The Kings of Eternity (32 page)

She rushed over to me and curled in my lap, her face against my chest, her tears soaking the material of my shirt.

I held my hands in the air, staring at the open palms, then lowered them and placed them on her back and tried to comfort her.

It had been a long time since I had last held a woman in my arms, and I was terrified.

Every day Sam would leave her room at eight, spend all day sketching the city streets, and meet me at Jerry’s for a late lunch; then she would leave, and return to the apartment, and when I got back at five she would be sprawled unconscious on her bed.

I’d prepare an evening meal and around nine we’d dine together like father and daughter, and we’d talk.

This continued for almost a month.

I talked to people. I read books and wrote letters to experts in the field of addiction. I learned that heroin was hard to give up, and that trying to do so could kill the addict. I also learned that there were clinics in Europe which specialised in the treatment of the addiction.

When I felt sure of what I should say, and what I should do, and that I would not frighten her away, I mentioned the subject of a cure.

It was a warm autumn night and we were sitting on the balcony overlooking the architectural melee of the medina and the broad blue sweep of the Strait of Gibraltar beyond. Sam was dazed from her last injection, a little drunk with wine.

“There’s a clinic just outside Rome,” I told her. “They specialise in treating heroin addicts. As it happens I’m flying to Rome in a few days, on business, and while I’m there I’ll book you a room. If, that is, that’s okay with you?”

She cast her glance down, at her lap. “How much will it cost?”

“That doesn’t matter. It’s not important.”

She was silent for a long time. “Why are you doing this, Daniel? I don’t deserve this. I’ve done nothing, I’m not special-”

“It’s a simple arrangement,” I said. “You’re addicted to a substance that might kill you. You want off it. There is a way you can kick it. It costs, and I have the money to pay, and I’ll gladly do so if it will save your life. I don’t see the problem with any of that, do you?”

“But what I want to know, Daniel, is
why?
Why are you doing this for me?”

“Do you want me to tell you that I love you, Sam?”

She looked away. “I don’t know.”

“For a long time,” I said, “longer than you think, I’ve been looking for something. Someone. Someone who deserves what I can give them. And I’ve come to realise that it doesn’t really matter if I’m not loved in return. Respect and affection and tenderness is enough.”

I wanted to tell her that to expect love, to demand it, is the ultimate in selfishness; I had lived long enough to know that we cannot expect what people cannot give, and that we should be grateful for what they can. I said nothing like that, of course; I could not find the words, nor assume that she would understand.

I fell silent. She was watching me, smiling, and I smiled in return. “You’re a special person, Daniel. I don’t really know who or what you are. I’ve never met anyone quite like you. Thank you.”

“So I’ll go ahead and book a place in the clinic?”

Lips pursed, she nodded, and came into my arms.

That night, as we lay in bed together, I held her close while she slept.

On the evening before I flew to Rome to meet Vaughan, I watched Sam as she slept next to me on the bed. It was hot. The fan turned, lifting stray strands of blonde hair from her forehead.

Quietly I unlocked the drawer of the bedside cabinet and withdrew the serum pistol.

I placed it against her carotid artery and held it there for what seemed like an age.

Should I, could I, bestow upon her life everlasting without first telling her? It would be one answer to her problem, and ensure that her addiction would not be fatal.

What we had would not last, I knew. She was young; I could not expect her to love me now, nor in the future. I wondered, then, the gun in my hand, if by granting her immortal life my gift was not so much an act of altruism but selfishness, a calculated means of tying her to me for ever more?

I returned the serum pistol to the drawer and locked it. There would be time later, once she was cured, to talk about the future.

Instead, I kissed the soft flesh of her neck where the pistol had rested, and in the morning said goodbye and took a taxi to the airport.

I cut short my stay with Vaughan; instead of a week, I remained just three days. I explained the situation, and Vaughan smiled to himself and said that he hoped I would find happiness. I visited the Vincenzi clinic just outside Rome and booked a course of treatment. It would last for six months and would cost almost ten thousand US dollars, a small price to pay for Sam’s life.

