Double Blind
Page 25
Carol had told him that all he had to do was hold out the tray and smile and say, ‘Would you care for a canapé?’ When the tray was empty, he should go back and get another one. He’d already done that three times now, but he still got super-tense each time he left the kitchen. He also had to know the ingredients of the food he was offering, because allergies were the biggest thing in catering now, and you had to be able to say that there were no peanuts in the smoked salmon, or someone might foam at the mouth and suffocate on the floor, like that poor boy at his birthday in a restaurant on the news. This time his tray had asparagus tips on it with tight little belts of special Spanish ham and some black napkins in the corner and a shot glass full of toothpicks. Gabriella, who was very nice and very cheerful, had some black seaweed cones with some shredded veggies in them, and John had some tiny pancakes with stiff cream and caviar (but no peanuts) and some lemon wedges. The special ham was called Jamon Iberico, which was a bit of a tongue twister, but he memorised it by thinking ‘jam’ ‘on’ and then, as he was wearing Eric’s suit, but it was Spanish ham, ‘erico’. The ‘Ib’ was a bit random, but he’d just have to remember to stick it in.
And so, he set off into the stone hall tucked in behind John and Gabriella, watching their every move. In the hall there was a huge statue of one of those beasts that was half horse and half man, like in Harry Potter. In the old days it might have totally thrown him to see a magical beast crouched at the foot of the stairs, but as he knew it was on Harry’s side, it was sort of okay. In fact, it definitely would have thrown him in the old days. ‘Might’ was a funny word, because it meant strong and it also meant uncertain. Same opposites.
He knew they had to separate, and it was quite difficult, but then, as if she could read his thoughts, Gabriella turned around and winked at him and whispered, ‘Go Sebastian!’ in a way that was really encouraging. She was such a warm person, he wished he could live with her.
The next thing he knew he was standing in front of a tall, gaunt man in a bright red dress with a huge cross hanging on a chain around his neck. Camp as Christmas, but live and let live, right? People in glass houses. Who was he to complain? He could have done without some of the comments about his appearance over the years, so he wasn’t about to say anything about the dress, just stick to the script.
‘Would you care for a canapé?’
‘What is it?’ asked the Chinese-looking gentleman with a French accent who was standing next to the tranny.
‘Jam on Erico and asparagus,’ said Sebastian.
‘After you, Monseigneur,’ said the Frenchman.
‘Ah, Jamón Ibérico,’ said Monseigneur. ‘It was always used in Spanish homes to catch out Jews who had made a false conversion; or a whole leg would be hung in the kitchen window to show that such people were not welcome. A great tradition.’
He impaled the asparagus firmly and popped it in his mouth.
‘I’m good,’ said the Frenchman, which Sebastian thought was quite boastful and not really relevant.
‘Is it your first time serving?’ asked Monseigneur with a waxy smile.
‘Yes,’ said Sebastian.
‘Well, you’re doing very well, my son,’ he said, impaling a third canapé. ‘Now, you must take these away, or you will tempt me to eat them all. Such a great tradition, Jamón Ibérico.’
And then it was as if he didn’t exist and Monseigneur continued to talk to the Frenchman, ignoring Sebastian completely, like when his father hadn’t looked up from the paper when he came down to breakfast in his giant school uniform.
‘As you can see, I didn’t have time to change out of my vestments,’ said Monseigneur, ‘which makes me a very conspicuous target, but whether, in the age of terrorism, a priest needs to have bullet-proof clothing is another question. You say they would look identical.’
‘Indistinguishable,’ said the Frenchman. ‘The ceramic filaments can be interwoven with silk, or any other fabric. It’s a new technology we’ve developed from our ceramic armour. You could try it out with the College of Cardinals to begin with and, of course, His Holiness.’
‘Incredible, incredible,’ said Monseigneur, who was obviously a bit of a shopaholic.
