For The Death Of Me (19 page)

As I sipped it, I thought about what I had got myself into or, rather, what Harvey had got me into. Time to report back, I decided, so I called him. He was astonished when I told him that Maddy had contacted me. I didn't go into detail, just said that things had gone sour for her in Singapore and she needed to raise cash to do a runner. We had a discussion about whose cash it was going to be, Harvey insisting that it would be his, but we left that issue unresolved . . . or, at least, I let him think we had.

Finally, I called Semple House, Auchterarder. I was after Miles, but it was Prim who answered. ‘They left last night: I told you it was only a flying visit.'

‘I didn't think it was that short. How's your dad?'

‘Fine. How's yours?'

‘Getting finer by the day. He's getting home tomorrow.'

‘That's great. Would you mind if I went to see him?'

‘I wouldn't, but you'd better phone Mary first to make sure he's receiving, so to speak.'

‘Will do.' There followed one of those Prim pauses, where you could hear her mind work, and her curiosity get the better of her. ‘Oz,' she asked at last, ‘what the hell are you doing in Singapore? There was no mention of it when I was with you in Monaco.'

‘Family business. There's a situation involving Harvey and his former wife; I'm sorting it out for him and she's out here.'

‘Maddy January?' she exclaimed.

‘You know her?'

‘I've met her, yes.'

‘You never told me that.'

‘The subject never came up; I didn't see the need to.'

‘I suppose not,' I conceded. ‘Where did you come across her?'

‘In Edinburgh, before I met you. It was when Dawn was trying to get her career under way, working in the Lyceum theatre company. I was home on leave from my nursing job in Africa; I hung around with Dawn's crowd, and so did she. As I recall it, she was screwing an actor at the time; an insipid jerk he was. I'm sure she was still married to Harvey, but that issue was never raised. There was a rumour that she'd had a fling with Ewan Capperauld before that . . . Well, actually, now that I recall it, it wasn't a rumour: she was quite open about it. I assumed that she was bullshitting, though.'

‘No, she wasn't; I have that from the man himself, but let it not pass your lips.'

‘His secret's safe with me.' She chuckled. ‘No chance of an introduction to said man, is there?'

‘Maybe, if the opportunity arises. I'll warn him first, though. Come to think of it, you almost did meet him, that day on the set in Edinburgh when Miles poleaxed your boyfriend.'

‘Nicky was never really my boyfriend, you know that. That was all to get at you.'

‘You succeeded: there was such a fucking row that Ewan locked himself in his trailer and didn't come out for an hour.'

‘He'd have been better locking himself away from Maddy January: gorgeous though she was, that woman struck me as big trouble waiting to happen.'

‘And it has, my dear, it has.'

‘I can just imagine her first line when she sees you, you being an actor an all: is that a gun in your pocket or are you just pleased to see me?'

‘Actually, it's a gun, but it's so small I'd be offended if she asked that.'

I had hung up on her, called Susie again just so I could hear her say, ‘Hello,' for a second time that morning, and was half-way through the chardonnay, when Dylan knocked at my door. I let him in; he let himself into the mini-bar and grabbed a bottle of Corona. There was a fruit bowl on the table; he complained that it didn't contain any limes, then cut himself a slice of lemon instead and shoved it into the neck of the bottle. No class; the boy never had any class.

‘So,' he said, when he'd stopped spluttering from the foam that had surged up the neck of the bottle when he took his first swig, a problem when you substitute lemon for lime, ‘what's the fucking story?'

‘Very interesting,' I assured him. ‘I want you to do something for me.' I took the pistol from my pocket and handed it to him.

He almost jumped from his chair. ‘Jesus Christ, Oz! Where did you get that?'

‘It's Maddy's. I took it from her for everyone's safety, although hers is in very short supply at the moment. Dump it for me when I'm at the TV studio. Don't mess about: go down to the river and chuck it in. And make fucking sure you're not seen.'

‘Teach your granny. Do you think I've never lost a hot gun before? But why the hell is she walking around with it? The Singaporeans cane you for that sort of thing, woman or not, plus they bang you inside for a while.'

