Chapter Text
A story has no beginning or end: arbitrarily one chooses that moment of experience from which to look back or from which to look ahead.
Graham Greene, The End of the Affair
Eddy Littlejohn was leaving Colombo with a light heart.
He had been wasting his life there for five years already, thanks to the old guv’nor, who’d thought it’d be for Eddy’s own good to join the army, as London had always been a temptation for young lads. The army, on the other hand, instils discipline. And sure, Eddy’s got discipline instilled into him. As well as bad habits. Now not only did he sip alcohol as if it was water, and smoke like a train about to leave Paddington station, but he also went in for playing cards from time to time. Not that he considered himself much of a gambler, but just for the sport of it; showing off his skills in card tricks was more his cup of tea, and in shuffling the deck he often found comfort.
At least years and miles away from good old England did pay off, some would say. Eddy had even made captain — pretty easy task for Ceylon, he might add — and spent the eternity of the whole last year drilling young blood and mostly doing paperwork. It was clear to Eddy that he would be better off gathering dust anywhere else, and the only thought that kept him going was, ‘As soon as the governor kicks the bucket, and I come in for the family doubloons and pieces of eight, I’m going to come back to England and have a real old bust!’
And now it was time for his dreams to come true. The elder Littlejohn didn’t get stuck on Earth for long, so there were no more reasons for the young one to linger in this godforsaken place either. Of course, guv passing away had made Eddy feel upset, regretful even, but what he had learnt over the years was that there’s pretty much no use crying over spilt milk. After all, all the forces of the universe were bent on spilling it.1
If anything, he’d miss local sunsets. The night before his departure he went for a little stroll from Echelon Barracks2 to the lighthouse, which he had taken a fancy to for the jolly good view it provided over the Gulf of Mannar and Beira Lake. Though the tower was all right, the light was getting weaker and weaker with each passing season. The world kept moving, the city was expanding not only outwards, but also upwards, so the new lighthouse might have definitely come in handy one day. For long quiet hours Eddy had looked at the ink of the sea, the scarlet of the setting sun, the glimmer of the first stars, and thought about stuff and whatnots. But to one thought he held on quite tight. To the sweetest thought of never coming back here again.
***
A long trip home made him a tiny bit melancholic (that, of course, had nothing to do with how unbearably strong the waves felt and how nauseous felt he), and by the end of the journey Eddy was calming his nerves, nursing whiskey on the deck, diving into fantasies of his colourful London future.
For starters, it was important to re-introduce oneself to the questionable delights of high society. Eddy’s been away for so long, all the extravagance of the upper classes must have blossomed into something even more opulent and flamboyant, he liked to imagine. He thought of Nina. Sweet, sweet Nina. It’s been a while since they’ve last seen each other. One day, in his first year in the tropics, Eddy had received a letter from his old man, and inside came good recommendations and Nina’s photograph. It seemed as if her gentle, matured features had brought Eddy home then, that alone overwhelmed him — and by the end of the day the photograph had been hanging over his bed, a kind of icon, one might say, an angel guarding his sleep. Oh, how he dreamt of seeing her again, maybe even fulfilling his father’s will and asking for her hand in marriage. No reason for her to reject an old friend!
He remembered how, as a child, Nina would call him Ginger, and Ginger only. Well, to be more precise, she had been teasing him in such a manner, but what kind of young girl wouldn’t! And, he thought, such a moniker sounded pretty darn good. As bold as brass, that’s for sure. They would say: ‘Hullo, Captain Littlejohn!’ And he would cut them short: ‘Oh, to my fellow mates it’s “Ginger”, simple as that!’ That’s it, what a jolly good idea to be called Ginger right off the bat to be thick with Bright Young People of London’s smart set.
The newly-minted Ginger went through customs without any problems; not like he was even carrying anything of extreme value with him, as he was hoping to make all the purchases of the utmost importance once settled down. Popping into the bank and withdrawing an amount from his account, decent enough to last a week of London folly, he decided to post up at Shepheard’s Hotel, Dover Street. His old guv’nor was quite a regular at Lottie Crump’s, and Ginger decided not to break with that particular family tradition. Besides, the people staying at the place were never ones for a ho-hum. Mostly, of course, thanks to the incredible forgetfulness of its proprietress in some earthly matters.
In the evening, he visited a tailor and ordered himself the most classic tailcoat there could be, as well as “something more topping”; a gray suit and a tie adorned with chic red stripes matched that description perfectly, he decided. And so, once back at the hotel, Eddy happily fell asleep.
***
He was planning to paint the place a bit red, but it straight went and painted Ginger himself blue instead. The week allotted for whims and folly passed by rather languidly. The papers were chock-full of ins and outs of scandalous lifestyle and parties hosted by the Brightest Ones of the London Youth. Yet to attend such parties one must have had a name that carried weight. Ginger’s, well, didn’t. He considered visiting some good old clubs that once had had a reputation for their carousals and gatherings. Nowadays the places were occupied by reputable Edwardian-era gentlemen, discussing the latest news. Ginger desperately tried to put up a good front and even managed to find favour with his special four-coins trick. It had been taught to him by one hoary Sinhalese in the train to Trincomalee3, and not a single soul here could repeat it. Well, at least each and every win resulted in a decent amount of extra money in Ginger’s pockets, better than nothing. However, the current state of affairs slowly began to get on his nerves, and by the end of the week he decided to spend the evening at Lottie’s, hoping for some, if any, entertainment.
Just like seasons change, all the Lords Thingummy and honourable gentlemen What-d’you-call-him came in and out of Lottie’s parlour, so Ginger found himself a quiet corner to drink away, tossing an occasional “Cheerioh” here and there, and smoked in anticipation of an interesting face.
And the face did show up.
