by Iain Banks
'Lovely old Delage it was,' he said. His voice was soft and wheezy. 'No bugger'll tell me if it's a write-off or not. Could you find out for me?'
'Of course. Oh, I came in the Aurelia; hope you don't mind.'
'Not at all. They need to be used. Umm. Have you met Mrs Watkins?'
'Just now. She's out there with Ms Craston, the lawyer.'
Uncle Freddy wrinkled his nose. 'Don't like her.'
'Marion Craston?'
'Hmm. Legal eagle. More like legal vulture.' He coughed and: wheezed for a couple of seconds before I realised he was really laughing, or trying to. I held his thin, cool hand.
'Steady, now. You'll shake your tubes out.'
He seemed to find this funny, too. His other arm was in a cast; he lifted the hand I was holding away for a moment to wipe at his eyes with a weak, painful-looking delicacy.
'Let me do that.' I pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at his eyes.
'Thank you, Kate.'
'You're welcome.'
'I hear you've been in Thulahn.'
'Just returned.'
'Did I drag you back, my dear?'
'Well, I was ready to come back.'
'Mmm-hmm. And how is Suvinder?'
'He's well.'
'Did he ask you anything?'
'Yes, he did. He asked me to marry him.'
'Ah. Care to tell an old man what your reply was?'
'I said I was flattered, but the answer was no.'
Uncle Freddy's eyes fluttered closed for a while. I wondered if he'd gone back to sleep, and even if he was conking out on me, but there was still a weak pulse in the wrist above the hand I was holding. His eyes came slowly open again. 'I told them it was a mad idea.'
'You told who, Uncle Freddy?' Oh, shit, I thought. You were in on it too. Uncle F, how could you?
'Dessous, Hazleton.' Uncle Freddy sighed. He did his best to squeeze my hand. There was more pressure from the weight of his thin hand than there was from his fingers. 'That's one of the things I had to say to you, Kate.'
'What, Uncle Freddy? That you knew?'
'That I'm sorry, dear girl.'
I squeezed his hand gently. 'No need.'
'Yes, there is. They asked me which way you'd jump, Kate, how you'd react. They asked me not to say anything to you. I agreed not to. Should have.'
'Was this just Dessous and Hazleton, or did the Prince take part in these discussions?'
'Just those two, and Tommy Cholongai when they brought him in later. They were only hoping Suvinder would pop the question; dropped a few hints, maybe. But I should have said something to you, Kate.'
'Uncle Freddy, it's all right.'
'They're worried, Kate. They thought they had this all tied up, but then they realised that they were relying on Suvinder's word or, more to the point, on his greed. And it gradually dawned on them he wasn't actually as selfish as they'd assumed. Not like them, I suppose.'
'A cultural thing, maybe.'
'Hmm. Perhaps. But either way, they thought if they could get you in there they'd be going some way to guaranteeing the deal.'
'I bet they did.'
'I expect they'll still go ahead. With the whole thing. Do you think so?'
'I have no idea.'
'I think they wanted to know how…Damn, I don't know what the word is. Mind's going. I don't know.'
'Take your time.'
'Oh, I don't think so. I don't think I've… Well, anyway. They wanted to know how you might react to the place, to the country, to the people, I suppose. Would that maybe persuade you, if Suvinder himself didn't? You see?'
'I think so.'
'Take it their fiendish plan didn't work, then?'
'Oh, I don't know. I suppose I did kind of fall in love with the place. But I can't marry the country.'
He blinked a few times and looked oddly surprised. 'Have you met Maeve?'
'What? Mrs Watkins? Yes.'
'Not bad, don't you think?' He winked with a sort of feeble lasciviousness.
'Pretty good, for an old codger like you,' I agreed, smiling. 'I haven't really had a chance to talk to her, but she seems very nice.'
'Very dear to me, Kate. Very dear.'
'Good. That's nice. Have you known her long?'
'Oh, absolute yonks, but we've only been, you know, involved, for about a year.' He sighed. 'Lovely place, Scarborough. You ever been?'
'No.'