I told him Madeleine's whole sorry tale, watching, as I did, his eyebrows rise higher and higher. ‘She's photographed a Triad chief?' he gasped. ‘They think she's a spy? Oz, don't go near this woman again. I'll make the trade, and I'm keeping the fucking gun until I do.'

‘Wrong on both counts. She'll run a mile if she sees anyone but me. And the gun goes in the river.'

‘You're mad, you know that? Barking fucking mad. I can just hear the TV interview.

‘“And
why are you in Singapore, Mr Blackstone?”

‘ “I'm here to pay off a blackmailer so she can escape the Triads before they cut her fucking head off.”

‘Jesus, their ratings will go sky-high.'

23

The cash arrived on time, delivered to the hotel by courier. I signed for it then took it upstairs to the safe in my room.

To set the scene for what I'm about to tell you, I hope you'll understand that, with all the day's events, I was not in the best frame of mind to be appearing on a live television show. I thought about pulling out, using delayed jetlag as an excuse, but that might have drawn more headlines, so I decided I wouldn't disappoint my Singaporean fans. The cricket movie Red Leather was a huge success on the island when it was released, and the DVD has been number one in the charts all this year, so I'm not bragging: there really are quite a few of them.

The production assistant who'd booked me in for the show was in the limo when it came to collect me. It was a stretch Honda, with a bar in the back. My enthusiastic escort offered me champagne, enthusiastically, but I declined. The last thing I needed was a loosened tongue, and that seemed to be the idea; get the guest a little pissed, but not too much, and see what happens.

I'd done no real homework on the show; if Susie had been there, or Roscoe, I'd have had a bollocking for that, but they weren't, so my omissions went unchecked. One of the things I didn't find out until I arrived at the studio was that there would be a studio audience, and that they wouldn't just be there to laugh and clap on cue, they'd be chipping into the discussion. The producer explained all this in the green room . . . they'd taken the term literally: almost everything in it was green, even some of the dim sum things on the buffet table. The other guest was there too; I'd always wanted to meet Eric Cantona, but he didn't seem all that bothered about me, although he was very polite.

I'd expected our host to come in at some point, to say hello and put us at our ease. That was what had happened on every other talk-show I've ever done, but clearly they didn't go in for such a courtesy on that particular production. It wasn't the most professional thing I've ever encountered, before or since, and I wasn't too impressed.

You know me well enough by now, I hope, to appreciate that I'm rarely bothered by trivia; it takes something big to blow my fuses. They started to overheat, though, when I walked on set and under the hot lights towards the seat that was waiting for me, and discovered for the first time that Mai Bong wasn't the attractive Chinese lady I'd been expecting, but a man, a smarmy wee geezer with greased-up black hair and heavy makeup. I expected him to stand, to welcome me to his show and offer a handshake . . . Parky always does that . . . but, no, he just sat there, beaming like a small round fifty-year-old cat, and, for some reason, winking at the studio audience.

I glanced at them too, as I settled, as best I could, into the uncomfortable plastic bucket they'd provided for me; it had been designed for an arse slightly smaller than mine, deliberate no doubt, to put the guest at a disadvantage from the off, and maybe even get the occasional cheap laugh, if he reacted to it.

Two faces jumped out at me from the crowd, one beaming, the other smiling shyly. There were three rows, and Sammy Grant was at the back, looking as chuffed with himself as Mai Bong did. Marie Lin was front and centre: she'd changed out of the blue uniform into a long black dress with a slit in the side that showed something I hadn't noticed before. She had great legs.

‘Okay-lah!' Mr Mai squealed, in a high-pitched voice. ‘Welcome to Singapore, Mr Jardine. First visit?'