Lottie was leading a chap with fair hair and fine features, and Ginger momentarily pulled himself together. Finally, someone close to his own age! Lottie hadn’t really introduced the chap, the gentlemen in the parlour had other things to care about as well. The deposed king of something like Ruritania or Anatolia, thanks to Lottie’s weak spot for royalty, began to spout nonsense about bombs and some missing golden fountain-pen with eagles; at the end of these long-drawn-out complaints Ginger even shook his head sympathetically. But as soon as the respectable gentlemen turned their attention to drinks, he hurried to sit down across the young man who got his attention.
‘Bet you can’t do this.’
He put four halfpennies on the table, covered them with cards and moved them very deliberately for a bit, and then looked up with an expression of pride and nervously licked his lips:
‘Do it again if you like.’
‘Well, isn’t he a clever boy?’ said Lottie, coming in no time to their table, as she sensed something exciting. ‘Wherever did they teach you that?’
‘Chap in a train showed me.’
‘It didn’t look that hard,’ the young man remarked, not amused in a slightest.
‘Just you try. Bet you anything you like you can’t do it.’
‘How much will you bet?’ Lottie was beaming: she loved this kind of things.
‘Anything you like. Five hundred pounds?’
‘Go on,’ said Lottie. Honourable gentlemen encircled them, like scavengers who felt the thrill of sport and gambling. ‘You do it. He’s got lots of money.’
‘All right,’ the lad said. And then repeated the trick flawlessly.
‘Well, I’m jiggered,’ Ginger exclaimed. ‘Didn’t see anyone do it like that before. I’ve won a lot of money this week with that trick. Here you are.’ He took out his note-case and handed the deft chap a five-hundred-pound note.
Lottie got the young man to buy everyone a drink.
Ginger couldn’t help himself:
‘Toss you double or quits. Best out of three.’
‘Very well,’ said the deft fellow with little to no hesitation.
Ginger tossed twice, and both times the lad guessed it right.
‘Well, I’m jiggered! You are a lucky chap’, Ginger wondered once more and handed over another note.
And the young man went to telephone.
***
Then came November, and by that time Ginger felt as if he was drowning in a quagmire. He wandered around the city, dined out, visiting somewhat significant places, even bought himself a brand-new racing car. But what’s the point of little saunter without the pleasant silence of the company, of dinners without gossip and idle chatter, and of a bus with no one to carry in?
He tried to fish for somewhere — anywhere — decent to go out from the papers, yet these attempts turned out to be a complete and utter failure. Just the other day, let’s say, he was reading that the posh place to go to dance nowadays was the Casanova Hotel in Bloomsbury. Ginger had never heard of such a place, but well, he’d thought then, he’d been away for some time, places change and all that. He, of course, put on his bib and tucker and toddled off to spend a night. Yet upon his arrival there were only about three people dancing. No bar, only drink they could offer was coffee. And when he hinted at something stronger than coffee, they started to water his plans down, saying they hadn’t got a license to sell alcoholic beverages, as they put it. Well, if that’s the best that London could do, just give Ginger Colombo.
He felt so fed up with London these days that on Saturday morning he decided it’d be more entertaining to take a ride to Castle Irwell for the November handicap. Ginger was smoking in the refreshment tent when he heard a sudden call:
‘Oh, Ginger, is that you? My, that moustache makes you completely unrecognisable!’
There she was. Nina. Curly hair, slim figure, in a fashionable hat and lovely fur coat. More beautiful than the picture of hers, and with a voice ringing like a bell in his ears.
Ginger blushed, put the pipe down and kissed the back of her hand in greeting. She sat down across from him at the table.
‘Where have you been? Haven’t seen you in ages!’ With enthusiasm of a gossip girl Nina leaned over the table.
He, too, leaned closer and, with a hint of secrecy in his tone, started to tell her stories of the Ceylonese jungle and the barbarism of the natives. She kept chuckling and waving her hands in interest. And Ginger could not stop himself from looking in her big, clear eyes.
Some lad, an acquaintance of Nina’s, approached their table, whom Ginger recognised as that one spoilt child of fortune from before. The chap introduced himself as Adam, Ginger introduced himself as Eddy Littlejohn-
And then he cut himself short and pulled off the long-awaited Just-call-me-Ginger.
Footnotes
1. The phrase comes from W.S. Maugham’s Of Human Bondage. [^]
2. Echelon Barracks was (former) military barracks situated in Colombo Fort, Colombo. Built in the late 19th century, the place was used as the headquarters of the island's British garrison. [^]
3. Trincomalee is a port city on the northeastern coast of Sri Lanka with the Sri Lankan naval and air force bases located near the city. [^]
Notes:
“Anything Goes” is a song written by Cole Porter for his musical of the same name (1934). Many of the lyrics include humorous references to figures of scandal and gossip from Depression-era high society.
Chapter Text
Nothing happens, nobody comes, nobody goes, it’s awful!
Samuel Beckett, Waiting for Godot
Miles put a pinch of naughty salt on his fingernail.
In the morning Tiger had told him he would be spending the whole evening with his baby. Only when the time came to go to the party, and Miles dressed up to the nines, went to check on him and found Tiger a complete mess, all covered in oil and dirt — yet still so devilishly handsome! — it dawned on Miles that Tiger had meant his little car.
Of course, Miles got it, totally: the race was in the matter of days; but pouted nonetheless.
And was feeling unbearably moody now. Sure, the place had got a band, a bar as well, and his dearest Agatha came and bruised herself on all the protrusions straight away, the poor darling. After all, it was the first time that party was given in an airship, and the endless metal alleys and spiral staircases were unusually stuffy and crowded, with people packed like sardines. Yet the faces were the same. Well, at least the salt could help him hang the way he was planning to.
Miles fixed the curls of his hairdo, touched up his eyelashes one last time. His spirits were lifting. Yes, the trusty compact has never been the one to let him down!
He opened the cabin door, maybe just a little too briskly, as he heard a muffled groan. Some good-looking gent sprawled his impossibly long legs out on the floor right behind the door, touching his nose every now and then.
