by Julian Beale
‘No it doesn’t. Why d’ya think I’ve opened up like this? You and Hugh have got neon signs all over you. The worry for me and Bill is that this has never happened for Hugh before. Christ knows why not but I guess he just hasn’t met the right broad. Oh sure, he takes himself off now and again for a bit of mischief, and even Janey knows that and of course she knows why. But I reckon she thinks it’s a bit like a guy who just has to go gambling once in a while. And anyway Alexa, I never had the chance to know Janey before the accident, but I have to say I doubt we’d have become that close whatever. I think I’m a bit uncouth for her. We don’t get a laugh out of the same things and I do declare I would’ve always found her a mite stuffy. The English rose with the upturned nose. I’m not so sure they were ever that passionately in love. Bill says I’m wrong, but Bill’s a man and what do fuckin’ men know about these things, huh?”
Alexa had to laugh again, but inside she felt her spirits drooping. Tina sat bolt upright as she noticed the sudden change in Alexa.
‘Tell me, honey. Say what’s griping. Better yet, tell me about you and yours and the past.’
Alexa surprised herself by doing just that: going right back to the loss of her brother Michel, to Oxford and the Five, to Thierry Cestac and Bahrain: to Connie’s intervention and Peter Bushell’s action, to her collapse and eventual restoration thanks to Mark: to all the time at the Clinic: to her marriage to Peter and his death.
It took a further couple of hours, her monologue interrupted only by the regular rasp of Tina’s lighter and her astonished profanities as the life history unfolded. When Alexa was finally finished and the tears pouring through her ruined makeup, Tina just said.
‘It’s dawn doll, or goddam near it. Let’s you and I get at least some rest. By and by, I’ll tell Bill your story, and tell him to tell Hugh. That’ll be for the best, you’ll see.’
Alexa was too tired and drained to protest. For the first time ever, she rang in sick early in the morning and then went back to bed to sleep through until after lunch time. She snoozed again and woke for long enough to have a bath and a boiled egg, followed by a further, dreamless sleep. She woke early the following day and made her customary journey to the Ince offices, hoping that she would hear again from Tina. It was a Friday and Alexa was starting to fear a long weekend of recriminations and self doubt.
She returned to her apartment in the early evening. There had been no word from Tina, but she found Hugh Dundas standing on the pavement waiting for her. He spoke no word as she walked up to him, but simply opened his arms to her and enfolded her in an embrace that seemed to last a lifetime. Finally, he whispered softly in her ear.
‘I have to go to Manila this evening for the weekend. You’re coming with me and our car arrives in fifteen minutes. Go and pack. You won’t want much. I doubt you’ll get out of bed.’
They arrived late and were driven to a hotel of great style and grandeur. Ushered into a suite the size of a ballroom, it was Alexa who took control.
‘This is not our time,’ she said, ‘not quite yet. You go and sleep. Tomorrow is for us.’
She heard him leave in the early morning, but didn’t get up herself. She spent much of the day snoozing and snacking on room service. She knew exactly what she was doing, reaching for relaxation as she had practised under Mark’s care in Sydney.
She was showered and ready when Hugh returned in the late afternoon. He was uncharacteristically uncertain, letting himself quietly into their room and looking around as if expecting to find that her presence was only in his imagination. She sent him off to the shower, and whilst he was there, she undressed and put on the silk dressing gown which she had brought. When Hugh emerged, she smiled at the huge feet sticking out from the towelling robe. She stood on tiptoe to smooth down the few spikes of unruly hair and she removed the specs from his nose. Hugh did not protest, nor when she took him by the hand and led him into the master bedroom.
She pushed him down gently to lie on his back in the middle of the huge bed. Then she slipped out of her dressing gown and came to lie on top of him. Her feet seemed to get scarcely past his knees, but their faces were together and she kissed him gently on the lips. Hugh’s eyes were almost shut in his face upturned to the ceiling, but his hands were caressing her back and buttocks, and she could feel him coming alive beneath her.
