The Last Word

Thirteen

It was the middle of the afternoon when Harry crossed the yard to Mamoon’s room to fetch the sequestered old man, who was still bent over his stick. After the incident on the tennis court, Mamoon’s doctor had diagnosed a herniated disc rather than a pulled muscle, and advised Mamoon to have an operation, not that he could guarantee that it would work at the old man’s age. While Mamoon discussed his dilemma at length, he gobbled handfuls of painkillers and, according to Liana, had become more ornery and truculent than usual over what he saw as a future of helplessness and decrepitude.

‘Another morning of nothing,’ he said as Harry brought him into the kitchen and led him to his chair. Julia bustled over with his favourite sparkling water without ice.

Alice went to him, sat down, took his hand, and looked into his eyes. ‘Thank you for having me here,’ she said. ‘What a lovely place.’

‘My dear, we’ve been waiting for you,’ he said. ‘Tell me, how is the world of fashion?’

‘It’s in not bad shape, thank you.’

‘Could you explain what the point of it is?’

‘Sorry?’ She shook her head in disbelief. ‘It’s business. We buy and sell and stop people getting cold. What is not the point of it?’

‘Don’t think news of you hasn’t reached me already,’ said Mamoon, looking her over. ‘Liana here told me you compared me to a tailor.’

‘Which tailor?’

A vein, which ran from Mamoon’s hairline to his brow, was throbbing. ‘A tailor or cobbler, or some such handyman. Am I mistaken, Liana?’

Alice glanced at Liana, who was watching them, holding her breath. As Liana had no idea what to say, Alice said, ‘Have you ever seen an Alexander McQueen jacket?’

‘Of course not. What are you talking about? Has this queen read my work? Can he read without moving his lips?’

Alice said, ‘Perhaps I did mention, to help me locate you, that you are a maestro like the maestro Valentino, beloved of many, including Liana.’

‘You located me, did you? You did compare us.’

‘It is an honour, perhaps.’

‘In what possible way could that be an honour?’

‘Well, it is, to me.’

Mamoon was beginning to look irritable. He said, ‘We are talking about appearance only with these people.’

‘I’m not sure.’

‘Sorry?’

Alice said, ‘It’s more than that. We are discussing how something should be made. How it looks. How it is. An attitude.’

‘An attitude. How do you mean?’

She said, ‘A kiss. .’

‘Speak up. I’m almost deaf.’

‘A kiss, a curse, a cup, a shoe, a hem, a cardigan, a watch, a joke, an act of politeness — and of course a sentence, a paragraph, a page. . Don’t all have to have style, grace, flair — and wit?’

‘Of course.’

‘Art isn’t only in a book?’

Harry whispered, ‘Flaubert wrote, “Style is life.”’

Mamoon said, ‘A more universal beauty might be something to strive for.’

‘Good,’ Alice said, sighing. ‘Yes.’

‘Good. Thank God, good,’ said Liana. She held up the wine. ‘This is the Guigal 2009. Or would you prefer the Chablis?’

‘Quiet please, Liana.’

‘Sorry, Mamoon?’

‘Unlike you, maestro, I read magazines,’ went on Alice. ‘And didn’t you say to a journalist that an artist has to sprinkle a little magic dust on what he does? Doesn’t that apply to every object? Look at this simple platinum ring.’ She offered him her hand, which he held and stared at. ‘Can you see what I mean? The ring has it.’

He said, ‘Yes, all right, it is a form of sensuality. Some people call it Eros, who was hatched from an egg, setting the whole universe in motion. The luminous radiation of love.’

‘You see.’

He looked up at her. ‘You almost cheer me up, my dear.’

‘Only almost?’

Mamoon said, ‘You remind me that language — indeed all real things — have to vibrate with sensuality. I see that. But if I seem slightly gloomy, it’s because I’ve been having this damned recurring nightmare. It’s a dull, common one, nevertheless it is persistent, and I want it away for good.’

‘Are you naked in the dream, sir?’ enquired Julia suddenly. She had been listening while serving.

‘The maestro is never naked,’ said Liana. ‘Now, Mamoon, please—’

Mamoon said, ‘Are you naked in your dreams, Julia?’

‘Never a stitch on, running wildly through the fields singing, with everyone looking at me.’

‘You silly thing.’ Mamoon wiped his brow and said, ‘Harry, if you’re imposing yourself on us for a bit longer, you could be of use. I believe you have set yourself up to be something of a dream reader.’

‘Have I?’

‘Liana informed me that you can see through a dream at the drop of a hat. You learned it from your revered father.’

Harry shook his head and said, ‘My father also warned me that you should no more tell others your dreams than you would give them your bank details.’

‘But you’re brilliant, Harry,’ said Liana. ‘Mamoon, won’t you tell us, please — can we hear where your soul has been travelling? Its wanderings have been paining us all for a long time.’