‘Oh my, darling, are you badly hurt? My apologies!’ Miles hurried to the rescue, annoyed at such an awkward meeting with an obviously new and very pleasant-looking face. Not only that, he simply had to mess such a pretty face up, did he not!
Miles helped the gent to get up and quickly led him back into the cabin, way too rashly trying to seat him down on the lower bunk, only for the new stranger to nearly bump his forehead into the upper one from such a hurry. Miles began to throw apologies once again. The man, however, just lifted up his head, moved his hand away from his bruised nose, by that motion uncovering the moustache that made his face even more smashing, and waved Miles’ concerns off with a shy smile.
‘Have nothing to worry about, it’s absolutely fine! Could you just get my hanky wet, uh..?’
‘Miles,’ he fidgeted, not without pleasure bending over the charming stranger and pulling a snow-white handkerchief from the man’s breast pocket. ‘Miles Maitland,’ he added, and fluttered the fan of his eyelashes, challenging his luck.
The young man, it seemed, had not noticed the gesture. Well, some divine things simply aren’t meant to be! Miles moved away and reached for the sink.
‘Ginger,’ the gent introduced himself in return; his Adam’s apple ran up and down expressively as he tried to talk with his head tilted back, and Miles could not take his eyes off this perpetual motion. ‘Eddy Littlejohn, actually, but everyone calls me Ginger.’
‘My, aren’t you the one Mr Chatterbox is all about these days?’ Miles exclaimed enthusiastically, completely forgetting about the running water and waving his hands, which caused the spray to scatter across the cabin. Mr Littlejohn snorted amusingly at the drops that had spilt over him. Miles feigned embarrassment: ‘Ah, I am at my most clumsy today!’ and turned off the water, folding the moistened cloth.
‘It’s alright,’ the man said simply. ‘You know what, it’s even refreshing, after all this fug. You say, ain’t it me they’re talking about, and you are darn right here. But, I must admit, this is my first night out into such an... upper crust,’ he muttered, squinting his eyes to the bridge of his nose, when Miles as carefully as possible pressed the cool handkerchief to the unfortunate victim of a tender kiss with the cabin door.
‘What? Tosh! Aren’t you one of the most prominent bachelors in Society? And all these rumors about some contract with a film company? How about the country club in the Bristol Channel? Stories of your Sinhalese life?’ Miles started to babble excitedly.
Mr Littlejohn laughed deeply.
‘As much of a leg-pull, as bottle-green bowlers and suède shoes. Well, you know, except for Ceylon. I did serve there, sure. And that’s it. But don’t you tell me you really, you know, believe in every darn thing that’s written in the papers?’ Bewildered, he arched his expressive eyebrows.
Miles humbly folded his well-groomed hands in his lap as Mr Littlejohn raised his hand to hold the handkerchief by himself.
‘Not at all, it’s just that- It’s much easier to believe in remarkable characters, darling. And from the very beginning I’ve found all these bowler talks quite fishy, indeed. Who on Earth is coming up with all these tall stories?’ Miles rhetorically posed a question.
To his surprise, Mr Littlejohn knew the answer:
‘Adam Symes, apparently. Perhaps, an acquaintance of yours?’
‘My dearest Adam?!’
‘He told me himself, and Miss Blount confirmed it.’
‘These two rascals,’ Miles snapped, which caused an equally attractive grin to appear on Mr Littlejohn’s attractive face. ‘And there they were swearing to me they haven’t got the slightest idea!’
‘This Symes chap had twisted me round his little finger, too. I mean to say, all this damn brainy nonsense, you wouldn’t believe where these tips of his had lured me earlier in the month. Here I was, just searching for a good company, and all for nothing. Yeah, to folks like me, after so many years, London no longer feels home,’ Mr Littlejohn sighed, and Miles sat down closer and patted him sympathetically on the shoulder. The man smiled awkwardly at him. ‘You’re a damn nice chap, Miles. Listen, what do you say we have a drink or two?’
Mr Littlejohn, no, Ginger leaned on his free arm, yet in an attempt to get up still hit his head on the top bunk. Miles was quick to lend a helping hand, taking him by the palm, that must have become so calloused due to the tropics, and gently pulling him out. Ginger smiled at him again, embarrassed and grateful, and Miles couldn’t help himself but smile back.
***
They wandered around and stopped by the lounge, sat down there and ordered champagne. Miles was ceaselessly filling his new acquaintance in on the latest — and, as far as Miles knew, the most truthful! — affairs of the capital’s beau monde. Ginger — who, as Miles only made sure under better lighting, wasn’t really that ginger, but rather chestnut brown; so where could this sobriquet possibly come from? Though there definitely was a certain pep in man’s attitude, if that’s the case — anyway, Ginger was hanging on Miles’ every word without distraction, all ears, which made Miles incredibly flattered. After all, Tiger had left him to fend for himself that evening, Agatha lay down somewhere to rest from all the beatings caused by the airship, and Adam and Nina, as always, were looking only at each other. And here it was, such an attentiveness, and from such a charming gentleman! Miles was soaking up the attention and chattering non-stop so much that he hadn’t even noticed when Ginger put the handkerchief, already dry of water, back into his pocket.
Once ran out of champagne, they’ve tried some sweet cocktails and diluted foreign rice vodka, then switched to gin. Miles suddenly felt an irresistible urge to move — it was most definitely the salt finally taking effect. He was quick to jump up and didn’t even think of politely offering Ginger a hand, just pulled him mischievously towards the dancing crowd. Ginger had barely found a moment to put his glass on the table.
Moving to the irrepressible tune of Topsy1, Miles felt light and jolly as a sand-boy. His body was moving jauntily by itself while Ginger tried to catch the rhythm and not to step on his feet that never stood in one place. Giggling at these attempts, Miles took him by the hand, guiding through the moves. Allowed himself to lean a tiny bit closer whilst dancing. Noticed a scarce dust of embarrassed blush full of incomprehension just above the moustache. And noted with his brain still foggy from all the cocaine taken that he, in fact, had not been mistaken — the gent screamed of fish or cut bait, not out of the boat you get, lad.
