The Eunuch's Ward (The String Quartet)

by Smyth, Silver

  ‘The literary critic?’ I’d seen enough cuttings of his articles on Rosie’s desk to recognise the name. ‘Isn’t he nicknamed the Funeral Director? He’s buried more aspiring authors than all the others put together.’

  ‘Which is why...’ Rosie shook herself out of her reverie. ‘Back to Ela. Are you going?’

  ‘I haven’t had the chance to ask. They’ll be back tomorrow night. I’ll ask then.’

  ‘Well, I’m going no matter what. Even if I have to steal the old witch’s tiara that allegedly dates back to the coronation of Henry VIII, and pawn it...’

  ‘There will be hardly any cost involved. The bride’s family is paying for everything out of their petty cash box.’

  ‘Good,’ Rosie brightened up. ‘If your Mr. Well Endowed is right next door, why do you want to go half the way across the world?’

  ‘I’ve got a cunning plan,’ I couldn’t wait to show off my talent for scheming. ‘The plan is for all of us to stay in some seaside resort, right? Hugh can follow me there and we could cavort to ours hearts’ content. What do you think?’

  * * *

  The plane was expected to land at 5 pm, but Bakir only brought Mother to the flat after 8 pm. The plane had been late, there was a jam on the motorway and my father wanted to be taken straight to the office.

  ‘We shall eat now,’ Bakir ordered Mother and me to the table.

  The boys brought in the salads, the breads and a selection of cold meats.

  ‘So, how was it?’ I asked to break the silence.

  ‘Lovely,’ beamed my mother. ‘The islands are heavenly. You should go.’

  Then she fell silent again.

  I waited and waited. ‘Is there a problem, Mum?’ I asked finally.

  ‘Yes,’ she said calmly. ‘I think that there might be.’ She was finishing off the lemon sorbet.

  ‘What kind of a problem?’

  ‘I don’t know, Kitten. You know your father never talks about his business to me. It must be something that a pretty smile and an expensive short dress can’t solve.’

  Which neatly summed up her contribution to our material wealth. Not a small contribution, I had to confess. My father wanted her by his side a lot of the time, and she never complained, never refused, never failed to deliver. Only, this was one of those times when he was left to battle on his own. Somehow, it didn’t seem fair. There we were, eating our dinner as if we didn’t have a care in the world.

  Or, maybe there was nothing to worry about. Maybe my mother’s faith in him was justified. I could have been over-dramatising the situation. I was prone to that.

  ‘Will Dad be coming home tonight?’

  Instead of answering, she looked up at Bakir.

  The desert plates, icy lemonade and iced up glasses had been on the table when we went outdoors. Bakir was bringing the cake stand with the opera cake in one hand and a basket of grapes and figs in the other.

  ‘No, not tonight,’ he said. ‘He’ll watch the markets all night.’

  ‘How come he knows and we don’t?’ I asked in not too discreet whisper when he returned to the kitchen. ‘And don’t tell me that they go back a long time.’

  ‘They go back a long time,’ Mother smiled and helped herself to cake. ‘I’ve lived on fish and fruit for the past three weeks. A stodgy calorie or ten won’t do me any harm. Don’t worry, Kitten. We’ll do whatever it takes when the time comes.’

  She pulled up her shapely long legs on the chair, sniffed the coffee with self-indulgent pleasure of a devotee, and started telling me about the Pacific islands.

  ‘It doesn’t take long to understand why so many of the world’s misfits gravitated to that area. It was like jumping legs first into one of the Joseph Conrad’s novels, you know the same kind of noises and smells and characters. Only, I haven’t seen any villains. Not to my knowledge,’ she laughed in a rare, comfortable way that I was quite unaccustomed to.

  She told me about the day when the men took my father deep sea fishing and the women went for a swim. Not a bathing suit in sight.

  ‘I left my Oscar de la Renta dress, you know, the emerald green and black one, I left it on the pebbles and watched small crabs run over it. It was surreal, and yet it felt so right.’

