by Alan Keslian
For dessert we ordered ice cream, and he informed us that vanilla flavouring comes from the dried seed pods of the orchid Vanilla planifolia, a native of Mexico.
Lizetta said, ‘Many people find it hard to get a start in their chosen career. You think Andrew might take you on at the garden centre when you finish your course? That might be a good way to start.’
‘He would employ me now if I really wanted, but if you want to be a botanist you need qualifications. Working in the garden centre would be all right, but I’d like to do something more scientific if it’s possible. Andrew told me not to expect too much in case things didn’t work out, but that I had to try.’
‘That’s good advice.’
She promised to send him a prospectus from WLTC, and for the last quarter of an hour we let him relax while she brought me up to date with news of Peter’s impending return from the US. She feared he had not forgiven the old codgers for excluding him from their inner circle, and was worried he would return intent on making trouble. Again she spoke of being unhappy with Lindler & Haliburton, saying that the ever increasing demand for cost-cutting left people feeling that their best was never good enough.
My image of the firm had changed completely over the last few years. More than six months had passed since my escape. My eight years work there had provided money and management skills which were essential to me in setting up the hotel, but there was nothing from that world that I missed, and that so much of my life had passed in that environment now seemed strange.
We left the restaurant and walked across Blackfriars Bridge to the underground station, where Lizetta caught a train back to the building that was once so familiar to me. Darren and I caught the bus home. He asked me if I thought he had made a good impression. ‘You presented yourself very well. I’ve been under-estimating you. What made you ask about cycling to college?’
‘I won’t have much money if I’m only working part time. I could pick up a second-hand bike and save on bus or train fares.’
‘That’s good thinking.’ The price of the meal the three of us had eaten would probably be enough to pay for a second-hand bike. If he started at WLTC, I could give him a bike as a present. Tom would be able to find out what sort to get him, and for once I would have arranged something for him without having to be prompted by Andrew. ‘Did you have a bike when you were at home?’
‘Yeah. It was my brother’s really; he let me have it for ages, but he sold it eventually because he needed the money.’
‘I didn’t even know you had a brother. You ought to go back home, one day; let everyone see that you’re all right.’
‘I have written to them. Maybe I’ll go if I pass my exams, if I’m doing well, I’ll go to see them for tea or something, just to show them. You know why I had to leave, don’t you?’
‘Not really. Tom said something about a school friend making trouble for you.’
He confirmed, giving a lot more detail, what Tom had told me. The other boy had been his best friend, who he often sat next to in school, their shoulders or legs lightly touching. Some of his friends had talked about secretively ‘doing things’ together, and when Darren was invited to his best friend’s house to watch a film on television and stay overnight, he was expecting them to experiment. However when he put his arms around his friend in the bedroom the boy pulled away and caused an uproar.
The lad’s father had rung Darren’s home and he was taken back in shame. His parents made his life unbearable. They would not let him go out on his own except to school and made him go to their Evangelical meetings, which he hated. The minister there told him to pray for forgiveness, and when he refused his father asked the family doctor to make an appointment for him with a psychiatrist. His friend told other lads at school what had happened, and on his way home one evening a group of three bullies lay in wait, pinned him to the ground for half an hour, punched him in the face, blacked his eyes and cut his lip.
His parents did not even ask how his injuries had come about. A concerned teacher did, but Darren was too ashamed to tell the truth and said he had been walking along the top of a wall by the railway and fallen off. The bruises from the attack had not fully healed when a row with his father escalated into a fight. He was knocked to the floor and his father, having won this contest, gave him an ultimatum: see the psychiatrist or leave the house. A few days later he packed a bag, withdrew what little savings he had and left for London.
He stayed in a cheap bed and breakfast place for a few days, saw an advert for the room at Goodmans Villa in the estate agent’s window and took it because it was the cheapest he could find. A day or two later he passed the hamburger bar and saw their notice advertising for staff, went inside and started work straight away. Until he met Andrew, Tom and me, coincidence and misadventure had become the determining influences in his life.
Lizetta rang me the day after the meal to say she had spoken to one of the lecturers at West London Tertiary College and had arranged an interview for him. ‘He’s lovely, isn’t he?’ she said. ‘You’re so lucky. The gorgeous Tom and him, it isn’t fair.’
‘My relationship with Tom and my relationship with Darren are completely different.’
‘I know that, silly. He adores you though, doesn’t he?’
‘Does he?’
‘Of course he does. He was glancing across at you hoping for signs of approval all the time. He worships you.’
‘It’s cupboard love. How’s Vincent?’
‘He’s fine. We manage to see each other almost every week. Only for lunch sometimes, but we see each other.’
‘He doesn’t deserve you.’
‘I wish you’d tell him that.’
When Vincent and I last spoke he mentioned the possibility of me advising him about upgrading his company’s computer system. That had been weeks ago, but what with the hotel being busy and sorting out Darren’s future I had not been in touch with him since. With Darren helping at the hotel fitting in a few days at his offices might be practicable, and I suggested she bring Vincent to the hotel for a meal one day.