‘It seems such dances are still not, you know, for me,’ Ginger muttered. Miles tightened his grip on the man’s hand and leaned back swiftly. Although diffident and critical, Ginger still managed to hold him impeccably. Miles was pleased to be held so securely.
‘You must have simply had no chance to try it yet, darling!’ he assured Ginger, returning to an upright position and moving closer once again.
‘It’s just that, you know, such dances are not my strong suit,’ Ginger admitted, face flushed from the fast pace, fug and exertion.
‘Oh, but there most definitely must be ones that are!’ Miles considered batting his eyelashes yet again, and this time he was lucky to catch a glimpse of Ginger’s brief hesitation.
‘Charleston a little, perhaps?’ He took a moment to give the topic some serious thought. ‘But all the music here is already different, kind of vigorous, and these jittery dances match it. It’s like, you know, one has taken on way too much gin and bitters.’
Miles laughed.
‘I’ll be frank with you, dear, now everyone is dancing like that.’
‘Uh, well, if you say so, then one has to learn, I suppose,’ Ginger said somewhat resignedly, knitting his eyebrows.
‘Oh, don’t you worry, I’ll teach you everything!’ Miles assured him.
***
They tried their luck at a few simple moves. Ginger’s got out of each fifth to sixth step, tripping over his legs, followed by his profound embarrassment and apologetic looks, yet Miles could not find it in himself to complain, only laugh silly and patiently cheer him up.
‘You’re not a bad teacher,’ Ginger said finally, once he noticed that Miles was getting tired, and nobly escorted him back to the lounge chairs, asking for water at the bar. ‘I’ll tell you what, you’ve got some damn strong legs here,’ he added plainly. ‘Are you a hoofer?’
Miles grinned.
‘My, thank you,’ his reply was languorous and a bit calculated. One couldn’t exactly point out what he was so grateful for — for such a lengthy review of this completely unplanned dancing lesson, for a much-needed glass of water, or maybe for such a stiff and gauche compliment that therefore was especially dear to his heart. ‘As you may have noticed, I am quite a regular at events like this one, and, oh, willy-nilly, I just can’t not keep myself in shape, darling,’ he over-dramatically closed his eyes, making Ginger chuckle. ‘Although I never say no to reclining on cushions,’ he continued, opening one eye, observing his new acquaintance, ‘especially if the company is inclined.’
Ginger interpreted his little innuendos in pretty much, as Miles had already learned, Ginger’s way:
‘You tired, old chap?’ Miles didn’t miss the use of a new term of address — Mr Littlejohn was definitely quick to become attached to him. Well, isn’t that lovely! ‘Let me escort you back to the cabin.’
Miles was about to refuse, when it dawned on him that his stimulated mood was slowly but inevitably wearing off after all, and it would be for the best to rest and dream all this time instead of sitting listlessly or even starting to feel sorry for himself with renewed vigour. His compact has always been his faithful companion, indeed, yet just like any other love, this one, after minutes of euphoria, brought with it hours of a heavy heart.
So Miles answered: ‘Wouldn’t that be marvelous, darling!’ and gave his hand to Ginger who had already stood up.
They walked back to the cabins just as leisurely as they came. Miles had neither the energy nor the desire to chat as before, and Ginger, a gentleman that he was, spent time gladly telling Miles of his October-to-November misadventures, right up to the recent handicap and his fateful encounter with Nina a couple of days ago.
‘Oh, and I’ve even bet on someone and won something,’ Miles slowly tried to recall.
‘Don’t you tell me you’ve been there as well?’ Ginger was astonished. ‘Say, we could have crossed paths before all this, old chap!’
‘Yet I’m glad it happened to-night, darling,’ Miles said sincerely. ‘Or else, who knows, perhaps you wouldn’t have come here this evening, and I would have died of boredom. Yet instead, I spent the night in a rather pleasant company. I hope the same goes for you!’ and he winked. ‘What a win for both of us, right?’
At this, Ginger only nodded in agreement, sheepishly biting his moustache.
Footnotes
1. “Topsy” is an instrumental tune written by Edgar Battle and Eddie Durham, a 1938 release of which by bandleader Benny Goodman became a #14 pop hit. [^]
Notes:
“It Ain’t Necessarily So” is a popular song with music by George Gershwin and lyrics by his brother Ira Gershwin. The song comes from the Gershwins’ opera Porgy and Bess (1935) where it is sung by the character Sportin’ Life, a drug dealer, who expresses his doubt about several statements in the Bible.
Chapter Text
Too many cooks spoil the broth.
English proverb
Feeling slightly unwell, Nina joined Ginger for dinner as she plopped herself down in the chair across from him with a notebook in her hands, nibbling her pencil pensively, yet with a certain spark in her eyes.
‘We have to write the Chatterbox page,’ she said straight away.
Deciding on what to order, Ginger blankly asked for elaboration, ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘I have to write the Chatterbox page,’ was Nina’s weary response, as if such news were nothing out of the ordinary with questions that followed being completely unnecessary. ‘I promised Adam we would do it.’
‘What on Earth do I have to do with it? And what’s up with Adam?’ Ginger wondered, putting a halt to his pondering over the menu at last.
‘Adam’s gone to see papa to-day and try to say again could we be married now, since he has this page in the Excess, and hence the means.’
This set Ginger thinking. To marry Nina, he, for instance, had no need in no Excess-es, that’s with plenty of money he got and everything.
Meanwhile, she continued, ‘So we have to fill it up for him this time.’
Ginger chuckled.
‘Damn it, do I get it right: Symes is out there making reports on his success in writing the exact same page we are about to write for him? Well, ain’t it witty!’ — Nina did not see a problem in this. — ‘Though it’s still as clear as mud to me what do I have to do with any of this.’