The guy had just opened his mouth and he was annoying me even more. ‘You've obviously invited the wrong bloke,' I told him, being careful to smile as if I meant it. ‘Douglas Jardine, the guy you're talking about, was a part I played. Look,' I rubbed a finger across my freshly shaved top lip, ‘the silly little moustache has gone, plus I'm not wearing whites and a cap.' I was actually wearing a Siegfried and Roy T-shirt that I'd bought in Las Vegas, with a big white tiger on the front. ‘Please, Bong, let's not confuse the people at home and in the studio, especially the lovely Marie there in the front row, who took me for a river-ride this morning, and my fellow Jock, Sammy, at the back, who tried to get me hammered in the Crazy Elephant last night, then gave up his hung-over Sunday to show me Sentosa. My name's Oz Blackstone, okay-lah.'

I turned back to the audience. ‘Hey, Sammy, pal,' I called out. ‘How did you get in here? Did you just walk in off the street?'

‘Aye,' he replied, his voice amplified by one of the live mikes that hung above the seating. ‘That's how it works. You just queue up, like. Ah've never done it before, but it's dead easy.'

‘It can't be all that big a show if you can do that,' I fired back at him. ‘They told me this was big-time.'

‘This? No' really. It's all right, but the bigger shows are on cable telly.'

I turned back to the host. ‘So what about it, Bong? Your producer told me you've got the biggest viewing audience in South East Asia. My friend in Britain, Mr Parkinson, won't be very impressed when I tell him you've been pulling my chain.'

‘We have huge audience.' The little man chuckled, his lips tightening. ‘Huge.'

‘Maybe yes,' I conceded, ‘maybe no, but you do have an intelligent audience, because they've chosen to come and listen to me and Eric the Red. Tell you what,' I said to them, ‘between now and the commercial break, why don't we all just have a chat among ourselves?' The host opened his mouth, but I cut him off, still being careful to smile. ‘Relax-lah, Bong: you know it makes good telly, and good publicity. You'll be on the news pages tomorrow.' I held up my hands and made quote marks. ‘Can you see the headlines in the Straits Times? “Rowdy Scottish actor tells Mai Bong to piss off on his own show.” That won't do the ratings any harm at all.'

I scanned the crowd. ‘Okay-lah,' I said. ‘Hands up all the people with the planted awkward questions designed to embarrass the guest and make the host look good. Come on,' I laughed, ‘enter into the spirit of the occasion. Like Delia Smith said, let's be having you.'

In the second row, an arm rose, tentatively; it was followed by two more, one in front, one at the back. ‘Okay, you three,' I told them, ‘you're clearly production assistants; you can piss off too.' The rest of the audience were well into it now: they hooted with laughter. ‘Go on,' I insisted, ‘I'm serious. You're not real punters; you don't belong there.' Off-camera to the right, I saw a floor manager signalling to them to leave. I waited as they rose from their seats. ‘Don't think about coming back during the commercials,' I yelled after them. ‘Mr Cantona's watching at the back, he'll know who you are.'

I smiled at Marie in the front row, giving a nod of approval to her legs, which I'm sure she understood and appreciated. ‘What do you think of the show so far?' I asked her.

‘Excellent, Oz,' she replied; her voice had a lovely laughing lilt to it. ‘A big improvement on the usual format.'

‘Thanks, you've got the floor. Ask me a question if you like; a real one that the people of Singapore want to hear.'

‘I think we'd like to know what sort of a trip this is. Is it pleasure, is it business, or is it research? Are you planning to come back to make a movie here?'

‘Nice one. The honest answer is that I have no current plans to make a film here, although I'd like to, and I'd like to cast you in it.' I looked into the live camera. ‘This is Miss Marie Lin, ladies and gentlemen, a very fine young Singaporean actress. Remember the name and the face.' I looked back at her and saw another camera focus on her and go live. I let it linger for a while then carried on. ‘It's a pleasure being here,' I said, ‘but it's business that brought me, something I have to do for a family member. I was trying to trace someone I thought might be here, but she may well be off the island by now.' What I'd said had been entirely spontaneous, and I didn't know how it came out, or why. Looking back, I think I was trying to put up some smoke for the bad guys on the off-chance that they had been watching Maddy and knew of our connection.

Then something else escaped from my mouth when I wasn't looking. ‘Can I ask you a question now, Marie?'

‘Of course?'

‘Meet me for a drink in my hotel later on? About ten thirty? I've got a special pass to the New Asia.'