Authors: John Boyne
âYou're not in any kind of trouble, are you?' she said.
âTrouble?'
âYes. I mean you don't have any financial problems yourself? Anything I should know about?'
Montignac laughed and shook his head; he would never admit as much to her. âNot at all,' he said. âNothing I can't handle anyway.'
âBecause I could always help you out if you did,' she said. âI mean obviously you know the terms of the will. I can't sell anything or touch the capital. But I have a healthy income. You only have to ask, you know.'
Montignac tried to control his temper. The temptation was so strong, to simply say yes, to throw himself on her mercy, to allow her to save him.
âI'm fine,' he said. âI don't need your money.'
âThat's what it's all about, isn't it?' she asked in frustration. âThe fact that it's
my
money. I don't know what Father was thinking of, changing things.'
âBut aren't you glad he did?' he asked with a smile and she didn't have an opportunity to answer because at that moment Jason Parsons came clambering up the stairs and informed his boss that the delivery men would be there within the hour and they had to make sure that one of the downstairs walls was cleared in time.
8
LIKE ALL RIGHT-THINKING SONS,
Gareth Bentley thrived on spurning as many of the opportunities that his father had offered him in life as possible but he was sensible enough to hold on to those ones which might benefit him in some way. His rent-free home represented one such advantage. His free food and laundry service was another. And a third lay in the form of his membership to White's Club in StJames's, an exclusive establishment for gentlemen and the sons of gentlemen, where the complimentary newspapers were all laid out on a side table every morning, the whisky was a touch on the expensive side but never less than a dozen years old and where they did a perfectly decent grilled salmon with baby potatoes, green beans and fresh herbs at lunchtime at a very reasonable price. Gareth had been coming here on and off since his twenty-first birthday three years earlier, when Roderick Bentley and another senior judge had sponsored him for membership and he found it a pleasant and relaxing way to while away a few idle hours while his bedlinen was being changed.
The gentlemen who attended White's were almost all professional men, barristers and solicitors, doctors and politicians, even the odd novelist and philosopher. They sat around in book-lined, oak-panelled drawing rooms in leather wing-backed chairs, smoking pipes and cigars, and discussing what was wrong with the world, the government, the French and the young, in that order. There were fifteen handsome bedrooms available on the third and fourth floor but they had to be booked well in advance as there was always great demand for them. It goes without saying that ladies were not to be entertained.
âGood afternoon, Mr Bentley,' said Kenneth Milton, the on-duty porter that afternoon as he arrived. âNice to see you again, sir.'
âAfternoon, Milton,' he replied, handing over his coat and hat. It had been almost a week since he'd last been there and he felt a sense of tranquillity as he looked into the parlours beyond, which were about one third full at this time of the day. He had spent many happy afternoons here since graduating from Cambridge with his lower second; it represented a pleasant respite from home and the answering of difficult questions regarding his future. âI wonder,' he asked. âHave you noticed Mr Keys arriving today? Alexander Keys?'
Milton looked down at his ledger and ran a finger along the list of names. âYes, you're in luck, sir,' he said. âMr Keys arrived about a half an hour ago.'
âOh, excellent,' said Gareth.
âHe's probably in the lounge, sir, or perhaps upstairs in the large drawing room.'
Gareth nodded and made his way through the doors, scanning the faces and seeing one or two nodding acquaintances as he went along. He recognized a celebrated actor who had recently achieved an unexpected triumph in motion pictures in Hollywood and who was celebrating by divorcing his wife; he noticed a former prime minister, sitting alone in his dotage, having difficulty refuelling his pipe. Then, seated in the corner with a confused expression on his face, immersed in a thick novel, he spotted his friend Alexander Keys.
âHello there,' he said as Alexander looked up at him.
âOh hello, Gareth,' he replied. âDidn't expect to see you here today. How's the head?'
âNot too bad, all things considered. I tried not to drink too much.'