‘Thanks, that would be nice, but you know how difficult things are, when we have an opportunity to be together we need to take full advantage of it.’
‘You’ve never actually seen the hotel, have you? You could retire to one of the hotel rooms after we’ve eaten.’ The thought of making love to Vincent in one of Goodmans Hotel’s rooms appealed to her, and she agreed to speak to him.
They came a couple of weeks later, and as I was hoping he asked again about upgrading his office systems, and rang a few days later to fix a date for me to come to assess what would be entailed. Indirectly their visit to the hotel led to something else that was less welcome. Not only did Vincent book me to look at his company’s systems, but he also asked Tom if he would do some work on his family home in Amersham. He had a builder putting up an extension, and wanted Tom to keep an eye on the work at the same time as boarding the floor of the loft and repairing some dilapidated fences.
At first Tom balked at the long journey, but Vincent talked him round. ‘Come up and have a look. It’s all a question of money, isn’t it? All we need to do is agree a price that makes it worth your while to put up with the travelling.’
Their arrangement brought about the first significant disruption to my new pattern of life at Goodmans Hotel. One of the labourers working on Vincent’s extension told Tom about a major building project in Portsmouth town centre. As when he had gone to work in Manchester, electricians were wanted urgently and premium rates of pay were offered. The lure of extra money was difficult for him to resist, but for me his absence would be hard, not only because he would not be around when something needed fixing in the hotel, but because being with him meant so much to me.
Hoping that Andrew would sympathise and might be able to talk him out of going, I arranged to call at Biddulph Mansions on the pretext of discussing the arrangements we were making for Darren, who by this time was working for me at the hotel and
shortly to begin his studies at WLTC.
The flat had been redecorated since my last visit, and in place of an illuminated glass showcase of orchids at one side of the chimney breast was a Victorian bureau with marquetry decorations and inlaid brass borders. ‘Something of an impulse buy,’ he said. ‘It fills the space nicely.’
‘What happened to the orchids?’
‘Oh, they’re up at the nursery. A display like that needs a certain amount of looking after, and I’m supposed to be easing up. The hospital have decided my priorities now are a low fat diet and light exercise.’
We talked about how Darren would cope with being in a classroom after such a long break, and how to organise his time so that he could tackle the curriculum. The plan was that he would relieve me by taking on hotel chores for twenty hours a week, as well as providing cover at reception during some quiet periods. In return he would be paid the going hourly rate for the twenty hours, and for the rest would have his room and food provided free. If this proved too demanding for him, Andrew would reimburse me the cost of bringing in staff from Housmans Hotel or other local part-timers to take over some of the work.
Before I was able to turn the conversation to Tom’s impending departure, Andrew surprised me with a completely unexpected announcement: ‘I had another reason for asking you to come over. This is bad timing, but putting it off won’t make things any easier. The doctor is insisting that I cut my activities drastically, reduce my workload to the bare essentials. The trouble is while I’m here with the garden centre on my doorstep, staff ring me up all the time. Whenever a gardening magazine or a seed catalogue comes through the letter box I can’t resist comparing products and prices. Passing an office block makes me wonder if there might be a chance of business for Ferns and Foliage. I need to get away, to take a long holiday, without a mobile ’phone bringing me queries about some special offer or other from one of the wholesalers. What I wanted to ask is this: would you be able to keep an eye on things for me, much as you did while I was in hospital that time?’
‘There wasn’t much for me to do except bring you a few papers, and presumably you won’t want that. Without meaning to be rude, I’m sure your businesses will run well enough if you go away on a week or a fortnight’s holiday.’
‘I’m thinking of taking quite a long break. I’ve relatives in New Zealand on my mother’s side. There was a cousin – elderly now of course – who I saw quite a lot of when I was a child. She has heart trouble, has been quite ill. It would be nice for me to see her again, while there is still time. You can get airline tickets that allow you to make intermediate stops, and I may as well use it as an opportunity to see a bit more of the world.’
‘So how long are we talking about, a month or more?’
‘Hard for me to say at the moment. I’ve never even met some of the younger family members, they were born out there. Depends how we all get on. You might need to give, say, one day a week on average to my affairs. You won’t have to do any of the day-to-day management, there are competent people doing all of that. What I need is someone to keep a check on everything, make sure the takings are going into the bank and the stock is not going missing, that sort of thing. We can come to a similar financial arrangement to the one we agreed for Darren. You can charge me for the cost of any staff you have to bring in because my interests are keeping you from the hotel, and I expect to pay you something for your services, of course.’
His intention to be away at the same time as Tom worried me much more than the financial arrangements. He was my main source of advice about all kinds of things connected with the hotel and my personal life. This was the first time, as far as I could remember, that he had ever mentioned any family, and definitely never relatives in New Zealand.
‘If it will do you good, of course you should go. Not a good time from my viewpoint, but nobody could argue that you don’t deserve a really good break. I’m honoured you’ve asked me to look after things while you’re away. Of course I will help out. Delighted to.’
‘Sleep on it. Let me know if you feel it’s too much to take on.’
‘How have you been lately? You’ve been looking okay.’
