The Eunuch's Ward (The String Quartet) (11 page)

‘I was running away. I was hoping the... the lady would let me out of her front door... Your front door.’

‘And then you saw us... er... together and thought that I was just topping up my frequent fucker miles?’

‘Pilots! I said dismissively but couldn’t help a smile.

‘Why were you running away from home?’

‘A long story,’ I shrugged. ‘You don’t want to know.’

‘Oh, I’m sure that I do, but not now. I’ve got to get back.’ He reached behind me and dug my phone out from under my bottom. ‘Here, let’s exchange numbers and meet up sometime soon. I’ll cook you lunch or dinner or something, as long as you promise to wear clothes. Your underwear can be the oldest and least attractive underwear in your possession. I promise you I won’t get a chance to see it.’

‘You really know how to make a girl feel good about herself, don’t you?’ I sulked. ‘Where are you off to? What’s so important?’

‘My landlord is coming around for a game of chess.’ He was getting ready to leave.

‘Chess?!’ I screamed. ‘Is everyone playing chess these days? Is chess the new black or something? Are you sure that you’re not a...’ For a second, my eyes slipped to his crotch unprotected by the modesty panel. ‘No, of course you’re not.’

‘I’m not a... what?’

I just shrugged.

He bent over, scooped my buttocks upwards with both his hands, parted my knees quickly with his chin and planted a big, sloppy kiss on my hymen.

‘Call me,’ he shouted as he walked away and disappeared into the greenery.

Chapter 10

It took me three hours to get Rosie to log on Skype.

‘I’ve got two hours, I hope,’ Rosie looked pale and tired. ‘The Great Matriarch has finally dosed off. She’s got her manservant, she’s got a nurse, she’s got an army of the village do-gooders to take the brunt of her temper, but no. She has to take it out on me. If she as much as hints at my inheritance once again I’ll tell her to shove it where the sun don’t shine and walk out. What’s up?’

In great detail, I told her about my attempt to run away, about the pool scene, about the size of that cock and all its uses, and about the return visit. Rosie laughed when I told her about the impudent thing peeping over the waistband and looked impressed when I recounted the parting kiss.

‘And then he abandoned you in favour of his landlord?!’ she frowned. ‘You know what that means, don’t you?’

‘That he doesn’t copulate on the first date. Plus, that wasn’t even a date. Not as such.’

‘No, numpty. That’s not what I mean. He doesn’t own the penthouse, he only rents it.’

‘So?’

‘How much do you think a pilot earns?’ Her eyebrows were almost reaching her hairline.

My brain whizzed around. True, there wasn’t a romantic bone in Rosie’s body, but she would hardly begrudge me a bit of fun. No, that wasn’t what she meant.

‘You think that my parents would think that he’s a gold digger.’

‘Bullseye! Give that girl a gold star.’

‘Ah,’ I couldn’t wait to give her the next piece of news. I told her about Ela and her cousins, the gay marriage, the invitation to Milan and Brazil.

‘The invitation includes me, doesn’t it?’ Rosie cut in.

‘Of course it does,’ I answered confidently. Ela was a simple girl. She was talking to me, so she invited me. If Rosie happened to sit there instead, she would have invited her. What’s more, she would have gladly invited the entire Caroline String Six Form to help her survive the summer with the family.

‘Asha isn’t keen on joining us. She has secured herself a place on a dig, somewhere near Petra in Jordan. Or, maybe it’s somewhere else, but they expect to dig up something like Petra. What matters is that the dig is led by Dr. Samir Saidi, the professor of archaeology at Cambridge. She’s hoping to get on his course next year.’

‘Are you still planning to do economics?’

I nodded. ‘You?’

‘Promise not to laugh.’

I crossed my heart and cut my throat.

‘I think I’ll apply for journalism and creative writing. I want to be a writer.’

It didn’t sound funny at all. ‘You’d be good at it. Have you written anything?’

She shrugged. ‘Bits and pieces. Must find someone to read them. No,’ she shook her head before I could even open my mouth, ‘not you. None of our lot. I’m trying to attract the attention of Jeremy Meek...’

‘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 100
^th
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.

‘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.’