‘Well, when he asked, I thought I may have use for you, since you know who’s hiding behind the Mr Chatterbox’s mask. Who knows, you may help me think of something. And by the way…’ Even though the look she gave Ginger was stern and threatening, he still found it somewhat adorable. ‘Thanks a lot for blabbing to Miles that Mr Chatterbox is actually Adam, you dunderhead! When we met for lunch to-day, he kept nagging me, saying Adam and I are obnoxious and insolent children, how could we hide such things from Mother, and why does he have to learn everything from Father… He scolded me for so long that my headache only got worse after yesterday evening!’ Nina rubbed her temples wearily.
It took Ginger quite some time to realise that he was the so-called Father in the situation.
‘I didn’t think it was that much of a top secret, to be honest. I mean, Symes didn’t care much to hide it from me at all in the first place.’
‘The only reason being it’s all the same to you of all people,’ Nina snorted. ‘Then again, Miles quickly got down to business, as he was considering selling his brother’s engagement to the Excess. It’s a shame that Adam had left: Van offered Miles five guineas, so he gave it to them. But the funny thing is, they both didn’t know I was in the trade,’ Nina’s- no, Ms Chatterbox’s tender lips stretched into a kind of predatory smile, ‘so they talked a whole lot about the engagement, which means all the juiciest things are in here!’ she tapped her head proudly with her pencil. ‘Besides, if we completely run out of ideas, we can always put in some imaginary ones, just like Adam does, about Imogen Quest and the bowlers-’
Ginger interrupted heatedly, already jumping up, ‘Not the bowlers, Nina! Damn it with your bowlers, everyone’s already sick of all this bosh, no one, and I mean no one is wearing them!’
‘Well, you are in fact wrong! Adam and I saw it.’
‘One darn time! Anything but bowlers.’
Nina gave him such a look in return that Ginger leaned back heavily as it made him understand: now she would write wholeheartedly and eagerly about these damned green bowlers just out of sheer mulishness. He also realised that their dinner would last way longer than expected, so he ordered ribeye with Cabernet Sauvignon for himself and filet mignon with rose wine for Nina, and sighed, preparing mentally to pay for more than one dessert.
***
Early in the morning the phone rang. Fortunately, over the years in the East Ginger got used to being up with the lark.
‘Ginger, darling, you are not terribly asleep, I hope?’ suspiciously cheerful for this time of day, came Miles’ voice from the other end of the line.
‘It’s alright, I am wide awake. Good morning to you, too!’
‘Would you like to have a nosh with me?’
‘Right now, you mean? Not sure if I’ll deck out that quickly-’
‘Oh, that’s not a problem at all!’ Miles said merrily, and hung up. Ginger stared at his buzzing telephone, bemused.
In less than a couple of minutes, there was a knock on the apartment door. Ginger put on his cardigan and went to open. Miles was waiting for him outside, dressed up in a flashy, yet travelling fashion, carrying a little suitcase.
‘I do hope I got the right door- Oh, there you are, good morning, darling!’
‘Well, that was fast,’ Ginger’s eyebrow arched at the fact.
Miles just grinned in return.
‘Yes, what a long and thorny path I went, to pass two whole floors! May I..?’
Ginger let the queerly laden Miles in. Once inside, he threw his suitcase on the floor, settling himself down imposingly in a chair. Ginger politely offered him a smoke, and the chum accepted his tobacco with great relish. Ginger went behind the folding screen to get dressed.
‘Had no idea you are staying at Shepheard’s as well,’ he decided to express his confusion.
‘Oh, Tiger, that’s my h… dear friend,’ Miles hesitated with a peculiar lechery in his voice, ‘anyway, Tiger and I moved here just the other day, after my brother returned from Canada and we were obliged to leave his house. As soon as we have enough money, we’ll probably try to search for something more fitting,’ he let out some ruminative rings of smoke.
‘Likewise, old chap! I’ve been thinking for quite a while that I’ve pretty much overstayed Lottie’s welcome. Nina has even volunteered to help me choose a house tomorrow. Would you like me to share with you brochures from my trusty agent?’
‘How very sweet of you, Ginger, darling!’
‘You can pick some up, there, on the table, right by the window. And your brother is getting married, I heard? Well, congratulations!’
‘Have already read the morning papers, I see?’
‘Ugh, darn, will I ever learn to keep quiet?’ Miles laughed when Ginger dropped the hanger behind the screen as he started berating himself. ‘In a way.’
Miles asked him nothing, continuing ardently, ‘And I just came to share the strangest, most bizarre news with you, my dear.’ Miles paused meaningfully, then announced: ‘Here I am, the new Mr Chatterbox, darling! Can you imagine? Barely an hour ago I wasn’t!’
Ginger was taken aback. ‘What? How? I mean, Adam is-’
‘Oh, what happened to Adam was truly monstrous and unfair! He somehow did not please Lord Monomark with his last piece,’ Miles waved his cigar vaguely in the air. ‘Namely, went too far with his waggish little fantasies, especially with those wretched bowlers of his… I was even given a reprimand in advance — as if I have already gone and done something similar!’ he resented.
‘Damn it, was there even a point asking Nina not to mention the green bowlers? What a silly girl,’ muttered Ginger, coming out from behind the screen, trying in vain to make his bow-tie symmetrical.
But Miles was all ears for secrets.
‘What does it have to do with Nina?’ he asked, stubbing his cigar out, and got up to help.
Ginger hesitated. Miles fixed the bow-tie with enthusiasm.
‘That’s much better, dear,’ he smiled, and Ginger patted him gratefully on the shoulder.
‘Thank you, old sport!’
They went downstairs. Ginger came to a conclusion that there was no more need to hide how yesterday he helped Nina make up stories about the Society, so he gladly spilt the beans. Miles shook his head at the news.
‘How ludicrous! What a silly child she is, to mess up her own engagement!’
‘You don’t say,’ mused Ginger.