‘Not bad. My blood pressure’s still high, but nothing that can’t be managed if I’m sensible – by which they seem to mean eating dull food and accepting retirement. I can’t sit around doing nothing. Maybe this trip will be the answer, for a while.’ My guess was that he was holding something back, and if he was seriously ill to whine to him about Tom’s planned absence would be inconsiderate.
Tom was the first to leave. He said he would miss me, promised to keep in touch at least once a week, and we talked about him returning to London for a few days if the work lasted for more than a fortnight, and of me travelling down to Portsmouth if the hotel allowed. Leaving Darren in charge, I went to Waterloo Station to see him onto his train, and waved to him through the window while walking along the platform to keep him in sight for as long as possible as the train pulled out.
On the evening before Andrew was due to set off on his trip he took me to a fashionable new restaurant in a converted building which had previously been a fire station. In the enormous room where the fire engines had once been garaged, dozens of miniature spotlights now shone from chrome fittings suspended below the dark ceiling, the white table cloths and cutlery gleaming brilliantly under their light. Waiters in maroon waistcoats and white aprons scurried back and forth between the tables and the long marble topped bar, behind which could be glimpsed the bright fluorescent lights of the kitchen.
We were shown to a table beside a wall of half-mirrored glass installed where the old fire station doors must have been. All of this fashionable restaurant’s waiters were good-looking young men, two of whom took turns at attending to us, pulling our chairs out, unfolding and handing us our napkins, and opening out the menu folders before us with an open palmed gesture of encouragement as though, otherwise, we might have sat staring blankly into space.
In my previous life at Lindler & Haliburton the ostentation might have impressed me, but that evening I could not relax. The sparseness of the room with its scrubbed brick walls and bright pinpoint spotlights, and the ritual created around the simple acts of sitting down and ordering dinner, were too contrived. A traditional Sunday afternoon meal with Tom, Darren, and Andrew around our ‘family’ table at Goodmans Hotel would have been far more enjoyable.
Andrew’s manner did not help: his voice was low and tense, as though he was afraid his words would echo from the high ceiling of the cavernous room and reach the ears of strangers. We talked at first about business, going over the arrangements he had made with the managers of the garden centre and nursery, with the bank and his solicitors, all of whom had been informed in writing of the role I was to play during his absence. He proposed to keep in regular contact with a weekly ’phone call, but said he would be happy to leave all necessary decisions to me. He wanted to concentrate on making the most of his holiday. As well as New Zealand he spoke of possible visits on his way back to Australia, Singapore, Thailand, and perhaps Egypt and parts of Europe.
As our meal progressed the waiters pampered us, replenished our glasses whenever they were half empty, asked more than once during each course whether everything was to our liking, and twice swept the table linen with a little silver device for collecting crumbs. They walked straight-backed, bending forwards to put dishes down on our table with a flourish as though making a presentation of them. The whole performance was annoyingly pretentious. Tom was right to be uncomfortable in such places.
‘You’ll be away forever if you’re going to visit all those countries.’
‘Who knows? A couple of weeks away may turn out to be enough for me and I’ll cut the whole thing short. Nothing’s booked except the flight out and a night’s hotel accommodation in Wellington. Everything else will have to be arranged as I go. My airline ticket gives me freedom to roam.’
After a dessert of pancakes and ice cream flavoured with ch
ocolate and coconut our two waiters brought us coffee and cognacs with a sliver of bitter chocolate each. When they had gone Andrew stared at me, his eyes sharp, his face very flushed. He coughed to clear his throat, straightened himself up in his chair and grasped the edge of the table with both hands.
‘It’s no use putting this off for any longer. It is the most difficult thing I have ever had to say to anyone. There’s something I simply have to tell you. It’s about Tom. I don’t know how to start, this is bound to come as a shock. We should have told you ages ago. There was never any intention on my part or his to deceive you, but there seemed to be no easy way, and as time went by you and he seemed to be getting on so well – why should something from the past be allowed to ruin it all?’
One of the waiters approached, probably intending to ask if we were enjoying our coffee; with a sudden shake of my head I sent him away.
‘I’d better come right out with it. The main reason he went to Portsmouth was because he saw someone he recognised at the hotel.’ He stopped and looked at me, waiting for a reaction. What could he possibly have to tell me that I did not already know about Tom? Had some previous lover turned up threatening to make trouble? I swallowed my cognac, paused, and took a sip of coffee. ‘Tell me.’
‘Did you ever think it odd that Tom should work for me when people in his line are usually self-employed? The fact is I took him on because he had been in prison. He needed a bit of help to get started when he came out.’
‘Prison? He was in prison?’
‘He stole cars. Over a period of time, a number of cars. Believe me, I hadn’t the least idea of what happened to your parents until long after you and he were – had become a couple. The first you told me of it was at the hospital, do you remember? I was quite ill at the time; hearing about it almost made me have a relapse. Otherwise perhaps I would have handled the situation better, but what good would it have done to have told you at that stage? Why should you ever have to know? If we all knew the worst about each other, could we ever bear to be in the same room with another human being? The two of you were so good together, why risk spoiling it?’