  She talked about the palm-leaf kids who’d stand above you and keep flies away and likened them to teenagers who clean car windows at traffic lights, and about three old French ladies, professional artists, who were bringing their oils and watercolours to the market every Wednesday. People would choose one or two and pay for it in fish, watermelons, homemade rum, sometimes even in cash.

  ‘Are they very poor?’ I asked. ‘The islanders, I mean, not the painters.’

  She shook her head. ‘Oh, no, they’re not poor at all. No one has to do anything that they don’t want to do. Having time and means of survival at the same time equals wealth in my book. The only thing missing is a decent and preferably free healthcare.’ She stood up and kissed the top of my head. ‘Yes, they certainly need healthcare. Good night, my darling.’

  It had been such a weird day. My head was spinning, trying to latch on something of substance, something of lasting value, something that could be termed as truth. On one hand there was my father, whom I’d always considered invincible, fighting for survival of his business empire, on the other, there was my usually vague mother talking about the Pacific islands with clear vision and sharp judgement.

  ‘She’s bound to be as worried and concerned as I am. She was just trying to keep my mind off the scary scenario.’

  It was past midnight, much too late to check what Hugh Carrington may have been up to.

  ‘Have you heard from my father?’

  Bakir had come out to clear the table. ‘No, Miss Sonata. I didn’t expect to. He’ll talk to us when he knows what to say.’

  * * *

  There was no word from him the next day either. I logged on the internet to find out what if anything the press was saying. I only found a few brief notices suggesting that something momentous seemed to be afoot in Ganis Bank. According to them, the lights in the first floor offices had been turned out only when daylight replaced the darkness. No one chanced an explanation.

  Mother was expected at someone’s 100th birthday celebration in an old people’s home in North London at lunchtime. She asked me to come along but quickly nodded in approval when I declined.

  ‘Don’t blame you. Burps and farts are a very acquired taste.’ She dropped an antique smelling bottle into her handbag and was gone.

  Hugh’s flat was locked up and he hadn’t tried to text me or phone.

  The Boys were busy cleaning and refilling the pool. I watched from above as Bakir’s Landover slid out of the garage. Off to his chess club, no doubt. I changed into a pair of jeans and floaty little silk blouse. A good outfit if you want to look very young and utterly respectable. Which I did.

  The taxi delivered me to the door of Ganis Bank. The bank didn’t cater for general public, it had no need for tellers and counters. I waved and smiled at the doorman.

  ‘Good afternoon, Miss Ganis. I don’t think that you’re expected.’

  ‘When in doubt, do the unexpected,’ I advised and walked in.

  Built in the classic style, on the outside, the bank was large, self-important and quite dull. Inside, it was decked in malachite coloured marble, contrasted by crimson, deep-pile Wilton stair runners.

  The porter’s smile was a picture of confusion. ‘Miss Ganis! I don’t think...’

  ‘Very wise,’ I agreed. ‘I never think. Bad for digestion,’

  I ran up the stairs.

  The porter must have phoned, for Mrs Bolton, my father’s secretary, met me on the landing.

  ‘Let me guess. You don’t think that I’m expected, do you, Mrs. Bolton?’

  My intent was to brush past her into her office and walk into my father’s offices from there. But, before either of us could do anything, a door opened further down the corridor and my father walked out.

&n
bsp; ‘Tell them that I’m answering the call of nature,’ he shouted over his shoulder. Then he saw me.

  I ran over. ‘Daddy! Are you all right?’

  He appeared as if he didn’t see me. Or didn’t recognise me. If I’d had any doubts about my venture before I was sure now that I did the right thing. He was in his shirtsleeves, One side of the crumpled shirt was hanging out of his trousers, his eyes were bloodshot and his usually ruddy complexion had acquired a greenish tinge.

  ‘Come home with me, Daddy. Whatever it is that’s bothering you it’ll look much better after a good night’s sleep and a hot shower. And one of the Boy’s legendary breakfasts.’ I crooked my arm around his and pulled him in the direction of stairs. ‘We’ve all been terribly worried about you.’