âI noticed that,' said Alexander. âI was very impressed by your willpower, despite old Jasper's best efforts. What brings you here anyway?'
âEscaping home,' he said, as the well-trained waiter brought him a pot of tea immediately. âHoped I might run into you actually. What's that you're reading?' he asked as he lowered himself into the chair opposite.
âIt's a new novel I've got to plough my way through,' said Alexander. âBy a fellow from Sheffield, if you please. A coal miner's son. Still, takes all sorts, I suppose.'
âOh yes? What's it about then?'
âWho knows,' replied Alexander with a shrug. âFive hundred and fifty pages long, all written in one paragraph without punctuation or dialogue, just this sort of internal monologue going on in the mind of the narrator.'
âSounds hideous,' said Gareth with a shiver.
âYou have no idea,' said Alexander with a sigh. âI've been stuck on page one hundred and forty-three for half an hour now and I can't for the life of me figure out what's going on. I read every sentence carefully, I try to place it in context with what's come before but I just can't comprehend a word of it. And I have to have five hundred words on it ready by tomorrow evening.'
âPainful work,' said Gareth. âWill you pan it?'
âOh good Lord no,' replied Alexander, shaking his head. âThey'll be teaching it in the universities in a few years' time I daresay. I better not say anything negative about it or they'll say there goes the fellow who criticized the genius du jour. It'll be a difficult one, though, especially since I don't understand a word of it.
This is a novel that defies simple explanation
, I shall say.
And to summarize such a fatuous concept as plot would be an insult to the art of the novelist
. Then I'll throw in a few things about metaphor and so onâ'
âThat internal monologue line was rather good,' suggested Gareth.
âYes, I'll use that. I'll make it all sound terribly clever and everyone will be happy.'
âExcept the poor slobs who spend their one and sixpence buying the masterpiece.'
âWell yes,' admitted Alexander. âBut that's no fault of mine, now is it? They should know better than to listen to me.'
Gareth nodded and smiled as he looked around the room. He could see a man he knew to be a retired Home Secretary snoozing in a corner with a cigar hanging out of his mouth and a thin line of drool tracing a path like a slowly creeping slug along his chin, and he looked away immediately in disgust. At another there were two men playing a game of cards which brought back bad memories of the previous night's misadventure. Alexander noticed where his gaze was and picked up on it.
âBad luck on that thirty pounds of yours last night,' he said. âJasper's a swine for encouraging people to throw their money away. Never wastes any of his own, mind you.'
âYes,' said Gareth. âI could have done without it, that's for sure.'
âWell you live and learn. You'll know not to gamble with quite such high stakes next time. Never been much of a roulette man myself to be honest. It's all too based on chance. I prefer a good game of poker or whist. Something with a little skill attached to it.'
âI don't think I have the temperament to be a gambler,' said Gareth.
âWouldn't look good for the newest member of the Rice Chambers to be caught in such a place either, I imagine,' said Alexander with a laugh. âStill, it was your birthday.'
âWell actually, Alexander, that's what I wanted to talk to you about,' said Gareth. âYou remember me telling you how unhappy I was about joining the family firm?'
âYes.'
âWell after I left the Unicorn last night I was waiting for a taxicab and I ran into that other friend of yours, Montignac, and we got talking.'
âRan into him?' asked Alexander. âYou fairly bounded out of the place after him, didn't you?'
âNo,' said Gareth, frowning. âIt was time for me to leave anyway.'
There was only a slight hesitation on Alexander's part as he took this in; after a moment he nodded his head. âWell he's a good fellow, Montignac,' he said.
âCertainly seems to be,' said Gareth. âWe shared a taxi back home. He's in Bedford Place and I'm in Tavistock Square so it was quite convenient.'
âYes I know,' said Alexander. âI've never been to his flat there but I've been to Leyville many times. That's his family seat, you know.'
âI heard. How well do you know him anyway?'
