Love You Dead

103 Thursday 12 March

Norman was aware he had drunk too much and was feeling a little pissed. Warning flags were going up. But so was the confidence the alcohol was giving him. And he liked Jodie.

He was having to focus, really focus.

To remember his mission.

But this beautiful woman was making that hard. He was feeling all kinds of emotions right now, including guilt. Guilt that the woman he loved was dead and that he was here, being chatted up by a gorgeous woman who was turning him on. A deadly, dangerous woman. As well as guilt that he had drunk alcohol whilst on duty, albeit as part of his cover. Or so he assured himself.

Their meal was over and now Jodie was drinking a Zombie whilst he was on his second vintage Armagnac. Thirty quid a glass. What the hell, Sussex Police would pay. It was on their credit card — or rather Paul Cornel’s credit card. Hey, a few drinks either way weren’t going to make a hill of beans of difference.

‘You know, Paul,’ she said suddenly. ‘It’s weird, but I feel an extraordinary connection. Do you believe in soulmates?’

‘I lost my soulmate in a house fire,’ he replied after some moments.

‘I’m so sorry to hear that,’ she said.

He froze for an instant, realizing he had revealed something about himself.

‘When did that happen?’

‘Oh, a long time ago, before I was married.’

Her hypnotic eyes were fixed on him. ‘But you’re still suffering, aren’t you, you poor darling?’

He smiled. ‘You know something, you’re the first person I’ve met in years who...’ His voice tailed off.

‘Who what, you lovely man?’ She slipped her hand across the table and touched his.

He shrugged, entwining his fingers with hers. Her back was to the window. Behind her through the darkness and the misty rain he could see the street lights of King’s Road, the beams of the passing cars and the inky blackness of the English Channel beyond. He was enjoying himself, he really was. And only partly acting.

‘I suppose what I’m trying to say, Jodie, is just how good you make me feel. That just when I thought my life was over, you’ve come into it. I know it probably sounds — you know — crazy. We’ve only just met and all that, and hell — I’m old enough to be your father!’

She smiled. ‘I need a cigarette. Do you smoke?’

Yes, I smoke a pipe, he nearly said but just contained himself in time. An American computer tycoon wouldn’t smoke a pipe. Shit, he thought, that was close. Need to sharpen up my act. No more alcohol. ‘Cigars,’ he said. ‘I enjoy the occasional cigar, although my doctors advised me to give them up. I’ll come outside with you if you’d like a smoke.’

‘Would you like one?’

‘Sure, why not?’

A few minutes later they stood outside the front of the hotel, huddled together against the elements, his arm awkwardly round her waist as she lit their cigarettes. He wondered where out there the surveillance car was parked.

‘I really like you, Paul,’ she said.

‘I really like you, too, Jodie. But I can’t offer you any kind of a future. I’m terminally ill — I’ve inoperable prostate cancer that’s spread elsewhere.’

‘Come on, let’s talk about something more fun! What other famous people like you come from Brighton?’

She drew on her cigarette, then exhaled. As he breathed in the sweet smell he said, ‘Do you remember the actress Vivien Leigh, in Gone with the Wind?’

She nodded.

‘I remember when I was a child, she was once married to Laurence Olivier — and they lived a short distance from here, in Royal Crescent, in Kemptown.’

‘Vivien Leigh’s the person who once said something that’s been a kind of maxim to me all my life. “The best thing to do with the past and the future is to ignore them, otherwise there’s never an enjoyable present.”’ She gave him a knowing look.

He nodded. ‘Wise words.’

‘Aren’t they?’ She took another drag on her cigarette. Both of them were shivering in the cold. ‘You might be old enough to be my father, and I could be hit by a bus tomorrow. So?’

‘Hopefully not by one that’s got my name on the front!’

‘I thought you had to be dead to get your name on a Brighton bus?’ she said. Then she added, hastily, ‘Sorry — I didn’t mean it that way.’

He grinned. ‘Hey, you know, the Ancients needed pyramids or grand tombs in the Valley of the Kings to achieve immortality. I guess it’s a lot simpler to be on a Brighton bus.’