Alexa lifted herself and placed her hands on Hugh’s shoulders with her arms straight. She looked down on him and he opened his eyes in response and smiled up at her. She spoke.
‘At last, my darling Hugh. And now I want to ask something of you.’
He said nothing, but his eyes flickered with enquiry as she continued, ‘try your best not to hurry and to wait for me.’
‘Of course,’ he said with his warm smile as he brought one arm up to stroke her breasts, ‘but tell me, do you always dish out instructions in advance?’
She shook her head slightly and her hair cascaded about her so that he had to strain to hear her words.
‘No. And it’s not what you think. It’s just that I’ve never been in love before.’
That first, stolen weekend in the Philippines had stared the era of AD in Alexa’s calendar: After Dundas. Hugh had been right. They hardly got out of bed for the following twenty-four hours, spending the time in gentle exploration of each other’s body, mind and memory. There was passion, laughter and tears. There were explanations to share, regrets to offer, secrets to reveal.
From this beginning, a pattern of life became established, one which Alexa would never have believed herself capable of accepting. She was astonished to find fulfilment in being a part time lover and partner, even almost a wife to Hugh at times. She was pleased that he was so stimulated by her body, happy that he rejoiced in her spirit, but delighted that he became captivated by her thoughts and the nuance of her opinions.
There was never a ménage à trois, and Alexa and Janey scarcely met again. From the outset, Alexa knew that she would not and could not influence Hugh to leave his wife. He had made a commitment from which only death could release him and he would lose Alexa before reneging on it. In her private thoughts which she shared with no one, Alexa sensed that there was a bit more to this than old fashioned honour. Janey was some sort of talisman to Hugh: it was as if standing by her brought him compensation in the success of his career, which was not just about money and the inexorable expansion of his business. He was also absorbed by the great range of people to whom his influence gave him access.
As time passed, Alexa came to appreciate that his relationship with Janey was changing. The girl whom he had loved, irreparably damaged and then made his wife was herself changing and becoming, it seemed, ever more a dependent child rather than a companion. To do credit to Janey, she never complained about her condition, but sympathy suffers without the oxygen of effort, and it frustrated Hugh that Janey found it enough to exist rather than to look for stimulation in any of the interests which she could have pursued in spite of her condition.
Alexa had her first chance to introduce her mother to Hugh in September 1982. She had been confident in advance of how well they would get on, and she was not disappointed. Elizabeth mentioned Joffrey’s interest in Hugh’s business. He had been impressed to read that Hugh’s primary holding company — Head Investments — was estimated to be worth some $250 million. Is that really true, Elizabeth wanted to know, and was that US dollars or Hong Kong?
Alexa recognised the tongue in cheek but didn’t resent the question. Hugh had told her often enough that it was no secret, and that he wanted her parents to know about him. So she replied.
‘Actually, Mumsie, I believe it’s a little more than that now. It seems to keep growing like Topsy, and the currency is neither of those. Hugh being true blue will only measure his assets in good old pounds sterling.’
Her mother’s elegant eyebrows had shot up at this revelation, and she struggled for a further comment, finally settling on another question.
‘And what does the name sig
nify? Being that successful, why doesn’t he call it Dundas something?’
‘Well, actually he has. He was saddled at birth with a lot of names – Hugh Edward Arthur Dundas. That’s what gives the name.’
There was a pause before Elizabeth resumed on a tack which Alexa had anticipated.
‘Tell me to stop if you must, Darling, but you can’t be surprised at your old mother thinking of this. I do understand that this man is your true love and I am thrilled for you. You know that. I can see that you have to lead the life that you have now, and that there’s no chance to be married to him, but what about a child? Wouldn’t Hugh himself like to have an heir?’
‘Mumsie, I’m happy for you to ask, and glad to tell you, but I’m afraid there’s absolutely no chance of that. The complications would be immense but there’s something more basic than that. I think probably that my past is finding me out, but I’ve taken a whole lot of professional advice, and it seems that I definitely can’t conceive. I’m not sorry for myself, but I do regret it for you and for Papa of course. At least you have Bernard and Els with their two.’
