Stewart, Angus (20 page)

'Naima was in a state of shock. She told me about the—arrangement.'

Brown twisted his neck sharply to look at him. 'I see. Let's have some
tapas
,
Manolo, sweet. And change before you make them.' He was evidently thinking. The boy disappeared again. 'Are you in love with her?'

'I don't think so.'

Brown had remained quite composed. Nevertheless he now looked relieved. 'What else did you gather?'

'That it wasn't an accident. And that it wasn't a love affair!

'You're postulating a Lafcadio Brown? The
crime gratuit
—strong Gideian stuff?'

'Hardly. I think you probably had a motive.'

'Which was?'

'I don't know. Or not beyond the obvious one of your wanting the child.'

'I see.' Brown was silent for a moment. 'You know, you're quite wrong in supposing it wasn't an affair of some passion. I was deeply attracted to her.'

'Because you didn't think of her as a woman.'

A light smile began to spread across Brown's face as he refilled their glasses. 'You mean she's boyish?'

'Not necessarily that at all. Perhaps you were able to disassociate her from any preconceived notions of femininity simply because she isn't a European. And then decided to have a child.'

The smile took full possession of Brown's lips as he raised his glass in a mock toast 'Tell me, do you make a habit of leaving your hosts as neatly wrapped and labelled packages on their own carpets?—No please!' Brown put up an imperious hand to block Jay's protest or apology. 'Halliday's death must have left you very worried for your friend Achmed—that's the motive force of your aggression. I suspect. But perhaps it's been aggravated by something. A failure of sexual consummation with Naima this evening? Your feelings towards her are as ambivalent as you describe. My dear chap, have another drink and tell me all. But straight this time.'

At that moment Manolo reappeared. He carried a tray on which were spread pieces of cheese, anchovies and olives speared upon squares of toast, and miniature kebabs of tuna and bacon. Only it was a different Manolo. He wore a free-falling tunic of fine white wool, with a dulled purple border of severely geometric design. Thonged sandals had been substituted for the silver-buckled shoes; and the whole inspiration supposedly derived from the gymnasium.

'Soup of tomorrow,' Jay managed to remark hollowly.

'I should eat well, Jay, because we're going out,' was all Brown said; and, after some moments, 'Perhaps we'd also better get a little drunk.'

With that the three of them ate silently for some minutes, Manolo sipping fastidiously at a glass of milk, and occasionally casting long glances at Jay when he supposed himself unobserved. Jay could think of no idle pleasantry to advance to the boy, unless it be a curious enquiry as to whether he was wearing knickers. The heavy abstraction into which Brown had withdrawn seemed to preclude this, or indeed any conversation. Manolo waved the whisky bottle questioningly at him, and came across to top up his glass. The identical impulse that forty-eight hours before had prompted him to feel Naima's buttocks now overcame him again; and as the pseudo-ephebe leant over him with the bottle he brushed the hem of his tunic a few inches up his thigh. He received much the same response.

'I saw that,' Brown said, apparently from the depth of disinterest. 'They're the sort worn with kilts. A boy's model.'

'You've anticipated my precise thoughts

'That's not difficult,' Brown said. 'Incidentally, have you seen Achmed since Halliday's—death?'

'No, I've not seen him,' Jay said. 'He has a family about forty miles away, and I gather he's gone to visit them.'

'The loss of the shop's going to be tiresome.' Brown sighed. 'There's the American Library. Always supposing you want
Moby Dick
translated into Arabic by the C.I.A. What are you going to do with Achmed when he gets back? He's ridiculously young.'

'Not much younger than this ephebe,' Jay said defensively.

'What's that?' Manolo spoke for the first time.

'A sort of military cadet,' Brown explained.

'My Father was a soldier.' This time, though inoffensively, Manolo pushed the bottle to Jay across the low table.

'So was mine,' said Jay.

'And both were mercenaries in their different ways' Brown delivered this with lazy irony. 'But you haven't answered my question. I'd suggest his becoming a caddy at the Country Club. He must have delivered Books of the Month and Montgomery's memoirs to most of its members. Otherwise talk one of the old ladies into taking him on as houseboy or assistant gardener. How many times has he been in gaol now?'

'Only three time, as far as I know.'

