The Comfort of Strangers (6 page)

‘Missing their football, sausages, comics and fizzy drinks, but otherwise fine, is my guess,’ Colin said. Two men holding hands, in search of somewhere to sit, stood pressed against their table for a moment.

‘All those mountains and wide open spaces,’ Mary said. ‘You know this place can be terribly suffocating sometimes.’ She glared at Colin.

He took her hand. ‘We should send those cards.’

Mary pulled her hand away and looked round at the hundreds of feet of repeating arches and columns.

Colin also looked round. There were no waiters in sight and everyone appeared to have a full glass.

‘It’s like a prison here,’ Mary said.

Colin folded his arms and looked at her a long time without blinking. It had been his idea to come. At last he said, ‘Our flight is paid for and it doesn’t leave for ten days.’

‘We could get the train.’

Colin stared past Mary’s head.

The two orchestras had stopped at once, and the players were making their way towards the arcades, to the bars of their respective cafés; without their music, the square seemed even more spacious, only partially filled by the sounds of footsteps, the sharp click of smart shoes, the slap of sandals; and voices, murmurs of awe, children’s shouts, parental commands of restraint. Mary folded her arms and let her head drop.

Colin stood up and waved both arms at a waiter who nodded and began to move towards them, collecting orders and empty glasses as he came. ‘I can’t believe it,’ Colin cried exultantly.

‘We should have brought them with us,’ Mary said to her lap.

Colin was still on his feet. ‘He’s actually coming!’ He sat down and tugged at her wrist. ‘What would you like?’

‘It was mean of us to leave them behind.’

‘I think it was rather considerate.’

The waiter, a large, affluent-looking man with a thick, greying beard and gold-rimmed glasses, was suddenly at their table inclining towards them, eyebrows slightly cocked.

‘What do you want, Mary?’ Colin whispered urgently.

Mary folded her hands in her lap and said, ‘A glass of water, without ice.’

‘Yes,
two
of those,’ Colin said eagerly, ‘and …’

The waiter straightened and a short hiss escaped his nostrils. ‘Water?’ he said distantly. His eyes moved between
them, appraising their dishevelment. He took a step backwards and nodded towards a corner of the square. ‘Is a tap.’

As he began to move away, Colin span round in his chair and caught his sleeve. ‘No, but waiter,’ he pleaded. ‘We also wanted some coffee and some …’

The waiter shook his arm free. ‘Coffee!’ he repeated, his nostrils flared in derision. ‘Two coffee?’

‘Yes, yes!’

The man shook his head and was gone.

Colin slumped in his chair, closed his eyes and shook his head slowly; Mary struggled to sit up straight.

She kicked his foot gently under the table. ‘Come on. It’s only ten minutes to the hotel.’ Colin nodded but he did not open his eyes. ‘We can have a shower, and sit on our balcony and have anything we want brought up to us.’ As Colin’s chin sank towards his chest, so Mary became more animated. ‘We can get into bed. Mmm, those clean white sheets. We’ll close the shutters. Can you imagine anything better? We can …’

‘All right,’ Colin said dully. ‘Let’s walk to the hotel.’ But neither of them stirred.

Mary pursed her lips, and then said, ‘He’s probably bringing the coffee anyway. When people shake their heads, here, it can mean all sorts of things.’

As the morning heat had intensified, the crowds had diminished; there were now sufficient tables, and those who still walked in the square were dedicated sightseers, or citizens with real destinations, all scattered figures who, dwarfed by the immensity of vacant space, shimmered in the warped air. Across the square the orchestra had reassembled and was beginning a Viennese waltz; on Colin and Mary’s side, the conductor was leafing through a score, as the musicians were finding their seats and arranging the music on their stands. One consequence of knowing each other so well was that Mary and Colin frequently found themselves staring at the same thing without comment; this time, a man over two hundred feet away with his back to them. His white suit was distinctive in the glare; he had stopped to listen to the waltz. In one hand was a camera, in the other he held a cigarette. He lounged with his weight on one foot and his
head moved in time to the simple rhythm. Then he turned suddenly as if bored, for the music had not finished, and sauntered in their direction, dropping his cigarette as he came and treading on it without looking down. From his breast pocket he took, without breaking his stride, a pair of sunglasses which he polished briefly with a white handkerchief before putting on; each of his movements appeared so economical as to be contrived. Despite the sunglasses, the well-cut suit and the pale grey silk tie, they recognized him at once and watched his approach, mesmerized. There was no telling whether he had seen them, but now he was walking directly towards their table.

