Читать книгу Narcissus - Paul Sandmann - Страница 10

Next morning he awoke with a thick head. The light of the breaking day was already flooding into his bedroom, casting shadows on the white sheets of his bed. Outside the window London was just waking up to a crisp Saturday morning. There was scarcely a cloud in the sky.

Beside him, under the white of his duvet, the shape of a woman was clearly discernible. Locks of auburn hair peeped out from beneath the covers. Then he saw an arm, at the end of which a hand gently moved, as its owner awoke. For Tristan, the aroma that wafted up from the sheets was testimony to a champagne-drenched night of pleasure. He got up without waiting until she was fully awake. The hand grabbed his ankle, but he gently prised the fingers apart and descended the stairs of his penthouse. Then he took a clean towel from the shelf, hung it next to the door of the cubicle, and began to shower. Below the window of his bathroom flowed the Thames. As he shampooed his hair he watched the ships travelling along the river and the seagulls following them. Then the sliding door behind him opened, and Sam stepped in. She brushed one of her heavy red locks out of her face and gave him a cheeky look: “Not so fast, my friend,” she said and took his hand in hers. Then she gave him some of his body wash and intimated that she would like him to use it on her.

The ship that he had just been watching was already out of sight when they emerged from the bathroom. She bent over a little to dry herself. He, though, picked up a dressing gown and went out on to the balcony, oblivious of the pools of water he left behind on the marble floor. Outside, in the fresh spring air, he grabbed the hood and used it to dry his face and ears.

Tristan could feel the icy breeze off the river blowing into his sleeves and around his ears. He shivered. Yet, strangely enough, he enjoyed the cold, which enveloped him and cooled his body, still warm from the shower. How he would have loved to swim out into the swirling currents of the Thames. Just him and the water, face to face. He could practically feel the waves embracing him and himself becoming one with them. Once again he took a deep breath, then he turned back to the door of the terrace. Sam was standing there, with his mobile phone in her hand.

“It’s ringing,” she said with an ironic expression on her face.

“Thanks,” he said, distractedly, kissed her casually on the cheek and took the mobile from her hand. He walked past her and then turned round to her.

“It’ll be Marcus, we’re meeting for brunch. Would you like to come with me?”

“Where are you going?”

He named a restaurant specializing in typical German fare. Everyone in the city knew that this place served very fatty food and was therefore the ideal choice for the morning after a night of binge drinking. He already knew what her answer would be, but he still looked expectantly in her direction.

“Sorry, I can’t come with you. I’ve already got a lunch date.”

He was quite sure she had no such thing. Women like her were reluctant to eat out like that – their little secret could be in danger of being discovered. All the same, he gave a sigh, as though disappointed, patted her on the bottom and said:

“That’s a pity. Wait a minute, I’ll just get changed, then we can take a taxi to the city centre together.”

She raised her head like a child and he gave her a kiss on the forehead. Then Tristan went to his wardrobe and selected a turquoise shirt, a beige sweater, jeans and leather shoes. After dressing, he dried his hair. As he did this he saw Sam standing behind him in the mirror. Her wide brown eyes were following every one of his movements with curiosity. Before he started shaving, he reached for the phone, picked out Marcus’s number and called him.

“I thought you’d be otherwise engaged. Are you still okay to meet up?”

Tristan glanced at Sam and replied: “Of course. Where are you now?”

“I was just having breakfast with my wife and the kids. But don’t worry, I’ve hardly eaten a thing.”

“Can you manage to be there for one?”

“Yes, no problem. See you soon then.”

“See you soon,” said Tristan and ended the conversation. He picked up the shaving foam dispenser and sprayed the foam over his face and neck. As he applied the razor to his skin, to remove his two day beard, he recalled what Marcus had said. Could he really have been home to see his wife and children so early? What time management!