  By that time there was a crowd of people around us. Mrs Bolton was wringing her hands, the porter had taken his hat off for some reason and was now turning it over and over in his hands, two security guards stood next to us, their feet wedged into the carpet, waiting for orders, and about five unfamiliar faces were fighting for a better view over each other’s shoulder.

  He still hadn’t looked at me. His free hand reached into his trouser pocket and produced a large linen handkerchief. He brought it to his eyes and only then emitted a half-choked sob.

  ‘I’m such an idiot,’ he said, a smile fighting the tears and winning. ‘I’m such an idiot,’ he repeated more clearly. ‘Here I am, worrying about money, while all the time, at home, I have all the wealth that any man could ever want.’ He freed his arm from mine and hugged my shoulders. ‘Thank you, Sonata. You can’t imagine what this means to me.’ We were moving in the direction of the stairs, our little retinue following us at respectful distance. ‘Go home, child, and kiss your lovely mother for me. Tell her how much I love her. I’ll be back with you both very soon. Just as soon as I make my other family,’ he pointed to the people behind us, ‘my good and faithful friends here safe from harm, I’ll be back and I’ll never ever leave you like this again. I promise.’

  ‘Bless you,’ he shouted after me as I was leaving the building.

  The doorman ushered me into the company car. ‘Take Miss Ganis home, Peter, or wherever she wants to go.’

  I texted Mother to tell her that I’d seen my dad and that he promised to be home soon. I left out the dishevelled look, the dark rings under his eyes and the unshaven face. And the tears. ‘He wants me to tell you how much he loves you,’ I added before signing off with an X.

  A text came in just as I was sending mine off.

  ‘I’m home. Fancy a glass of iced tea?’

  ‘Take me home, Peter, please,’ I said into the mike. If Hugh was at home there was nowhere else where I would have rather been.

  * * *

  I waited for the Pontiac to drive past the first set of traffic lights before walking to the entrance of the building next door to ours. I pressed the button marked ‘Penthouse’.

  ‘What, no cloak and dagger today?’ Hugh looked fresh and cool in his desert tank shorts and a pale denim short-sleeved shirt.

  ‘Something has changed,’ I whispered.

  The iced tea tasted of apples and honey. We were sitting in cushioned rattan armchairs just inside the sitting room, away from the glare of the sun.

  ‘I can close the doors and switch air conditioning back on,’ he offered.

  ‘No, thanks. Not on my account. We don’t get enough sunshine anyhow. I want to enjoy every last bit if it while it lasts.’ I took a sip of my drink. ‘Something has changed,’ I repeated.

  He waited for me to continue.

  ‘My father went to the office straight from the airport. Something very serious is going on. I went to see him at the bank today. He looked haggard and exhausted...’

  Hugh raised his hand. ‘No, Nat, no. Don’t tell me anything else.’

  It was my turn to wait for him to explain himself.

  ‘Your father is a prominent personality. He’s in a sensitive line of business. Public confidence drops at just a hint of any trouble...’

  I nodded. ‘You’re right. I’m an idiot. There’s too much at stake... Plus, if anything that I say ever comes out, you could never prove that it wasn’t you who leaked it. No, not fair on you,’ I smiled. ‘I promise to grow up one day soon and stop thinking that the world revolves around me.’

  His landline rang and he walked over to the phone answer it.

  I looked around.

  Not much thought could have possibly gone into the interior design. The same as in our flat, the Victorian architectural features were faithfully preserved, but after that someone must have made a list of essentials, followed it to the letter and stopped. Which wasn’t a bad thing. The room was airy, spacious and sparse. An ultra-modern music centre held a place of honour at the far end, next to is was a quite well stocked bookcase. I loved the two standard lamps, one at each end of a well used, comfortable sofa. Both stands were made of bronze and topped with frosted glass shades, art deco style. A high winged chair and three mismatched armchairs surrounded the occasional table, made of the same bronze as the lamps. I decided to have a closer look at the paintings on the far wall later. Mostly abstract, from what I could see from here.

  ‘Your choices?’ I asked Hugh when he returned, encompassing the room with the stretch of my arm.