Distracted by ordering porridge, sandwiches, and coffee, Miles then carried on with his compassionate remarks.
‘Well, now poor Adam does not have the kind of earnings that he had when the Chatterbox had rested squarely on his shoulders. So their marriage with Nina is postponed indefinitely yet again.’ He dolefully grabbed a sandwich, but began to chew with much more zing, ‘They are no strangers to that though.’
Ginger thought about it thoroughly.
‘Anyway, what is it with you going out with the bag so early in the morning?’ he asked about the second thing that had bowled him over.
‘Oh, Tiger is racing tomorrow, and my sweetest Agatha and Adam and Archie and I are going to support him in a couple of hours,’ Miles said enthusiastically, clearly impatient. He then complained, ‘My, I do hope my dearest Speed King’s heart and mind haven’t been fully taken hostage by his little motor. And so he hadn’t forgotten about me completely and did book us rooms, as I have wired him. They say, when it comes to the racing season, the place is awfully crowded. After all, cars, especially racing cars, become absolute masters of men at times like these.’ Deep in thought, Miles stopped himself from putting a spoonful of porridge in his mouth. ‘However, such an event is just a wonderful opportunity for me as the new Mr Chatterbox,’ he chuckled, and the porridge disappeared from the spoon in an instant.
‘I hope that at least you will stand against, you know, downright nonsense, and all this drivel will become barely readable at worst,’ Ginger said frankly, sipping his coffee.
‘Well, if it’s you asking, my darling, then so be it! I’ll do try my best not to go any further than some exaggeration,’ Miles assured him slyly. ‘I believe, you see, that our life is quite entertaining and anecdotal even without all these fictions. If you ask me, darling, it’s much better to live it in such a way that all the gossips, however dirty, grow in fertile soil. Then they are juicy, like peaches, and the more pleasant it is to pass them from mouth to mouth,’ he smiled disarmingly. ‘What’s the point of gossip out of thin air, anyway? And to pay for this air, don’t you find it absurd?’
Ginger marvelled at this logic, but did find something enchanting in it. Perhaps it was how easily Miles admitted that he lived in a noble world that lacked nobility.
***
The London sky, that was clear just this afternoon, was now overcast with clouds, and Ginger put his umbrella up so that Nina’s beautiful lilac coat would not get wet on their way to the car. She took his arm. They walked a few metres from, apparently, Ginger’s future house in silence.
Nina looked at Ginger expectantly.
‘Well?’ she said heavily.
He swallowed.
‘Nina, what are your thoughts on…’ He hesitated, not looking at her. She tugged at his sleeve. ‘Damn it, how about me? You know, marry me, I mean, Adam is…’ Ginger thought of stopping in the middle of the road for such an important conversation, yet Nina remained impassive as she kept walking.
‘I’ve been waiting all day for you to ask!’ She paused. He did as well. ‘We need to find us some rings.’
Ginger closed his umbrella. They got into the car.
Notes:
“They Can’t Take That Away from Me” is a 1937 popular song with music by George Gershwin and lyrics by Ira Gershwin. It was introduced by Fred Astaire in the 1937 film Shall We Dance and gained huge success.
Chapter Text
Several lovers could not hurt you. One lover could, but not in the way a husband could.
Agatha Christie, An Autobiography
By Saturday night, the places Miles had been visiting during his pub crawl were declining dramatically in how luxurious they were, how excellent the service was, and what types of bar patrons frequented them.
At first, in the back of his mind, he tried to tell himself, ‘Enough is enough’, later, though, getting more and more offended by this, so to speak, weakness of character that he was about to show. After all, now, with Tiger loudly walking out of his life, Miles was free as a bird and had an absolute right to drink wherever, whatever and however he wanted! He was lucky enough to not yet reach the condition which could be described as ‘the stiffer the drink, the looser the behaviour’, all thanks to the extreme rage of a jilted ex — oh, how banal the words are! — that had taken him over, not letting him completely lose his head.
There were definite advantages in being Mr Chatterbox: now Miles was free to do anything — within reasonable bounds for a person of his nature, of course, — with little to no risk of grabbing the newspaper headlines.
From bitter resentment against Tiger and how rude, even heartless, he had been — both before the races, and even more so after that monstrous driver change — Miles’ thoughts went back to his poor Agatha again and again. Truth be told, he hadn’t fully grasped what had happened to her at first. He had understood, sure. After she’d had lost control of the motor car, he’d even despatched a semi-funny account of her disaster, knowing full well how much Aggie would have liked to read it later. But he’d actually grasped it only when, by luncheon time next day, he’d learnt that the poor thing had been conveyed to a nursing home, as she hadn’t been able to recognise anyone. And wouldn’t be able to laugh with him at her own bad luck any time soon.
He actually tried to get in by all means possible, even pretending he was Lord Chasm himself. But the nurses brushed him off in an instant, eager to inform him that till Monday next week, ‘That young lady of yours isn’t receiving guests of any sort, young man.’ So now he had to reconcile himself to the fact that for ten nights straight he must call it a day.
A lump came to his throat, and Miles drunk off yet another glass of some swill at a single quaff, in order to muffle his bitter feelings with just as much bitter taste. It was absolutely sickening to even think of returning to the Shepheard’s and risking to shamefully burst into tears in the apartments, now empty of Tiger’s belongings. Even now Miles kept hearing the loud sounds of this morning: of the front door slamming shut, of Tiger’s muffled foul curses as to why on Earth had he let himself enter such a relationship in the first place, that he had long known would only bring disgrace on him. Upon hearing that and tasting a poisonous cocktail made of shame and chagrin, infused with such a blatant slap in the face and hints of trampled pride, Miles, caught up in the heat of the moment, had broken his favourite vase, the one that his dearest Aggie had gifted him. And then he’d cut himself as he’d been trying in vain to put the pieces back together.
The wounded palm reminded of itself in an instant, itching horribly through the poorly applied bandage. Miles drunkenly scratched it without a second thought, until it bleed, and gave a frustrated sniff at the prospect of his inevitable return.
