does he send you?’

  She named a monthly sum which, as he had suspected, was paltry. He knew roughly what long-distance truck-drivers earned.

  ‘That is not enough. I can get more for you.’

  ‘I do not think I need it.’

  ‘You might not have to work at the Paul Revere. In any case it would be better if you divorced him.’

  ‘I do not expect ever to marry again. I do not know … Sometimes I think I am not capable of loving anyone with the whole of my heart. Perhaps I did my brother – but then he went …’

  ‘Your son?’

  ‘Leon? Yes, of course. Deeply at times. But he wished to go away. From home. Maybe I failed him in those early years. The war was on. I was nursing. I think maybe I failed to give him the sort of love he needed when he was a baby. And as he began to grow up the marriage began to go wrong.’

  Lee said: ‘ It’s not uncommon for the young to want to get away from their home, from the influence of their parents. And, I assure you, that doesn’t always depend on the amount of love and loving care they get at home!’

  They drove on for a few miles.

  Lee said: ‘I should like you to give up the restaurant work and come to me whole time. I think what with your bridge and your cooking you have made yourself – indispensable.’

  She half smiled, for he was smiling. ‘It is kind of you to suggest it. I could not ever take Mrs Burford’s place.’

  ‘Nobody’s asking you to. But I take it that in spite of your – your detachment you have some care for my welfare?’

  ‘Of course I care for your welfare! I – I’d care for anyone who has been hurt, badly hurt, badly let down, when it is not a fault of their own!’

  ‘Rather the same as you’d care for a mongrel dog with a broken leg?’

  She patted his arm. ‘Please. You know I did not mean that. You always shoot too many guns for me in argument.’

  ‘But you always have the last gun.’

  It was a straight, empty road, which was lined with tall palm trees, with the sea glimmering in the distance.

  He said awkwardly: ‘I told you that you have come to mean a lot to me. That is something over which I have little control. I’m not exaggerating my feelings when I tell you this. Whatever you feel or don’t feel, I guess it’s a fact of life between us from now on. I’m not sure we can carry on in just that same casual way when we get home.’

  ‘I should not wish to lose your friendship. I value that …’

  Changing down in this little car was not too easy until you had mastered it, and there was a grunt as he did so now. Perhaps emotion played its part in his lack of timing. They overtook a convoy of donkeys carrying panniers overflowing with heavy grasses, then a solitary camel, distinctive with its swinging walk, and a baby donkey trotting at its side. They all seemed to belong to two Arab urchins who looked hardly big enough to wield a stick.

  She said: ‘You have been so very good to me. Thank you.’

  ‘But the point is I presume that you don’t have any such feelings for me.’

  There was a long silence. Then as Agadir came in sight she said: ‘I have a great feeling of warmth and liking for you, Lee. I do really have. But … perhaps that is not quite what you meant.’

  ‘No,’ he said, ‘ that is not quite what I meant.’

  II

  Dinner was over at the Gazelle d’Or. Sumptuous was a word Matthew would have avoided as an author – it was over the top, too often used by tabloid journalists – but there was not another one he could quite think of which so properly defined the feast they’d had. It was a mixture of the best of French and Moroccan cooking, though they drank only French wines. After dinner they went into the circular drawing-room and sipped mint tea freshly brewed by an elderly Arab who squatted on the floor by a window and carried the cups around and refilled them if required. In one corner was an old spinet, and Matthew went across and tried it. The sound was tinny and sharp.

  ‘It is a seventeenth-century épinette,’ said de Blaye, ‘and in poor condition. I intend often to have it restored, but there is no one in my family who plays, so I keep it as a be
autiful piece of furniture.’

  Matthew tried ‘Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring’, and then for a change a bit of Dave Brubeck; but neither was satisfactory. As he was getting up de Blaye said: ‘Try that other thing. You may find it more interesting.’

  Matthew picked up an instrument from a side table. It had the look of a guitar but clearly was not. He plucked at it and it made a promising sound.

  ‘A vihuela,’ said de Blaye. ‘ Spanish, you know. It is even older than the épinette but in much better condition. You play it like a lute.’

  It was about the size of a guitar but it had ten strings. Its body was delicately veneered.