She crushed out her cigarette in the ashtray on the wall and shivered again. ‘Shall we go inside?’ He did the same with his and nodded.

Seated back at their table, Norman raised his glass and clinked it against hers. ‘To both of us keeping away from buses.’

‘I love your sense of humour.’

‘Yours, too.’

‘So what are your plans now you’re back here?’

‘You know, for the first time in decades I’ve freed myself from the tyranny of plans. I’ve worked my butt off for fifty years, trying to make something of my life and distance myself from my roots. It’s cost me dear. I never spent the time I should have done having fun with my wife and family. A couple of months ago I woke up the morning after the doctors had given me the diagnosis that I had less than a year to live, and I thought to myself, you know, what the hell has your life been all about? Building up empires and trying to acquire more — for what? To become the richest man in the graveyard?’

‘And have your name on the front of a bus?’

He grinned. ‘Well, I guess that would mean more to me than most achievements. A humble Whitehawk Estate lad. Immortalized on a bus. Seriously.’ He drained his Armagnac and, though aware he had had more than enough already, he summoned the waiter for another one and a refill, despite her protests, of Jodie’s glass. Then he continued. ‘Guess I had my epiphany that morning. I thought, you know what? When you are about to die you start to wonder what mark you’ve made on the world. How are folk going to remember you?’

She smiled.

‘I knew what I had to do, which was come home to my roots and find the best causes to leave my money to. Everywhere in the world there are people and organizations and causes in desperate need of money. No one person — not even a Bill Gates — can help the whole world. You have your mantra, that lovely Vivien Leigh quote, and I have mine.’

‘Which is?’

‘No man made a greater mistake than the man who did nothing because he could only do a little.’

‘That’s beautiful. Reminds me of something I read a while back. “If you ever thought you were too small to make a difference, you’ve never shared a bed with a mosquito.”’

‘I love that! Maybe I should have it as my epitaph?’

‘Stop talking about death, Paul!’

‘Sure, sorry.’

He waited as their fresh drinks arrived, sipped his new Armagnac, then put the glass down. A warning voice inside his head was shouting, Enough! ‘You know what I would love to do?’

She shook her head and sipped her fresh Zombie.

‘You and I come from a very different Brighton. When I was a kid in the 1950s — brought up by my mum, a war widow — this was a seedy, tatty place. It was full of nasty people, violent gangs. It was a dangerous place. Now it’s become the coolest city in the UK outside of London — one of the coolest cities on the planet. I’d love to take you on a tour of the Brighton I grew up in. Do you have any free time before I fly back to California?’

‘Well,’ she said thoughtfully, ‘I need to defrost my fridge. And I have some paint I need to watch drying. But I’m sure I could find a few minutes.’

He gave her a sideways look, and chuckled. ‘Well, I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you.’

‘You wouldn’t be an inconvenience. You’d be a very lovely distraction.’

He smiled. ‘I’ve a busy morning tomorrow with my accountants and lawyers, but I’ve a clear afternoon.’

‘Great,’ she said. ‘How about I pick you up here? I’m a very good driver and I have a nice car. I would be more than happy to be your chauffeur!’

He shook his head. ‘I’ve arranged a chauffeured limousine through the hotel. I could pick you up from your home around lunchtime — we could get a bite to eat then do the tour. How does that sound?’

‘Well...’ She hesitated for an instant. ‘Yes, that would be great, but I’m not actually sure where I’ll end up tomorrow morning. How about I meet you here — what time would work?’

‘Half twelve?’

‘That sounds like a plan, if you’re really sure it’s no inconvenience?’

‘I’d be grateful for the company.’

‘I do have one condition for coming on this tour with you,’ she said.

‘And that is?’

‘That you allow me to cook you dinner at my house tomorrow evening. That is if you don’t have other plans?’

‘Well, you know, it’s a strange thing, but I don’t have a goddam thing in my diary for tomorrow night.’

‘So now you do!’