Amazing Disgrace by James Hamilton-Paterson

Author:James Hamilton-Paterson [James Hamilton-Paterson]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: amazing_disgrace
Publisher: Faber & Faber
Published: 2012-10-14T04:00:00+00:00

15

Before he leaves I make Adrian promise not to tell Max and Jennifer the truth about my gaffe while I was their guest at Crendlesham Hall. This ought to bring the incident to a reasonable, if not actually happy, conclusion. Being British, it naturally never occurs to me to use the expression ‘closure’: a piece of jargon appropriate to cod psychology and bereavement counselling. To me ‘closure’ suggests unbolted stable doors and bolted horses, with maybe a stable-boy breaking down in tearful remorse. In short, the Hollywood approach to regrettable incidents. The whole point is that these things never do end completely but go on echoing, often down an entire lifetime. I am proud to know I can live with this one.

The weeks go by peacefully. I remember to post off a copy of Adrian’s CD to Millie with a covering note saying it had been sent me by some anonymous oceanographer working in the Canaries who couldn’t explain these sounds but who thought I, as her biographer, might pass it on to her out of interest.

Derek phones me to say the owners of Josiah Corcoran, a.k.a. Blowjob, have promoted him to manage their new manicure and pedicure departments, already nicknamed Handjob and Ped-o-File, respectively, by their loyal staff. I force him to admit that ‘departments’ really refers to a small back room that until recently was used to store industrial flagons of shampoo and conditioner, but he seems ecstatic about this upturn in his fortunes. I suppose it must be some compensation for the sad mishandling of his emotional life. It would be kind to think of Derek as merely fickle, but like a good deal of kindness it would be misplaced. Some years ago he deserted a penniless but devoted lover in favour of one of his clients at Corcoran’s. The customer was a wealthy Harley Street specialist – well, not to put too fine a point on it, a proctologist – with a Lenny Bernstein mane of grey hair and a scarlet Ferrari. We all told Derek he was being a vulgar little gold-digger and no good would come of this liaison, but he replied that he liked gold and that being driven around the Côte d’Azur in a Ferrari qualified as good in his book. The doctor was clearly besotted and lavished all sorts of fripperies on him and I’m sure Derek recompensed the man in his fashion by keeping his end up. Still, we all knew this was not the love of Derek’s life. The truly devoted friend whom he’d thrown over went miserably to seed, pining in a bedsit in Palmers Green. He was a rather nice young scriptwriter whose modest fame derived from his having researched and written The Rough Guide to the Cities of the Plain, thereby scooping Lonely Planet who were still fact-gathering in Gomorrah. Meanwhile the Ferrari went, owing to a pleasantry by Derek in one of his moods to the effect that the only people who drove Ferraris were footballers and Russian mafiosi.

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