  ‘I found it in Chouan last year,’ de Blaye said. ‘ Do play it if you can, as I have not heard it properly used.’

  ‘Doubt if I can do that,’ Matthew said, but quite challenged. He plucked a few melodious noises from it and grinned at Nadine. She smiled back. He tried ‘Smoke Gets In Your Eyes’, which didn’t come out too badly. Then he tried Brubeck again but it was a dismal failure. He began to tune the instrument, but lacked a middle C. He played ‘ Torno a Sorrento’, broke off halfway because he had forgotten how it went. Nadine hummed a few bars and enabled him to finish it.

  He played for half an hour. This included part of a Sonata in E minor by Scarlatti, ‘Tea for Two’ and ‘I’ll See You Again’.

  Both listeners applauded when he got up. In fact he was delighted with himself that it was so good, knowing how awful it might have been. Well-fed and wined but ever susceptible to atmosphere, he had risen to the occasion.

  ‘Why do you not now sing some duets?’ Pierre de Blaye suggested. ‘You have a good voice, Nadine. Sing with Matthew or sing alone?’

  It was another hour before they finished. They ranged from ‘O Sole Mio’ to ‘Carmen’, from ‘Je ne regrette rien’ to ‘ Some Enchanted Evening’, which only Matthew knew and had to sing himself.

  ‘Mon Dieu!’ said Pierre de Blaye. ‘ This is good. You must stay. I have business in Rabat tomorrow, but it will be done in half a day. Stay a week until my Alessandra comes. She sings a little. We could form the Taroudant Quartet!’

  It all broke up with laughter and joking. Matthew was in his element and at his best. Nadine, laughing, said she must return to Agadir tomorrow as she was expecting calls from her agent. But in a few days, if Matthew was willing to drive her … Matthew was very willing. They were all flushed with wine, and flushed too with making music and sparking each other off.

  As he steered her from the main house towards their bungalows he said: ‘Why don’t we go on as the Baron suggests? Drive over the Atlas tomorrow to Marrakech, a couple of days there, then Fez, then return here Thursday, back to Agadir about next Saturday.’

  (Disagreeable thoughts in the back of his mind that he hadn’t enough money to do this; but the night was too good to be spoiled by financial considerations. He could borrow from de Blaye.)

  They were linking arms, and her hair brushed his as she shook it. ‘Daumier is ringing me tomorrow. It was an arrangement.’

  ‘Telephone him from here in the morning. That shouldn’t be a difficulty.’

  They took a few more steps. She settled her hand more firmly into his. ‘I haven’t enough money on me. Nor have I clothes. Virtually no make-up, certainly no personal things. Let’s do the other thing he suggests – go back and come again about Thursday. I’d love to meet his mistress. Then – if we really feel like it, we could go to Marrakech about Saturday, then Fez, if you wanted to, maybe fly home from there, or Casablanca or somewhere.’

  ‘You think we might do that?’ he said gratefully.

  ‘I think we might do that.’

  ‘Hurray!’ he said, giving a skip.

  There was companionable silence then until they reached the bungalows. It’s always easy to con yourself, but Matthew knew he had never felt like this for any woman before. She was cultured, elegant, sophisticated, yet fresh and simple; direct, uncomplicated. And he thought her loving would be the same.

  ‘Nadine.’

  ‘Yes, Matthew?’

  ‘You know what I want.’

  ‘Yes, I know what you want.’

  ‘Of course one can trot out the hoary old siege guns. What’s two days to get to know someone? And you don’t want a sordid sorry little holiday affair. Well, neither do I. But it won’t be that way.’

  ‘Won’t it?’

  ‘Well you have to agree, this evening has been rather special, hasn’t it?’

  ‘Oh, yes.’

  ‘So I don’t suppose the night would be anything less special – if you’d allow me to sleep with you.’

  Nadine paused to pull at a piece of jasmine and to sniff it.

  She said: ‘Will you promise not to make me laugh?’

  III

  They made love in her bed under an ornate circular medallion of carved cedar and gilded cornices, while the aromatic fire smouldered in the corner grate. The flickering of this fire and an oblique slit from the hall was all the light they had, but it was enough.