'Worth a visit. Road's not really that tricky, either. Just impatient, I suppose. Don't think Maeve thinks it…' He seemed to lose the thread somewhat, then shook himself out of it. 'The Prince. Was he upset? I mean, at you turning him down.'
'A little, but still okay about it. More sad than anything else. The ironic thing is I like him a lot more now. I mean, I don't love him, but…Oh, it's all so complicated, isn't it, Freddy? It's like you just never get the one you want.'
'Or you do, at long last, but then you go and crash your car on the way to see her and end up in somewhere like this.'
'Well, you'll just have to get better, won't you? Though I think we'll have to get you a chauffeur after this.'
'You reckon?'
'I reckon.'
'I think a chauffeuse, don't you?'
'No, Uncle Freddy. I think a chauffeur.'
'I don't know, Kate,' he said, looking away. 'I don't think I'll be leaving here alive.'
'Oh, come on, now, just stop that. You'll —'
'I'm being honest with you, Kate,' he said softly. 'Can't you be honest with me?'
'I am, Uncle Freddy. They thought you were going to go belly up until last night. Now they think you might just make it. But, then, they don't know you the way I do. In fact, I'm going to warn them that they better surround you with male nurses from now on, or at least make sure no female ones bend over within striking distance.'
He coughed and wheezed again. I dabbed at his eyes. 'I'm sure you are.'
'Well, look, if you —' I said, making getting-ready-to-go movements.
'Don't go. Stay a bit. I have more to say, Kate.'
'Okay, but they don't want me to stay too long.'
'Listen, dear girl, there's something going on.'
'You mean, apart from trying to marry me off to Suvinder?'
'Yes. That bugger Hazleton's up to something.'
'Busy man, isn't he?' I said, thinking of the DVD disc.
'Kate, I didn't get you into any trouble, did I? I mean, by agreeing to invite you to Blysecrag for the weekend. It was Miss H who told me. They had people watching you and that American chap, Buzetski, while you were there.'
'Did they now?'
'Well, I wasn't sure whether to say anything or not. They didn't, I mean they didn't, umm, discover anything, or, or…'
'There was nothing to discover.'
'You're pretty attached to the fellow, aren't you? Even I could see that. Didn't need to be told.'
'Pretty. But sadly it isn't mutual.'
'I'm sorry.'
'Me too. But, then, he is married.'
'Yes, I gathered that. That's why I was worried.'
'How?'
'That they might, oh, I don't know, find something that they could use against you, or him, or both of you. Only it was a bit late by the time I found out. Again, though, I could still have said something. I feel bad, Kate. I should have been more open with you.'
'Well, nothing happened, Freddy. I threw myself at the man but he pushed me away, politely. The most sensual we got was me watching him swim and him giving me a peck on the cheek. No blackmail material, if that's what you mean.'
(This was ignoring the fact I'd asked Stephen to take me in no uncertain terms, words any decent parabolic mike or something planted in his suit could have picked up with ease, but apart from causing me a little embarrassment at sounding so desperate, so what?)
'Ah, well, no harm done, then.'
'Well…'
'What?'
'See this?' I pulled the DVD out of my pocket.
'CD, i
sn't it?'
'Digital video disc. It does have blackmail material on it. Not of me, not of Stephen Buzetski, but of somebody connected. Hazleton made sure I got this. Thinking that I might use it to get myself something I want, in which case Hazleton hopes I'll feel beholden to him.'
'Crafty beggar, isn't he?'
'Yes, he is.'
'God, I worry for Suvinder, Kate.'
'What do you mean? Why?'
'Because they've got the boy, his nephew. In school in Switzerland. Oh, I don't know, Kate, they might be exaggerating, but they seem to think he's theirs. Willing to do whatever they suggest. Greedy, the way they'd like him to be. If that's true, Suvinder had better watch himself.'
This took a moment to sink in. 'You think they might have Suvinder killed?'
'Wouldn't put it past the blighters, Kate. They're very serious about this, you know. Lot of money involved.'
'I know. Lot of people involved, too, in Thulahn.'
'I don't think they care about the people there, Kate, except as obstacles.'
'I think you're right.'
