Edward Aubyn - The Patrick Melrose Novels - Never Mind, Bad News, Some Hope, and Mother's Milk

Patrick, noticing the expression of hostility on the security guard’s face, surfaced into the present, smiled weakly, and walked down the final steps. Across the hall, through the windows on either side of the open front door, he could see a flashing blue light.

‘Are the police here?’ Patrick asked.

‘No, it’s not the police,’ said the security guard sadly. ‘Ambulance.’

‘What happened?’

‘One of the guests had a heart attack.’

‘Do you know who it was?’ said Patrick.

‘Don’t know his name, no. White-haired gentleman.’ Cold air swept into the hall through the open door. Snow was falling outside. Noticing Tom Charles standing in the doorway, Patrick went over to his side.

‘It’s George,’ said Tom. ‘I think he had a stroke. He was very weak, but he could still talk, so I hope he’ll be all right.’

‘So do I,’ said Patrick, who had known George all his life and suddenly realized that he would miss him if he died. George had always been friendly to him, and he urgently wanted to thank him. ‘Do you know which hospital they’re taking him to?’

‘Cheltenham Hospital for tonight,’ answered Tom. ‘Sonny wants to move him to a clinic, but this ambulance is from the hospital, and I guess the priority is to keep him alive rather than to get him a more expensive room.’

‘Quite,’ said Patrick. ‘Well, I hope King won’t be unpacking for him tonight,’ he added.

‘Don’t forget he’s travelling light,’ said Tom. ‘Heaven is the ideal country weekend without any luggage.’

Patrick smiled. ‘Let’s go and see him tomorrow before lunch.’

‘Good idea,’ said Tom. ‘Where are you staying?’

‘The Little Soddington House Hotel,’ said Patrick. ‘Do you want me to write it down?’

‘No,’ said Tom, ‘with a name like that I may never shake it off.’

* * *

‘I think it was Talleyrand,’ suggested Jacques d’Alantour, pouting a little before his favourite quotation, ‘who said,’ he paused, ‘“Doing and saying nothing are great powers, but they should not be abused.”’

‘Well, nobody could accuse you of doing and saying nothing this evening,’ said Bridget.

‘Nevertheless,’ he continued, ‘I shall speak to the Princess about this matter, which I hope will not become known as “ l’affaire Alantour ”.’ He chuckled. ‘And I hope we can get the bull out of the china shop.’

‘Do what you like,’ said Bridget. ‘I’m past caring.’

Monsieur d’Alantour, too pleased with his new plan to notice his hostess’s indifference, bowed and turned on his heels.

* * *

‘When the Queen’s away, I become regent and head of the Privy Council,’ Princess Margaret was explaining with satisfaction to Kitty Harrow.

‘Ma’am,’ said Monsieur d’Alantour, who after considerable thought had worked out the perfect formula for his apology.

‘Oh, are you still here,’ said the Princess.

‘As you can see…’ said the ambassador.

‘Well, shouldn’t you be setting off now? You’ve got a very long journey ahead of you.’

‘But I’m staying in the house,’ he protested.

‘In that case we shall see quite enough of each other tomorrow without spending the whole evening chattering,’ said the Princess, turning her back on him.

‘Who’s that man over there?’ she asked Kitty.

‘Ali Montague, ma’am,’ said Kitty.

‘Oh, yes, I recognize the name. You can present him to me,’ said Princess Margaret, heading off in Ali’s direction.

The ambassador stood in consternation and silence while Kitty presented Ali Montague to Princess Margaret. He was wondering whether he was facing another diplomatic incident or merely the extension of the previous diplomatic incident.

‘Oh,’ said Ali Montague boldly, ‘I love the French. They’re treacherous, cunning, two-faced – I don’t have to make an effort there, I just fit in. And further down in Italy, they’re cowards as well, so I get on even better.’

The Princess looked at him mischievously. She was in a good mood again and had decided that Ali was being amusing.

* * *

Alexander Politsky later sought out Ali to congratulate him on ‘handling P.M. so well’.

‘Oh, I’ve had my fair share of royalty,’ said Ali suavely. ‘Mind you, I didn’t do nearly so well with that dreadful Amanda Pratt. You know how ghastly all those people become when they’re “on the programme” and go to all those meetings. Of course, they do save people’s lives.’

Alexander sniffed and looked languidly into the middle distance. ‘I’ve been to them myself,’ he admitted.

‘But you never had a drink problem,’ protested Ali.

‘I like heroin, cocaine, nice houses, good furniture, and pretty girls,’ said Alexander, ‘and I’ve had all of them in large quantities. But you know, they never made me happy.’

‘My word, you’re hard to please, aren’t you?’

‘Frankly, when I first went along I thought I’d stick out like a pair of jeans on a Gainsborough, but I’ve found more genuine love and kindness in those meetings than I’ve seen in all the fashionable drawing rooms of London.’

‘Well, that’s not saying much,’ said Ali. ‘You could say the same thing about Billingsgate fish market.’

‘There isn’t one of them,’ said Alexander, throwing his shoulders back and closing his eyelids, ‘from the tattooed butcher upward, whom I wouldn’t drive to Inverness at three in the morning to help.’

‘To Inverness? From where?’ asked Ali.

‘London.’

‘Good God,’ exclaimed Ali. ‘Perhaps I should try one of those meetings, next time I have a spare evening. But the point is, would you ask your tattooed butcher to dinner?’

‘Of course not,’ said Alexander. ‘But only because he wouldn’t enjoy it.’

* * *

‘Anne!’ said Patrick. ‘I didn’t expect to see you here.’

‘I know,’ said Anne Eisen, kissing him warmly. ‘It’s not my kind of scene. I get nervous in the English countryside with everybody talking about killing animals.’

‘I’m sure there isn’t any of that sort of thing in Sonny’s part of the world,’ said Patrick.

‘You mean, there isn’t anything alive for miles around,’ said Anne. ‘I’m here because Sonny’s father was a relatively civilized man – he noticed that there was a library in the house as well as a boot room and a cellar. He was a sort of friend of Victor’s, and used to ask us to stay for weekends sometimes. Sonny was just a kid in those days but even then he was a pompous creep. Jesus,’ sighed Anne, surveying the room, ‘what a grim bunch. Do you think they keep them in the deep freeze at Central Casting and thaw them out for big occasions?’

‘If only,’ said Patrick. ‘Unfortunately I think they own most of the country.’

‘They’ve only just got the edge on an ant colony,’ said Anne, ‘except that they don’t do anything useful. You remember those ants in Lacoste, they were always tidying up the terrace for you. Talking of doing something useful, what are you planning to do with your life?’

‘Hmm,’ said Patrick.

‘Jesus Christ!’ said Anne. ‘You’re guilty of the worst sin of all.’

‘What’s that?’

‘Wasting time,’ she replied.

‘I know,’ said Patrick. ‘It was a terrible shock to me when I realized I was getting too old to die young anymore.’

Exasperated, Anne changed the subject. ‘Are you going to Lacoste this year?’ she asked.

‘I don’t know. The more time passes the more I dislike that place.’

‘I’ve always meant to apologize to you,’ said Anne, ‘but you used to be too stoned to appreciate it. I’ve felt guilty for years for not doing anything when you were waiting on the stairs one evening during one of your parents’ godawful dinner parties, and I said I’d get your mother for you, but I couldn’t, and I should have gone back, or stood up to David, or something. I always felt I’d failed you.’