Tristan had never been able to work out how the marriage between Marcus and his wife could have ended up in such a crisis. They had known each other since they were at school and had started going out in year 10. He was captain of the First Fifteen and she was a girl from a well-to-do family; she was the object of the affections of many of her fellow-students but she only had eyes for him. She was so pretty. When Tristan was recruited by the bank and he and Marcus had become friends, they were still together. Amy had just given birth to her second child, a lively little boy. They were both overjoyed and proud to introduce their little family to Tristan when they invited him to dinner one day. On that occasion Tristan had taken with him a girl he’d met the day before in a cafe. His companion had been enchanted with the happily married couple, their little house and the chubby-cheeked offspring.

“You can tell they’ve known each other for decades. They’re like a single unit, like two trees that have grown into each other over the years.”

Both of them did indeed radiate such a degree of mutual trust and serenity that Tristan had felt particularly happy for his friend at that time. He had enjoyed the Sunday evenings they spent together, but couldn’t help noticing that Amy was not particularly enamoured of the continually changing names of his female companions. He felt sorry about this and was disappointed when on one occasion Marcus told him that he and Amy would unfortunately not have time to have dinner with them the following Sunday. Tristan had shrugged his shoulders and pulled a face, at which Marcus had apologized and revealed the real reason.

This was why in the following four months Marcus and Tristan had not been able to see each other so often. Of course, they worked together in the same office and still went out for lunch together. But Amy succeeded in keeping her husband well away from Tristan in the evenings and at weekends. In the office Marcus talked about more frequent trips to the country with the children, and also the fact that Amy had made contact with old schoolfriends who had also started a family and who they regularly visited. At first Marcus gave the impression of being happy with this, and Tristan was quite willing to concede that his friend had every right to this way of life, although he himself had no desire to change anything about his own easy come, easy go approach to life. He continued to see many different women, none of whom, however, had the slightest chance of forming a more serious relationship with him. He enjoyed London’s glittering nightlife to the full and had meanwhile acquired new fun-loving friends to take the place of Marcus as they partied in the clubs and bars of the city. They were also bank colleagues, but they were by nature coarse and totally incapable of the sort of friendship that would even come close to the relationship of trust that had so quickly formed between Tristan and Marcus.

They would fit the bill as drinking companions, however, and served as a springboard for his encounters with the fair sex. About six months passed, during which time the two colleagues kept company with Marcus and Tristan over lunch, slapped Tristan on the back and chatted with him about what they’d been up to the previous night. Of course, they also asked Marcus about his weekend, but they soon changed the subject when they got tired of his stories about the joys of family life. It was beginning to become clear that the worlds of the two men were out of sync and drifting apart from each other. At first this was scarcely perceptible, but after a time it became impossible to ignore, so much so that now and again they seemed to detect a glimmer of sadness in the other’s eyes when they met each other’s gaze. Marcus in particular was no longer the man he was when Tristan first met him. He had lost the ability to perform the balancing act that had enabled him to fulfil his family commitments at such a young age and still remain stable and contented through all the ups and downs of his professional life in the City. He was now more quiet when they ate out together, and at his workplace too he seemed less at ease with himself and the world. On one occasion, Tristan recalled, after a telephone conversation, he had banged on the table, glared at Tristan, quivering with rage, and stormed out of the room. This was decidedly unusual and was not in the least like the Marcus of old. A few weeks later Tristan happened to hear Marcus saying goodbye to his wife on the telephone. Tristan had pricked up his ears as his friend’s voice sounded strangely tetchy and as dark as the hammering of a piece of rusty metal. Three months later Marcus finally asked Tristan if just the two of them could go for a meal. Tristan agreed – he wanted to hear what was so oppressing his friend and had given him those dark rings under his eyes.

“It’s over,” said Marcus after a period of silence. “Amy and I are taking some time out, but I don’t think we shall ever get back together again.”

Tristan was shocked and profoundly shaken by this unhappy turn that his friend’s life had taken.

“She’s changed so much, Tristan. At one time our love was marked by freedom and mutual trust, but now I can’t do a thing without Amy trying to control me. It’s finished."

Tristan had said that he was sorry. That he couldn’t believe that this was really the end, but could see that they both needed some distance.

“Yes, we do. Let’s go out together this evening, Tristan, just the two of us. That’s what I need most right now. I love you, man!"

With these words he had thrown his arms around Tristan.