***
Miles plodded his way back to the Shepheard’s and leaned against the twisted fence, trying to clear his head and keep his thoughts in order. All he wanted was to avoid appearing inside in a far from his best shape. On his way here he had also had the pleasure of stepping into yesterday’s puddle, adding the toes unpleasantly squelching and freezing in his right shoe to his pile of problems, though the feeling was even slightly sobering him up.
‘Hullo, Miles! Waiting for someone?’ came a voice by his side.
Miles turned his head, feeling pain in his eyes as he squinted to look through the protection of his sunglasses in the half-darkness of the street. The voice belonged to Ginger, Miles realised, thanks to that prominent moustache the man sported and a pipe that he wasn’t even smoking right now, just keeping it in his mouth, perhaps, out of habit. He was also carrying something in his hand. A suitcase, most likely, judging by the size of it.
‘Good evening to you, too, Ginger, darling!’ Miles tried to sound as cheerful as was possible, shuffling his drier foot and hiding his hands in the pockets of his coat. ‘Just went out to get a breath of fresh air. The weather sure is divine, compared with that miserable rain from yesterday, don’t you think?’ He drew a deep breath. If you want to avoid unpleasant conversations, weather talk is the best help you can get!
Ginger gave him a way too long stare, and then abruptly put whatever he was holding in his hand on the paving stones with a flump, pocketed his pipe and approached Miles, slowly scrutinising him.
‘Good heavens, old sport, you are drunk as a lord!’ Ginger exclaimed, stunned. Then he hesitated, as if only now remembering what propriety was, ‘Pardon me, it’s none of my business, of course, but, you know, I believe you’ve sort of had one too many.’
Suddenly all that Miles wanted was to tell him to jog on for switching back and forth so easily between keeping a civil tongue and being absolutely caddish. And just as he opened his mouth to express how exactly should such a fellow get lost, Ginger braced himself up again and gently touched Miles’ shoulder, as he proceeded, ‘Maybe… Why don’t you lie down, maybe get some sleep? That friend of yours- Tiger you called him, if I’m not mistaken..? He could look after you. Or is he not here right now?’
Miles felt bitter and painful and sick again at the mention. There was no escape now from his flare-up.
‘Tiger is- I’m done with Tiger, Tiger’s done with me — well, good riddance!’ Angry tears started to well up in his eyes. ‘And I’m not some stumbling little child to you, Eddy! I can do just fine without your leniency!’
Miles feistily shook off the hand restraining him. Ginger let go of him and stiffened. Intoxicated not only with alcohol now, but also with anger, Miles staggered, tried to regain his balance with his arms and was quick to turn around inelegantly — all this just to escape to the hotel, into the lonely quiet of the apartments, that were now only his. To a kind of kingdom with a king, and king alone.
And that’s when Ginger spoke up slowly, his voice raspy all of the sudden, ‘Gosh darn, old boy..! Wh-what the heck has happened to your hand?’
Miles froze up. No, not that. Not now. No, no, no, no, no, no, oh damn it!
He burst into drunken tears.
Ginger slowly approached him, walking around to stand before him, face to face, — and Miles had no more strength of neither body, nor spirit to fend off, once Ginger started to gently remove the sunglasses off his face. Deep wrinkles of worry appeared on Ginger’s forehead. He neatly put Miles’ sunglasses away in his coat pocket, producing, like a conjurer, a cigarette case and a lighter instead. He took two cigarettes out of the case and put one of them in Miles’ uninjured, yet feverishly shaking, hand.
‘It won’t hurt you, old chap,’ Ginger said and lit his own cigarette with a heavy sigh, not putting the lighter back though.
Miles had sobbed his heart out for another couple of minutes under man’s supervision, yet all this time it felt as though Ginger dissolved in a haze of smoke and moisture. That made his quiet presence not that vexing, as if he was just some kind of foggy mirage, so Miles ceased to be ashamed of his unbidden tears and gradually calmed down.
Noticing the change of mood, Ginger held his lighter out. Miles gratefully lit a cigarette.
For a few more minutes they had stood in a blessed silence, interrupted only by the rare rustle of passing vehicles, just changing cigarettes.
‘How long have you been going around with this bandage, old chap?’ asked Ginger at last.
‘Since morning,’ Miles stated, before adding wearily, ‘We’ve been quarrelling, and I’ve broken a vase.’
‘Hold on, did you bandage yourself?’ Ginger’s brows furrowed uneasily.
‘I had to,’ snapped Miles. Ginger nodded his head in understanding.
‘You shall not be left alone in such a state,’ he said. ‘And it wouldn’t hurt to change the bandage, I suppose,’ blurted out Ginger with a slight nervous grin.
Miles offered him only a wry smile in response.
‘Look, what do you say we go to my place?’ asked Ginger.
‘Go to your place..?’
‘Well, you know, like drive, I mean,’ emphasised Ginger. ‘You see, I’m now “a happy homeowner” of sorts and all that.’ Looking a little sheepish, he licked his lips and pointed at the suitcase thrown down in the middle of the pavement, ‘Here I was moving out. Wanted to try out this new place I got as soon as possible. All I’m saying is, I’m growing sick of this Shepheard’s, to tell you the truth.’
Miles couldn’t fathom when exactly had he suddenly burst out laughing.
***
‘My, it’s a downright palace you’ve got here rather than place, darling!’ Miles marvelled. His voice bounced off the high walls, echoing upwards.
Ginger dropped his eyes in embarrassment, bringing in his suitcase, ‘It sure is a bit too spacious, if you ask me, but Nina said the parties hosted here would be top-notch.’
Miles started tap-dancing a little in order to check out the marble floor and nearly lost his footing.
‘I say, right now you looked like some poor Old Nick who strayed onto the consecrated ground,’ a chuckle escaped Ginger’s lips.
