William Boyd - Stars and bars

Hang about, Henderson thought, this is taking the leitmotif a little far, isn’t it? He checked that no-one was looking then raised his own palm — swiftly turning it into a neck scratch.

“How. A bloody mary, please.”

“Right away, sir.”

The drink arrived in a glass the size and shape of a storm lantern. A whole hand of celery sprouted from the top. Henderson picked it up and sucked self consciously on a straw. Everything in this ‘hotel’, he thought, conspired to make him ill at ease. He put his glass down and went in search of the gents’ toilet.

Here at least some sort of orthodoxy and normal scale prevailed: white tiles and chrome. He had half expected to be issued with a spade and instructed to go and dig a hole. He took his place at the urinal trough, unzipped and let fly. His gaze rested blankly on the white tiles in front of him.

“Hi there,” came a voice from his left. He ignored it. People just didn’t talk to each other while they urinated — it wasn’t done.

“Mr Dores.”

He looked round with genuine irritation. It was Sere-no, in the next but one stall. To Henderson’s astonishment Sereno leant sideways and extended a hand over the vacant space. Good Christ! Henderson gasped inwardly, he surely doesn’t expect me to shake hands while I’m peeing? This was intolerable. But Serene’s hand remained. Henderson, swapping hands, shook Sereno’s briskly and briefly.

“Hello,” he said stiffly, and returned his gaze to the tiles.

“You remember my partner, Peter Gint?”

Henderson looked round. Beyond Sereno was the pebble beach of Gint’s face. Why were they peeing together? Like girls at a discotheque?

“Hi there,” Gint said softly, reaching round Sereno’s back. After a horrified pause, Henderson leant over and shook his hand. I don’t believe I’m doing this, Henderson thought. Why don’t we hold each other’s tinkles?

“Good to see you again,” Gint said.

“Mng.”

“Some hotel,” Sereno opined. “Eighth wonder of the world.”

They all finished simultaneously. Henderson washed his hands with untypical thoroughness, lots of soap and hot water. Sereno combed his hair and moustache.

“Please join us,” he said as they walked out. He indicated one of the nearer cocktail islands. Henderson saw Freeborn, Shanda and — to his surprise — Cora.

“Really, thank you, but I’m meeting—”

“HEY, HENDURSIN!” Shanda waved and called. He saw Cora’s shades snap round.

“Come on,” said Sereno. He seemed annoyingly confident. Shouldn’t they, as rivals for the Gage collection, be warily circling each other?

They made their way to the island, Henderson being extra careful with the stepping stones.

“Why, hello there,” Cora said. “Is your ‘colleague’ here yet?”

“Expecting her any moment.”

“Sit here,” Shanda ordered. She was clearly drunk. In front of her was an enormous beaker full of blue liquid and chunks of fruit. She dragged him down.

Sereno spoke. “Would you and your colleague — what did you say her name was?”

“Dr Dubrovnik. Dr Irene Dubrovnik.”

“She’s Czechoslovakian,” Cora said.

“—like to have dinner with us?”

“I’m afraid duty calls. But thanks all the same.”

“Did you say ‘Czechoslovakian’?” Shanda asked.

“How’s her English?” Cora asked.

“Excellent.” Henderson desperately scanned the open surface of the lake. He saw Irene being paddled across by a cowboy. She was looking about her with an expression of aghast incredulity. Henderson rose to his feet.

“Well, good to see you,” he said. “Enjoy your dinner.”

“Do bring your colleague over, we’d love to meet her,” Cora said disingenuously.

“Oh. Right.” He picked his way back across the stepping stones and strode round to the place the canoes berthed. Irene was being helped ashore.

“My God, Henderson,” she said in a loud voice. “This hotel. I can’t believe it.” She leant forward to kiss him.

“No kissing! ” Henderson said, trying not to move his lips. “Don’t kiss me!” He shook her formally by the hand.

“What?”

“We’re being watched.”

“Who by?”

“The Gage family.” He took her elbow in one hand and her small case in the other and began to walk her round towards the cocktail island.

“But so what? For Christ’s sake.”

“Listen. You’re called Dr Dubrovnik, you’re an art historian from Czechoslovakia.”

Irene stopped. “Henderson, I’m warning you.” Her voice was stern. “I’m not playing any of your stupid games.”

“Please, it’s vital. Just for a minute or two. I’ll explain later.” He felt a light sweat moist on his face. They made their way across the stepping stones. He glanced at Irene. Her eyes were narrow.

“Dr Irene Dubrovnik,” Henderson announced, and introduced her to the other members of the family.

“A pleasure to meet you at last,” Sereno said. “I’m familiar with your work.”

“How. Do. You. Do?” Cora said slowly, as if talking to a peasant or simpleton. “Welcome. To. Our. Country.”

“D’you miss Czecho, Chechlso, Miss Dubronik. Nik?” Shanda burped.

“May we offer you a drink?” Sereno asked, all oleaginous charm, signalling an Indian maiden.

“Yeah. I’ll have a large scotch, straight up with a twist,” Irene said, looking at Henderson.

They sat themselves down. More drinks were ordered. Some sort of tremor had established itself in Henderson’s left thigh and, mysteriously, his indigestion had returned. He felt a fire in his throat. To his alarm and dismay he found himself sitting between Sereno and Freeborn. Cora lit a cigarette and exhaled. Irene vigorously fanned the air.

The drinks arrived. Henderson buried his head in the cool clump of celery frothing from the top of a new bloody mary. Please God, he prayed into the leaves, let her play the game.

“Dr Dubrovnik,” Cora said. “Excuse me, Dr Dubrov-nik?”

Irene refused to acknowledge the pseudonym.

“Isn’t this hotel quite astonishing?” Henderson piped up. “I had quite a problem with my canoe, I must say.”

“What’d he say?” Shanda asked Gint.

“His canoe,” Gint said.

“Mr Dores,” Sereno breathed in his ear. His large moustache and glossy purple lips were close to his face. “We may be rivals, but I’m glad that we can behave in a civilized way.”

Henderson stood up. “No rest for the wicked,” he said cheerfully. “We must leave you good people to your dinner.”

“Wha’she say?”

“Thanks for the drink.” Irene drained hers in a gulp.

“Goodbye, Dr Dubrovnik,” Cora said.

Irene ignored her.

“Dr Dubrovnik?”

“Goodbye,” Henderson said, hauling Irene away by the arm.

They walked off. Henderson waved farewell. Just made it, he thought, as nausea joined forces once more with indigestion.

“Don’t ever land me in that kind of shit again,” Irene said coldly. “I don’t want to play in your fantasies.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “It was necessary. Things aren’t going so well…” He sensed this wasn’t the moment to tell her of the cancelled trip. “That chap Sereno’s trying to buy the paintings too.”

“Who’s that weird girl in the shades?”

“Gage’s daughter, Cora.”

“God, spooky.”

They were in the scenic elevator. Irene looked out at the vista and laughed. “Jesus Christ, Henderson, only you would choose a place like this.” She leant against him. He took in her appearance for the first time. She wore a dark green jersey dress with buttons down the front and flat-soled beige shoes. He ran his hand down the warm furrow of her spine. No bra.