They left it there, both glad to have the conversation behind them, both conscious that whatever was denied to Alexa, she did have the love of her life.
AISCHA GOMES — 1989
The month was June. David Heaven sat in the aircraft, relaxed in anticipation as he always felt when en route to see Aischa. They were meeting in Lisbon again. Aischa had been living there for the past twelve years, sometimes accompanying Alves to Luanda and from there making rare visits with discretion to see her father, Jonas Savimbi, surviving on his passions somewhere in the deep bush of southern Angola. Aischa was better placed in Portugal, living comfortably in the stylish house which she and Alves had bought, working more for amusement than need in an art gallery, developing her own painting with growing confidence. Occasionally, she travelled to California where Rafa was now living with his family.
Mostly, she was in Lisbon for her daughter Anna who had been brought up there and was now rising eighteen and about to move into university life. David had never met Anna, but he was introduced to her briefly that afternoon as she had been shopping with her mother and was going on out to meet up with a crowd of her friends. She was very sweet, lively and pretty with a superb figure like her mother. She was friendly and charming, but of course David was of no account to her. A mob of them for dinner and dancing somewhere was her priority and quite right too. David had a glimpse in his memory of that other evening by the sea in Mocamedes, all those years ago.
Anna went off with a smile and a little wave to David, a big hug for her mother. They were obviously close and David noted the whispered exchange between them. It sounded like some motherly advice and probably admonition not to be too late home. He reckoned that he and Aischa would have a lovely long evening together, but not the whole night.
Aischa confirmed this as they moved away themselves, her arm tucked lightly in his.
‘I’m sorry, my Darling, but I must go home at some stage and not too late, and without you I’m afraid, but tomorrow’s different of course. Anna is staying over with her girlfriend for a couple of nights. But look, David, let’s start our evening with a stroll for a while. The city is looking its best in this lovely weather.’
And so it was. Aischa was a competent guide and enjoyed her love for this ancient city with so many past tales to tell. She chose a route which brought them to the river bank and they wandered for an hour beside the Tagus, drinking in the scenery, relaxed in the evening warmth, holding hands from time to time and chatting like the long established lovers which they were.
David had just moved into his apartment on the top of 100 Piccadilly and Aischa wanted to hear the detail. About a year previously, Martin had started fussing about the wasted space on the top floor and this had given David the idea of living over the shop. Aischa helped him with the design and in reality, she’d done most of it, teasing him that there was only space up there for a decent bachelor pad, quite inadequate for a man with a wife and maybe some children. All too typically, David smiled graciously and held his peace.
Now she wanted to know if the pictures they had chosen together were looking good and were properly lit. What about that lamp on the table in the hall, and where .....’
‘You’d better come over again,’ he said laughing at her.
‘Oh I will. And you’ll be in trouble if I find you haven’t made a proper job of things.’
Eventually, they caught a cab and returned to the city centre, then walking on into Bairro-Alto and to the restaurant which was always their choice for the first night of his visits to Lisbon. Giacomo Mori, the proprietor, seemed to defy the passing years as he greeted them with his normal warmth and took them through to what had become ‘their’ table by the little gossiping fountain.
‘You are looking well, Signor Heaven, and still so young,’ he remarked as he moved behind Aischa to adjust her chair.
‘You’re flattering me, Mr Mori. And you know it,’ David smiled up at him, ‘and you yourself, still as ever?’
‘Ah no, I am feeling older and more tired. But I do not wish to leave Lisbon. This is my home now and I hope that one day my son will come to join me in the restaurant. We shall see.’
He flitted off with their order, perhaps embarrassed to have lifted a corner of the veil over his life. Much later, after they had finished eating and were sitting quietly in the warmth of the night with a cappuccino and a cognac before them, David lifted his glass and said,
‘Well. Here’s Happy Birthday to Anna. Eighteen is a big landmark, isn’t it? I’m sorry, my love, but you’ll have to remind me of the actual date. I must get her something for it.’