'That's one time too many already,' Brown said grimly. 'You must definitely get him behind one of those walled gardens. Now Manolo
actually
pinches things from time to time, do you not?' he went on, putting his arm about the boy. 'Only the gods gave you a European face, and I gave you a necktie. It makes all the difference.'

'It was only a wrist watch,' said Manolo.

'Only a wristwatch,' Brown echoed.

'Which old lady would you suggest,' Jay asked.

'The maddest.' Brown was thoughtful. 'The more relatively sane are less likely to take him on. D'you know Hilda Font?'

'No.'

'Late of the Raj. Relict of a Colonel. A drunk, naturally; but then they mostly are. Loaded, mean, but impossibly sentimental. Play up Achmed's Kim value, and suggest a three-months' unpaid apprenticeship, followed by three months at one-and-six a day. Don't whatever you do mention the native currency unit. Can you talk Raj?'

'No!' Jay confessed wildly.

'Then I'll teach you. But, come to think of it, all you need grasp is the essence of the woman. Let me see. An image. The first time I met her I was astonished to see a severed tiger's head glued to the wall. I'd thought such things only happened in
Punch
cartoons. I remarked it with as grave a face as a stomach full of pernod permits. "Yes!" she boomed, leading me imperiously into the adjoining room, "and that's his mate on the floor" Got the idea?'

'I think so.'

'Good. Failing which, and from the walled garden angle, I'd suggest a Mrs. Allen. Only I think she's a little agin natives,

'She is.'

'You've met her?'

'At the Diergardt woman's.'

'Another possibility that, of course. He might substitute for Naima. No, Clarissa Allen, come to think of it, is not agin natives. Perhaps superficially so. She spends a lot of time in the Diplomatic Forest in the hopeful expectation of being raped. That sounds callous, I know. But it simply is a real fad and fascination with her. Curious.'

Jay smiled faintly, remembering. 'You seem to have your finger thoroughly on the pulse of the place. The wonder is we've never met.'

'Yes,' Brown said ambiguously. 'But I've been watching you some time.'

'So it would seem:

The whisky was loosening them both. A frown of concentration gathered on Brown's forehead; then became almost the strained features of martyrdom. He looked at Jay intensely. 'You met a man called Lom the other day. He—rather the two of you—gave me an idea.'

'What was that?'

'An erotic film.'

'Oh! The blue movie!' Jay laughed; but Brown's furious seriousness was disconcerting. 'We discussed something of the sort.'

'And I want to make one.'

'Starring whom?'

'Manolo.'

'
Manolo
!
You can't be serious!'

'Oh, but I am.'

'And
Naima
?'
Jay stared incredulously. 'Why, Manolo's only . . .'

'No, definitely not. And you.'

'Me?'

Before Jay could protest further, Brown had picked up Manolo and deposited him bodily on his knee; standing back urgently to review the combination. Manolo contrived to look only mildly surprised.

'Just what is it you have in mind?' Jay asked gently. Manolo made an interesting armful, and he felt no disposition to push him away. Nevertheless it occurred to him that Simon Brown must be rather unpleasantly mad.

'Repair,' Brown said. There was deep agitation mixed with his seriousness.

Jay considered perhaps a full minute. During that time he took a more considerate, though relaxed possession of Manolo. 'Isn't this doing it?' He asked eventually.

'You can put him down,' Brown said. The whisky glasses had a three-inch diameter, but he couldn't keep the draining bottle neck from oscillating musically within his own. 'No,' Jay said resolutely. He sensed Brown would more easily forgive himself if he feigned an element of drunkenness. Either way, it helped him convincingly maul a total stranger. He laid kisses upon the almond-shaped serenity of Manolo's face. The mouth he took by storm; only in slow motion. Whatever his propensity for leaving hosts labelled upon their own carpets, Manolo's easy interest suggested he was not the first guest to be curiously treated either. And what, Jay wondered, carefully and angrily bruising his lip against too perfect enamel with his eyes shut, of that wretched Arab girl? Wouldn't it have been altogether kinder to both Brown and the baby to play these games at a less indirect remove?

Further thought was disrupted by helpless laughter, in which Manolo equally joined. Heaven knew, he must go to the cinema too: the telephone was insistently ringing.

'The taxi man,' Brown announced. 'I don't speak much Spanish.'

And Manolo had disengaged in a trice; leaving Jay with no alternative than to bury his nose in his whisky glass once more.

