The Eunuch's Ward (The String Quartet)

by Smyth, Silver

  ‘How did it go?’ I asked when we settled in the small garden behind the makeshift building. Wayne had been replaced by two women that I’d never seen before, leaving me with clear conscience.

  He just shrugged.

  I tried to read his mood, without any success whatsoever. Bemused? Sad? Worried? All of it? None of it?

  The coffee was boiling hot and I sipped slowly, leaving it to him to talk when he was ready.

  In the end, he smiled. Ruefully. ‘We, you and I, I mean, we were right about one thing. I’m not a gold digger.’

  I was gobsmacked. ‘You and the whatshisname... that Xango person... you talked about my father? And about me?’

  He first shook his head, then nodded. ‘No, no, we didn’t talk about your father. I did tell him about you, though, about you and me. That was later. I hope you don’t mind. He is my best friend.’

  ‘And I told Rosie about us, too. She’ll tell Ela at some point, of course. I would have told Asha, too, only she’s been incommunicado for the past fortnight... It’s not that... It’s... I don’t know what it is. Just tell me what’s happened.’

  ‘The bottom line is, my darling, that when I left here this morning, I was a struggling charter flight operator, up to my ears in bills. I’ve returned as a sole owner of three Cessnas and four Hawkers of various ranges, all of them practically brand new and in an immaculate condition. How’s that for starters?’

  ‘What’s for the desert?’ Silly, I know, but I truly didn’t know what to say. For all my profound ignorance about private jet planes... what the heck, about any kind of planes in fact, I was certain that those Cessnas and Hawkers amounted to good many millions of pounds. ‘Has your fairy godmother explained himself?’

  ‘He said that he was ordered by his team of accountants to get rid of as much taxable income as he could... something like that. I’m still calculating my own taxes and the VAT using the abacus. Now I too will have to hire a better accountant...’

  I stopped him. ‘Hugh, you’ve just been given a fortune, an absolute fortune. If you just sold them all you wouldn’t have to do a single day’s work for the rest of your life...’

  ‘I couldn’t not work...’

  ‘I know you couldn’t and wouldn’t, that’s not what I’m getting at. What I want to know, what probably you want to know too is why are you looking so worried? You don’t believe in the tax story, do you?’

  ‘I do to some extent,’ Hugh emptied his cup and refilled it from the pot. ‘His accountants will make the most of the gift. But, you’re right, that can’t possibly be the only reason. In this recession, his profits must have dropped across the entire corporation, and the needs of the charities that he’d set up himself must have gone up.’ High fell silent again, frowning. ‘I told you he was ill?’ he said quietly after a while.

  ‘What of? Cancer?’

  He nodded. ‘I think so. He never talks about it, he never lets anyone even refer to it. But, this was the first time in a long time that I saw him without two or three medical people on call. He also looked a little better than the last time. Even so...’

  ‘Even so you fear that he’s living out his last Will and Testament?’

  ‘Precisely.’

  There wasn’t much more to say.

  It was sad that Hugh had just had the best news of his life but didn’t feel at liberty to rejoice and celebrate.

  Later, we went for a long walk through the fields. There was an interesting little pub at the end of the village, offering freshly picked wild mushrooms.

  ‘I promised to meet him on Saturday again,’ Hugh said when he was done ordering and collecting our drinks from the bar. ‘Will you still be here then?’

  I shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I’ll start my thinking tomorrow. I won’t be much fun tomorrow.’

  * * *

  The next morning found me vomiting into the bed of chives at the back of the house. It wasn’t even seven yet.

  Hugh followed me out barefoot. My sharp exit must have woken him up. ‘Pregnant?’ There was a lovely little smile hanging off the corners of his mouth. I loved him for it.

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘Not pregnant. Hunted down.’ I handed him my mobile. ‘Here. Read it.’

  ‘Get your arse back here by lunchtime. Bring your little pilot with you if you must,’ Hugh read out and looked at me. ‘Your father?’

  I nodded.

  ‘A little pilot will never become my nom de plume of choice, but on the whole, it doesn’t sound too bad. What’s so bad about it?’