  They came together with hunger and anticipation – and indeed laughter – wine and music and the sexual urge blending in a discerning passion. She was a new experience to him. A frustrated romantic, he had always sought more in women than they were able to give him. Now he took it all and was lost in it all. Nor did she withhold herself in any aspect or degree.

  At times they lay together breathing in each other’s breath, short of their own. They spoke now and then in monosyllables, exhaustion bringing renewal and renewal exhaustion.

  As the fire burned down and its flames flickered to a glow they presently lay side by side and presently slept. The whole day had had a sort of laughing magic, and this was its consummation.

  Chapter Eight

  I

  The Casino, a square building, largely timber-built, with a low central dome, was set back from the sea front but only five minutes’ walk from the Saada.

  Johnny Frazier went by car.

  It was nine o’clock. He had walked in at the Casino at five and been told that Benjamin Ardrossi did not come on duty until eight, so Johnny had had his dinner first.

  He would dearly have liked to leave his suitcase behind in some safe place but didn’t dare.

  The Casino was all a-glitter and quite busy. This was high season, and the hotels were full. The first people he spotted were Laura and Françoise and Vicky. They had been noisy at dinner, and Laura had made things worse by stopping at the Thibault table and apologizing to M. Thibault for using his car as a clothes horse by mistake. Thibault had sat there with a would-be-executioner’s expression while Mme Legrand explained for the second time in tedious detail how it came about that one Renault Four looked very much like another.

  Johnny had seen them leave before him, and he was not surprised where they had been off to. He hoped they had used their own car this time. They were seated at one of the two roulette tables and intent on play. All along, Johnny speculated, they seemed to have money to splash about. Maybe they were not whores but widows of rich fairground proprietors or owners of bowling alleys. Money came in all guises.

  He enquired of an attendant, and M. Benjamin Ardrossi was pointed out. A thin dark man with an apron-string of black beard running thinly from ear to chin, a narrow hooked nose and some gold teeth which showed when he spoke. He was operating at the table where the three women played.

  People were standing around watching the circulation of the little ball. He edged his way nearer until he was behind the croupier.

  In the brief pause after the winnings had been distributed, the losings raked in, and the new bets were being laid, Johnny Frazier said: ‘ M. Ardrossi?’

  The croupier glanced round, then back at the table. ‘ Yes?’

  ‘Colonel Tournelle gave me your name. I’m his son.’

  ‘Faites vos jeux,’ Ardrossi called. ‘Mesdames et messieurs, faites vosjeux, s’il vous plaît.’

  More quietly. ‘So?’

  ‘My fathe
r’s in hospital. Did you know?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I came wanting a bit of help. He couldn’t oblige. He suggested you might.’

  ‘Might what?’

  ‘Be able to help me.’

  ‘In what respect?’

  ‘I would like a quiet word with you.’

  ‘Faites vos jeux,’ called Ardrossi. ‘ Faites vos jeux. Rien ne va plus …’ And then, ‘ I break for coffee in half an hour. Wait by the cash desk.’

  ‘ça va,’ said Johnny, and moved away.

  But Laura had spotted him.

  ‘Johnny! Come and join us! We need a morsel of help. Lady Luck’s been no good for us, so maybe a touch of Gentleman’s Luck will roll the ball right. Didn’t know there were so many damned ways of losing.’

  She had him by the arm. The heavily made-up face was flushed; but the blue eyes, though bleary, were shrewd enough. With her free hand she kept twitching up the shoulder of her dress where it wanted to fall off.

  He allowed himself to be led to the table, and Françoise was yanked out of her chair to make room for him. Oh well … Gambling was a weakness of his.

  He began cautiously, changing only a few hundred dirhams and using them for the shorter odds on impair and manque. He lost them all, bought some more chips, took larger risks, and began to win. He concentrated on 2 and 8, only because it happened to be the 28th of the month. Half an hour passed quickly, and he became so absorbed that he only just raised his eyes in time to see Ardrossi slipping out of his seat to be replaced by another croupier. He was nine hundred dirhams up, and the three girls were noisy with praise, as they had profited too.

  ‘Coming back,’ he promised, as he got up. ‘ Just off for a few minutes, see? I’ll be back.’

  ‘What’s in that case?’ Vicky asked playfully, tapping it. ‘ Been robbing a bank? Never seen you without it. D’you take it to the john, eh?’