âOwen? Oh we go back a long way,' said Alexander, trying to recall. âI think we met when we were ⦠let me see ⦠about seven years old. At Eton. We shared a room right through school. Became very close friends.'
âOh, I didn't realize you knew him that well. I thought he was just an acquaintance.'
âWell the thing about Owen Montignac is that no one really knows him that well,' explained Alexander. âHe's always been something of a closed book. Used to get bullied mercilessly in the first few years of school. On account of his accent, I mean.'
âHis accent?' asked Gareth. âI didn't notice any accent.'
âThat's because he learned to shake it off. He's French by birth, you see. Spent the first few years of his life there if I have it right. I think his uncle took him in when he was about five or six, after his parents died. But when he first came to school he still spoke with a sort of French twist and he got ribbed about it constantly by the other fellows. Name-calling and so on. There were one or two fights as I recall.' Alexander thought about it, trying not to recall certain incidents when he had perhaps let himself down in this respect. âOf course, after a few years he grew tired of being bullied and started to fight back and then there was ⦠well an incident of sorts, and it all stopped.'
âAn incident?'
Alexander opened and closed his mouth nervously. He was not, by nature, a gossip and didn't like talking about people behind their backs. He particularly didn't like talking about Owen Montignac as he considered him his best friend and had always rather feared his volatility, that temper of his he had witnessed on only a few occasions.
âOne of the boys went a little far with the name-calling,' said Alexander dismissively. âAnd Owen rather saw red over the whole thing. It was all a long time ago of course. There was an altercation of sorts. Quite a bit of trouble. But old Peter Montignac made sure that he kept his place.'
Gareth frowned and considered this; it had echoes of his own misadventure at Harrow, an incident that had clouded his life for some years.
âOh for heaven's sake don't look like that,' said Alexander, attempting a laugh. âThat was fifteen years ago. We were all just children. Owen's a magnificent character, you know. A good friend to have.'
âHe gave me his card,' said Gareth, âwhich said something about an art gallery on it. But my mother said the Montignacs are involved in land.'
âHis uncle was. His grandfather too. And his father, I imagine, before he was sent away. But Owen doesn't have anything to do with that, I don't think. He probably would have expected to, of course, but like he told us last night, the old man left it all to Stella.'
âHis cousin?'
âYes. Also a fine girl. I should introduce you sometime.'
Gareth shrugged, as if that was neither here nor there. âThe thing is,' he explained. âAs we were driving home we talked a little about my ⦠unwillingness to join my father in chambers and he suggested that he might have a position for me.'
âReally? At the gallery?'
âWell he didn't specify. He just said that I should come down and talk to him some day and he might have one or two ideas.'
Alexander hesitated for a moment but couldn't see any harm in it. âWell I think that's splendid,' he said. âI think you should take him up on his offer. Like I told you, he's a magnificent fellow. My very best friend.' He used the word âbest' rather than âclosest', as it was difficult for him to imagine anyone being very close, emotionally speaking, to Owen Montignac.
âRight,' said Gareth, pleased with the result of this conversation. âWell that's all right then. I just wanted to check him out really before throwing in my lot with him.'
âWell I wouldn't throw too much in with him if I was you,' said Alexander cautiously. âI mean not under my recommendation at least. Just play it carefully.'
Gareth frowned. âCarefully?' he asked. âWhy do you say that?'
âFor the same reason that you should take any new opportunity carefully,' he replied, thinking that was quite a good reason for his hesitancy. âTalk to him by all means. See what he has in mind. But think it through. You studied law for several years, you know, Gareth, it does seem rather foolish just toâ'
âEveryone says that,' insisted Gareth, his voice rising a little in frustration. âBut do you know, the thing I dread the most in the world, the thing that keeps me awake at night, is the idea that five years from now I'll be doing something I don't want to do, be with someone I don't want to be with, just because I'm too frightened to actually be the man I really am. If that happened, if I turned out like thatâ¦' He shook his head slowly at the idea. âWell I'd rather die than have that happen to me.'