'Price, for heaven's sake, price!' Brown said agitatedly to the boy at the telephone. Woundingly, Manolo wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. After a moment's listening he cradled the receiver beneath his chin and raised seven fingers.

'Five,' Brown hissed.

'He wants to know whether it's for all night,' Manolo said 'Yes.'

'
Què? Si! Seis, hombre. Al instante
!'
Manolo said firmly, replacing the receiver.

'Six what?' Jay asked, helping himself to the second bottle.

Brown looked resigned. 'Six thousand francs.'

'For a taxi? Where on earth are we going?'

'Sidi Ali.'

'We can't, Simon, for God's sake!' Jay cried in genuine alarm. 'We stink of liquor!'

'Then there's no harm in more,' Brown said. 'It may be cold. We can chew peppermints in the car. Manolo, have you any peppermints?'

'No.'

'Have you unwrapped that new toothbrush?'

'I don't remember,' Manolo said sullenly.

'Don't be silly, yes, or no?'

'Well, no.'

'Then fetch it, please, for Mr. Gadston. After which we'd better blow a little
kif
smoke harmlessly around our mouths,' Brown decided, turning to Jay. 'Have you been before?'

'I was at Sidi Kacern last year with Brodie Chalmers. Only I don't think I'd feel so safe with you,' Jay confessed.

'It's much the same sort of
fiesta
,'
Brown went on. 'But the beauty of Sidi Ali is that it's just a wild hill top in the middle of nowhere, with the saint's bones supposedly buried there. For three hundred and thirty-three days of the year it's simply a deserted plateau, without any permanent structures at all. People come from hundreds of miles.—Contraband, and so cheap,' he added, excusing himself another slug of whisky.

Manolo came in with a loaded toothbrush, a mug, and a large fluorescent plastic bucket. He disposed these with a consciously servile manner in an arc before Jay.

'At least let me pay for another,' Jay insisted, feeling in pocket for a couple of dirham.

'No,' Brown commanded. 'It would place him in an intolerable dilemma wondering whether whatever might be bought with the money outweighed the
indignity of continuing to use your toothbrush. And judging from his performance a moment ago it's a moot point what the decision would be. I'm trying to spare Manolo from as many neuroses as possible. The brush must be destroyed.'

'They're excellent for shoe-cleaning,' Jay hazarded.

'Destruction,' said Brown. 'Manolito, see if the thing will flush down the lavatory.'

'They float.'

'Well, can you burn it?'

'No,' said Manolo, who clearly had no intention of getting up again.

'I could use it myself, as a matter of fact,' Jay admitted. Brown considered this for quite three fingers of Scotch. 'Manolito, are you quite sure you didn't
use
the toothbrush lust?'

'You saw me open it,' the boy said wearily.

'I didn't. You brought it in with paste on it.'

'The wrapping is in the bathroom.'

'That proves nothing. Will you tell me the absolute truth?'

'Only if I don't have to wear the Renaissance page for Raphael's party. It tickles anyway.'

'All right.' Brown looked deflated.

'I swear I did not use the toothbrush,
hombre
,'
said Manolo. There appeared little wrong with his brain. 'Is it dry enough to put in your pocket—do you mind?' Brown asked Jay. 'Now it's long after midnight, Manolo.'

Dutifully Manolo got up. He gave them both a little boy kiss this time.
Hasta luega
,'
he said to Jay.

'It'll be Raphael Bonnington's party, I expect.'

'Then bring me a new toothbrush—but
sealed
,'
Manolo said as he disappeared.

'It's a particularly rough road to Sidi Ali.' Brown apologetically tilted the bottle again. 'For you?'

'I've cleaned my teeth.'

Ah yes.
Kif
?'

'I think not.'

Brown nodded. 'Probably best. It's unwise on the whole to mix any two substances that have a depressant effect on the central nervous system. Ah me!' He reclined on his shoulder blades once more, and silently read the text pinned above his feet: 'When the bridge flows, and the river stands still, there you have Zen'. 'What do you think of him?' he asked aloud.

'Beautiful.' Jay was noncommittal.

'Where the devil's that taxi! Had I better lend you an overcoat?'

'Be an idea. Simon, we're picking up Naima on the way.'

'Devil we're
not
!'
Brown had sat up with a jerk.