Aischa put down her coffee cup and moved to clink their liqueur glasses gently together. She said. ‘It’s next week on Friday. Her birthday is the thirtieth of June.’
He nodded, ‘She’s a delight to meet, I must say, and a picture to look at too, just like her mother of course! I can see how close you are, you two. Real friends, I’m sure, as well as mother and daughter. Her birthday must be as important to you as it is to her.’
Aischa gave a wan smile and turned her head away to light her cigarette. It was something that he did for her when they were alone together and there was a suggestion of independence here which made him feel excluded. David sat still and quiet, knowing that she would speak when she was ready. He took a sip of his cognac and was still replacing his glass on the table when Aischa sat forward to reply.
‘Yes. June 30th is a very important date in my calendar, just as it is for Anna also. It’s the day on which she was born, and also the day on which her mother died.’
David stayed motionless while his mind raced, but it didn’t have far to go. Aischa’s eyes remained fixed on him whilst he settled his glass, took a cigarette for himself, lit and drew deeply on it. Then he spoke one word, as a statement and not a question.
‘Ouye.’
Aischa looked at him as the tears welled in her eyes. She gave a long, slow nod.
‘Yes Ouye. My twin sister Ouye, who died almost eighteen years ago while giving birth to the baby girl who is now Anna: my special friend Anna, who is my daughter even though I’m not her mother. She has grown to be so like Ouye that I sometimes feel she is my sister recreated.’
David picked up his glass again, swirling the brandy around as he phrased his next question.
‘Aischa, why didn’t you tell me this before? Do you remember we were in this very place, the first time we came here, I asked about Ouye and you told me she had died of some female difficulty was your word I think?’
Aischa cheered herself and even smiled a little.
‘I believe I said ‘a feminine problem with much blood and pain’ and I knew that you, a man of men if ever I saw one, would not dare to ask more. And you haven’t. But really, darling, I think I gave a fair description of childbirth.’
‘So you took on her baby.’
‘What else? I
never gave it a second thought.’
‘And you were never challenged? Not by your father, or by Rafa? What about Anna’s father?’
‘My father and brother were content with the arrangement: they found it natural. They’d accepted Ouye’s pregnancy, they were both made miserable by her death. They wanted all that could be done for the baby she left behind. But as for Anna’s father, well that’s different. He’s never known and never asked. But to answer your next question, David, yes I do know his identity. I know him very well indeed. And I love him. So you should not buy Anna a birthday present. You have already given her life itself.’
David slumped back in his chair as the breath whistled out between his teeth. He had seen the blow of surprise coming at the very last second. But he knew that the revelation was true. No doubt at all. He knew when, and the memories came so clearly to him. The droning fan, the barking dog, the opening door and the giggled whisper ‘you can’t tell us apart if we’re not dressed at all’.
They sat for a long time in silence which was broken only as Mr Mori appeared unbidden to refill their brandy balloons and to place fresh coffee on the table between them. When he had left them, David hunched forward to spoon some sugar into his cup and to ask,
‘Why didn’t you tell me Aischa?’
‘You didn’t ask me, did you, my darling. But you see before that, after Anna was born and Ouye taken from us, well I knew what and when, but what did I know of you? That night in Mocamedes was just a bit of naughty fun and with a result that’s been happening down the centuries. I didn’t know anything about you, did I? I knew your name, but nothing else much. Not really what you did, where you lived. And I certainly had no idea that I would ever see you again, still less that I would fall into a love for you that I simply can’t shake off. And don’t forget, David, that Anna was almost three years old before you and I met again by sheer chance. And since then? Well, perhaps I should have said something, and if so, then years ago. I held back because I made a life with Anna as my daughter which works. It works well. And while my time with you is so precious and vital, it’s still just that. It’s time, but it isn’t a life. I think I was always scared that in telling you about Anna, I might also lose you for myself. Can you understand that?’