'Oh.' Uncle Freddy sighed, with surprising force. He blinked up at the ceiling a few times.
'You're looking tired, Freddy. I'd better go.'
'No! No. Just in case. You have to listen.' He clutched at my hand, suddenly strong. 'It's this Silex thing.'
'Silex?' I had to think. The chip factory near Glasgow. It seemed like a long while ago. 'What about it?'
'They nobbled our chap. The fellow we had transferred from Brussels.'
'What do you mean, "nobbled"?'
'He's been bought off, turned, whatever you want to call it. Doesn't matter how I know, but I do. He's saying it's all above board up there. Bugger's lying. And I think it's Hazleton again.'
'Are you sure?' Uncle Freddy was starting to sound paranoid, developing a Hazleton fixation. Next, he'd be the one who'd forced him to have the crash.
'No, no, not sure. But his people were there, at the Silex plant. At least one of them.' He winked at me. I had never seen the movement of an eyelid look so laboured and so difficult. 'I had somebody else there. Somebody I knew I could trust. Said that Poudenhaut fellow had been there. Our Brussels chap met him at the factory but didn't mention it. That's how I know.'
I closed my eyes briefly. 'This is getting too complicated, Uncle Freddy. I'll have to think about it later. Come on, you look pretty washed out. I really think I'd better go.'
'Kate.' He kept hold of my hand.
'What, Freddy?'
'Blysecrag.'
'What about it?'
'Oh, Kate, I don't know what to do.' He started to cry; not sobbing, but just crying quietly, tears rolling down his cheeks.
'Freddy, what is it? Come on, don't upset yourself.' I dabbed at his eyes again.
'I'd left it to you, Kate.'
'You did what?'
'I'd left it to you, then I changed my will to leave it to the National Trust, because I didn't want to give you an added reason to stay in this country if you might be moving to Thulahn. But…' His voice sounded thin and desperate. 'But now I don't know what to do. I can change the will back again if you want the dreadful old pile. I mean, I don't know. You could call in Miss thing, Miss Craston, the lawyer. I could do it now—'
'Hey, hey, hey. Uncle Freddy. Look, I'm honoured you even thought of willing it to me. But what would I do with a huge place like Blysecrag anyway?'
'Look after it, Kate, that's all I've ever done.'
'Well, then, I'm sure the National Trust will do a much better job than I could. But you've got to stop talking like this, Freddy. You're not dead yet. Come on, now.'
I had no idea if this pull-yourself-together-old-bean stuff would work with Uncle F. I felt awkward with it, but then how else are you going to feel when you're with somebody who might be dying and who seems convinced they are, or are about to? Especially when he's already crying and you feel you might be about to.
'I'll be all right,' he said, falteringly and unconvincingly. ' Are you sure you don't want it?'
'Positive. I'd just get lost. Look, you're not going to die yet, but I take it you have provided for Miss Heggies, for when the time does come?'
'Oh, yes. Her flat is hers. And there's money.'
'Then there's nothing to worry about. Stop distressing yourself. Good grief, give it a few weeks and you'll be back there yourself, trying to get the damn catapult to work again.'
'Yes.'
'Look at you. You can't even keep your eyes open. Get some sleep.'
'Yes.' He stopped fighting it and let his eyes close. 'Sleep,' he said groggily.
'I'll see you tomorrow,' I said, rising. I let go of his hand and let it rest on the pale green disposable sheet.
'Tomorrow,' he whispered.
'I don't believe this! You're making this up! A fucking for-real prince offers to marry you and you turn him down and take the next jet out of town, then barely a day later an uncle on his deathbed wants to give you some vast estate in England with a house the size of the fucking Pentagon and you turn your nose up at that as well! Are you crazy?'
'Oh, right. This from the woman who claims to believe sisters should do things for themselves. And Freddy is not on his deathbed.'
'Look, there's nothing unsisterly in letting somebody will you enormous amounts of realty. Especially when it's an old man on his deathbed. I mean, that's perfect. If he ever did expect you to put out in return, he sounds far too weak to do anything about it now! Even if you were prepared to drop your precious self-righteousness, and your pantyhose, which I doubt.'