On the last day of my stay with Vaughan, I attended an exhibition of his oils in a prestigious Rome gallery. He was going by the name of Ralph Wellard, and had made quite a name for himself in European art circles. He even looked the part, sporting open-toed sandals, white slacks, and a casual shirt - only the absence of a beret prevented his being identified as a fully paid-up member of the bohemian set.

He was escorted by a beautiful raven-haired women called Gina, and I thought they made a perfect couple.

I asked him whether he would tell Gina about the serum. He paused, then said, “I honestly don’t know, Jonathon. And I’ve been thinking about it for months...”

I flew back to Tangier in high spirits. Sam and I were due in Rome in three days; I had rented a small villa next to the clinic so that I might visit her daily and monitor her progress. I thought ahead, extrapolated from the passion we had shared, and built castles of love in the air.

There was a letter pinned to the door of my apartment, and my stomach turned when I caught sight of it.

It could only be from Sam, and I wondered what excuse she might have found to leave me.

It was not from Sam. The single sheet of folded note paper was signed by the local Commissioner of police and requested my presence at the police headquarters as soon as I returned.

I opened the door and called Sam’s name. I moved from room to room, but there was no sign of her. No sign, either - and this worried me even more - of her shoulder bag or sketch pad.

I took a taxi across town to the police headquarters, and eventually was shown into the office of Abdul Touzoni, Commissioner of police. He was a tiny man, with a minuscule clipped moustache and scrupulously clean finger-nails.

His manner was impeccable, his etiquette in dealing with the unpleasant matter exemplary. He sat me down and asked me if I would care for a coffee. I did not. He said that he understood that Samantha Elizabeth Devereaux had been living with me at my apartment. I agreed that she was. He said, “And I also understand that she was an addict of heroin.”

It was then that I noticed the small black box on the table. He had attempted to conceal it behind a framed photograph of his wife and son, but nevertheless I saw it and knew, then, why I was here.

I heard what he said next, but the words seemed to come from very, very far away.

“I’m so very sorry, Mr Sellings, but Miss Devereaux passed away due to an overdose of heroin on the 24th of June. She was found by your cleaner the following day.”

I tried to work out when the 24th had been. I was, I think, a little insane, then. I told myself that it was not too late. Sam had died three days ago... If I could take possession of her body, then the serum would be able to repair her. I had seen what it had done for Kathan. It was not too late. It could bring Sam back to life...

But I knew, of course, even as I was telling myself this, I knew.

The Commissioner, using both hands, removed the box from behind the photograph of his family and gently, respectfully, pushed Sam’s ashes across the table towards me.

Chapter Fourteen

Kallithéa, July, 1999

At noon, Daniel Langham left his villa and followed the path through the pines. Cicadas rasped. The heat of the sun was merciless. Through the pines he could see the ocean, scintillating like silver lamé made liquid.

To his joy, he saw that the shutters of Caroline’s villa were open, signifying her return. He quickened his pace, smiling at the irony of the situation: he who only a while ago had shunned the world, claimed to need no human contact and involvement, was hurrying to meet someone who in such a short time had become so unaccountably close to him.

There was an envelope blue-tacked to the front door, with a message scrawled across the front of it:
Daniel - come in.

He stepped inside, calling, “Caroline?”

“In here.”

He followed the sound of her voice. She was in the lounge, lying on a settee with a blanket drawn up to her chin. Langham stopped in the doorway, shocked at how terrible she looked. Her hair was dishevelled, her face thin and white.

“My God, Caroline.”

“Come and sit down. Talk to me.”

He hurried across to the settee and pulled up a chair. He took her hand. It seemed thin, insubstantial.

“Have you been eating?”

“A little?”

“When did you get back?”

“Late last night, on the last ferry. I would have called round, but it was almost midnight, and to be honest I felt rotten.”

He noticed, on the floor by the settee, three bottles of pills and a glass of water. “Migraine?” he asked.

She nodded. “I lied. I didn’t want to worry you. I said I was going to London on business, but I went to a clinic. They specialise in treating severe migraines. They gave me these...” She indicated the pills. “They said it might be a few days before I’m up and about.”