  I just waved my hand helplessly and bent over again to eject another bout of bile and fear.

  The message was sent to my own, supposedly secret phone.

  * * *

  Hugh insisted on flying me back to London. ‘I don’t like the idea of you driving in this state, Nat. I can easily find someone to bring the car to your garage. Just leave it at Upper Fold and I’ll come back with a co-pilot who can fly the plane back, and I’ll see to your car. Anything. Just don’t drive. Please.’

  It wasn’t that I wanted to drive, not with wet palms and shaking knees. What I needed was time to readjust. Kick my brain into a gear. Gain some kind of control over myself, if not the situation. How could I have been kidding myself with ideas of freedom? So stupid. So stupid.

  ‘I’m not sure that I’ll go back, Hugh. Ever. Obviously, I can’t stay here. He’ll send down an entire regiment to take me back under a blanket at the back of a van. Soon. Very soon. I’d better make a move...’

  Hugh was cradling me in his arms, making quiet shush shush noises and kissing my hair. ‘You’re just panicking, my darling. If he wanted to take you back by force, he would have done it already. Why give you notice?’ he asked when I finally shut up.

  ‘Because he expects me to follow his orders without a quibble. He says Jump, I jump hoping that it was high enough. That’s how it’s always been?’

  Hugh didn’t answer.

  I resented the silence. ‘What?’

  He turned my face up to him to look into my eyes. ‘If that’s how it’s always been, why not now?’

  That hurt. ‘And you think that my loyalty rode off into the sunset in the same saddle as his wealth?’

  ‘No,’ he said evenly, ‘that’s not what I think. I’m waiting for you to tell me what to think. But, that’s what I’d be probably thinking if I were in his shoes. And could you blame me?’

  Of course! I’d never told him about my father’s mad scheme for recovery of his business. About his worst enemy’s alleged proposal of marriage to me. Or about the supposed engagement party tomorrow night. Of course he couldn’t make any sense of it. But, I still couldn’t tell him. That man who’d started to mean a world to me had warned me against disloyalty to my father once before himself. Angry and scared as I was, I’d never been more aware of how deeply and truly I loved my parents. He was tyrannical and she was a drug addict, but they were my tyrant and my drug addict. For richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health. I simply couldn’t expose them to ridicule, not in a million years.

  ‘Sorry, I said, ‘sorry. There are things I can’t talk about. They’re too... too out there. One day when I understand them better myself, I will. But not now.’

  ‘All right, all right. But you’ve got to go back and face him. It seems to me that one of your major problems is that you’ve been treated like a child? Yes? Well then, don’t...’

  ‘...don’t act like a child,’ I finished the sentence for him.

  In the end, Upper Fold offered a solution. A couple of regular clients were trying to rent a small plane for a week of frolicking. Hugh snatched them up with an offer they couldn’t refuse. Then he drove us both to Chelsea Embankment.

  ‘Shall I come with you? After all, I was invited.’ Hugh was doing his best to look cheerful.

  I smiled back at him. ‘I’ll call you if and when I can.’

  Chapter 18

  When I entered the flat, the Boys were watching TV in their room, Bakir was playing c
hess against himself.

  ‘Where are they?’

  With his eyes on the white knight, Bakir pointed upwards. ‘She’s by the pool.’

  ‘And him?’

  He shrugged. ‘I’ve just taken a plate of snacks upstairs. Let me know if you need anything else.’

  Mother was on the sun-lounger, propped up, reading. The heat had somewhat subsided, there were a few clouds floating across the sky. She had moved the seat away from the shade of the umbrella, catching up on sunbathing before the weather reverted to its more usual whimsical self. The last thing that I’d expected to do on my return was to stand by the door, admiring her looks. Her figure had always been fantastic with good posture and healthy muscle tone. Her hair, natural, dye-free ash blonde, had been looked after by the best of hairdressers in the profession; there were no surprises there. It was her face that amazed me. I’d seen her dopey and almost out of it often enough, I’d seen her putting on a show for the media and father’s business friends, and another kind of show, the impression of a devoted wife and mother in Hampshire, and I’d seen her chirpy and relaxed, funny and lively as was been in the days that immediately followed the news of Father’s problems. And each time not even the perfect, professionally applied makeup managed to conceal the shade of weariness around the eyes, and deep wariness in them.