'Luce, I swear, talking to you cleanses my soul.'
'You're a fucking atheist, you haven't got a soul. What are you talking about?'
'If ever I start to worry that I might be in any way deceitful, shallow, vindictive, overly acquisitive, exploitative or cynical, I only have to talk to you for a few minutes to realise that I am something close to a saint in comparison.'
'Bullshit.'
'Don't you see, Luce? You're the reason I don't need a shrink. All I need every now and again is to be reminded that I'm not a bad person. And you do that! I should thank you. Actually, I should pay you, but I'm not that saintly.'
'Kathryn, get some help. Your brain has left the building. Book yourself into a clinic. I'm serious.'
'You're not serious, and I'm not ill.'
'You are too! Talk about denial! Apart from anything else, you're denying yourself the chance to own half of North York state or wherever this Blisscraig place is, and you're denying yourself to be Queen of an entire fucking country!'
'Look. Can we come back to this some other time?'
'To talk about what? The archangel Gabriel appeared before you asking you to be the Mother of God for the Second Coming and you turned that down too?'
'Ha ha. No, it's an opportunity I have. I don't know whether to take it or not. Can I run it past you?'
'Why bother? The mood you're in at the moment, you'd turn down the offer of a cure for cancer and an end to world hunger.'
'Well…Look, I've been given some blackmail material.'
'Blackmail? Seriously?'
'Seriously. Film of somebody fucking somebody they shouldn't be fucking, somebody they're not married to.'
'So this person is married?'
'Yep, she is.'
'Ah-hah. Anyone I know?'
'No. Thing is, I only have to say the word and the husband gets to see the film.'
'And you get to see the husband?'
'Well, maybe.'
'Ho ho. So is this to do with your beloved?'
'Yes. I can probably destroy his marriage if I want. Of course, whether he falls into my arms is another matter, but…'
'Okay. You want to know what I would do?'
'Yes.'
'Let me just check. Are either of the people in the film richer than you?'
'Eh? No.'
'Right, so there's no point in, like, actually blackmailing them.'
'Luce! Even for you —'
'I'm just checking!'
'Okay. Sorry. Go on.'
'Right. Well, I'm very tempted to say, whatever you do, don't use the film, just sit on it. I feel I should say that because it seems like you always do the exact opposite of what I suggest anyway, so if I apply a bit of reverse psychology and advise you to do whatever is most against your best interests, you'd end up doing the right thing through sheer cussedness.'
'Whereas really you think I should give the word and let him know his wife's cheating on him?'
'Yeah, do it. If you really want this guy, and you really don't want to ascend to the Yeti Throne or whatever the fuck it is, do it. Give that film the green light.'
'But then I could be blackmailed by the person who got the film to me in the first place.'
'Hmm. Hold on, I've got it.'
'What?'
'The solution.'
'What? What is it?'
'It's this. Be positive. Be affirmative. Say yes to everything.'
'Say yes to everything?'
'Yes. Take the mansion and half of York state; sell it and buy hospitals and schools for the needy of what's-it-called.'
'Thulahn.'
'Yeah, Thulahn. Which I think you should become Queen of. Tell the Prince you'll be his wife, but it'll be one of these formal marriages the Europeans used to have, because you release the film too and do everything you can to be in the right place at the right time to get your guy and carry him off to Thulahn as well, to be your secret lover.'
'So I should suggest to the Prince that we get married but it's never consummated?'
'Yeah. A morganatic marriage, or whatever it's called.'
'I don't think that's what a morganatic marriage means.'
'Isn't it? Shit, and I used to think it meant a good marriage, like rich, from J. P. Morgan? Yes?'
'No, not that either. But that's your suggestion?'
'It is. And if it all works out, I expect a damehood or something, or a fucking tiara loaded with diamonds at the very least. A castle would be nice. Hell, leave Blisscraig to me if you like; it could be your embassy in England.'
'Hmm. I don't know that Suvinder would be very happy with an unconsummated marriage.'
'Oh. Suvinder, is it? Okay then, consummate it.'