Tristan looked at himself in the mirror. The memories echoed in his head. He had finished shaving. He applied a little eau de toilette and looked round at Sam. She stood there with her arms crossed, gazing at him with a dreamy look on her face.

“Let’s make tracks,” he said, threw his jacket over his shoulders and grabbed the keys.

“Tristan!” Marcus stood up and took a few steps towards him.

Tristan went up to him and greeted him with a warm handshake.

“What happened to the pretty redhead,” Marcus asked him with a brief smile.

“I dropped her off at home; she wasn’t hungry.”

They sat down. Marcus beamed.

“You know, Cirrus wasn’t too happy you pinched that girl off him. She was the one that caught his eye, and she was the reason why we invited the three young ladies to join us in the first place.”

“I’m sorry about that. Is he furious?” Tristan laid his jacket over the chair.

“I don’t know, but he can’t really be furious; he’s too crazy about the idea of drawing you.”

“Come on,” Tristan made a dismissive gesture and sat down, “don’t start that again.”

“Aren’t you going to tell me something about her?” asked Marcus, “What’s she like? For a moment I thought you’d make a fine couple.”

“Oh, Marcus,” sighed Tristan, brushing his hand across his right eye, “there’s nothing to tell. What do you expect me to say? She’s pretty, that’s all. I could hardly manage three minutes conversation with her without getting bored.”

“So you had to kiss her.” Marcus laughed. “You had to kiss her so that she’d stop boring you. That’s what I so love about you!”

Marcus raised his arms and stretched, with an expression of visible amusement in his eyes. Then he yawned and continued in his dark gravelly voice: “Tristan, the woman who can win your heart has yet to be born!”

Involuntarily, Tristan yawned as well, then picked up the menu and said: “Anyway, I think I’ll have a large salad and a Jägerschnitzel. How about you?”

They ordered, and Marcus began to talk about his meeting with his wife. He had not taken the girl from the night before home with him – the only one of them not to. He had risen early and driven out in his four-by-four to see his family, who lived in the suburbs. He and Amy continued to let the children think that Daddy had only moved out temporarily. But it was becoming more and more obvious that this was just an illusion that was likely to be shattered at any moment. Amy had bitterly reproached her husband in the kitchen, when she found out that he’d gone out the night before. She herself had not got involved in London’s nightlife again after the separation, preferring to devote herself to her children. She reproached herself for letting her children suffer the same fate as the majority of their schoolmates, and consequently appeared even more self-sacrificing. And yet she could not, on her own, offer her children the home life that an intact family could provide. The more she understood this and read the unspoken question about their father in the wide eyes of her children, the more embittered she became. The idea that Marcus was going out again as if nothing had happened was driving her mad. At the breakfast table it was only with difficulty that she was able to conceal her anger from her children. At this point Tristan noticed the shadows of anxiety in Marcus’s face, and instantly changed the subject.

“The woman I met before I came back to your table – did you see her?”

“Yes,” Marcus seemed grateful to Tristan for banishing the demons from his life, “she was charming.”

“She was, wasn’t she?” Tristan raised his hands to add weight to his words. “I was under her spell from the first moment I saw her. It was as if sirens were calling me to her. There was no escape from their voices. Then I spoke with her, and everything she said was so absolutely right. Every word seemed to fit and...” Tristan motioned Marcus to lean towards him, “I felt as if she could read every one of my thoughts.”

“Tristan!” Marcus clapped his hands, “Now you’re singing a different tune! What made you come back at all?”

“Her companion suddenly turned up. But I shall see her again. I left her my card, and she gave it back to me with her number on it just before she left the bar.”

“Well, if that isn’t the beginning of a fairytale love affair...” murmured Marcus ironically and moved back slightly to enable the waiter to serve him his knuckle of pork and mashed potatoes.

“Just you wait. Some day I’ll find the right woman. You’ll all be amazed.”

Silently, Marcus cut into his knuckle of pork and enjoyed the aroma of the hot meat that wafted up.

“What’s happening on Monday, isn’t someone coming to see us?” he asked after a short pause.

Tristan thought for a moment as he chewed, then he remembered: “Oh yes, we’re having a visit from some pension fund managers. They want to discuss a few investments with us and have some fun in the evening.”