Miles couldn’t let a remark pass, ‘Just so you know, I’m going to dance at your place so terrifically that the roof will sure collapse right on your head, my dear!’ He pouted teasingly with his nose in the air.
‘Should this happen, at least take my suitcase with you. Here are my most precious possessions! We can’t let all these valuable things lie buried in the rubble, what do you say?’ Ginger played along, patting the bag full of his belongings.
‘What can you offer me?’ Miles went on, drunk even more so now by spontaneous fun.
‘Seven pairs of socks, which makes it one for every day in a week,’ spoke Ginger gravely, as he started counting with his fingers, ‘a brand new tailcoat, some nice cardies, a polo shirt, a pair of wool trousers-’
‘Oh my God, Eddy, honey,’ chuckled Miles as the man in question went on without pause, as if dictating a memo.
‘-a knife, fork, and small spoon for stirring, a few bone china plates, a small frying pan, a small saucepan, a spirit burner-’
‘Darling!’
‘-and, well, if you and I were like, you know, going somewhere right now, there’d definitely be something to nosh on, say, a loaf of bread, a pot of good ol’ marmalade, two fresh eggs, a healthy portion of honey, as a sweetener, some sort of tomato or love-a…’
‘Eddy, please do shut up,’ Miles finally stopped trying to be proper, the sound of his laughter filling the hall as it bounced loudly from wall to wall and up to the ceiling.
‘And that’s it,’ Ginger reported with pride, awkwardly scratching his nose.
‘Is it just me, or does this humble inventory list of yours get more and more specific towards the end?’ Miles mentioned, walking into the still not fully furnished living room.
‘When I was younger, Nina’s guv had hammered this gentleman set into me, and who am I to disobey a colonel?’ Ginger laughed off and welcomed Miles to make himself at home.
He sat down on the edge of the canvas-covered ottoman while Ginger went to get fresh bandages and iodine. Upon his return, Miles gracefully outstretched the wounded arm.
Ginger’s grin was a kind one.
‘I see, old boy, you have your vim and vigour back.’ He took Miles’ hand. ‘I’m glad I’ve managed to distract you,’ he said, focused on unwrapping the bloody bandage.
A look of astonishment crossed Miles’ face. Such a curious thoughtfulness was new to him.
Fortunately, according to Ginger, Miles had only reopened the wound. He endured the sting of iodine and was half-drunkenly glad that soon his palm would be as tender and well-groomed as before. New neatly-applied bandage felt as if it were an extension of his hand, and Miles recalled the odious rags he had placed there in the morning with disgust.
‘Most grateful, darling!’ he said, admiring his patched-up palm again and again. ‘What would I do without you?’
Ginger straightened his moustache a bit nervously, preferring not to elaborate any further, apparently. Miles appreciated the gesture.
‘Would you like to lay down?’ Ginger asked him.
‘Is there somewhere?’ Miles wondered.
Ginger helped him up and led the way to one of many doors. Just like in the living room, all the furniture inside this one was shining white because of linen covering it, and Ginger pulled one canvas off. Though there was no bedding, a bed was still a bed.
Miles hesitated, ‘And you..?’
‘Oh, sure!’ Ginger cheerfully patted him on the shoulder. ‘This is the guest room. Rather modest, I suppose. Hope you don’t mind, old chap?’
Miles gave him a shy smile, ‘Beggars can’t be choosers, darling,’ as he sat down on the mattress.
‘I’ll be with you in a minute!’ Ginger assured him and left the room.
Miles tested the mattress, flopping like a child on it; it bounced back. With each fading oscillation Miles was swinging, too, his thoughts pounding like coastal waves against the cliffs of retrospective of the past few days.
Eddy had been gone a while, and Miles felt he was about to storm again. He kicked off his damp shoes, lay down on his stomach and started shuddering afresh. Well, at least there were no more tears coming up!
Eddy stomped back, as Miles discerned the man’s shoe toes with the edge of his already aching eye. Then rustling followed, and a soft, light avalanche suddenly fell on Miles: a duvet, smelling of novelty, began to gently warm him in its embrace.
‘You alright?’ asked Eddy.
Miles shook his head vaguely, his whole body still trembling. Deciding to sit on the very edge of the bed, Eddy placed an awkward hand on top of that shaking snow-white mound that Miles formed, and quietly brushed his cover, slowing down with each motion. The storm was blowing over little by little, bringing closer a complete calm.
Letting his sore eyes fall closed, Miles was soon asleep.
***
He woke up abruptly in the middle of the night, feeling strangely mollified. The dreamy state he was in had not yet subsided, however he still had decided to go and look for the bathroom in order to slightly refresh his tear-stained face. There was also a threatening gift of nausea expected from his generous body, pretty much poisoned with alcohol and worries.
Miles left the room, letting his eyes adjust to the unfamiliar darkness. He’d been moving around quietly, the corners of furniture in pale dust covers hitting him on his way, until he bumped into, as he belatedly realised, someone’s legs.
Ginger, a kind darling, sprawled on the still-covered ottoman, not large enough for his legs, dangling over one end. All of a sudden, Miles’ heart contracted with such tenderness that he rushed back into the guest room, more deft now in avoiding the obstacles. He tugged the duvet off the bed, brought it back and gently tucked Ginger in, the gentleman snuffling funnily as he turned on his side.
‘What a simple heart, huh,’ Miles muttered as he reached out his hand. Hesitating for a brief moment, he still ruffled Ginger’s hair — and wandered off at last in search of the wretched bathroom.
Notes:
“Rhapsody in Blue” is a 1924 musical composition written by George Gershwin for solo piano and jazz band. Commisioned to combine elements of classical music with jazz-influenced effects, the rhapsody is one of Gershwin’s most recognizable creations and a key composition that defined the Jazz Age.
sediment (Guest) on Chapter 1 Mon 07 Nov 2022 12:56AM UTC
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Last Edited Sat 21 Jan 2023 12:27AM UTC
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