  He shook his head. ‘Some of it. The paintings and books are mine, and so are the lamps and the table. The rest was already here when I moved in. The family who lived here before left quite a bit behind. I had to get rid of a baby cot, a seriously oversized bed, two more sofas of about the same size as this one, and a japanned dining suite next door. The rest will do for the moment.’ He added more ice to our glasses. ‘The bronzes, I inherited those from my wife.’

  My head shot up and my throat dried out in an instant.

  ‘My late wife,’ he added. ‘She died over two years ago.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I managed pitifully.

  ‘A stupid accident.’ Hugh resumed his seat opposite me, as far away as he could go.

  I wanted to take his hand in mine, but that wasn’t a good time for intimacy. ‘Must be very painful. You don’t have to explain anything to me.’

  ‘There’s nothing to explain. Our wedding was a very modest, registry office affair, followed by a lunch for ten in an Italian restaurant in Covent Garden. The year after we were financially a bit better off and decided to go scuba diving off the Pacific coast of South America. The two of us and the same four couples who’d attended our wedding. We found a small, cheap, family run hotel and we had everything we wanted. They gave us an old-fashioned rowing boat with an outboard motor attached to it and we used that all the time. We’d spend two or three hours a day diving, then find a nice spot for swimming, fishing, reading, sleeping... you know what I mean. We all worked hard all the year round. What we needed was to chill out, eat well and have a lot of sex. Which was exactly what we were doing. That day the two non-divers caught a plateful of fish by dragging a tiny little net behind the boat. Later, we all built the fire and started fashioning the sticks to cook the fish and the sweet potato and corn on the cob that we’d brought with us. Emily climbed up the rocks to find wild garlic.’ He buried his face in his hands. ‘I’ve never found out if there is any wild garlic growing in South America. I’d just shouted something idiotic, like be careful, when her foot slipped and she tumbled down, skidding from one rock to another.’

  I heard myself gasp.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to shock you.’

  ‘I’m fine. Go on.’

  ‘We used our first aid kit to fix the injuries that we could see. It was the internal bleeding that we couldn’t stem. We were a long way from anywhere and the boat was slow. When we finally brought her to hospital, she got the best care possible. They couldn’t do enough for her. All the same, she’d never regained consciousness. She died the following day.

  ‘I’m so sorry.’

  ‘You and me, both.’ He smiled a
t me. ‘If only I...’

  ‘If only is no good. But, you know that, don’t you?’

  Another phone call saved him the answer. This time it came to his mobile. He excused himself and walked out on the terrace. I was left leafing through a magazine devoted to small aircraft. The glossy pictures of deep blue skies and aerial views of waterfalls and African planes couldn’t shift the images that he’d left in my mind. How can anyone get over something like that? Emily could never go away. She was always to remain the love of his life.

  The day was getting on top of me. First my father, close to a breakdown but not giving up. My father, crying in public, unashamed by his emotions and his possible collapse. Then me, for the first time in my life, allowed to walk about on my own, like any other adult. An exhilarating, intoxicating, and yet very scary experience. And all that topped by the story of a much loved dead wife told with emotion and restraint by one of the best looking men that I’d ever seen. And the most amusing when he wasn’t thinking of her.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said and returned the phone to his pocket.

  We were saying sorry a lot. Both of us.

  ‘What about you?’

  I wasn’t sure what he meant.

  ‘Have you ever been in love?’

  I’ve never asked that question of myself. Not like that.

  ‘You don’t have to answer,’ he smiled again. ‘I don’t want to pry.’

  ‘You’re not,’ I said slowly. ‘I just don’t know the answer. There was someone a couple of years ago. I don’t know if that was love. I’ve got nothing to compare it to.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘I was too young, he was too decent.’

  If he were sitting closer to me he would have probably given me a hug. But, for some reason he’d decided to give us time to get to know each other.

  ‘You’re still too young,’ he said quietly in answer to so much that I hadn’t said.

  I nodded. ‘Probably. I tried to contact him later. Once I was above the age of consent and all that nonsense. I’m not sure any longer what I was really after. I thought sex, but it may not have been.’