  If I’d expected to find a worried wife and a deeply concerned mother on that roof, sitting there with her forehead creased and her fingers tapping on the table in expectation of news, I was badly mistaken. Whatever it was that she was reading made her smile. The smile produced the cutest little dimple in her cheek, a lightly tanned cheek, smooth and taut.

  I walked over and picked her glass from the table. There was a greenish tint to the drink. I took a sip almost before she noticed me.

  ‘Ugh!’ I spluttered. ‘What on earth is this?’ My mouth contracted in revolt.

  ‘Lime juice,’ she smiled at me, amused by my discomfort. ‘It’s a bit tart today. Still, keeps me hydrated.’

  I should have been pleased that it wasn’t gin or vodka, chemically coloured to make it look respectable. ‘Well, I’m glad that you don’t have hydration problems. That would only make your anxiety about your husband and only daughter that much worse.’

  Mother lowered her feet to the floor and patted the space next to her. ‘Want to bring me up to speed with your love life?’

  With ill grace, I accepted the invitation. ‘Ah, so he’s told you, then?’

  ‘Leon? No, he’s told me nothing. He did tell Bakir that you were making hay with our next door neighbour at my parents’ house, in their absence. That surprised me. I was sure that you intended to join the Brazilian crowd on their shopping trip.

  ‘He stole Ela’s phone. That’s how he got my private number.’

  ‘Just one private number?’ Mother smiled at me. ‘I’ve got three. God knows why, I haven’t got that many friends, even fewer private, secret friends, but I keep one of the phones in my locker in the gym, another one in the lining of my tartan dressing gown and the third at the Hartsfield House, inside a hollowed-out book. As I say, I hardly ever use them but they give me the sense of independence. Did you use precautions?’

  I nodded. ‘What about this engagement? What’s that really all about?’

  ‘One of Leon’s grand schemes.’

  ‘One of his long games?’

  She seemed surprised. ‘You know about that, do you?’

  I nodded. ‘It’s been a while since I’ve heard him go on about it, but he used to talk about it a lot when I was much younger. Is that the same as the ‘long con’? Am I one of his long games?’

  She sipped on her lime juice to gain time, winced and resolutely finished off what was left in one gulp. ‘You won’t come to any harm, Sonata. I promise you that. Just do what he says, no matter how crazy it seems.’

  ‘And you know that how?’ I snapped back. ‘For a golden couple, you two don’t seem to communicate very much.’

  ‘You get to know a person. You get to know how they think, how they go about things. You’re right, we don’t talk about business. He doesn’t want to, I don’t think that I’ve got anything to contribute. But that doesn’t mean that I can’t guess his next step fairly accurately. He’s not going to accept that takeover lying down. He’s putting on one of his illusion acts. I won’t pretend that I understand exactly what’s going on, he’d never trust me or even Bakir with all the details, but there’s nothing for you to worry about.’

  I wasn’t convinced.

  Mother asked if I wanted an afternoon of pampering at her beauty salon but didn’t insist when I scornfully refused.

  Hugh’s text arrived two or three hours after we’d parted in the garage downstairs. ‘How are you doing, my darling? Need anything? Xxx’

  I walked over to the gate in the wall. It opened smoothly as always, but the penthouse was locked up.

  ‘I’m fine, thanks. Where are you?’

  He answered immediately. ‘At Xango’s. He’s had another surprise up his sleeve, but not in the nature of the one before. I’m very pleased for him. Tell you more when I see you. I’ll be flying him to the Giant’s Causeway tomorrow afternoon. Hope to see you when I get back. Xxx’

  * * *

  On Saturday the Boys served bunch, an array of tapas dishes, to leave the ladies enough time to get ready for the Big Occasion.