Sebastian moved into the enormous room, but before he could make much progress, he became enthralled by a pair of golden lions with vine leaves bursting from their ears and bunches of grapes hanging inside their wings. They were supporting a great slab of pinkish marble with their heads, and Sebastian felt that they deserved a rest, but if they flew away the whole table would collapse, which would freak everybody out completely. He imagined supporting the marble on his own back, while the lions went out through one of the big glass doors and swooped and glided around the park for a while. He could probably only last a few minutes under that sort of strain. While he was staring at the lions, quite a few people seemed to have had a go at his canapés because when he looked down at the tray again, there were far fewer than before. He had to pull himself together and set off across the dark blue carpet with its complicated patterns that were easy to get lost in if you didn’t concentrate: splayed cream flowers with red centres and red flowers with cream centres, entangled with twisting stems, like an exotic garden where Aladdin might be hiding at night. A lad insane. David Bowie. He needed a Ziggie on the terrace to calm his nerves. He had to get across the rug before it dragged him down, with all its tangled associations and its tangled vines clutching at his ankles. He headed for the big glass doors where the rug ran out and there was a solid wooden floor, but it was like the Khyber Pass, with people picking off his canapés one by one. He couldn’t stop, because he had to be the sole survivor, like the doctor who was presented to Queen Victoria in person. He was seeing Dr Carr in person tomorrow, thank god.
Made it. The wood felt much better. Mr Morris had complete confidence. There were three canapés left. Perhaps they were his colleagues and they were all survivors together. ‘May I present Sergeant Jam on Erico, Your Majesty,’ he imagined saying to Queen Victoria, ‘who comported himself with the utmost valour in the Khyber Pass.’ And then he heard a voice saying, ‘Can I have one, please?’ And he looked down and there was a very pregnant lady with a very nice face sitting on a golden chair.
‘Would you care for a canapé?’ said Sebastian, zooming back to the task in hand.
‘Yes,’ she said, laughing, but not in a humiliating way, more like they were sharing a joke, because she had just asked for one.
‘You’ll need two,’ said Sebastian, ‘one for you and one for the baby.’
‘Oh, thanks, I’m really hungry.’
‘Or you could have all three, if you’re having twins.’
‘Well, I’m not having twins.’
‘You could pretend you are, so I can take the empty tray back to the kitchen.’
‘Do you want to sit down?’
‘I don’t think I’m allowed to,’ said Sebastian.
‘Well, the people giving the party are my friends, so I think I’m allowed to invite you,’ said Olivia. ‘You look like you need to take the weight off.’
‘I do,’ said Sebastian. ‘How did you know?’
‘I know the feeling,’ said Olivia, resting her hands on her bulging tummy.
‘Thanks,’ said Sebastian, sitting next to her, with his tray tilted at a dangerous angle.
‘Okay, you’ve persuaded me,’ said Olivia, taking the last canapé. ‘For my fictional twins.’
‘That’s a relief,’ said Sebastian, with a smile, resting the tray flat on his knees. ‘I think this is the most beautiful room I’ve ever been in.’
‘It used to be the dining room.’
‘The dining room,’ said Sebastian. ‘Imagine having that many friends!’
‘Well, the house was built as a temple to love, hospitality and the arts.’
‘How come you know?’
‘I was given the tour before Brainwaves decided to take it.’
‘Love, hospitality and the arts,’ Sebastian repeated. ‘Not
bad.’
‘Yeah,’ said Olivia, ‘not bad. I’d like science to get a look-in.’
‘Maybe science is an art. Like psychoanalysis is a mixture of both,’ said Sebastian. ‘What’s wrong, did I say something stupid?’
‘No! It’s just that both my parents are shrinks and I think they would agree with you.’
‘Well, actually, I was quoting something my doctor said.’
‘Hey, Seb…’
Sebastian and Olivia looked up and saw another waiter standing beside them.
‘John,’ said Sebastian.
‘You should get back to work, mate.’
