William Boyd - A Good Man in Africa

‘I know how he feels,’ Morgan said. Just then he saw Adekunle approaching, the guests parting obediently in front of him like the Red Sea before Moses. Morgan felt a tremble start up in his right leg.

‘Georg, my friend,’ Adekunle boomed. ‘Can I steal our bruised and battered Mr Leafy for a moment?’ Muller bowed his acquiescence and Morgan followed Adekunle’s flowing robes across the room and into the hush of his study.

Adekunle carefully placed his bulk on the edge of the desk. ‘Wdl?’ he said.

‘Sorry,’ Morgan found it hard to concentrate. ‘Congratulations on your victory.’

‘Thank you,’ Adekunle said graciously. ‘But I was thinking more about our own agreement. You said that you decided in the end not to put our proposition to Dr Murray.’

‘That’s right,’ Morgan lied, deciding to pacify Adekunle until he’d had a chance to speak to Fanshawe. ‘It was just all wrong. His mood…he just wouldn’t have been amenable. I could sense it instantly.’

Adekunle lit a cigarette. ‘You are sure of that? You said nothing to him? Because we have other plans now. To have to pay Murray would be most inconvenient.’

‘He still intends to give a negative report on the site,’ Morgan said, telling the truth for once. ‘I assume,’ he added.

‘Good.’

Morgan was perplexed. ‘Why good?’

Adekunle looked at him. ‘Let us just say that I have discovered a…a ‘cousin’ in the Senate office. It now becomes simply a matter of misplacing the minutes of the Buildings Works and Sites Committee meeting when Murray vetoes the site.’ He puffed smoke into the air, a smile of satisfaction on his face. ‘A simple, effective, and, as it turns out, a far cheaper method. I am only sorry I could not have arranged it earlier. Saved you some, what shall we say?…heartsearching, some worries perhaps.’ Adekunle tapped ash into a thick-bottomed glass ashtray. Morgan felt like burying it in his head. So Murray’s report would be intercepted. And now Adekunle was Foreign Minister he couldn’t see Murray pressing any effective charges either. A bit of dirt might be stirred up but knowing Kinjanjan politics it wouldn’t make any difference. He felt suddenly sorry for Murray and his lone struggle for ‘fairness’. He was just too small a man. The Adekunles of his world always came out on top.

‘Ah, what about me then?’ he asked in a feebler voice than he had meant.

‘Yes, what about you, Mr Leafy. I think we shall let you, as the saying goes, lie doggo for a while. You are still under a considerable ‘obligation’ to me as I’m sure you will acknowledge. I can foresee some time in the future when you might be able to repay that debt.’

Morgan knew then that his job was finally gone. There had been some faint hope that Adekunle might have let him off, in a post-victory amnesty now that everything had turned out so well for him. He was glad then that he’d decided to resign. He couldn’t linger on as Adekunle’s man in the Commission, not any more. He felt an odd sensation of relief mingle with his general despair. In a way he’d be glad to get the whole farce over and done with — extricate himself from the enfolding net of lies and complicity. You’d better get a move on, you fat bastard, he swore at Adekunle under his breath, because I won’t be around much longer.

The phone on Adekunle’s desk rang. He picked it up. ‘Yes,’ he said sharply. ‘What?…These damn fools!..OK, OK, send them in…This has to be finished tonight, you understand.’ He put the phone down.

‘These students,’ he said. ‘Setting fire to cars, destroying documents. It can’t be permitted.’

‘No, quite,’ Morgan agreed. ‘Disgraceful.’

♦

Morgan looked blearily out of the bathroom window on the first floor trying to see beyond the glare of the floodlights. He had just been sick in the toilet bowl — the result of the two gins, a buck’s fizz, a whisky and a drambuie he had drunk, one after another, on emerging from Adekunle’s study, snatching drinks from passing stewards as if he were challenging some inebriate’s world record. Celebrating the end of his life, he had told himself.

As usually happened after a drink-induced vomit he felt both better and worse. He borrowed a toothbrush and cleaned his teeth. The crowd outside had scarcely grown at all and was still quiet and docile. Hardly a sweeping popular victory, he thought, wondering when Adekunle would be giving his speech. He opened the window and strained his ears: he thought he could make out a distant chanting that seemed to be getting louder — the grass roots support arriving, he assumed.

He left the bathroom and shakily advanced towards the stairhead. He had to go and drink some more, try to blot out the dismal future that lay inevitably ahead of him. Priscilla, Adekunle, Fanshawe, Kingpin, Innocence and Murray: it had all been too much. He had tried, he had fought, but he couldn’t stand the pace any longer. The odds had always been too great: it was time to surrender.

‘Psst, Morgan.’

He looked round in surprise. Celia appeared for an instant in a doorway. She beckoned him into the room. Celia! She closed the door behind him and they kissed. He was glad he’d cleaned his teeth. They stood in a guest bedroom as far as he could make out. Celia had left the light off.

‘Where have you been?’ he asked a little slurringly. ‘I didn’t see you downstairs.’

‘That was what I was going to ask you. You told me to phone you, remember?’ she said in wounded accusation. ‘I kept getting this Yorkshireman who said he didn’t know where you were.’

‘I…I was out of town,’ Morgan said. He stroked her hair and kissed her cheeks. ‘I had something to clear up.’ He pulled her to him. ‘I’ve missed you, Celia,’ he began, but she pushed him away.

‘It’s Sam,’ she said despairingly. ‘I’ve decided. I’m leaving him. You’ve got to help me.’

‘Celia, Celia,’ he complained gently. ‘Don’t start that again. I know he’s a bastard but how can you leave him? What about the boys?’ She had raised this topic of conversation on a couple of occasions before, but he had always managed to stop it before it had gone any further.

‘No, I mean it!’ she said in a shrill whisper. ‘I’ve got a plan.’

He peered nervously at her, a little alarmed at her vehemence: she seemed to be on the verge of cracking up.

‘But I can’t help you, Celia,’ he said patiently. ‘Not any more. I’m not in a position to. I won’t be…’

‘What are you talking about?’ she said irritably. ‘You’re the only person who can. You’re the only one with the authority.’

He felt vaguely flattered at this reference to his masculine resourcefulness. He tried to put his arm round her again but she shrugged it off. ‘Celia, darling,’ he said. ‘You have all my support and my…affection.’ He had almost said love’, but not while she was in this mood. ‘And you’re a very special person to me.’ He gave a bitter chuckle. ‘You’re the best thing that ever happened to me in this bloody country. No,’ he held up his hand with drunken insistence as she tried to interrupt. ‘No. I mean it. I’ve felt closer to you than to anybody. Honestly,’ he said sincerely. ‘That’s what’s so hellish. That’s the only thing that upsets me about leaving, my darling. I don’t want to leave you.’

‘Leaving?’ she gasped. ‘What do you mean, ‘leaving’?’

He tried to smooth down his candy-floss forelock. ‘I’ve got myself into serious trouble,’ he said, still thinking it wise to keep Adekunle out of it. ‘My fault. My stupidity, but it’s very serious. I’d lose my job. So I’m resigning. Tomorrow. I’m going back home.’

Celia gave a stifled cry. ‘But you can’t.’