  ‘Why is everyone assuming that I’m planning to attend that travesty?’ The protestation didn’t stop me from scoffing the lot. Like that proverbial puppy from Sanctuary, my nose was always wet, and my appetite undiminished. I wasn’t as big on tail wagging as him, but after all, I was still a teenager, designed by nature to throw my toys out of the pram and throw tantrums. And it wasn’t as if I didn’t have enough to protest against.

  ‘I hope that my “intended”,’ I drew the quotation marks in the air with my fingers, ‘I hope that he absolutely hates and detests garlic.’ I packed a couple of chunky garlic prawns into my mouth with my fingers.

  ‘The smell will stick to your skin for ages,’ said Mother.

  ‘Good. Hope he’s allergic to it.’

  The Skype chimed in. It was my father. I turned the screen so that Mother could see it and raised my eyebrows.

  ‘Answer it.’

  He started talking before the picture settled on the screen. ‘There will be a limo waiting for the three of you...’

  ‘Three?’ I interrupted.

  ‘Yes, three. Bakir, your mother and you. Don’t ever interrupt me again. It’ll bring you to the venue. Downstairs, 2 pm sharp. Understood?’

  ‘Whatever you say, Leon.’ That was Mother.

  I cast a scornful look at her. ‘May I ask just one question, Daddy?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Why? Why would I want to play that charade? What will happen if I don’t turn up?’

  To my amazement, he grinned from ear to ear. ‘I’ll tell you. In detail.’

  An audible intake of breath told me that Bakir has sneaked up behind me.

  ‘Don’t, Leon.’ Mother’s voice was shaky, raspy. ‘Don’t.’

  ‘Why not? Miss Sonata wants to know.’

  Maybe he’s not smiling, I told myself. He could be snarling. Not at me and Mother, of course.

  ‘If you don’t keep your end of the bargain...’

  I nearly said ‘I made no bargain with anyone’, but thought better of it. Finally, at the long last, I was going to get some answers. Whatever they were, they couldn’t be worse than not knowing.

  ‘...your suitor will track you down, track you both down, and bring you back to his play room. Then he’ll bring in a dozen of his pets, out of control sex addicts and watch the fun for a couple of days. If either you or your mother survive, he’ll probably treat you to the tender care of the Dirty Brigade...’

  ‘What’s the Dirty Brigade?’ I heard myself whisper against my will.

  ‘They piss inside you and shit in your mouth.’ It was Bakir who answered.
/>   ‘Thank you, my brother. 2 pm, sharp.’

  The screen went blank.

  I don’t know how long we spent there in total silence. Mother’s face had turned sickly yellow. Rivulets of sweat were running down Bakir’s face. He pushed a glass of icy water in front of Mother, and dropped a drinking straw into it to stop her from spilling it.

  ‘He’s lying,’ I said.

  They both shook their heads.

  ‘And you still want me to get engaged to that man? Marry him?’

  Mother quickly squeezed my shoulder. ‘He’s not lying, Sonata. Not entirely. Just a small dose of the threat would force you to consent. But, I promise you, nothing bad will happen to you. Not today, not ever.’

  Ever since, I’ve been very careful never to recall my state of mind that day and I’m not going to start now.

  There was an abalone blue silk dress in my mother’s wardrobe. She complemented it with a midnight blue bolero, embroidered with semiprecious stones. A hair-clasp made of white gold and the same stones as the bolero held my hair away from my face. Simple, silken court shoes, the only ones that I managed to walk in without stumbling.

  My mother was in something vaguely golden, Bakir in top hat and tails.

  ‘It’s not the wedding just yet, Bakir.’ Unbelievably, I was still capable of being surprised.

  ‘I have this,’ he spread his hands.

  ‘Leave him alone, Nat. Let’s go, if we’re going.’ Mother headed for the lift.

  The Boys smiled and waved.

  * * *

  Father was waiting for us in the hotel lobby. What’s with the Armenian men? Do they don top hat and tails for any occasion or just for dodgy, enforced engagement parties?

  A slim, middle aged woman accosted us before my father reached us.

  ‘You must be Miss Ganis. Welcome. We are delighted to have the honour to host your wedding. We’ll make sure that everything...’

  ‘Wedding?!’ I screamed at my father, causing a few heads to turn around. ‘Wedding?!’