“When did you last eat?”

“I had some toast for breakfast.”

“My God, you need more in you than toast. Look, I’ll make some soup.”

“Daniel, please. Don’t bother.”

“It’s no bother. I’ll join you, if that’s okay? It’ll make a change from Georgiou’s.”

“They’ll wonder where you are.”

“Probably send someone up looking for me, thinking I’ve dropped dead.”

Caroline winced. “Daniel, don’t say that.”

He squeezed her hand. “I’ll fix that soup.”

“You’ll find everything in the kitchen.”

He set the lentil soup to boil, then fixed a pot of tea and carried it into the lounge.

Caroline was sitting up, smiling at him. She was wearing a black t-shirt which hung on her. She seemed to have shed weight since the last time they’d met.

She patted the cushion beside her. “Here. Tell me what’s been happening around here in my absence.”

He sat down and took her hand. “Well, Forbes has scarpered.”

“That’s good news.”

“I must admit it’s a relief,” he said. “I just hope he hasn’t just taken a break, lulling me into a false sense of security.”

He fetched the soup from the kitchen and they ate it on the settee. “Mmm, that’s good,” she said.

“How do you feel?”

“Up and down. I can be fine for a few hours, and then the pain starts again. It’s like someone banging on the inside of my head, and the nausea...” She flapped her hand in a
you-don’t-want-to-know
gesture.

They chatted about nothing in particular for an hour; the book she was reading, his novel, the news back home.

By the time they had finished the soup, he had come to a decision.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said. “You can’t stay here alone. You can hardly fend for yourself. If all you eat is toast in my absence...”

Her eyes seemed to sparkle. “Are you planning to move in?”

He shook his head. “I have a spare room at my place. I have a full larder, unlike your scant kitchen, and I can cook for you until you’re up and about again.”

“Daniel, really...”

“I insist. It’ll be a holiday. You can lie on the sofa all day, eat, and regain your strength.”

“But your writing!”

“I don’t think you’ll make that much noise,” he said. “And anyway I only work for three hours a day, and a bit of correction in the afternoon. I’m not taking no for an answer.”

She was shaking her head, less in refusal than with exasperated amusement. “Daniel, I don’t know what to say.”

“Say nothing. Just tell me where a bag is, and what you need.”

“That’s easy. My bag’s in the hall, and it’s packed already. They washed everything for me at the clinic.”

“So what are we waiting for? Let’s go. We can spend a quiet afternoon on the sofa. I might even read you the opening of the novel.”

“You would? I’d like that. What luxury.”

He was shocked at how frail she was as he walked her from the lounge and into the hall, where he collected her bag. She leaned on his arm all the way from the villa and up the track, taking small steps and having to pause for breath from time to time.

He installed her on the sofa and fetched a blanket - she complained of feeling cold, even though in the heat of the day he was sweating.

He poured her an orange juice, and a wine for himself, and joined her on the sofa.

“Do you know something, Daniel? I day-dreamed about this view while I was in London. It was grey and overcast and miserable. Just thinking about Kallithéa made me feel better.”

“I must admit that I’ve missed our chats. Every time I passed your villa on the way to Georgiou’s, I found myself wishing you were with me, challenging my brash assumptions, making me think.”

“You do think!”

“But being alone for so long, it leads to lazy thinking. I’ve never had anyone to challenge me. Then you come along, a breath of fresh air.”

She was looking away, out to sea. “You gave in, didn’t you, after Sam and the others? You just gave in and shut yourself off from the world?” She shook her head, still not looking at him. “But you’re a wise man. Didn’t you see that that would only lead to more pain?”

How to explain, without telling her everything? “When I came here,” he said, “I wasn’t wise. I was hurt. I wasn’t thinking, I was running. Like a wounded animal. At the time, I didn’t want company, everything it entailed. I wanted to shut myself away and lick my wounds and write.”

She smiled at him, then looked away quickly. “Perhaps you were right to do what you did. You wrote some great books. You survived, recovered.”