clasp that sat between her breasts. ‘Do you fancy a little pick-me-up?’
‘ What do you have in mind?’
Her hand moved inside her dress to a point approximately two inches below the silver clasp. I was waiting for the dress to fall to the floor, waiting to reach behind her for the lock on the door in order to let myself out, when she produced a little blue velvet purse and held it out to me.
‘ It’s pure’, she said. ‘Best nose candy in Cannes.’
I smiled as I watched her empty out a white plastic bag onto the same loo seat I’d used less than a minute before.
‘ These parties are so dull, don’t you think?’ she said, less a question, more of an invitation.
I watched her cut the white powder into four little lines with a black Amex card. The black plastic against the white sanitary-ware made for a wonderful contrast.
‘Thank you, Arabella’, I said, taking a hundred euro note out of my wallet. ‘You’ve restored my faith in the human race.’
When we walked back in Jan Wiseman was laying a first course of smoked salmon. The six other diners watched as Arabella calmly sat in the empty chair next to Jan Wiseman's.
‘Thought you’d got lost’ said Jack, slightly put out, but I watched Sylvie’s face, the pretty petite blonde whose French antennae were far more attuned to this sort of thing than any of the other guests.
‘That must’ve been one hell of a shit, George’, said Bill the Aussie, Sylvie's husband. ‘Heard you from here.’
‘Just cleaning the pipes’, I replied, beaming. ‘Oh – smoked salmon. My favourite!’
I sat down next to Jack Wiseman and leaned towards him.
‘ So tell me, Jack, about Marbella.'
‘What do you want to know?’
`Why did you leave?’
‘Wife and me, we’d had enough I think.’
‘There are a lot of criminals in Marbella, aren’t there?’
Jack took a big glug of unchilled white wine and pulled a face.
‘ Christ that tastes foul’, he muttered.
‘ Aren’t there?’
‘ Too many English’, repeated Heinrich from the other end of the table. ‘Too many fish and too many chips.’
‘ You’re thinking of Torremolinos, isn’t he darling?’ asked Jan.
‘ Maybe, maybe’, Jack replied, wiping his mouth with a napkin.
‘ I think the weather’s rather good there.'
‘ It’s hot, I’ll give you that, George.’
‘ Rather conducive to crime, though, wouldn’t you say?’
‘ Are you driving at something, George? Not happy with your salmon? Come on, lad, eat up and shut up.’
It was nice to have one’s suspicions confirmed by one’s host. I realized that for the first time in years I wasn’t thinking about Carlos and the interminable wait.
The conversation pattered along throughout dinner with talk of stocks and shares and Biotech and Jack’s infallible but strangely secretive investment strategy that seemed to have snared everyone in the room apart from me. After another two hours I was the last to leave. Arabella, it transpired, lived close to the Germans and so, after our formal goodbyes, they poured her into their car, a large silver Mercedes, and I used my electronic clicker to open the domain’s gates to let them out.
‘ Speak soon, eh George?’
‘ Lovely party, Jack. Sorry about the Marbella thing.’
‘ Bad memories, George. Some bad people out there.’
‘ There were.’
I walked the six feet to my apartment door, turned the key and walked straight into the shower, leaving my clothes in a pile on the floor. I needed to feel clean again, cleansed of these gullible people, cleansed of the coked-up Arabella. The water on my skin enabled the evening to recede quickly, and I used copious amounts of my mouthwash to kill the taste of beer and cheap wine. Then, at nearly two in the morning, I sat on my terrace in my white bathrobe in the moonlight, watching the lights of the yachts reflected in the water. Always waiting, always looking, I had opened my hermetically-sealed existence and increased my small
‘ What do you have in mind?’
Her hand moved inside her dress to a point approximately two inches below the silver clasp. I was waiting for the dress to fall to the floor, waiting to reach behind her for the lock on the door in order to let myself out, when she produced a little blue velvet purse and held it out to me.
‘ It’s pure’, she said. ‘Best nose candy in Cannes.’
I smiled as I watched her empty out a white plastic bag onto the same loo seat I’d used less than a minute before.
‘ These parties are so dull, don’t you think?’ she said, less a question, more of an invitation.
I watched her cut the white powder into four little lines with a black Amex card. The black plastic against the white sanitary-ware made for a wonderful contrast.
‘Thank you, Arabella’, I said, taking a hundred euro note out of my wallet. ‘You’ve restored my faith in the human race.’
When we walked back in Jan Wiseman was laying a first course of smoked salmon. The six other diners watched as Arabella calmly sat in the empty chair next to Jan Wiseman's.
‘Thought you’d got lost’ said Jack, slightly put out, but I watched Sylvie’s face, the pretty petite blonde whose French antennae were far more attuned to this sort of thing than any of the other guests.
‘That must’ve been one hell of a shit, George’, said Bill the Aussie, Sylvie's husband. ‘Heard you from here.’
‘Just cleaning the pipes’, I replied, beaming. ‘Oh – smoked salmon. My favourite!’
I sat down next to Jack Wiseman and leaned towards him.
‘ So tell me, Jack, about Marbella.'
‘What do you want to know?’
`Why did you leave?’
‘Wife and me, we’d had enough I think.’
‘There are a lot of criminals in Marbella, aren’t there?’
Jack took a big glug of unchilled white wine and pulled a face.
‘ Christ that tastes foul’, he muttered.
‘ Aren’t there?’
‘ Too many English’, repeated Heinrich from the other end of the table. ‘Too many fish and too many chips.’
‘ You’re thinking of Torremolinos, isn’t he darling?’ asked Jan.
‘ Maybe, maybe’, Jack replied, wiping his mouth with a napkin.
‘ I think the weather’s rather good there.'
‘ It’s hot, I’ll give you that, George.’
‘ Rather conducive to crime, though, wouldn’t you say?’
‘ Are you driving at something, George? Not happy with your salmon? Come on, lad, eat up and shut up.’
It was nice to have one’s suspicions confirmed by one’s host. I realized that for the first time in years I wasn’t thinking about Carlos and the interminable wait.
The conversation pattered along throughout dinner with talk of stocks and shares and Biotech and Jack’s infallible but strangely secretive investment strategy that seemed to have snared everyone in the room apart from me. After another two hours I was the last to leave. Arabella, it transpired, lived close to the Germans and so, after our formal goodbyes, they poured her into their car, a large silver Mercedes, and I used my electronic clicker to open the domain’s gates to let them out.
‘ Speak soon, eh George?’
‘ Lovely party, Jack. Sorry about the Marbella thing.’
‘ Bad memories, George. Some bad people out there.’
‘ There were.’
I walked the six feet to my apartment door, turned the key and walked straight into the shower, leaving my clothes in a pile on the floor. I needed to feel clean again, cleansed of these gullible people, cleansed of the coked-up Arabella. The water on my skin enabled the evening to recede quickly, and I used copious amounts of my mouthwash to kill the taste of beer and cheap wine. Then, at nearly two in the morning, I sat on my terrace in my white bathrobe in the moonlight, watching the lights of the yachts reflected in the water. Always waiting, always looking, I had opened my hermetically-sealed existence and increased my small
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