Marcus raised his eyebrows, then with the hand that was holding the knife he began to draw little circles in the air, asking: “No, really?” He laughed out loud. “Oh, how I love this; it’s the same old routine every time! They come in their pristine white shirts, trembling with anticipation of their one big day. We run round after them because we know they’ve got millions of pensioners in their pockets – and they’re proud of it. Naturally, it’s all charged up to our bank: business lunch, nightclub and prostitutes. If the dear old pensioners only knew that we include the cost of these nights of sin in our fee.” He paused for effect, then grimaced and shouted: “Give it all you’ve got, baby, grandad’s footing the bill!”

“Hmm, you’re right.” Tristan concurred pensively, “How we like to fool ourselves when someone else is paying!”

“Oh please. These gentlemen know how the land lies, believe me. But they repress the knowledge so they can keep a clear conscience. And we make it easy for them; after all, the individual items of the evening’s expenses never appear in the invoice issued by the bank. All you find there is the consultancy fee. – Who’s escorting the gentlemen this time?” asked Marcus.

“George and me,” replied Tristan.

“It’s good that George is going with you,” said Marcus as he chewed. “No one could be better suited. You’ll never succeed in business if you take ethics too seriously. I went with them once and it had a disastrous effect on our business. We’ve never been given such a small order. One man’s pangs of conscience blight the general mood straight away. It’s as though there’s a pact in which everyone lets themselves go completely, with no limits. Anyone with limits is a spoilsport and ruins everything.”

“What did you do?”

“I couldn’t bring myself to cheat on Amy, even though things were going quite badly for us at that time. I stayed with two girls at the bar, while the others went upstairs with their ladies. The two of them were terribly disappointed. I bought the two birds all the drinks they wanted and told them about my problems at home. They were really sympathetic and one of them gave me advice that was better than I’d had from my psychotherapist. So if you should have any problems, don’t go and see a psychotherapist – go to a whore. Only to talk, of course, otherwise you might as well put a bullet in your head straight away. Never sleep with your psychotherapist."

Marcus paused to load some sauerkraut on to his fork with his knife. Between mouthfuls, he went on: “When the others came back I was so drunk that the boss gave me a dressing-down the next morning.” Marcus gave him a rather acidic smile. “He informed me that my behaviour had been unacceptable!”

They burst out laughing and motioned the waiter to bring them another two beers. The restaurant was now filling up, as more and more Londoners came in for lunch.

“And how about you? You often go with them, don’t you? The first time was soon after we’d both started at the bank.”

“Yes, the boss asked me to accompany an older colleague, so as to add the youthful touch that you need for everyone in the group to feel young.”

Tristan picked up the glass of beer that the waiter had set down in front of him, and took a deep gulp. Marcus examined him attentively, until Tristan finally continued: “I was aware, of course, that as a young analyst I couldn’t afford to break faith with the older generation. So I first put a ludo game in my pocket and produced it when I was with the prostitute in her room. I promised her that my firm would pay her for an hour and a half of her time with all the extras, but said that instead of actually indulging in the activity we should have a game of ludo. She laughed like a little girl and ordered room service to bring the champagne and fruit that we were going to play for. Then as we played she told me about herself. She was a social science student and was doing this work to finance her studies. When we’d finished, we went downstairs. The old man studied my bill with a great show of astonishment, and the others slapped me heartily on the back. It really is a pathetic spectacle, you’re quite right, but it’s part of our job, there’s no getting away from it, and so I regularly go with them,” concluded Tristan and reached for his beer again, while Marcus quietly chuckled to himself. As he did so his face, starting from the corners of his eyes, displayed a multiplicity of tiny wrinkles, some of which went up to his light-brown eyebrows, while others ran in a small curve across the top of his cheekbones. The sight of this radiant smile from the moon-shaped open mouth was infectious, and Tristan, too, soon had a smile all over his face.

“Ludo? Good grief, Tristan, I’ll never understand you!” And at last he burst into laughter; Tristan joined in and they could be heard all over the restaurant and even in the kitchen, where the two stout German cooks started to wonder what on earth was causing all the noise.