Майкл Ридпат - Fatal Error

‘I haven’t read it,’ I said, surprised.

‘Oh, but you must.’ She laughed, a hoarse, throaty laugh. ‘You look shocked. Why shouldn’t I read Anna Karenina? ’

‘Er, I don’t know.’

‘You thought I was just a dumb model?’

Yes, I thought. ‘No,’ I said.

She laughed again. ‘Yes you did. Well, I studied philosophy at the University of Avignon. The modelling was supposed to be a, how do you call it... sideline. But then my studies became the sideline.’

‘That’s a shame,’ I said, without thinking.

‘Why?’

‘Er... I don’t know,’ I stammered, fearing I had been rude.

She laughed. ‘I could at this moment be in an insurance office or something, putting little bits of paper into files. Is that what you mean?’

‘No,’ I said. ‘But don’t you regret it a little bit?’

‘Sometimes. Not often. I have had some fun. A lot of fun. Do you have fun, David?’

‘Well, um, I suppose so.’

‘Oh, yes?’

I gulped at the wine, and then came to my senses. ‘You’re winding me up, aren’t you?’

She laughed. ‘I am. I love to corrupt the Englishmen. Unfortunately, when I had found Tony he had been corrupted already. It seems as if his son follows in his father’s footsteps.’

At the other end of the table Mel’s coolness was visibly melting as it was exposed to the combined charm of the father-and-son team, and Ingrid was smiling broadly, her eyes shining.

‘He does have quite a reputation at school. I’d say he’s a natural.’

‘I can see he is. Abdulatif certainly seemed to appreciate him.’

‘Is Abdulatif the gardener?’

‘Yes. Delicious, isn’t he? I love the way he walks around without his shirt.’

‘But he likes men?’

‘I think Abdulatif likes anything beautiful.’

I wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that.

‘And you?’ she said. ‘Are you a natural with the women?’

‘I thought you’d stopped winding me up?’

‘That is just. But you and Guy, you seem very different.’

‘We are. We share a room at school, so I suppose we know each other pretty well. I was only the second choice to come out here, though.’

‘Yes. Tony said that Guy was bringing Helmut Schollenberger’s son with him.’

‘That’s right. Torsten.’

She shuddered. ‘I detest that man. And before you ask, I have appeared in his magazines. Wearing less than perhaps I should. After my first marriage they discovered some old pictures.’ She laughed. ‘Actually, I didn’t mind. But Henri? Ooh!’

‘Who’s Henri?’

‘He’s a politician. And he’s so boring. I fell in love with his eyes. He had bedroom eyes, or he had them until we got married. Then they changed.’

‘So you got rid of him?’

She shrugged. ‘We got rid of each other.’

‘And you met Tony?’

‘I met Tony.’ She smiled a slow smile. Not a smile of pleasure, more a smile of sadness, even pain, I thought.

‘How long have you known him?’

‘Aha. That, I cannot tell you.’

‘Why not?’

‘The divorce. Guy’s mother would love to know.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.’

She laughed. ‘But of course you did.’

Just then Owen, who had said nothing to anyone all evening, pushed his plate to one side, stood up, and made his way inside the house.

‘Owen! Are you sure you don’t want to stay?’ his father called after him.

Owen paused and turned. ‘No,’ he said without a smile.

‘All right. Well, good night, then.’

Owen grunted and turned away.

‘Good night, chéri ,’ called Dominique to the back of Owen’s hulking shoulders. Owen didn’t break his stride to acknowledge her.

‘He is strange, that one,’ said Dominique. ‘He has been here for two days and has said scarcely a word. He talks to me like I do not exist. Tony tries to speak to him, but he never says more than two words back. I think Tony has given up.’

‘They haven’t seen much of their father, have they, Guy and Owen?’

‘No,’ said Dominique. ‘Tony’s life does not mix with the kids. And Robyn, their mother, hates them to see him. She would not even let them come to our wedding. I had never met Guy until just now. But I think Tony was feeling guilty, so he persuaded Robyn to let them come here for a couple of weeks. Also, Guy is older. I suspect Tony and he have more in common these days.’

The servant cleared our plates, and Dominique poured another glass of wine. ‘ Mon Dieu , my husband is enjoying himself, isn’t he?’ Mel and Ingrid were laughing uncontrollably at something he had just said. So too was Guy for that matter. Tony put his hand on Mel’s arm to steady her, and left it there. She didn’t draw away. Guy didn’t seem to notice.

I didn’t reply.

‘To have two beautiful young girls hanging on your every word. What more can a forty-six-year-old man want, eh, David?’

‘I don’t know,’ I said neutrally.

‘Huh.’ She tossed back her hair. ‘Miguel! Another bottle of wine!’

Eventually the night came to an end. I was pretty drunk. So was everyone else, with the possible exception of Ingrid. Guy and I lurched our way to the guest cottage, about twenty yards from the main house.

As I sat on my bed, the room spun. I concentrated on trying to force the window to stay in one place. Miraculously, I succeeded.

‘I think I’m going to get lucky this week,’ said Guy, as he collapsed on his bed.

‘With the gardener? By the way, I heard he’s called Abdulatif.’

‘Ha bloody ha. No, with Mel, you cretin. Although I quite like Ingrid. I bet she’s hot in bed. Maybe with both of them.’

‘Guy!’

‘OK. With Mel. You know, I’m pretty sure she’s still a virgin.’

‘That’s what they say at school.’

‘Yeah, but how would they know? You never really know until, well, you find out.’

‘I suppose not.’

‘But she’s up for it. She’s definitely up for it.’

‘That’s good,’ I said without conviction.

Why was it always people like Guy who got the girls? Why didn’t girls like Mel and Ingrid laugh at my jokes? Because I didn’t have the confidence to make them, was one answer. Because I wasn’t good looking, was another. There were no doubt many others. Mel, Guy, Tony, Dominique, Ingrid, even the gardener Abdulatif. All beautiful people. All using their natural gifts in an intricate dance of attraction and temptation, in which the steps consisted of a witty comment, a well-timed glance, a touch. On nights like that night, when sex hung in the air, I felt envious, frustrated and inadequate.

I think I must have fallen asleep, but only for an hour or so. I awoke feeling tense, drunk and hung over all at the same time. I could hear regular breathing from Guy’s bed. My stomach didn’t feel good, and I needed a pee, but my limbs felt so heavy I wasn’t sure I had the strength to get out of bed.

The pain in my bladder worsened until it overcame my feebleness, and I crawled out of bed and staggered through to the bathroom. After I had finished I splashed my face and took a long drink of water. I still felt sick. I thought I would step outside in the hope that the night air would do me good.

It worked. A cool gentle breeze bathed my face. I was surrounded by the urgent communications of a thousand insects. I walked over to the marble railings and looked towards the black silhouette of Cap Ferrat against the shifting grey of the sea. I could make out the ruined watchtower in the gloom next to the lone olive tree, silently guarding the house as it had for centuries. The smell of salt and pine mingled in the air. I leaned over the railings and peered down to the small breakers below, and felt better.