Colin groaned. ‘We should have gone to the hotel.’

‘We should turn our faces,’ Mary said, but they continued to watch as he came closer, compelled by the novelty of recognizing someone in a foreign town, by the fascination of seeing without being seen.

‘He’s missed us,’ Colin whispered, but, as though cued, Robert stopped, took off his glasses, spread his arms wide and called, ‘My friends!’ and came quickly towards them. ‘My friends!’ He shook Colin’s hand and raised Mary’s to his lips.

They sat back and smiled at him weakly. He had found a chair and was sitting between them, grinning broadly as if several years, rather than a few hours, had passed since they had parted. He was sprawling in his chair, resting his ankle on his knee, revealing soft leather boots of pale cream. The faint scent of his cologne, so different from his perfume of the night before, spread about the table. Mary began to scratch her leg. When they explained that they had not yet been back to the hotel, that they had slept in the street, Robert gasped in horror and sat up straight. Across the square, the first waltz had merged imperceptibly with a second; nearby, the second orchestra launched into a stiff-jointed tango, ‘Hernando’s Hideaway’.

‘This is my fault,’ Robert cried. ‘I kept you late with wine, and my stupid stories.’

‘Stop scratching,’ Colin said to Mary; and to Robert: ‘Not at all. We should have brought our street maps.’

But already Robert was on his feet, one hand resting on Colin’s forearm, the other reaching for Mary’s hand. ‘Yes, it is my responsibility. I shall make up for everything. You will accept my hospitality.’

‘Oh, we couldn’t,’ Colin said vaguely. ‘We’re staying at a hotel.’

‘When you are so tired, a hotel is not such a good place. I will make you so comfortable you’ll forget your terrible night.’ Robert pushed his chair in to allow Mary to pass.

Colin tugged at her skirt. ‘Wait a minute though …’ The brief tango jerked to its finale and became, by clever modulation, a Rossini overture; the waltz had become a gallop. Colin stood too, frowning with the effort of concentration. ‘Wait …’

But Robert was handing Mary through the space between the tables. Her movements had the slow automation of a sleep-walker. Robert turned and called impatiently to Colin. ‘We’ll take a taxi.’

They walked past the orchestra, past the clock tower, whose shadow now was no more than a stump, and on to the busy waterfront, the focal point of the teeming lagoon, where the boatmen appeared to recognize Robert immediately and competed ferociously for his custom.

T
HROUGH THE
half-open shutters the setting sun cast a rhomboid of orange bars against the bedroom wall. It was, presumably, the movement of wisps of cloud that caused the bars to fade and blur, and then brighten into focus. Mary had been watching them a full half-minute before she was fully awake. The room was high-ceilinged, white-walled, uncluttered; between her bed and Colin’s stood a frail bamboo table which supported a stone pitcher and two glasses; against the adjacent wall was a carved chest and on it an earthenware vase in which was arranged, surprisingly, a sprig of honesty. The dry, silver leaves stirred and rustled in the warm draughts of air that engulfed the room through the half-open window. The floor appeared to be constructed of one unbroken slab of marble of mottled green and brown. Mary sat up effortlessly and rested her bare feet on its icy surface. A louvred door, which stood ajar, led into a white tiled bathroom. Another door, the one through which they had entered, was closed, and hanging from a brass hook was a white dressing-gown. Mary poured herself a glass of water, as she had done several times before falling asleep; this time she sipped rather than gulped, and sat up very straight, stretching her spine to its limit, and looked at Colin.

Like her he was naked and lay above the sheets, prone below the waist, above it twisted a little awkwardly towards her. His arms were crossed foetally over his chest and his slender, hairless legs were set a little apart, the feet, abnormally small like a child’s, pointing inwards. The fine bones of his spine ran into a deep groove in the small of his back, and along this line, picked out by the low light from the
shutters, grew a fine down. Around Colin’s narrow waist were little indentations, like teeth marks, in the smooth white skin, caused by the elastic in his pants. His buttocks were small and firm, like a child’s. Mary leaned forwards to stroke him, and changed her mind. Instead she set her water down on the table and moved closer to examine his face, as one might a statue’s.