‘Sorry, it’s entirely my fault,’ said Olivia. ‘I was feeling a bit strange and I asked Seb to sit with me. He’s been very kind.’
‘Oh, okay, right, great,’ said John, and moved on.
‘Thanks,’ said Sebastian.
‘I told you I had your back,’ said Olivia. ‘Still, you probably…’
‘I know,’ said Sebastian. ‘What’s this party for, by the way?’
‘A Brainwaves product. Its nickname is Happy Helmets.’
‘What?’ said Sebastian. ‘You put on a helmet and you feel happy?’
‘It helps,’ said Olivia cautiously.
‘I imagine everyone would want one of those,’ said Sebastian, getting up.
‘I think that’s what they’re counting on.’
‘Well, I haven’t put on a helmet, but I feel much better now,’ said Sebastian.
‘So do I,’ said Olivia, ‘nice meeting you.’
‘You too. You’re a very nice lady.’
Sebastian set off back to the kitchen, eager to fetch another tray. He used to think the world was full of monsters, and obviously there must be a few of those lurking around, but there were so many good people, like Gabriella and Carol and Mr Morris and Dr Carr and this lady he had just met. It was enough to make a grown boy cry.
Also by Edward St. Aubyn
THE PATRICK MELROSE NOVELS
Never Mind
Bad News
Some Hope
Mother’s Milk
At Last
On the Edge
A Clue to the Exit
Lost for Words
Dunbar
A NOTE ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Edward St. Aubyn was born in London. His acclaimed Patrick Melrose novels are Never Mind, Bad News, Some Hope, Mother’s Milk (winner of the Prix Femina étranger and short-listed for the Man Booker Prize), and At Last. The series was made into a BAFTA Award–winning Sky Atlantic TV series starring Benedict Cumberbatch. St. Aubyn is also the author of A Clue to the Exit, On the Edge (short- listed for the Guardian Fiction Prize), Lost for Words (winner of the Bollinger Everyman Wodehouse Prize), and Dunbar, his reimagining of King Lear for the Hogarth Shakespeare project. You can sign up for email updates here.
CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Part One
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Part Two
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Part Three
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Also by Edward St. Aubyn
A Note About the Author
Permissions Acknowledgments
Copyright
PERMISSIONS ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Grateful acknowledgment is made for permission to reprint lyrics from the following:
‘Das Modell’ by Emil Schult, Ralf Huetter, and Karl Bartos.
© 1978 Kling Klang Musik Gmbh and Edition Positive Songs.
All rights administered by Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, 424 Church Street, Suite 1200, Nashville, TN 37219.
All rights reserved. Used by permission.
All rights on behalf of Edition Positive Songs administered by WC Music Corp. All rights reserved. Used by permission of Alfred Music.
‘Radioactivity’ by Emil Schult, Florian Schneider-Esleben, and Ralf Huetter.
© 1975 Kling Klang Musik Gmbh.
All rights administered by Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, 424 Church Street, Suite 1200, Nashville, TN 37219.
All rights reserved. Used by permission.
‘Neonlicht’, aka ‘Neon Lights’, by Emil Schult, Florian Schneider-Esleben, and Ralf Huetter.
© 1978 Kling Klang Musik Gmbh and Edition Positive Songs.
All rights administered by Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, 424 Church Street, Suite 1200, Nashville, TN 37219.
All rights reserved. Used by permission.
All rights on behalf of Edition Positive Songs administered by WC Music Corp. All rights reserved. Used by permission of Alfred Music.
Farrar, Straus and Giroux
120 Broadway, New York 10271
Copyright © 2021 by Edward St. Aubyn
All rights reserved
Originally published in 2021 by Harvill Secker, Great Britain
Published in the United States by Farrar, Straus and Giroux
First American edition, 2021
All acknowledgments for permission to reprint lyrics can be found at the back of the book.
Ebook ISBN: 978-0-374-71747-6
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