It was exquisitely made, with an ingenious disregard for the usual proportions. The ear – only one was visible – was large and protruded slightly; the skin was so pale and fine it was almost translucent, and in its interior folded many more times than was common into impossible whorls; the ear lobes too were long, swelling and tapering like tear drops. Colin’s eyebrows were thick pencil lines, drooping to the bridge of his nose and almost touching to a point. His eyes, set deep, were dark when open, and now were closed by grey, spiky lashes. In sleep the puzzled frown that rucked his brow, even through laughter, had receded, leaving a barely visible watermark. The nose, like the ears, was long, but in profile it did not protrude; instead it lay flat, along the face, and carved into its base, like commas, were extraordinarily small nostrils. Colin’s mouth was straight and firm parted by just a hint of tooth. His hair was unnaturally fine, like a baby’s, and black, and fell in curls on to his slender, womanly neck.

Mary crossed to the window and opened the shutters wide. The room faced directly into the setting sun and appeared to be four or five storeys up, higher than most of the surrounding buildings. With such strong light directly into her eyes, it was difficult to discern the pattern of streets below, and to gauge their position relative to the hotel. The mixed sounds of footsteps, television music, the rattle of cutlery and dishes, dogs and innumerable voices rose from the streets as though from a gigantic orchestra and choir. She closed the shutters quietly, restoring the bars to the wall. Attracted by the generous size of the room, the shining, uncluttered marble floor, Mary set about her yoga exercises. Gasping at the coldness of the floor against her buttocks, she sat with her legs stretched out in front of her and her back straight. She leaned forwards slowly, with a long exhalation, reaching for
and grasping the soles of her feet in both hands, and lay her trunk along her legs till her head rested on her shins. She remained in this position for several minutes, eyes closed, breathing regularly. When she straightened, Colin was sitting up.

Still dazed, he looked from her empty bed to the pattern on the wall, to Mary on the floor. ‘Where are we then?’

Mary lay on her back. ‘I’m not sure exactly.’

‘Where’s Robert?’

‘I don’t know.’ She lifted her legs over her head till they rested on the floor behind her.

Colin stood up, and sat down almost immediately. ‘Well, what time is it?’

Mary’s voice was muffled. ‘Evening.’

‘How are your bites?’

‘Gone, thanks.’

Colin stood up again, this time carefully, and looked around. He folded his arms. ‘What’s happened to our clothes?’

Mary said, ‘I don’t know,’ and raised her legs above her head into a shoulder stand.

Colin walked unsteadily to the bathroom door and poked his head in. ‘They’re not in here.’ He picked up the vase of honesty and lifted the lid of the chest. ‘Or here.’

‘No,’ Mary said.

He sat down on his bed and watched her. ‘Don’t you think we ought to find them? Aren’t you worried?’

‘I feel good,’ Mary said.

Colin sighed. ‘Well I’m going to find out what’s going on.’

Mary lowered her legs and addressed the ceiling. ‘There’s a dressing-gown hanging on the door.’ She arranged her limbs as comfortably as she could on the floor, turned her palms upwards, closed her eyes and began to breathe deeply through her nose.

Some minutes later she heard Colin, his voice bottled by the acoustics of the bathroom, call testily, ‘I can’t wear this.’ She opened her eyes as he stepped into the room. ‘Oh yes!’ said Mary wonderingly as she crossed the room. ‘You look so lovely.’ She pulled his curls free of the frilled collar, and felt
for his body beneath the fabric. ‘You look like a god. I think I’ll have to take you to bed.’ She tugged at his arm, but Colin pulled away.

‘It’s not a dressing-gown anyway,’ he said, ‘it’s a
nightie
.’ He pointed to a cluster of flowers embroidered across his chest.

Mary took a pace backwards. ‘You’ve no idea how good you look in it.’

Colin began to take the nightdress off. ‘I can’t walk around’, he said from inside it, ‘in a stranger’s house dressed like this.’

‘Not with an erection,’ Mary said as she returned to her yoga. She stood with her feet together and hands by her sides, bent forward to touch her toes, and then doubling even further, placed her hands and wrists flat against the floor.

Colin stood watching her with the nightdress draped over his arm. ‘That’s good news about your bites,’ he said after a while. Mary grunted. When she was upright again he went over to her. ‘You’ll have to wear it,’ he said. ‘Go and see what’s going on.’